Page 53 of Endo
The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I don’t know what to say, but I know I have to say something. “Look, I’ve been thinking about everything,” I begin, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I don’t know what’s going on between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”
His eyes flick over me for a second too long, and it’s like my heart is pounding in my throat. Reign doesn’t speak, but the tension between us crackles. He steps closer to me, and for a moment, we just stand there.
The sound of his breath fills the space between us, and I can feel every inch of my skin, the way my heart races, the way I want him so badly it hurts.
The door slams shut behind me as I step inside, heart pounding in my chest. The air smells like him—like the faint musk of cologne, something warm and raw, mixed with theremnants of the night. I don’t give myself time to think, to second-guess. I need answers. I need to know what’s going on between us.
Reign is standing by the door, watching me, his face unreadable. For a second, there’s only silence. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on, and I’m not sure if I’m more scared of the silence or of what happens when it breaks.
My eyes drift, unable to hold his gaze for long. That’s when I notice the other bottle of whiskey on the table, empty and next to an empty glass. Reign carefully sets the one in his hand down on the table next to it. The amber liquid catches the dim light from the lamp, and the sight of it sends a wave of unease through me.
He’s been doing a lot of drinking.
Of course, he has.
It’s not hard to piece it together—the whiskey, the closed-off look in his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders. Whatever Revel said to him after the bar last night, it’s still sitting heavy on him. And instead of dealing with it, he’s been here, alone, letting the bottle do the talking.
“Reign…” I start, my voice softer than I mean it to be, like I’m afraid the wrong tone might shatter the precarious calm in the room. “How long have you been at this?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at the whiskey, then back at me, like he’s daring me to say more.
I don’t wait for him to speak. I’m done waiting. My hand is already on his chest before I even realize I’ve moved, and in one swift motion, I’m pulled into him. His lips crash against mine, urgent and demanding, like he’s been holding back for too long. His kiss is so deep, so fierce, that I forget where I am, who I am, what I came here for. All I know is him—his hands on me, his lips on mine, his body pressing me against the door.
I gasp when he pulls back, but it’s only for a second, just long enough to catch my breath. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, until I’m flush against him, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine. He doesn’t give me a chance to pull away, doesn’t let me get control back. His fingers slide into my hair, tugging me toward him, and I don’t resist. I can’t resist. He tilts my head back, kissing me again, this time slower, with more intensity, more need.
I feel his breath on my neck, hot and ragged, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. His lips trail down my jaw, my neck, sending jolts of electricity through my veins. Every touch burns like fire, and I’m lost in it, in him.
But my mind catches up with me for just a moment, and I push him back, breaking the kiss. “Reign,” I whisper, breathless, trying to find some kind of control, some way to make sense of this. But it’s gone as soon as I say his name.
He doesn’t let me pull away. Instead, his arms tighten around me, and before I can think, he lifts me effortlessly, carrying me through the darkened apartment. His grip is strong, sure, and I cling to him, my hands clutching his shoulders as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounds me—faint cologne, soap, and something unmistakably him. It’s grounding and overwhelming all at once.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost unsteady. “Don’t overthink it.”
It’s impossible not to. Every step he takes echoes in the quiet, the sound of his boots hitting the floor a reminder that this is real, and it’s happening. My pulse thrums in my ears, my mind a whirlwind of questions, but I can’t seem to hold onto a single coherent thought.
When we reach his bedroom, he pauses, shifting his grip to lower me gently onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath me, the softness unfamiliar, and the faint scent of him clings to the sheets. He stands over me for a moment, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice rough but laced with something softer. Vulnerability, maybe.
I look up at him, and my throat tightens. “No, I want this,” I say, the words barely above a whisper.
He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath, and then he’s leaning down, his hands bracing on either side of me. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Lena,” he mutters, his forehead brushing mine.
“Reign...” My voice catches, but I don’t finish.
He dips his head, his lips finding mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not gentle; it’s urgent, like he’s trying to pour everything he’s feeling into this moment. His hand slides into my hair, tangling in the strands, and I gasp against his mouth as his weight presses me into the mattress.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.
I don’t.
Instead, I pull him closer, my fingers gripping his shirt, desperate to close the space between us.
“Didn’t think so,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before they claim mine again.
The world narrows to just us—the heat of his body, the rasp of his breath, the way his touch ignites every nerve in my body. He pulls back just enough to strip his shirt off, and I follow, my hands moving on instinct to press against the warmth of his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, pausing for a fraction of a second, and he meets my eyes. “This okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
