Chapter 17 Seventeen
Chapter 17 Seventeen
REINA’S POV
That night the penthouse felt too quiet and too big. I lay in the guest room staring at the ceiling, replaying the wrestling match for the hundredth time. The way Orion had pinned my wrists, the heat of his body over mine, the desperate edge to his kiss before he pulled away and fled to the shower. My lips still tingled. My skin still remembered every place he had touched.
I loved kissing him.
The realization settled over me like warm sunlight. I loved the way his mouth felt against mine, firm and careful at first, then hungry when he let go. I loved the soft sound he made in the back of his throat when I kissed him deeper. I loved how his hands tightened on me like he never wanted to let go.
I wanted more.
I slipped out of bed in the dark, barefoot and silent. The hallway was cool under my feet. Orion’s bedroom door was closed but not locked. I eased it open just enough to slide inside.
Moonlight spilled across his bed through the half-open curtains. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, sheets tangled around his waist. His chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of someone who had finally fallen asleep after too many cold showers.
I padded closer.
He stirred when the mattress dipped under my weight. His eyes opened, hazy with sleep, then widened when he saw me.
“Reina?”
I didn’t give him time to protest. I crawled over him, straddling his hips, and leaned down to kiss him.
His lips were warm and soft from sleep. He froze for half a second, stunned, then his hands came up to my waist instinctively. I kissed him deeper, slower, tasting the faint mint of his toothpaste and the lingering heat of want. His fingers flexed against my sides, pulling me closer. A low sound rumbled in his chest.
My heart hammered so hard I thought he could feel it against his ribs.
Before it could go any further, before I lost the last thread of control, I broke the kiss. I pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were dark and dazed, pupils blown wide. His breathing was ragged. His hands stayed on my waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them.
“Goodnight, Orion,” I whispered.
Instead of leaving, I slid off him and tucked myself against his side. I rested my head on his shoulder, draped one arm across his chest, and closed my eyes. His body went rigid beside me, but he didn’t push me away. After a long moment his arm came around me, tentative at first, then firmer, holding me close.
I smiled into his skin and let sleep take me.
ORION’S POV
She came to me in the dark like a dream I wasn’t allowed to have. One second I was asleep, the next her mouth was on mine, soft and insistent. I woke stunned, heart slamming, body instantly awake and aching. She kissed me deep and slow, her weight straddling my hips, her hands in my hair. I kissed her back helplessly, hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer because stopping felt impossible.
Then she broke away.
Her eyes were bright in the moonlight. She whispered goodnight and I thought she would leave.
She didn’t.
She curled against my side instead, head on my shoulder, arm across my chest, leg thrown over mine like she belonged there. I froze. Every inch of me was aware of her: the warmth of her breath on my neck, the soft press of her breasts against my ribs, the way her thigh rested high on mine.
I stared at the ceiling, pulse roaring in my ears.
She fell asleep almost instantly, breathing slow and even. I did not. I lay there rigid, fighting every instinct screaming to roll her under me, strip away the thin layers between us, and take what she had just teased.
I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her, and went to the bathroom. Cold shower. Number one.
The water did almost nothing.
Back in bed she had shifted in her sleep, curling tighter against the warm spot I had left. I slid in beside her again. She sighed and nuzzled closer, her hand sliding across my stomach, fingers brushing dangerously low.
Another cold shower. Number two.
I returned dripping and shivering. She had rolled onto her stomach, face half buried in my pillow, one leg hooked over mine. I lay down stiffly. She murmured something soft and unintelligible and pressed her face into my neck.
Cold shower. Number three.
By the fourth I had lost count.
Early morning light began to creep through the curtains. She stirred in her sleep, shifting restlessly. Then she moved again, hips rolling in a slow sleepy grind against me.
Against the hard length of me that had been torturing me for hours.
Her thigh slid higher. Her breath hitched softly, still asleep. She rocked again, unconscious, seeking pressure. The friction was exquisite agony. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
Do not move.
Do not touch her.
Do not pull that little sleep shirt over her head and bury yourself inside her while she’s still dreaming.
I clenched my jaw, fists balled in the sheets, every muscle locked. She ground against me once more, a small needy sound escaping her throat, and I nearly broke.
She settled again, sighing contentedly, and drifted back into deeper sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, breathing through my nose, willing my body to calm.
She tortured me even in her sleep.
Somewhere between the last cold shower and the first hint of dawn I made up my mind.
I was going to marry her not because of the contract or Gran’s expectations. But because I could not imagine a life without her in it. Without her kisses, her laughter, her chaos, her warmth curled against me in the middle of the night.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen glowed 5:12 a.m. Too early to call Gran, but I opened my notes anyway and started typing.
Wedding preparations.
I set the phone down and looked at her sleeping face, peaceful and flushed, lips slightly parted.
Tomorrow I would call Gran to start making plans.
Tonight I would endure the sweetest torture of my life and somehow survive until morning.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head, barely there.
She murmured my name in her sleep and snuggled closer.
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.