Chapter 20
20
LENA
Only Us - DYLYN
I wake up with a jolt, the weight of the dream still clinging to me, thick and suffocating. Cruz. His face, his laugh, the way he held me close—everything felt so real, so familiar. The sudden ache in my chest leaves me breathless, like I’ve just been punched in the gut. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to push the pain away, but it’s no use. Even months later the loss is still too sharp, too raw.
I blink against the dim light from Blue’s tank, realizing I’m in my usual spot on the couch, curled up on the cushions like it’s the only place that offers me any comfort. My body aches, stiff from lying in the same spot for hours, and my head is foggy from the vividness of the dream. I run a hand through my golden hair, sitting up, trying to shake off the weight still pressing down on me.
Finally, I force myself to my feet and head to the small kitchen space needing something to ground me, something simple. I grab a glass from the dishrack, fill it with water, and gulp it down. It helps, just a little. But it doesn’t stop the heaviness in my chest, the lingering sense that everything is just... off.
I glance at my phone sitting on the counter. A few messages from Revel—nothing from Reign. I texted him last night, a quick check-in, just to see if he made it home okay, but I still haven’t heard anything.
A knot tightens in my stomach. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. I know my coldness last night affected him, and Revel’s attitude at the end of the night certainly didn’t help. But can he really blame me? I’m still trying to figure out whatever this is between us, and how to live with it. The last thing I need is the entire team to know that Reign and I have feelings for each other, at least until I’m ready for it.
If I’m ever ready for it.
As much peace as being with Reign brings me, I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying Cruz. Like the team will turn their backs on me just when I’m finally feeling some sense of normality being around them, and the worst part is, I wouldn’t even be able to blame them. I know it’s messed up. I know that after how close Reign and Cruz were, the last thing I should be thinking about is how badly I want him. Need him.
I stare at my phone for a few seconds, then, almost without thinking, I type out another message.
Lena: Hello? Are you alive?
I wait, watching the screen, willing the little three dots to appear. But nothing. Not even a sign he’s seen it.
I sigh, frustration bubbling up. This isn’t like him. He always replies to me.
I toss my phone back onto the counter, trying to shake it off. I’ve got a shift at the center today, and hopefully that will be able to stop my mind from spiraling. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. To lose myself in something else, anything else.
I can’t keep obsessing over him.
But as I head for the shower, the thought of Reign still hangs in my head, heavy and unresolved.
The day drags on at the ocean center, the hours kind of bleeding into each other, and I try my best to stay focused. Sorting data, feeding fish, making sure everything is running smoothly—it’s all routine. Safe. Boring. But, of course, my brain won’t cooperate. It keeps drifting back to Reign.
I can’t help it. Every time I try to concentrate, his face pops into my head—those eyes, that damn smirk, the way he stands so close, like he’s daring me to breathe him in. And I can feel it again, that kiss. Ugh. Seriously? I should not be thinking about it, but here I am. It was so much more than I expected, and now I can’t shake the feeling of his lips, the way everything around us seemed to fade away, like it was just the two of us.
I glance at my clipboard, trying to snap myself out of it. I’m standing in front of the sea turtle tank, double-checking the filtration system. Zara’s in here, a tough female turtle recovering from a nasty wound she got while nesting on one of the local beaches. Her shell’s still healing, scarred and tender, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure she doesn’t get any infections. Slowly, slowly, she’s getting better.
Not fast enough for my liking, but better.
I drag a hand over my face. Zara needs my full attention right now, and I really need to stop letting my mind wander. But nope, there it is again—Reign’s damn lips on mine, just there . It won’t fucking leave.
And then, of course, there’s Revel. I can still hear him from last night, his voice sharp with that protective tone he’s had since we were kids.
Revel’s just trying to protect me, and I get it. I do. But here’s the thing— I don’t need protecting . Not from Reign at least. I need him. I need someone real, someone who makes me feel like maybe I’m not going to drown in my own goddamn grief. But Revel doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t get the pull I feel, or the way Reign makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not so lost after all.
I finally finish my shift, ready to call it a day. My head’s still a mess, spinning in every direction. I check my phone again—still nothing from Reign. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. I’ve been checking it every five minutes like he’s going to magically reply. But here I am, still staring at a blank fucking screen.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, my fingers already typing out a message that I’m not even going to send. I’m done waiting. I need answers, and I’m not going to get them sitting here wondering.
