Page 66 of Rampage

His praise melts over me like warm honey, melting something inside that's been frozen for too long. I've never been called "good" in this context before, only ever criticized, belittled, made to feel wrong. But Reid's words feel like salvation, like a prayer of benediction.

"You're doing so beautifully," he continues, his rhythm steady and strong as he moves within me. "Taking me so well, Lily. My sweet, brave girl."

Each word of praise pushes me higher, closer. I cling to him, overwhelmed not just by the physical sensations but by the emotional connection forging between us with every thrust, every whispered endearment.

"Reid," I gasp, my body tightening around him as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

"That's it," he encourages, his eyes locked on mine, watching me come undone beneath him. "Let go for me, good girl. I've got you."

The orgasm crashes through me with startling intensity, drawing a cry from my throat that Reid captures with his mouth. He swallows my sounds, his movements growing more urgent as my body pulses around him.

"Perfect," he groans against my lips. "So perfect for me."

His control finally shatters. With a guttural sound that's almost a growl, he drives deep one last time, his powerful body shuddering above me as he finds his own release. The sensation of him pulsing inside me triggers aftershocks of pleasure that leave me trembling and breathless.

For several heartbeats, we remain locked together, our ragged breathing the only sound in the moonlit room. Then Reid carefully shifts his weight, rolling to his side and bringing me with him so we remain connected, my leg draped over his hip.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as our heartbeats slow, his touch reverent even in the aftermath. The tenderness in his eyes as he gazes at me makes my chest ache with emotions I'm not ready to name.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, brushing damp hair from my forehead. "I didn't hurt you?"

I shake my head, unable to form words just yet. Instead, I press closer, burying my face against his chest where I can feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.

"My brave girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "You were perfect. So beautiful for me."

The praise continues to work its magic, soothing places inside me that have been raw and wounded for too long. I feel myself melting against him, tension draining from muscles I didn't realize were still tight with old fears.

I find myself smiling against his skin, a sense of peace settling over me that I've never known before. This is what safety feels like, I realize. This is what it means to be cherished.

He kisses me once more, this one sweet, before pulling back with reluctance. "I should clean you up."

Before I can protest, he slips from the bed, his powerful body silhouetted in the moonlight as he walks to the bathroom. I hear water running, and he returns moments later with a warm washcloth. The tenderness with which he cares for me afterward—gentle strokes between my thighs, soft kisses to my temple—undoes me in ways the passion couldn't.

When he's finished, he tosses the cloth aside and gathers me against him, pulling the sheets over our cooling bodies. I curl into his warmth, my head finding that perfect spot on his chest where I can hear his heartbeat.

"Sleep now," he murmurs, his fingers stroking through my hair. "I've got you."

"Reid?" I whisper, already drifting toward sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you.”

As I slip into deep slumber, I realize something profound has shifted within me. For the first time since I can remember, I'm not running from something, I'm running toward something. Toward Reid, toward safety, toward a future I never dared imagine could be mine.

And for tonight, at least, that's enough.

Morning arrives, sunlight filtering through the curtains to paint golden patterns across the bed. I wake slowly, my body pleasantly sore in unfamiliar places, surrounded by Reid's warmth.

He's already awake, watching me with those intense blue eyes. One hand traces idle patterns on my bare shoulder, his touch reverent even in this quiet moment.

"Good morning," he says, his voice morning-rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

"Morning," I reply, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we shared through the night.

He smiles, and I'm loving the way it reaches his eyes. I reach out and run my finger along the side of his face.

His stubble scratches pleasantly against my palm. He turns to press a kiss into my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. The moment feels sacred, almost fragile in its perfection.

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