Personal Space Is Overrated
1134 Words
Reign:
The hallway smells like polished wood and old money. A faint trace of fresh flowers drifts from somewhere above, probably the table arrangements, probably a calculated attempt to soften the edges of a house built on control and power. It doesn’t work on me. Not at all.
She walks ahead of me, heels clicking against the marble like gunshots in a cathedral. Perfect posture. Perfect composure. Perfectly untouchable. And utterly infuriating. I’ve never met anyone who could radiate authority while moving like a porcelain doll ready to snap.
We reach a turn in the corridor. I can feel it—the tension in the air, taut like a wire stretched just enough to hum. I know the next bend will lead straight into the dining room, into the arena of formalities, power, and her father’s polite but deadly scrutiny. But I’m not ready for polite. I want her.
The moment the corner approaches, I act.
I reach out and catch her wrist lightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to assert presence. She stiffens, sharp, icy, and I grin. Good. This is exactly how it should be.
“Reign, what—” she begins, sharp and clipped, eyes flashing.
I press her softly against the wall before she can step forward, letting the hard wall bite against the silk of her dress. I lean in just enough to tower over her, a predator measuring its prey.
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing my finger to her lips, voice low, deliberate, meant to tease, to challenge, to own the space between us. “Don’twant them to hear us. Not yet.”
Her breath hitches—slightly, almost imperceptibly—but I notice. My grin widens.
“You think you can intimidate me?” she hisses, chin up, defiance gleaming in those piercing brown eyes.
I chuckle softly, brushing an imaginary loose strand of her hair from her face. My fingers hover near her neck, careful, teasing, just enough to let her sense the potential without crossing the line. “I’m not here to intimidate. I’m here to… observe.”
“Observe?” she repeats, voice clipped, tone razor-sharp. “I can assure you, nothing about me is interesting to someone like you. I'm not your type, I'll rip you apart.”
“Oh, I disagree,” I murmur, letting my lips brush just past her earlobe—nothing more, nothing less. “Easy isn't interesting. Dangerous is… irresistible.”
Her spine stiffens. Her arms cross tightly over her chest. Perfect. I love that. I love the fight. I love the fire she tries so hard to contain.
“You overestimate yourself,” she snaps, voice low but hard, full of control, venom, and pride. “And underestimate me. That will be your mistake.”
I lean back slightly, letting the heat of proximity linger like an unspoken dare. “Maybe,” I admit. “But I do enjoy mistakes.”
She doesn’t answer, only glares, letting her eyes do the talking. Ice and fire, and I can’t help but grin. There’s something intoxicating about her composure, about the way she radiates authority while barely moving a muscle. She’s a fortress, and I want to find the cracks.
I step back slightly, giving her space, but I don’t release her wrist entirely. “Tell me,” I murmur, low, teasing, a whisper meant only for her, “do you enjoy being this infuriating? Or is it natural?”
“Neither,” she snaps, but her voice betrays the faintest hint of amusement. “And it’s none of your concern.”
“Ah,” I murmur, letting the word stretch, savoring it like fine whiskey. “Of course. Nothing about you should be anyone’s concern.” My grin spreads. “Which makes you all the more dangerous.”
Her eyes narrow. She steps forward, tilting her head just enough that I know she’s testing me, gauging how far I’ll push. Perfect. The dance has begun. And I’m delighted.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t smile. Just another tiny blade she presses against me, cold and precise. “I am 10 steps ahead of you,” she says finally, voice quiet but iron-strong. “You haven’t realized it yet.”
I chuckle softly, letting my thumb brush a fraction against her wrist. The contact is minimal, a teasing whisper of touch. “Patience, then,” I murmur, letting my eyes roam her face, memorizing the sharp lines, the controlled posture, the subtle curve of her mouth that betrays almost nothing. “I do enjoy games that take time.”
Her lips press into a thin line. Her jaw tightens. Every inch of her screams perfection, danger, and pride. Exactly what I want. I lean in closer, close enough for her to feel my breath, low enough that she smells the faint scent of my cologne—expensive, dark, almost intoxicating.
“You should know,” I murmur, voice soft, teasing, threatening, “I test limits. I push boundaries. And I always find what I’m looking for.”
Her pupils dilate slightly. Not fear—interest. Challenge. Intrigue. Good. Exactly what I want.
“I have limits,” she hisses, voice steady, defiant, but there’s a tension there now, subtle, almost imperceptible. “And you will respect them.”
“Respect?” I murmur, c*****g my head, smirk tugging at my lips. “You think I respect anything that fights back? No. I admire it. I enjoy it.”
She doesn’t answer, only glares, letting the tension stretch. Perfect. This is the equilibrium of our first encounter. Fire against fire, poison threaded with silk, attraction hidden behind barbs and rules.
I step back slightly, releasing her wrist but letting my eyes hold her in place. “We’re going to have fun tonight,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous, a whisper she can’t ignore. “You and I. And I promise… it will be worth it.”
Her chin lifts. Pride intact, control intact, fire and frost still intact. “We’ll see about that,” she says, voice clipped, cutting, sharp as diamonds.
The hallway ahead is silent, the marble floors cold beneath her heels, echoing with every click. I follow behind, predator and observer, waiting for the next turn, the next opportunity, knowing with absolute certainty: this game has just begun.
By the time we reach the dining room doors, I can feel the energy crackling between us, tangible, dangerous, delicious. Her icy exterior doesn’t fool me. It only makes me want to press further, tease harder, pull out the fire beneath the frost.
And oh, I will.
Because Reign Sinclair gets what he wants. And this little Windsor girl… she’s exactly the kind of challenge I enjoy.
- Writer
