Page 55 of Teach Me to Fly

“You’re not alone anymore, Angelique. Never again.”

Chapter 19

Angelique

Iwake up slowly, blinking as the morning light softly bleeds in through the drawn curtains. For the first time in what feels like months, maybe even years, my body feels relaxed and rested. No cold sweat or phantom hands crawling under my skin.

I stretch slightly and then freeze when I look around and realize this isn’t my room. The sheets are different, and the bed is much firmer than mine. But it’s when the familiar smell of cedarwood and musk floats through the air, that my stomach drops.

I turn slowly, careful not to shift too much, and find Reign asleep behind me. His white-blond hair is a mess across the pillow, his features soft and unguarded as his chest slowly rises and falls. I catch myself staring at the veins on his forearm, his partially open lips, and the line of his jaw.

Why the hell am I in his room, and in his bed?

I peek under the sheets and feel my soul leave my body because I’m only wearing a T-shirt and underwear, my legs bare.

Did I—oh God, did I sleepwalk into his room like some deranged, emotionally unstable creep?

“Oh my God,” I mouth, silently cringing as I peel the covers from my body, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible.

I move inch by inch, careful not to wake him, hoping I can disappear back to my room and reclaim whatever scraps of dignity I have left before Reign even notices I was here, but the second I swing a leg over the edge of the bed his arm snakes around my waist and yanks me back against his solid, warm chest.

I go completely still, listening to his steady breathing. I can’t tell if he’s still sleeping, but I swallow and try again anyway, moving even slower this time as I gently pry his arm from my waist. But the second I shift, he wraps me up again, pulling me flush against him. And that’s when I feel the unmistakable press of him, thick and insistent against me as his hips cradle my ass, impossible to ignore.

It sends heat rushing to all the wrong places. Or maybe the right ones. I don’t know anymore. He doesn’t say a word, but there’s nothing accidental about the way his fingers tighten around my middle. We’ve done this before. That summer when we crossed almost every line and pretended it wouldn’t mean anything. But it did, and now it’s happening again.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” I whisper, my voice breathy.

My heart’s thundering like it’s trying to escape my ribs, heat crawling up my neck and blooming across my cheeks. I’m flushed, wound tight, and way too aware of how good this feels, even though it shouldn’t be happening.

A lazy, amused chuckle vibrates through his chest, sleepy and dangerous in the way it makes mystomach flutter. He buries his face in my hair and inhales deeply, and I swear every nerve ending in my body ignites.

“Were you trying to take advantage of little ol’ me while I was asleep, Angel?” Reign mumbles.

My cheeks erupt with heat. “Absolutely not!” I hiss. “I was trying to leave but you’re the one who wouldn’t let me go.”

He pulls back just enough for me to turn and look at him over my shoulder, and when I do, he’s smirking.

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word.

He buries his face in my hair again, pulling me even closer. I bite down on a gasp, my thighs pressing together instinctively. Every inch of my body feels overheated and traitorous.

“Did you know you snore?” he mumbles after a few silent minutes.

My jaw drops. “I do not.”

Reign chuckles. “You do.”

“You’re such a liar,” I mutter.

He laughs and rolls onto his back, tugging me so that I roll with him, landing half on his chest. I should move. I should definitely move. But instead, I let my head settle there, and I listen to the steady beat of his heart under my ear.

His fingers stroke my back lazily, and I bask in the feeling of having someone touch me without it causing memories I wish I could forget to resurface, without my body flinching on its own.

I missed this. I missedhim.

He reaches for my wrist and gently lifts it up, holding it between us so that my cuts are on full display. My stomach sinks and I instinctively try to pull away, but he holds on tighter.

“Does it make you feel good when you cut?” he asks, his thumb stroking one of my scars.

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