Page 61 of Made for Reign

“Two. Thank you, sir.”

By the fifth, she’s trembling. By the eighth, soft whimpers escape between counts. But she never uses her safe word, never asks me to stop. If anything, she pushes back into my hand, silently begging for more.

“Ten. Thank you, sir.”

I pull her upright, spinning her to face me. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but there’s heat there, too. Need. Desire so intense it matches my own.

“Color?” I ask, needing to be sure.

“Green,” she gasps. “So green.”

I claim her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moan as my hands roam her heated skin. She melts against me, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer.

“Please,” she whispers against my lips. “I need you.”

“Not yet.” I grip her wrists, pinning them above her head against the window. “First, you’re going to come just from my mouth. Then my fingers. And only when you’re begging, when you can’t form coherent words anymore, will I give you my cock.”

Her whole body shudders at my words. “Reign?—”

“That’s not what you call me right now.”

“Sir,” she corrects herself. “Please, sir.”

I drop to my knees before her, spreading her thighs wider.

She’s already wet, glistening in the fading light. The sight makes my cock strain painfully against my jeans, but this isn’t about me. This is about worship. About showing her exactly how a real man treats what’s his.

The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out, her hands scrambling for purchase against the smooth glass. I grip her hips, holding her steady as I devour her like a man starved. And I am starved—for her taste, her sounds, the way she comes apart under my touch.

“Oh, god,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. “I’m going to?—”

“Ask permission,” I growl against her.

“Please, sir. Please, may I come?”

“Come for me, princess.”

She shatters with a cry that would wake the dead if anyone was around to hear. But there’s no one for miles. Just us and the mountains and the truth of what we are together.

I don’t give her time to recover, immediately sliding two fingers inside her still-clenching heat while my thumb finds her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Again,” I command. “Give me another one.”

“I can’t?—”

“You can, and you will.” I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her see stars. “Because you’re mine, and I say you’re going to come on my fingers like the perfect girl you are.”

This orgasm builds slower, deeper. I watch her face as she climbs, memorizing every expression, every gasp and whimper. When she finally crashes over the edge, it’s with my name on her lips—not sir, but Reign, raw and desperate and perfect.

I stand, finally shedding my clothes with efficient movements. Her eyes track every reveal of skin, darkening when I free my cock from my jeans.

“Turn around. Hands on the glass.”

She obeys on shaky legs, presenting herself to me once more. I run my hands over the marks I left on her ass, satisfaction flooding through me at the evidence of my claim.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask, positioning myself at her entrance.

“You,” she breathes. “Only you, Reign.”

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