Page 84 of Teach Me to Fly

"Angel," he murmurs.

I reach for his shirt and fist the fabric. "Don’t talk. Just… let me."

Reign’s eyes darken instantly, jaw ticking, but he nods. I stretch up onto my toes and kiss him, softly at first, but the moment his mouth opens beneath mine, something hungry and desperate cracks wide open inside me.

He groans against my lips, and I press closer, rolling my hips forward until I feel him—hard, hot, and just as wrecked as I am. His hands slide to my lower back, gripping me tight as I move against him. I gasp into his mouth, overwhelmed by the friction, the pressure, the want.It hits me like a wave, crashing into my ribs and making my legs shake.

We stumble backward, my spine brushing the mirror, and his body cages mine in. His mouth finds my neck, kissing and biting gently, his breath ragged. I grind against him, moaning when he presses back, and as the studio dissolves, all I see is him.

His breath hitches. "Angel..."

"I want to," I whisper. "Here, with you. I don’t want him to have this place."

His fingers flex against me, but he doesn’t move.

"Please,” I beg, and Reign kisses me hard, hishand sliding up beneath my ballet skirt, fingertips brushing over my leotard, causing me to shudder with need.

"Fuck, baby," he groans against my mouth. "You’re already shaking."

I choke on a moan. "Don’t stop," I breathe.

He hooks his fingers into the side of my leotard and underwear, sliding them aside to bare my pussy to him. I cry out when he sinks two fingers inside, the stretch sweet and perfect. My hips roll, desperate for more, for everything. He thrusts slowly at first, deep, curling just right. Then faster, setting a rhythm that has my knees nearly buckling.

My hand slams against the mirror, the other clutching his shoulder. The obscene sound of his fingers moving inside me fills the room, mixing with my moans.

"You like that?" he growls. "You want to come for me right here, where anyone could walk in?"

I nod frantically, unable to speak, breath ragged. His thumb circles my clit, and I shatter, my body jerking as pleasure snaps through every nerve while I fall apart in his hands. He groans, holding me steady as I cry out his name, trembling against the mirror. He doesn’t stop until I’m spent, slumped against him, breathless.

"No one else gets to touch you like this but me,” he whispers, kissing my temple softly. “And I want this to be what you remember when you’re in the studio, not anything else. Just this. Us."

I nod, still shaking, tears pricking but not falling. I won’t cry. Not this time. This time, I’m proud. He fixes my leotard and reties my skirt with care before helping me stand steady.

"Thank you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his chest.

He kisses the top of my head. "You don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you"

And just like that, something in the air shifts. My body and the way I see studios no longer belongs to Alec, or fear. It’s mine again.

I’m barefootin the upstairs dressing room of Imperium, standing in nothing but my strapless bodice and nude dance tights, arms raised as Lando tugs the zipper of my gown up with a dramatic sigh.

“I still don’t understand how you managed to get through a ten-hour rehearsal without murdering someone,” he mutters. “You’re practically glowing.”

“I’m just trying to survive the night,” I say, voice tight with nerves. “And this corset might kill me first.”

Lando gives the zipper one last tug, then smooths the back of the gown with an appreciative touch. “Well, if you’re gonna go out, at least you’ll look celestial doing it.”

I glance at myself in the mirror and my breath stutters. The dress is breathtaking. Ivory satin and sheer mesh, fitted through the waist and flaring into layers of delicate tulle shaped like feathers—tiny, shimmering wisps cascading down to the floor. It hugs my body like it was made for me, the sweetheart neckline dusted in fine pearls. A gift from Reign.

Lando walks over to the vanity and retrieves my mask. “It’s time,” he says, handing it to me.

It’s white and gold with soft feathers fanning outward from the eyes like wings. As soon as I place it on, Lando gasps.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmurs.

I turn to him, taking in his outfit, a black tux that fits him like a glove, the lines sharp and clean. His mask is deep purple with jet-black feathers, dramatic and bold.

“You’re one to talk,” I tell him, smoothing a wrinkle from his lapel. “You look like the hot villain in a gothic opera.”

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