Chapter 32 REICH
REICH
“Klayton Ovitt.”
I said his name deliberately, slicing it into the room like a blade.
I knew what it would do to her.
I said it anyway.
And the reaction was instant.
Her body jerked, shoulders tightening like she’d been shot. Her breath hitched in her throat. The flicker in her eyes shifted from cautious hope to something raw, terrified,
and defensive.
Like the mere syllables of his name burned her alive.
She shrank away from me, withdrawing into herself, her hands ghosting through the space behind her like she was trying to measure the distance it would take to disappear.
She didn’t find an escape.
Her back hit the wall with a soft, desperate thud.
And still, I saw her calculating.
Still fighting.
Even now, when she didn’t know what part of this was a trap and what part was me trying to save her from herself.
I should have stayed where I was.
I should have given her space.
But I couldn’t.
I closed the distance between us, my steps measured, deliberate. Careful. Like I was approaching a wounded animal, teeth bared and cornered, ready to lash out or bleed out.
But she flinched anyway—before I even touched her. Before I even breathed too close.
And it killed me.
How fragile she was in that moment. How badly I wanted to pull her into me and never let anything hurt her again. Even though I already had.
“Sage,” I said her name low, soft, as if gentling her with sound alone would work.
Her eyes squeezed shut. Her breath stuttered against her ribs. And a single tear slid down her cheek like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.
I reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her temple.
She flinched again.
I froze.
Felt the tremor in my hand and slowly pulled back.
I didn’t force it.
Didn’t force her.
Instead, I took a slow breath, letting the air between us settle.
Letting myself settle.
Inhaling the faintest trace of her scent—the one that always unspooled something dangerous in me.
Softness. Warmth. Sweetness I didn’t deserve.
“You don’t trust me,” I murmured.
A truth, not a question.
Her forehead pressed lightly to my chest, as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. As if her body didn’t know how to stay away from mine.
“I was starting to.” Her voice was rasp, worn thin. “But I don’t know anymore.”
That hit harder than I expected.
I could’ve argued with her.
Could’ve defended myself.
But instead, I gave her what I hadn’t before—control.
“Ask your questions,” I said, as I kept my voice low. Kept it steady even though my pulse was thrumming inside me as I continued, “and then you can decide.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just breathing. A shared space between heartbeats.
And then—her body trembled. Her breath released in a soft exhale.
A soundless surrender.
But she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t run.
Her forehead stayed where it was—pressed over my heartbeat, as if listening.
Her hands clutched the fabric of my shirt like she didn’t trust herself to stand on her own.
And I held her.
Not to control.
Not to trap.
Just to hold.
Her voice broke through the silence again.
Quiet, but resolute.
“Are you really trying to keep me safe?”
“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. “I swear it.”
I tilted her chin up gently, guiding her to meet my gaze.
Her green eyes were bright, rimmed in red, but clear.
She was looking for something.
And I wanted her to find it.
“I need you to believe that,” I said, and the rawness in my own voice surprised me.
Her eyes flickered, studying me. Searching.
Then— “Okay.”
Just one word.
But it settled between us like a truce.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Okay,” I echoed her.
But before I could say more, she spoke again. “I trust you,” she said carefully. “And I don’t need to ask anything else.”
I shook my head slightly, studying her expression. She wasn’t just saying it.
She meant it. Or she was trying to.
“I might not understand everything,” she continued. “Or why this is happening. But all I can do is trust.”
That hit me in places inside of me I hadn’t thought were still alive.
And for a second—just one—I wanted to fall into her. But before I could speak, she cut me off.
Her voice sharpened suddenly, slicing through the moment.
“No, Reich. I see the pity.” She shook her head, defiant. “And I don’t want it. Not for what happened.”
I stilled.
Let the weight of her words settle.
She was still protecting herself.
Still fighting to keep her dignity.
“I’ve told you my truth,” she said. “I don’t want to revisit it.”
She exhaled slowly, regaining her control. “Just tell me what I need to do with Klay, and I’ll do it.”
Something coiled hot in my gut.
Frustration.
Anger.
Not at her.
At the world that had made her this way.
At myself, for not finding her sooner.
I took another step toward her.
Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off me.
“Why do you think I pity you?” My voice was quieter now.
Less commanding. More curiosity.
She hesitated. Then she whispered, “The way you look at me.”
I let out a slow breath, letting it turn into a quiet, humorless chuckle.
“You think I have pity when I look at you?”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
The walls were going back up.
And I wasn’t going to let them.
