Page 66 of Endo
I let my hands roam up her thighs, feeling the smooth, ocean chilled skin beneath my palms, before I grip her hips again, holding her in place. My tongue moves slowly, tracing deliberate patterns against her, savoring the way she tastes—salty from the ocean, sweet in a way that’s purely her. Her hand tightens in my hair, and I can feel the tremor in her body as she presses closer to me.
“Reign,” she breathes again, her voice cracking with need.
I glance up at her, a smirk tugging at my lips as I take in the sight of her. Her heads tilted back against the door, her chest heaving, her fingers clutching at the frame for balance. “Getting impatient already?” I murmur against her, my voice low and teasing. “Thought you were all about the long game. Guess I’m setting the pace tonight.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, her fingers tightening in my hair. “The only thing you’re setting is my nerves on fire. Stop stalling.”
I grin against her skin, my hands gripping her hips firmly. “Stalling?Celona mou, this isn’t a sprint. It’s endurance. You’re not ready for me to hit top speed just yet.”
Her nails scrape lightly against my scalp as she pulls me closer, her voice a mix of sass and desperation. “You’re such an ass.”
“And you love it,” I reply with a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot on her inner thigh. “Now, hold still and let me show you why patience pays off.”
I focus on her completely, letting my tongue work her in slow, maddening strokes. Every flick, every gentle scrape of my teeth against her sensitive skin draws a new sound from her—a gasp, a moan, my name whispered like a prayer. Her knees buckle slightly when I suck gently on her clit, and her other hand comes down to clutch at my shoulder, as if to keep herself grounded.
“Fuck, Reign,” she gasps, her voice breaking. Her hips roll against my mouth, seeking more, and fuck, I’ve never been more happy to give it to her.
The sounds she’s making are enough to undo me completely, but I hold on, drawing it out, savoring every second. Her body begins to tighten, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts, and I know she’s close.
Her voice breaks into a breathless cry, the words tumbling out in a desperate, trembling gasp. “Oh fuck.”
Her grip in my hair tightens as she shatters, her release raw and unrestrained. Her cries fill the quiet room as her body trembles, and I hold her steady, my hands firm on her hips as I guide her through every pulse, every wave.
She’s completely undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.
When she finally slumps against the door, her legs barely holding her up, I stand slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My chest is heaving, but I can’t take my eyes off her. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, and her breathing is ragged. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is heavy, charged, and I know neither of us is ready to break it.
But then she does, her voice soft but steady, her eyes locked on mine. “There’s a race tomorrow night.”
I frown, leaning back slightly. “And?”
“I want you to come,” she says simply, but there’s an edge to her tone—a challenge, a request, maybe even a plea.
I hesitate, the thought of her racing twisting something in my chest. The risk, the danger—it’s too much. But as I look at her, standing there still catching her breath, her gaze unwavering, I know I can’t say no.
“Fine,” I say finally, my voice gruff. “I’ll be there.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for a moment, it feels like the tension between us has eased. But as she gathers her bikini bottoms and straightens herself, I know better. There’s still so much left unsaid, so much hanging between us, and tomorrow isn’t going to make it any easier.
The strip iselectric with energy, the roar of engines and the sharp tang of burnt rubber filling the night air. It’s chaos, the kind of chaos that used to feel like home, but now it’s nothing but a tight knot in my stomach. The Speed Demons are lined up in their usual spot, their bikes gleaming under the neon lights, every detail polished and prepped for the race.
I hang back near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, watching Lena. She’s bent over her bike, double-checking everything, her movements precise and steady. She looks completely in control, but I know better. I see the little tells—the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers linger a second too long on the throttle.
She’s nervous. And so am I.
Revel’s beside her at first, hyping her up like she’s about to take on the world. He’s grinning, cracking jokes, doing everything he can to lighten the mood. I should appreciate it, but all I can do is glare at the back of his head. My focus stays on her. It always does.
Eventually, he steps back, clapping her on the shoulder before walking over to where Cece and Bex are standing with the Demons near the bikes. The group’s all smiles and laughter, Revel fitting in like he’s been here forever. It’s a nice distraction for him, I guess. But not for me. Not when I see Lena left standing at the starting line alone, the nerves clear in the way her fingers flex around the handlebars of Cruz’s bike.
I tell myself she’s fine—Lena’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for. But then the wail of sirens cuts through the air, blue and red lights flashing at the far edge of the strip, slicing through the night like a warning shot.
Shit.
“Cops!” someone shouts, and the crowd scatters.
Bikes roar to life, and people bolt in every direction, but my focus zeroes in on Lena. She’s still sitting on her bike, frozen, her hands gripping the handlebars so tight I can see the strain in her knuckles even from here. She doesn’t move, doesn’t react, and my stomach drops.
“Lena!” I yell, pushing through the panicked crowd toward her. The Demons are already mounting up, ready to bail.