I slam my phone into my bag and head for the door. He doesn’t want to text back. Fine. I’ll stop by his place. Can’t fucking avoid me forever. I don’t care about whatever is going on between us right now. Right now, I just need to know he’s okay.
I need him.
By the time I get to his apartment building, I can feel the anxiety sitting heavy in my chest. I hesitate for a moment before buzzing his door.
He answers almost immediately, and there he is. Reign, standing in the doorway, a bottle in his hand. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something else there too—vulnerability, like he’s been waiting for me to show up but didn’t think I actually would.
“Hey,” I say, trying to steady my voice, but it’s no use. It trembles despite myself.
“Hey,” he responds, his voice rough, low, like it’s been dragged through something. He doesn’t invite me in, but he doesn’t shut the door either. He just stands there, watching me, like he’s unsure whether he should let me in or not.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I don’t know what to say, but I know I have to say something. “Look, I’ve been thinking about everything,” I begin, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I don’t know what’s going on between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”
His eyes flick over me for a second too long, and it’s like my heart is pounding in my throat. Reign doesn’t speak, but the tension between us crackles. He steps closer to me, and for a moment, we just stand there.
The sound of his breath fills the space between us, and I can feel every inch of my skin, the way my heart races, the way I want him so badly it hurts.
The door slams shut behind me as I step inside, heart pounding in my chest. The air smells like him—like the faint musk of cologne, something warm and raw, mixed with the remnants of the night. I don’t give myself time to think, to second-guess. I need answers. I need to know what’s going on between us.
Reign is standing by the door, watching me, his face unreadable. For a second, there’s only silence. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on, and I’m not sure if I’m more scared of the silence or of what happens when it breaks.
My eyes drift, unable to hold his gaze for long. That’s when I notice the other bottle of whiskey on the table, empty and next to an empty glass. Reign carefully sets the one in his hand down on the table next to it. The amber liquid catches the dim light from the lamp, and the sight of it sends a wave of unease through me.
He’s been doing a lot of drinking.
Of course, he has.
It’s not hard to piece it together—the whiskey, the closed-off look in his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders. Whatever Revel said to him after the bar last night, it’s still sitting heavy on him. And instead of dealing with it, he’s been here, alone, letting the bottle do the talking.
“Reign…” I start, my voice softer than I mean it to be, like I’m afraid the wrong tone might shatter the precarious calm in the room. “How long have you been at this?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at the whiskey, then back at me, like he’s daring me to say more.
I don’t wait for him to speak. I’m done waiting. My hand is already on his chest before I even realize I’ve moved, and in one swift motion, I’m pulled into him. His lips crash against mine, urgent and demanding, like he’s been holding back for too long. His kiss is so deep, so fierce, that I forget where I am, who I am, what I came here for. All I know is him—his hands on me, his lips on mine, his body pressing me against the door.
I gasp when he pulls back, but it’s only for a second, just long enough to catch my breath. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, until I’m flush against him, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine. He doesn’t give me a chance to pull away, doesn’t let me get control back. His fingers slide into my hair, tugging me toward him, and I don’t resist. I can’t resist. He tilts my head back, kissing me again, this time slower, with more intensity, more need.
I feel his breath on my neck, hot and ragged, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. His lips trail down my jaw, my neck, sending jolts of electricity through my veins. Every touch burns like fire, and I’m lost in it, in him.
But my mind catches up with me for just a moment, and I push him back, breaking the kiss. “Reign,” I whisper, breathless, trying to find some kind of control, some way to make sense of this. But it’s gone as soon as I say his name.
He doesn’t let me pull away. Instead, his arms tighten around me, and before I can think, he lifts me effortlessly, carrying me through the darkened apartment. His grip is strong, sure, and I cling to him, my hands clutching his shoulders as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounds me—faint cologne, soap, and something unmistakably him. It’s grounding and overwhelming all at once.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost unsteady. “Don’t overthink it.”
It’s impossible not to. Every step he takes echoes in the quiet, the sound of his boots hitting the floor a reminder that this is real, and it’s happening. My pulse thrums in my ears, my mind a whirlwind of questions, but I can’t seem to hold onto a single coherent thought.
When we reach his bedroom, he pauses, shifting his grip to lower me gently onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath me, the softness unfamiliar, and the faint scent of him clings to the sheets. He stands over me for a moment, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice rough but laced with something softer. Vulnerability, maybe.
I look up at him, and my throat tightens. “No, I want this,” I say, the words barely above a whisper.
He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath, and then he’s leaning down, his hands bracing on either side of me. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Lena,” he mutters, his forehead brushing mine.
