Chapter 90
ROWAN
I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth before pressing a slow kiss against her thigh.
Reggie went hard, so I went soft.
That’s the balance she needs, the mix of surrender and safety, rough and gentle.
It’s what makes this impossible.
We’re different men, giving her different pieces of the same addiction.
And she takes them both like she was built for it.
I push to my feet, forcing myself back into my chair, keeping my gaze down.
My pulse is still hammering, every breath too shallow.
I don’t look at Reggie. I don’t have to. The air between us hums with a dangerous understanding.
When Bella finally peels the blindfold away, the world comes back in fragments, her lashes wet, her lips parted, her pupils wide and dazed.
Desire sits heavy in her eyes, a storm she’s not ready to name.
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
No quip. No tease. Just a shaky breath that lands like a confession.
“Want some water, Princess?” Reggie’s voice cuts the silence.
She looks between us, her gaze flicks from his clenched jaw to my still hands. Like she’s trying to decide which of us broke her and which one will help her put herself back together.
Neither of us moves. And I can’t tell if the game is over or if it’s only just begun.
She blinks a few times, trying to focus, the edges of her lipstick smudged and her breathing still uneven.
I can almost see her switching from prey to predator again, piecing herself back together behind those eyes.
Her voice is low when it comes, still rasped from everything that just happened.
“The man who went first,” she says, letting the silence stretch before she finishes, “won that round. Only just.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I force myself to sit still, to look unaffected, but the truth burns low in my chest. It shouldn’t matter. It’s a game, hers, not ours. But hearing it said aloud twists something sharp in me.
Reggie doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.
He doesn’t have to.
She stands, adjusting the strap of her lingerie, and that simple movement feels like victory claimed. Like she just pinned my heart to the floor with a smile.
I drop my gaze, jaw tight, tongue pressing hard against the back of my teeth to keep from saying something stupid.
Not because I’m jealous.
Because I hate losing control.
And that’s what she does to me—undoes every ounce of discipline I’ve spent a lifetime building.
When she walks to the next door, I see it in the quiet sway of her hips, the ghost of a smirk she tries to hide. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Come on,” she says softly. “Round two.”
Her voice is steady, but there’s a flicker in her eyes when she glances back at me.
Maybe she feels it too—the shift, the charge, the promise that this isn’t over.
I stand, breathing through the sting of loss.
Fine.
He got the first one.
But the next?
That’s mine.
I’ll win it back, even if it kills me.
And as the door to the next room swings open, I’m already plotting how to take back the lead.