Page 82 of Teach Me to Fly

And that’s all it takes for me to fall apart, moaning his name. I come hard, my body convulsing as he fucks me through it, never slowing down, letting me ride every wave until I’m trembling, overstimulated, and wrecked. He groans, the sound almost feral now, and his thrusts become rougher and sloppier.

“Fuck,you’re perfect,” he growls, grinding against me as he chases his release. “You were made for me.”

And then he shudders, burying himself deep one last time as he explodes inside me, moaning into my shoulder, his hips twitching with every final pulse. For a long moment, we just breathe, our bodies tangled and sweat cooling on our skin. The smell of sex thick in the air.

He slowly pulls out, kisses the back of my shoulder, and rolls to his side, one arm looping around my waist, holding me close.

“Still with me?” he murmurs against my neck.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “More than I’ve been in a long time.”

And it’s true, because with him by my side, loving me like this…I finally feel like I belong to myself again.

I hoverbeside Reign near the back of the chemist, arms folded tightly across my chest, my hoodie zipped to my chin like I’m trying to disappear inside it. This was my idea—technically—but now that we’re here, I want the floor to swallow me whole. The hush of pharmacy counters and the faint clink of bottles feel more real than any hospital. Reign leads me straight to the pharmacist’s hatch, and the pharmacist looks up from filling a prescription.

“How can I help?” she asks, professional but kind.

“Plan B, please. She needs it today,” Reign answers for me.

“Of course. If you’d just come through here, I’ll ask a few questions to make sure it’s right.”

She gestures to a small consultation room behind the counter, and I follow her through, barely registering the pharmacist asking about timing, weight, current meds, but within minutes I’m holding a box of Plan B.

“Take it as soon as possible. It can work up to five days after but sooner is better.”

Reign takes the box from me with no hesitation, or shame, or awkwardness, and he slips it into the little blue basket he’s holding as if he’s tossing in a bottle of water.

I follow him down a narrow aisle lined with blister packs and skincare bottles, tugging my sleeves over my hands like that might somehow make this less awkward. My insides feel scrambled, like I’m trying to settle into my skin again and it’s not quite fitting the same way it did this morning.

Without saying a word, he grabs a box of condoms off the shelf and sets it into the basket. Then he glances back at me, smirks, and picks up a second box, too.

I raise a brow. “That’s optimistic.”

“That’s restraint,” he says, calmly. “Optimism would’ve been a third box.”

I blush so hard I’m pretty sure my face is actively combusting. “Reign.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice dropping into that dangerous place between teasing and thoughtful. “I’m never forgetting again, Angel. But just in case...”

He pulls back with a wink, tosses the second box into the basket, and keeps walking. I groan and follow as we drift into the snack aisle next. It’s quiet, just the distant beep of a till and the occasional hum of footsteps on the tile.

“You should pick some things,” he says.

I blink. “What things?”

“Comfort food. Salty, sweet, whatever helps. You might feel like shit later. Cramping, nausea. Mood swings. I googled it.”

“You googled it?”

He nods once. “Of course I did. I’m not letting you go through this alone,” he says, eyes on the shelves now. “Not for a second.”

My chest pulls tight at the honesty in his voice. At howsimple he makes it sound, like protecting me is as easy as breathing for him. I turn toward the aisle and start picking things I recognize from old, bad days—plain crackers, salted popcorn, dark chocolate, mint tea, a bottle of Lucozade. Reign adds a box of mac and cheese, a giant bag of crisps, and a box of ginger biscuits to the basket without comment.

At the till, I glance down at the Plan B box nestled between our mess of snacks and feel a dull ache of reality twist in my stomach. I can’t tuck away everything that’s happened between Reign and I into a dark corner and pretend it doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, I’ll have to admit to myself, and to him, how much I care about this. About us.

Reign’s hand brushes mine, knuckles skimming carefully. “You okay?” he asks, voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

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