“Reign...” My voice catches, but I don’t finish.
He dips his head, his lips finding mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not gentle; it’s urgent, like he’s trying to pour everything he’s feeling into this moment. His hand slides into my hair, tangling in the strands, and I gasp against his mouth as his weight presses me into the mattress.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.
I don’t.
Instead, I pull him closer, my fingers gripping his shirt, desperate to close the space between us.
“Didn’t think so,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before they claim mine again.
The world narrows to just us—the heat of his body, the rasp of his breath, the way his touch ignites every nerve in my body. He pulls back just enough to strip his shirt off, and I follow, my hands moving on instinct to press against the warmth of his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, pausing for a fraction of a second, and he meets my eyes. “This okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he pulls it off me in one smooth motion. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering, and I feel my cheeks heat under his scrutiny.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, so quietly it feels like he’s afraid to say it out loud.
The words undo me. Before I can overthink it, I pull him back to me, my lips finding his again, my hands exploring the planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders. Every touch feels electric, like I’m drawing closer to a flame I know will burn me, but I can’t stop.
His movements grow more deliberate, his hands sliding over my skin with an admiration that sends a shiver through me. He leans down, pressing kisses along my jaw, my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, his voice like a low growl that makes my stomach tighten.
“You,” I whisper, the word escaping before I can stop it.
His breath catches, and for a moment, everything pauses. Then he kisses me again, slower this time, more intense, like he’s savoring every second.
The world narrows to just the two of us, the pull between us impossible to resist. Every touch, every kiss, every sound from him crashes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me deeper into him until I can’t tell where I end, and he begins.
“God, celona mou ,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the pet name slipping from his lips like a secret meant only for me. His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm and ragged. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
Celona mou . What it means I have no idea, but the sound of it—the way he says it with so much need, so much intensity —sends a shiver through me. My heart pounds, the weight of his words making my chest ache. He wants me. Not just in this moment, but in every moment before it, and I can feel it in the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I run my hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath my fingertips. “I’m right here, Reign.”
His lips claim mine again, slow and knowingly, and I lose myself in the way he tastes—like whiskey and heat and something I can’t name but never want to lose. His hands move over me, exploring, teasing, until I’m trembling beneath him, my body arching into his touch like it has a mind of its own.
He trails kisses down my neck, his stubble grazing my skin, leaving a path of fire in its wake. When his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below my ear, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Oh God,” I breathe, my voice breaking as he presses his hips against mine, the weight of him settling between my thighs.
He pauses, his gaze locking with mine as his hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips. “I need you. I need all of you,” he mutters, his lips moving lower, trailing over my collarbone and down.
“Then take me,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They’re raw, unguarded, and the way his expression shifts—softening even as the tension between us tightens—sends a shiver through me.
His hands move to my waist, his fingers brushing the waistband of my shorts. Without a word, he tugs them down, his movements slow and purposeful, as if he’s giving me a chance to stop him. I kick them off, my breath hitching as the cool air brushes over my skin.
He leans back just enough to undo his own jeans, shoving them down with a kind of urgency that has my pulse racing. As the fabric slips lower, my gaze drops instinctively—and then I see them. The scars.
They’re jagged and angry, twisting along his thigh like a cruel map of everything he’s been through. The mangled flesh, raised and red, stands out starkly against his skin. My breath catches, not in horror, but in something softer, something aching.
He freezes, his hand hovering like he’s about to yank his jeans back up. “Don’t—” he starts, his voice rough and defensive, but I don’t let him finish.
I grab his wrist, shoving his hand away as I meet his eyes. “Don’t do that,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite the way my chest feels tight.
His jaw clenches, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face, but he doesn’t stop me as I sink to my knees. My fingers brush over the rough edges of the scar, gentle but deliberate, and he inhales sharply.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I whisper, glancing up at him. The intensity in his gaze nearly undoes me, but I hold it, grounding both of us.
Then, without breaking eye contact, I lean forward and press my lips softly against the damaged flesh. His entire body tenses, like he doesn’t know whether to pull away or pull me closer.
“You don’t have to—” he begins, his voice tight with something I can’t quite name.
“I want to,” I cut him off, kissing another line of raised skin, then another. My lips trail along the scars with a kind of reverence, like I’m memorizing every inch of him.
His breath hitches, and I feel his hand twitch against my shoulder like he wants to stop me but can’t bring himself to. When I finally glance up again, his expression is raw, unguarded in a way that makes my heart ache.