I closed the final space between us.
Not touching her yet.
But close enough to feel her breath hitch.
My gaze swept over every part of her, I admired.
The way her shoulders stiffened. The slight tremble in her hands. The defiance burning in her eyes. The soft parting of her lips as she tried to hold herself together.
She was breathtaking.
The little black dress she wore clung to her body, teasing me with every curve. Every inch of skin exposed was an invitation I hadn’t earned. But I was done pretending I could walk away from it.
I reached out.
My fingers trembled as they brushed her jaw.
She flinched—but didn’t pull away this time.
I tilted her chin up gently, my lips hovering close to hers.
“Wildflower,” I murmured.
Her pulse jumped. I felt it against my fingertips. Fast. Desperate.
I continued, “There’s only desire in my eyes for you.”
She shuddered. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
I leaned in, brushing my breath against her lips. “What don’t you understand?” My voice was soft. Almost teasing.
“I didn’t think you’d want me after… everything. I thought you would see me differently.” The words were raw. The truth behind them brutal. I traced my thumb along her lower lip. Slow. Deliberate.
“You fought to survive when no one came for you,” I whispered. “That’s what I see when I look at you.”
She tried to look away.
I didn’t let her.
I wanted her to feel it.
To believe it.
“I don’t pity you,” I said. “I admire you.”
Her breath broke on a quiet sob. But she didn’t move away.
I gave her time. And when I was sure she wouldn’t run, I closed the space between us completely.
My lips found hers. Slow. Certain. Devastating.
The kiss was gentle at first—testing, tasting.
But it didn’t stay gentle.
Couldn’t.
Because I was hungry for her.
Starving.
She melted into me.
Her hands gripping my arms like she needed something to hold onto. And I gave it to her. I gave her me.
The kiss deepened.
Her lips parting beneath mine, letting me in.
My hands slid down her sides, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Her body was soft, warm.
Perfect.
She gasped into my mouth when I lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed. Her laughter was soft, breathless.
And fuck.
That sound undid me.
I laid her back gently, hovering over her, letting her see everything I felt in my eyes.
She was mine and I was hers.
Even if neither of us could say it yet.
I stripped off my shirt, letting it fall to the floor without care.
Her eyes traced every inch of my body, wide and reverent. And it lit something dangerous inside me.
I reached for the hem of her dress, dragging it slowly up her thighs, watching the way her breath hitched.
She didn’t stop me.
Didn’t protest.
When I finally bared her completely, I sat back for a moment.
Taking her in.
Committing every inch of her to memory.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured.
Her cheeks flushed.
She shook her head.
I smirked. “You are.”
And I kissed her again before she could argue.
The heat between us was sharp now.
Every touch, every breath, every sound pushing us closer to something we couldn’t come back from.
And I didn’t want to come back.
I wanted to burn.
With her.
I slid my hand between her legs, teasing, testing.
She was already wet. Already trembling.
Her hips arched into my touch, her moan soft and needy.
“You’re mine,” I said against her skin.
She nodded.
And for once in my life—I believed it.
She gasped into my mouth, her fingers digging into my shoulders, clinging to me like she was terrified of what this meant.
And she should be.
Because this wasn’t just desire.
This was possession.
I guided her backward, my fingers mapping the soft curves of her body, until we were tangled in a mess of mouths and hands, breathless and desperate.
And then—she laughed.
A quiet, breathless sound.
A laugh that nearly kept destroying me.
I pulled back just enough to take her in, to memorize the way her flushed skin glowed in the dim light, the way her lips trembled, the way her eyes held something uncertain.
Something devastating.
She didn’t realize it yet.
But she owned me. Completely.
I brushed my thumb over her cheek, watching the way her breath caught.
The way her body instinctively responded to my every touch.
“I need you,” she whispered, her voice shaking and wrecked.
The words settled between us, sinking deep.
I let them linger.
Let them consume me.
Then, slowly, I smirked. “I know, Sage.”
My lips brushed against hers, my voice barely above a breath.
“But first—” I traced my fingers along her jaw, tilting her chin up. “I need you to do something for me.”
She swallowed, heat flickering behind her gaze.
I leaned in, my voice a whisper against her skin, “I want you to trust me.”
She hesitated.
Not because she didn’t.
But because she already had.
Because I already owned every fragile piece of her trust—and she knew it.
Her lips parted, but before she could speak, I pressed a finger to them, silencing her.
“No talking.” My voice was low, teasing. “Just feel.”
Her breath shuddered against my skin.
And then—she did.