Page 63 of Rampage

Reality crashes back in waves. I'm not in Frank's house. I'm in Reid's cabin, in his bed, in his arms. Safe.

"Reid," I gasp, my fingers digging into his forearms as I ground myself in his presence.

"I'm here," he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. "Just a nightmare. He can't touch you."

I turn in his arms, needing to see his face, to confirm he's real. Moonlight filters through the curtains, illuminating his features, the strong line of his jaw, the concern in his eyes. Nothing like Frank's cruel face, his cold, calculating gaze.

"I was back there," I whisper, my voice trembling. "He was saying I belonged to him, that I'd never escape."

Reid's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away tears I hadn't realized I'd shed. "He's wrong," he says, his voice rough with sleep but firm with conviction. "You don't belong to him, Lily. You don't belong to anyone but yourself."

The certainty in his voice steadies me, slowing my racing heart. His eyes hold mine in the darkness, intense and unwavering.

"I think…" I begin, then hesitate, the words caught in my throat.

"What is it?" he encourages, his thumb still tracing patterns on my cheek.

"I think I might belong a little bit to you," I whisper, the confession both terrifying and liberating. "And maybe you belong a little bit to me."

Something shifts in his expression, surprise giving way to a tenderness so raw it makes my chest ache.

"Yes," he says, the single word carrying the weight of a vow. "I'm yours, Lily. Have been since I first saw you."

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. The intimacy of the moment, this quiet acknowledgment of what's growing between us, feels more significant than any passionate declaration.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely audible in the darkness.

The question—so respectful, so mindful of my boundaries even now—makes my heart swell. Instead of answering with words, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his.

The kiss begins a soft exploration, but quickly deepens as months of tension and days of building this connection ignite between us. Reid's hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, cradling my head as his mouth moves against mine with increasing urgency.

I arch into him, my body seeking his warmth, his strength. My hands find his shoulders, broad and solid beneath my fingers, then slide down to his chest where his heart thunders against my palm.

When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him without hesitation, welcoming the intimate invasion. A soft sound escapes me—part sigh, part moan—as the kiss transforms from tender to hungry in the span of a heartbeat.

Reid pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged. "We should stop," he says, though his body tells a different story, hard and wanting against mine.

"Why?" I ask, chasing his mouth with mine.

His hand finds mine, bringing it to his lips, where he presses a kiss to my palm. "Because you've been through hell tonight. Because you're vulnerable right now. Because I want to be sure you're choosing this for the right reasons, not just because you're scared or grateful or?—"

I silence him with another kiss, pouring everything I can't yet say into the press of my lips against his. When I pull back, his eyes are darker, pupils dilated in the moonlight.

"I'm choosing you," I tell him, my voice steady despite the trembling of my body. "Not because I'm scared or grateful, though I am both of those things. I'm choosing you because when I'm with you, I feel like myself for the first time in my life."

His breath catches, a small hitch that reveals how deeply my words affect him. His hand slides from my face down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Lily," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips. "I want to do this right. You deserve that."

"This feels right," I tell him, shifting closer until our bodies align perfectly, his warmth seeping into me. "You feel right."

Something changes in his expression then, restraint giving way to need. His mouth finds mine again, the kiss deeper, more demanding. His hand slides beneath the t-shirt I'm wearing—his shirt—fingers splaying across my lower back, pulling me flush against him.

The hard length of him presses against my hip, the unmistakable evidence of his desire. Instead of fear, I feel a surge of power—that I can affect this strong, controlled man so completely.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my neck, his lips tracing a path that makes me shiver. "If anything feels wrong, if you change your mind…"

"I won't," I assure him, arching as his hand moves higher beneath the shirt, skimming my ribs. "But I'll tell you if I need to slow down."

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