“You’re still you,” I murmur, my fingers curling around the waistband of his jeans as I tug them the rest of the way off. “Every part of you.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, his throat working like he’s swallowing down whatever he wants to say. Then his hand finds my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze.
“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my core.
His hand moves before I can react, wrapping firmly around my throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark shooting through me. He pulls me to my feet, and I let out a soft gasp, my heart hammering in my chest as his dark, burning gaze locks onto mine.
The air between us feels heavy, thick with something I can’t name but don’t want to escape. Then his lips are on mine, hot and urgent, and everything else fades. The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongues and need. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
His other hand slides down my side, gripping my thigh and lifting me like I weigh nothing. I don’t even have time to think before he’s carrying me to the bed, laying me down with a controlled kind of force that makes my breath catch.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper against his lips, my words trembling with half a laugh, half a moan.
“And you love it,” he shoots back, his voice rough as his body presses down against mine. His weight is solid and grounding, his lips moving against mine with an intensity that leaves me dizzy.
His hand tightens just slightly at my throat, and I arch into him, my nails dragging down his back as his grip on my thigh keeps me pinned exactly where he wants me.
“Lena,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent as he pulls back just enough to look at me. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”
“Good,” I whisper, pulling him closer again, my legs locking around his waist as he presses his forehead to mine. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
And he does—like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
When he finally pushes forward, the slow, deliberate stretch steals the air from my lungs, leaving me breathless and trembling beneath him.
I arch into him, my hands clutching his shoulders as he stretches me, fills me, the overwhelming fullness making me gasp. “Reign…”
“Tell me, Lena,” he groans, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against mine as he stills, giving me a moment to adjust. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head as I pull him closer. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He exhales, his breath hot against my skin, and then he moves. Slowly at first, his hips rocking against mine in a rhythm that sends sparks shooting through me. The pressure builds with every thrust, the way he moves so cautiously, so precisely, like he knows exactly how to unravel me.
The way he fills me is almost too much—stretching me, reaching places I didn’t know existed, leaving me gasping for air. My body reacts to him instinctively, meeting his movements, pulling him deeper, and I can feel him everywhere.
“You’re perfect,” he mutters, his lips brushing against my temple. “So damn perfect, celona mou .”
The pace quickens, the desperation between us taking over. His hands grip my hips, pulling me into him as he drives deeper, harder, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. The room is filled with the sound of our bodies moving together, the soft cries escaping my lips, the guttural groans from his throat.
I can feel it building, the tension tightening in my core, coiling tighter and tighter until I’m on the brink. “Reign,” I gasp, my nails digging into his back. “I’m?—”
“I’ve got you, celona mou ,” he says, his voice strained but steady, and the way he says it—like he’s holding me together—pushes me over the edge.
My body clenches around him as I shatter, the pleasure crashing through me so intensely it leaves me shaking. I cry out, my head falling back against the pillow, and he follows right after, his own release pulling a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements become erratic.
He thrusts into me one last time, his body going still as he presses deep, and I feel the warmth of him, the way he trembles against me, the sound of his ragged breath in my ear.
For a moment, neither of us moves, the weight of what just happened settling over us. His body is heavy on mine, but it feels grounding, anchoring me to this moment, to him.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his lips pressing gently to my temple. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and the tenderness in it makes my chest ache.
“Yeah,” I whisper, though the word feels fragile, like it might break under the heaviness of everything I’m feeling.
And as we lay there, tangled together, his arms wrapped around me like he never wants to let go, I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the fleeting sense of peace. But the guilt and confusion creep in, shadowing the warmth of his touch, and I realize I have no idea where we go from here.
We lie there in the dark, both of us breathing hard, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets. I feel him beside me, his arm around my waist, pulling me into him like he’s never going to let go.
But I can’t help it—I feel it. The weight of what we’ve done, the mess we’ve created. It’s not clean, it’s not simple, and as much as I want to stay here, to let him hold me, I know it’s not that easy. The guilt is already settling in my chest, a sharp reminder of the line I’ve crossed.
I turn my face into his chest, my mind racing, but I can’t push the feeling away. I want to stay in this moment, I want to feel safe, but everything I’ve been running from comes rushing back, drowning me in confusion and fear.
He’s asleep beside me, his breath steady and calm, but I can’t shake the storm raging inside me. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. This—whatever this is—feels like a dangerous game, one I don’t know if I can win.
And that scares me more than anything else.