Chapter 1227 Reign
Chapter 1227: Chapter 1227 Reign
Jenny came out of Ross’s room walking like she’d just ridden a horse for three days straight—legs wide, hips rolling with deliberate care, each step sending a dull, delicious ache radiating up her thighs and into her lower back.
She could still feel him inside her, the ghost of how deep he’d gone, how roughly he’d pinned her wrists above her head, how many times he’d made her come until her voice cracked and she’d begged him to stop and then begged him not to.
She couldn’t quite believe it was real.
Two nights ago she’d still been sleeping in the women’s room on a thin mattress that smelled faintly of mildew and old sweat.
Tonight—and every night from now on—she’d be in his bunk, tangled in his sheets, marked by his hands and his mouth.
The thought made her stomach flip in a way that was half nerves, half smug satisfaction.
The corridor to the women’s rooms felt longer than usual.
By the time she pushed through the heavy metal door into the women’s quarters, her cheeks were already warm.
The room was crowded tonight—shift change had just happened, and half the women were either getting ready for rack time or coming off it.
Bunks were stacked three high along the walls; laundry hung from makeshift lines; someone’s ancient Bluetooth speaker was playing low R&B in the background.
The air smelled like shampoo, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of the base itself.
Every pair of eyes flicked toward her the second the door clanged shut.
Silence for half a heartbeat.
Then:
“Oh my god, look at that walk,” Martinez drawled from her top bunk, legs dangling over the edge like she was watching premium entertainment. “Somebody got destroyed last night.”
Laughter rolled through the room like thunder.
Jenny tried to play it cool. She crossed to her old bunk—third from the bottom, near the corner—and dropped her duffel on the thin mattress with a soft thud.
Her hands were shaking just a little as she unzipped it.
“Damn, Jen,” said Torres, leaning against the frame of the bunk above hers.
“You’re moving like you got hit by a truck. A big truck. With a battering ram.”
More cackling. Someone wolf-whistled.
Jenny kept her head down, pulling folded T-shirts and underwear out of the drawers.
She could feel the heat crawling up her neck. Part of her wanted to disappear.
The bigger part—the part that still throbbed between her legs—wanted to grin like an idiot.
“Spill,” demanded Priya from across the aisle, arms folded, eyebrows raised. “Scale of one to ten. How many times did he make you come?”
Jenny finally looked up. “I’m not answering that.”
“That’s a ten,” Martinez declared instantly. “That’s a solid ten. Look at her face.”
“I’m fine,” Jenny muttered, but the tiny, involuntary smile betrayed her.
“Fine?” echoed Chen, who was braiding her hair in the mirror. “Girl, you’re *glowing*. You look like you’ve been fucked into enlightenment.”
The room dissolved into fresh laughter. Jenny rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
She started shoving clothes into the duffel—socks, sports bras, the one lacy set she owned that Ross had already ruined twice.
Finally she straightened, zipped the bag, and turned to face them.
“I’m moving into his room,” she said, voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “Permanently. As of tonight.”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then the room erupted.
“Holy shit!”
“Called it!”
“Ross the fucking hero man, you absolute dog!”
Martinez swung her legs down and jumped to the floor with theatrical drama.
“Wait wait wait. So you’re telling me you went from it’s just a simple dinner to ‘I live here now’ in under just 12 hours? Respect.”
Torres was already scrolling on her phone. “I’m starting a group chat. ‘Ross’s Harem Watch.’ First member: Jenny. Second member: whoever’s next.”
“There’s no harem,” Jenny said, but nobody believed her.
“Oh please,” Priya snorted. “The man’s got stamina like a goddamn machine. If he’s taking applications, I’m submitting my resume. References available upon request.”
Chen laughed so hard she dropped her hair tie. “I’d settle for being the side piece. Just once a week. I don’t need much.”
“Once a week?” Martinez scoffed. “Bitch, please. After what he did to Jenny’s walk, I’m requesting daily slots. I’ll bring my own knee pads.”
The jokes kept coming, faster and filthier.
“Does he snore?”
“Does he cuddle after?”
“Does he talk dirty or is he the strong silent type?”
“More importantly—does he eat pussy like he means it?”
Jenny finally cracked. She laughed—real, helpless laughter—and covered her face with both hands. “You guys are the worst.”
“We’re the best,” Torres corrected. “And we’re living vicariously through you now. You owe us details. Graphic ones. Diagrams optional but encouraged.”
Jenny shook her head, slung the duffel over her shoulder.
The strap dug into her collarbone, but she barely felt it.
Every nerve in her body was still tuned to last night, to Ross’s low growl in her ear, to the way he’d held her down and taken her apart until she couldn’t remember her own name.
She headed for the door.
Behind her, the chorus started up again.
“Tell Ross we said hi!”
“Don’t break his dick, Jen—we might need it later!”
“Bring back a progress report tomorrow!”
“Or better—bring him here. We wanna see if he limps too!”
Martinez’s voice chased her into the hallway, loud and gleeful: “If he ever needs a third, I’m right here! Tell him I’m flexible and I don’t scream—much!”
Jenny didn’t turn around.
She just kept walking—slow, sore, satisfied, and smiling like she’d won something nobody else even knew was a prize.
The door clanged shut behind her.
Inside, the laughter and catcalls went on for another ten minutes.
***
The mess hall was louder than usual that afternoon—shift change had dumped two full squads in at once, and the clatter of trays, boots, and overlapping conversations drowned out the low drone of the ventilation fans.
Many people were eating or just talking.