Page 40 of Endo
“Not bad?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckles softly. “Alright, it was decent.”
The sound of his laugh, rare and unguarded, does something to me. My chest feels lighter, even as the weight of our unresolved tension hangs in the air.
As we move to the next step, his hands brush against mine again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts, his movements deliberate.
Before I know it, his arms are around me, and he’s pulling me onto his lap. My breath catches as my thighs straddle his, the rough denim of his jeans brushing against me.
“Reign—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, his hands settling gently on my hips. “Just… let me.”
His hands, rough from months of fighting and fixing, are impossibly tender as they slide up to my face. He cups my cheeks, his thumb brushing over my skin with a gentleness that almost breaks me.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. And then he kisses me.
It’s soft at first, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter beneath him. But as I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, the kiss deepens. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, moving against mine with a desperation that’s as heartbreaking as it is intoxicating.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, spilling over as I kiss him back with everything I have. The weight of our shared pain, our trauma, is woven into every touch, every sigh.
He pulls back suddenly, his forehead pressing against mine. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my hands framing his face. “Reign, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
He studies me for a moment, his green eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt. When he finds none, his shoulders relax, and he kisses me again, this time with a quiet reverence that makes my heart ache.
In his arms, for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. I feel seen. I feel whole.
I lean in this time, cupping his face with my hands as I kiss him again. This one is mine, and I pour everything into it—my frustration, my relief, my gratitude. His lips part against mine, and he lets me lead, his hands sliding down my back to rest on my hips.
The world narrows to just us, the taste of him, the way his body feels solid and safe beneath mine. His fingers tighten slightly, pulling me closer as if he can’t bear to let me go.
But then my phone buzzes against my thigh, the vibration breaking through the moment like a splash of cold water. I pull back reluctantly, our breaths mingling as I fish it out of my pocket.
“It’s Bex,” I murmur, my forehead still pressed against his.
“Answer it,” Reign says softly, his voice low and steady.
I swipe the screen and hold the phone to my ear. “Hey, Bex.”
“Lena! Where are you? You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago! The seamstress is on her way here,” Bexley’s voice chirps through the line, full of her usual energy.
I blink, suddenly remembering the fashion show. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry, Bex. I got caught up.”
“Caught up doing what?” she teases.
“Uh… I’ll explain later. I’m on my way.”
“You better be,” she says with a laugh. “This bikini isn’t going to fit itself.”
I hang up, shoving the phone back into my pocket and glancing at Reign. He’s watching me, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement.
“Fashion show?” he asks, leaning back slightly but keeping his hands on my hips.
“Bex roped me into modeling,” I explain, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s for the charity fashion show downtown. I didn’t think you’d want to go, so I didn’t mention it.”
