Page 9 of Made for Reign

“Good,” she whispers. “Definitely good.”

I know I should stop here. Thank her for the conversation, wish her luck with whatever’s waiting for her back home. Walk away and forget the way she tastes, the way she feels under my hands.

But I’ve never been good at denying myself the things I really want. And right now, I want her with an intensity that borders on madness. I decide to be direct.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?” I ask.

No games, no bullshit pickup lines. Just a simple invitation.

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“My room. Top floor.” I keep my voice low. “We can order room service. Talk some more. Or not talk at all, if that’s what you need.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the war happening behind those green eyes. Want versus caution. Impulse versus whatever good sense is telling her to walk away.

“I...” She glances toward the dance floor where her friends are still swaying to the music. “I should go talk to my friends first.”

My pulse kicks up a notch. She didn’t say no.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll wait.”

She slides out of the booth, pausing to look back at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I watch her disappear into the crowd, admiring the way her dress hugs her curves as she moves. A few minutes later, she’s back.

“What did your friends say?” I ask.

“They said to have fun and not do anything they wouldn’t do,” she says.

“That leaves us a lot of options.”

She laughs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I guess it does.”

I stand and extend my hand to her. “Come on, Princess.”

Her hand is small and soft when she takes mine, fitting perfectly against my palm like it was made to be there. I thread our fingers together and lead her through the bar toward the elevators.

The elevator arrives with a soft ding, and we step inside. I hit the button for the thirty-second floor, and the doors slide shut with a whisper.

The moment we’re alone, something snaps.

She turns toward me at the same instant I reach for her. Our mouths crash together with the kind of desperate hunger that’s been building between us all night. Her hands fist against my shirt as I back her against the wall. She tastes like cherries and possibility, and when she makes a soft sound against my lips, it nearly brings me to my knees. Her hands slide up my chest to tangle in my hair, and I press closer, pinning her against the cool metal wall.

The elevator chimes softly as we pass each floor, but I barely hear it over the sound of her breathing, the little gasps she makes when I trail my lips down the column of her throat.

This isn’t me.

I don’t lose control like this. I’m the guy who thinks things through, who weighs consequences and makes calculated decisions. But with Elizabeth pressed against me, her body soft and warm, all that discipline goes straight to hell.

The second we step into my hotel room, I kick the door shut behind us.

My mouth never leaves hers as I press her against the wall. She makes this little gasping sound that goes straight to my cock, her soft curves melting into me like she was made to fit there. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Every part of me is screaming to claim her, to mark her, to make her mine.

Elizabeth’s hands are in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me growl against her mouth. Her body is flush against mine, soft where I’m hard, yielding where I’m unyielding. I slide one hand up to tangle in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. My other hand roams lower, grabbing her ass and lifting her slightly against me.

“Reign,” she breathes my name against my lips, and fuck if it isn’t the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

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