Page 19 of Anchor
That was all it took. He shifted, lining himself up, and began to slide his cock slowly and carefully into her. Her body tensed instinctively, unaccustomed to the stretch, the fullness. But she didn’t resist it. She wanted to feel it.
She gripped his shoulders, her breath catching on a sharp exhale as he moved deeper. It wasn’t pain, just unfamiliarity. The sensations, raw and bright, bloomed through her.
“You’re perfect.” His lips brushed her temple, his hand stroking her thigh in calming, grounding arcs.
Her body adjusted, her muscles trembling but opening around him, her hips moving slightly in rhythm with his. The discomfort faded, replaced by something fuller: desire. There was a sudden helpless ache for more.
When he was fully inside her, they both stilled. “Breathe, sweetness.” His eyes held hers.
Claire let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her legs curled around his hips. Her arms came up around his neck.
He looked down at her, eyes dark but soft. “Still okay?”
She nodded. “More than okay.”
He moved then, slowly and deeply, his rhythm unhurried, like he was learning her. He seemed invested in knowing what made her breath hitch, what made her fingers tighten on his back.
Her moans were soft at first, shaky and unsure, until pleasure rose again inside her, warmer this time. Her back arched instinctively as his hips rolled into hers. She clung to him, her mouth finding his shoulder, biting down gently to steady herself as the rhythm built.
“Reid…” she breathed, half a plea.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth, and whispered back, “I’ve got you.”
And she believed him.
When her second climax came, it wasn’t as sudden as the first. It grew in waves, stronger, deeper, until her whole body trembled. Her head tipped back, and her breath turned into a cry, legs tightening around him, nails digging into his skin.
He came just after, groaning low in her ear, burying his face in her neck as he pulsed inside her. The sound of it—a raw, involuntary grunt—sent another shiver through her.
For a long time, neither moved. Just breath and heartbeat, the warmth of his body heavy over hers, the quiet crackle of the radiator filling the silence. Claire’s pulse was still erratic, her skin buzzing and her body trembling with aftershocks she couldn’t suppress.
Reid’s lips brushed hers once more, lingering, then he eased back carefully. She felt the slow withdrawal, the ache of absence sharp and tender at once. His hand caressed her thigh as heleft her body, steady, deliberate, as though promising she wasn’t being abandoned.
Another kiss, softer this time, sealed it. Then he slid from the bed.
For a moment, she thought he might have left. Perhaps the spell had ended, and she’d be left with silence again. But she heard him in the next room, the faint creak of the sink faucet, the muted rustle of fabric.
When he returned, he was naked, carrying a small stack. It was a warm washcloth folded over his hand, a towel draped across his arm, and a cold bottle of water he cracked open with a soft twist.
Claire blinked at him, propped on her elbows now, dark hair a tangle around her shoulders. The sight of him carrying simple things with a calm that felt almost domestic hit her harder than she expected.
He set the towel down on the nightstand and offered her the water first. “Sip.”
She did, the cold sliding down her throat like relief. Then he sat beside her, wringing out the washcloth until it no longer dripped, then touched it lightly to her thigh. The warmth startled her, then soothed. His movements were gentle, careful, respectful in a way that made her chest ache more than the earlier confession had.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “You don’t have to…”
“I do,” he echoed his words in the car. His gaze flicked up to hers, steady. “Let me.”
She lay back, letting him clean her, letting the towel absorb what the washcloth missed. His hands were sure but unhurried, his touch never wandering, only tending. By the time he set the cloth aside, the tension had drained from her body completely.
Reid sat down fully beside her, resting one hand against her calf in a quiet, grounding caress. Not claiming. Just reminding her he was still there.
Claire turned her face toward him on the pillow, the faintest curve tugging at her lips despite the wetness still drying on her cheeks. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer right away, just leaned down, pressed one more kiss to her forehead, and smoothed her hair back with his palm. “You’re safe.”
And for the first time in years, she didn’t argue.
