Chapter 40 REICH
REICH
She moved toward me with a suffocating ease, like gravity itself had shifted—like every molecule of air between us bent and curved in her favor. Each step she took was deliberate. Measured. As if she already knew exactly what it was doing to me. How it was unraveling me one thin strand at a time.
And I allowed it to happen.
No—wanted it to happen.
The soft pad of her bare feet against the hardwood made no sound, but I heard her.
Felt her.
Every movement, every inhale synced perfectly with the pounding in my chest.
As if we shared the same rhythm.
As if her pulse was my pulse.
She was poetry in motion—something written by hands that had never trembled, a story unfinished but desperate to be told. And with every step that closed the space between us, the story began to write itself.
Our story.
A narrative I thought I’d burned to ashes long ago, only to find those ashes carried the seeds of something waiting to bloom.
And now?
Now she was standing in front of me, a fire and a vow.
As if the universe had finally stopped to take a breath, only to exhale her back into my life.
To place her right here.
Right where she belonged.
There was nothing accidental about this.
No coincidence.
She was meant to be here.
She was meant for me.
I could see it in the heavy drag of her lashes as her eyes devoured me.
In the way the air between us tightened, thick with the electricity of something neither of us could name but both of us felt.
And I saw something else, too.
Memories flickered on the edges of my mind of moments hidden. Shattered pieces of a past I thought I’d buried, rising up like smoke.
But they hadn’t been lost.
They had just been waiting.
Waiting for this.
I pushed up from the bed in one fluid motion.
I didn’t want to waste another second.
I met her halfway, right before she could climb in, my hand shooting out to catch her wrist and pull her flush against me.
But this time—this time I didn’t push.
I didn’t demand.
I let her.
I let her take what she wanted.
Take me.
Her hands slid over my chest, fingers splaying wide as she pressed me back—slow, sure, undeniable.
Her palm rested flat over my heart, smirking at me as if she felt the hard thrum of it beneath her skin and was ready to challenge me and make it beat faster.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, head tilting slightly. Her voice was a tease, but there was a steel edge to it. “Not used to someone else taking charge?”
I huffed out something that was half a laugh and half a threat, “Careful, Sage.”
Her nails traced down my abdomen, following the rigid lines of my skin with deliberate pressure.
Teasing me. Testing me.
And fuck, I was failing her test.
“Or what?” Her question hung there, heavy with expectation.
She wanted to know how far she could push me.
How far I’d let her go.
I let my breath slow, drop by calculated drop, and wrapped my hands around her hips—my grip tight enough to earn me a gasp, as I spoke, “Or I’ll remind you who’s really in control.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin that was pure sin.
But there was a flicker of anticipation in her eyes, and I caught it.
Held it.
With a flick of my wrist, I tangled my fingers in her hair, dragging her closer.
Just enough to own.
I tugged until our mouths hovered inches apart, her breath spilling into mine, shaky and hot.
Her pulse jumping beneath my touch.
I moved her on to her back toward the bed, forcing her down onto the mattress with my weight pressing her there, my body caging hers completely.
I braced myself on my forearm as I reached for the nightstand with the other, finding exactly what I needed without looking.
The rope felt cool and familiar in my hands.
Soft but unyielding.
She watched me with wide eyes, her breathing uneven, but there was no fear there.
Just a want that was raw and exposed waiting for me.
And I would give it to her.
I pulled her wrists above her head, locking them together with practiced ease. Tying her to the metal hook embedded in the headboard.
A moan slipped from her lips when the rope tightened.
And I felt it—the tremble in her body.
The desperate arch of her back as she sought friction.
She was already breaking.
Already offering herself up on the altar of whatever we were becoming.
She writhed beneath me, every movement a plea, every desperate press of her hips an unspoken surrender.
And her face…God, her face was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
Lips parted, pink and swollen from my earlier kisses.
A study in pleasure, caught between anticipation and ruin.
And I wasn’t finished with her.
Not even close.
Her gaze moved to the nightstand, lingering on the candle flickering atop it. The firelight danced over her skin, golden and hypnotic, its flame reflected in the dark pools of her eyes.
“I see... So, that’s what you want.” My voice was low, edged with meaning.
She turned her eyes back to mine, straining against her restraints, her body taut with anticipation.
“Yes.” She whispered.
I couldn’t help but oblige. So, I did. I grabbed the candle, my fingers curling around the base.
She held my gaze, unwavering.
“You saved me,” she murmured. “Let me burn for you.”
I cupped her cheek with my free hand, thumb stroking the soft curve of her jaw before tilting the candle forward—just enough.
The first drop of wax landed on her sternum. She inhaled sharply—one hard gasp—and then exhaled on a shuddering moan. Her body jerked, hips lifting, but I pressed my hand to her stomach, keeping her pinned.
I tilted the candle again.
A slow, molten trail ran down her chest, over her ribs, dripping in a pattern that made her shake.
And I watched.
Watched her burn.
Watched her fall apart.
Each drop of wax was a kiss.
Each flicker of pain was a gift.
And she took it with grace and hunger.
By the time I set the candle down, her skin was a canvas of cooling trails, delicate and gleaming.
Radiant.
My hands followed the paths I’d laid, slow and deliberate, melting the cooled wax with the heat of my touch until her skin glistened.
She trembled beneath me, pulling helplessly against her restraints.
And God, I loved it.
Loved her.
Every unraveled inch.
My fingers drifted lower, finding her soft, slick, and trembling on the cusp of surrender.
I stroked her slowly, languidly, savoring the way her breath fractured into broken, desperate gasps.
She was right there.
On the edge.
Mine to tip over.
And I held her there, playing with the line between mercy and madness.
And then I stopped.
Pulled away.
Left her aching.
She whimpered, straining beneath me.
“Reich, please,” she breathed.
But I wasn’t done.
I climbed over her, pinning her thighs apart with my hips, ready to take her.
I captured her mouth in a brutal kiss just as I thrusted into her—hard, deep and without any warning.
She cried out, the sound caught in my throat as I swallowed it, drinking it down.
Her body arched, bowed, her back leaving the mattress as she took me in.
She was heaven and hell.
And I was undone.
I moved with her, slow at first, deep and claiming, until the rhythm turned sharp, desperate.
Every gasp a plea.
Every thrust a question.
Every moan an answer.
Her body shook with it, her thighs tightening around my hips, her nails digging into my skin, marking me as hers.
And I let her.
I wanted her to.
Because she was mine and I was hers.
Whether we said it or not, whether we survived it or not.
I held her gaze as I moved faster, harder, chasing the edge with her.
And when she shattered, when her body clenched around me and her cry broke free, wild and wrecked, I followed.
Falling with her.
Into her.
When the shaking subsided and air finally filled our lungs again, I stayed there, still inside her, holding her close.
Heart pounding against hers.
I brushed her damp hair from her forehead.
Kissed her temple.
And whispered her name like a prayer I didn’t know I believed in until now.
Sage, my wildflower.
Blossoming for me.
And I realized then that there was no going back.
Not for her.
Not for me.
This was it.
Our ruin and our salvation.
And I’d take both, so long as I could have her.