In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Smith: I'm staging an intervention for Paris and Caine, all in favor say I. I.
Roman: I'm tired of Caine making my Subbies cry, so I.
Atticus: I.
Everett: I.
Caine: Fuck off, the lot of you.
Paris: What Caine said.
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THE CLOCK TICKS PAST midnight when I get back to the apartment, and the fatigue from the day washes over me but I'm counting on some shut-eye to ease any lingering tension in my body. A certain little Subbie has me wound so tightly I'm liable to snap at any given moment. I stopped at Sanctum right after leaving Milan's and stayed in an unsuccessful attempt to screw my head on straight but every interaction with a Submissive was tainted by the memory of Reagan on that kitchen counter, touching herself at my say-so. That cute way her nose scrunched up and her teeth sunk into her lower lips when she came for me. Like she's in agony but the best kind. The kind that left that amazed look and that shy little smile on her face right after.
I kick off my shoes with a heavy sigh, and then head to the kitchen to pour myself a drink, pausing when I'm just inside. Walter is licking a bowl filled with what I'm guessing is icing sugar on the ground, patches of flour is scattered on the counter and floors and the sink is filled with pans, mixing bowls, measuring cups, and whisks. "Reagan!" bending to take the icing bowl away from the demon cat and narrowly missing his revengeful claws. There's something wrong with that cat. He's all purring happiness around Reagan and flaming fires of hell with me, it clearly doesn't like me and I can't say the feeling isn't mutual. I ignore the way he glares at me as I leave the kitchen.
I find Reagan passed out in the living room and she's a tiny thing in the center of the sofa. Her dark hair is spread out on one of the throw pillows beneath her head, and the glow of the moonlight through the open balcony doors makes the patch of white on her hair and forehead glow. Beautiful. Otherworldly.
Kneeling in front of her, I reach out to gently brush a stray curl away from her face. Her eyes flutter open and they fill with tears the moment she sees me. Immediately I'm on alret, and a sense of urgency washes over me, the primal instinct to shield her from whatever or whoever put these tears in her eyes. "What's wrong, princess?" I ask and in response she trembles, breaking right in front of me. "Vieni qui, amore mio. Come here," I lift her, and without hesitation, she wraps her legs around me as I spin around and sit us back down on the sofa.
"I'm right here, Princess. You just cry how loud you want to, I'm not going anywhere,"
"I tried to bake a cake," she says with a sniffle , gripping the front of my shirt so tight her knuckles pale.
"I saw that. Didn't go as planned huh?"
" No,"
"That's okay, love. We'll bake a cake together some other time, I promise,"
