Page 70 of Endo

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his tone softening just enough to send a different kind of warmth through me. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

The words are my undoing. My body shatters around him, the release hitting me in waves so intense I can barely hold myself up. My cries fill the garage, mixing with the sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven as he drives into me a few more times before following me over the edge.

His grip on me tightens as he stills, his body tense and trembling against mine. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, heavy and erratic, filling the space between us.

When he finally pulls back, his hands slide up my thighs, steadying me as I cling to him, my body still shaking. His helmet tilts slightly, the visor open enough to let me catch a glimpse of his face—flushed, intense, and filled with something I can’t quite name.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his voice rough but tinged with amusement.

I laugh weakly, my head falling against his shoulder as I try to catch my breath. “You owe me new leggings,” I mumble, my words muffled against his jacket.

His low chuckle vibrates through me, and he presses a gloved hand against my lower back, holding me close. “Deal. But next time, don’t wear anything you care about.”

I pull back enough to meet his gaze through the visor, a smirk tugging at my lips despite the exhaustion tugging at my limbs. “Next time?” I tease.

He grins, the cocky edge returning to his tone. “Oh, there’s definitely going to be a next time,celona mou. Count on it.”

25

LENA

OctaHate - Ryn Weaver

There’ssomething about seeing Reign in the sunlight that feels almost unfair. Like the universe decided to spotlight every unfair advantage he has—those sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw, and the way his buzz cut only adds to the intensity of his features, making him look like he was carved out of stone and born to dominate.

And don’t even get me started on his arms, all lean muscle and ink, crossed over his tanned skin like he’s some brooding rebel out of a movie.

I hate that he looks so good without even trying.

Mostly because I can’t stop fucking looking.

The road winds through dunes and thick brush, the scent of salt and seaweed creeping in through the cracked windows. We’re almost there, and my chest tightens. I wasn’t sure about bringing him here. This place isn’t just a getaway for me—it’s history.

A part of me I’ve always kept separate, safe.

It’s where Cruz and I used to come when we needed to escape the world. And now I’m bringing Reign here. The weight of it sits heavy on my chest, like I’m betraying something sacred. But oddly, it doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels...right.

Comforting, in a way I didn’t expect.

When we pull up, the sight of the small cabin nestled in the dunes pulls me back. It’s barely more than a shack, with its faded blue paint and sagging porch, but it’s always felt like home. At least what I imagine a home would feel like. Cruz and I spent countless weekends here, sitting on the porch, watching the waves, talking about everything and nothing while surviving off whatever we could catch for dinner.

I kill the engine and glance at Reign. His eyes scan the cabin, his expression unreadable. “This the place?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” I say, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Come on.”

I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder as we step out of his car. The ocean air hits immediately—salt and seaweed, warm and sharp, wrapping around us like a familiar blanket. It’s been a few days since... everything.

The parking garage.

The chaos of the strip. That night burned into my memory for better or worse.

Things between us have been... better since then. Easier. The tension isn’t gone—hell, I doubt it ever will be—but it’s shifted. Muted, maybe. Enough that I’ve stopped overthinking every glance, every touch.

For now.

He falls into step beside me, his long strides matching my pace easily. He’s wearing black jeans and a plain white T-shirt that clings to him just enough to make it unfair, the leatherjacket he shrugged off earlier slung over his shoulder. Casual, effortless, and frustratingly perfect.

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