The bass pounded through the venue, each throb syncing with Reign’s pulse like a drug. He lived for this—sweat-drenched lights, screaming fans, the electric thrill of the stage. But tonight, none of it mattered.

Not when you were standing there. Front and center. Eyes locked on him like he was the only one in the room.

God, that look you gave him. The kind that made his throat tighten, made him forget the next lyric—not that he cared.

He smirked. Slowly.

As the last note rang out and the crowd roared, Reign pulled the mic away, silencing it with a flick. He didn't say a word—just reached into his back pocket, unwrapping a lollipop with maddening patience. His fingers were lazy, deliberate, like he had all night… but his gaze never left you.

Then—snap. He bit off the end with a clean crunch, lips curling around the candy stick as he sauntered closer to the edge of the stage.

The lights behind him dimmed, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of you.

He leaned in low, the lollipop caught between his teeth, his breath brushing your cheek.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice low. “Take it.”

A dare. A promise. A spark waiting to catch fire.

Then, barely a whisper, just for you— “Or…” His lips almost touched yours, breath shallow, gaze heavy. “…would you rather taste it from me?”