Page 88 of Made for Reign

“And yet none of them captured what you did.” I take the trophy from her hands and place it carefully on the marble ledge beside the tub. “That’s why you won. Not because of technique or training, but because you painted something that made people feel.”

She turns slightly in my arms, water lapping gently around us as she shifts. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” I cup her face with one wet hand. “You should have seen the judges’ expressions when they were looking at your work. Like they’d found something they’d been searching for.”

Her smile, small and uncertain at first, blooms into something radiant. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course, you could have.” I trace her lower lip with my thumb. “You did every brushstroke. All I did was make sure the right people saw it.”

Her body relaxes against mine, the smooth curve of her ass pressing against my cock in a way that’s both innocent and maddening.

“Turn around,” I murmur against her ear. “Let me wash your hair.”

She complies without hesitation, shifting in the large tub until she’s facing me, her legs draped over mine, her breasts peeking through the mountain of bubbles between us. I reach for the bottle of hotel shampoo, pouring a generous amount into my palm.

She sighs as my fingers work through her hair, massaging her scalp with firm, rhythmic pressure. Her eyes close, dark lashes fanning against flushed cheeks, her lips parting slightly in pleasure.

“That feels amazing,” she murmurs.

“Good.” I work the shampoo into a rich lather, taking my time with each stroke of my fingers. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

“You’re always taking care of me.” Her eyes open, catching mine with unexpected intensity. “Who takes care of you, Reign?”

The question catches me off guard, breaking through the careful control I maintain even in our most intimate moments.I’ve spent my adult life being the caretaker, the protector, the solid foundation others rely on. No one asks who’s supporting me.

“You do,” I admit, the truth of it surprising even me. “Every time you look at me like I’m worth something. Every time you trust me enough to let your guard down. Every time you paint something that shows me the world through your eyes.”

A smile touches her lips, soft and knowing. “That’s a very pretty answer. But not what I meant.”

Her hand slides beneath the water, finding my cock which has been at half-mast since she first settled between my legs. Her fingers wrap around me, giving a slow, deliberate stroke that pulls a groan from deep in my chest.

“I meant,” she continues, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “who takes care of this?”

My body responds instantly to her touch, blood rushing south, hardening me fully in her grip.

“Careful, Princess. You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I want to burn.” Her thumb circles the sensitive head, spreading the moisture gathered there. “Maybe I need to.”

I capture her wrist beneath the water, stilling her movements. “Tonight is about you. Your achievement. Your pleasure.”

“And what if pleasuring you is what I want?” The challenge in her voice, in her eyes, sends heat coursing through me that has nothing to do with the bath water.

“Another time.” I release her wrist, smoothing my hands up her arms to her shoulders. “Lean back. Let me rinse your hair.”

She pouts but complies, tilting her head back as I cup water in my hands, carefully rinsing the suds from her hair. When I finish, I pull her toward me again, her back to my chest, her head resting against my shoulder.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?” I murmur against her ear, my hands sliding from her shoulders down to her waist. “How fucking amazing you were tonight?”

She makes a soft sound, half pleasure, half embarrassment. “I just showed up. The painting did all the work.”

“No.” My hands continue their slow journey, tracing the curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. “You didn’t just show up. You claimed your space. When that collector tried to lowball you, you didn’t back down. You knew your worth.”

“I channeled my inner Reign,” she admits with a small laugh. “Asked myself what you would do.”

“What did you come up with?” My fingers trace idle patterns on her thighs, gradually working inward with each pass.

She shivers despite the warmth of the water. “That I shouldn’t apologize for my talent. That I should demand what I deserve.”

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