Page 80 of Anchor
Claire stopped breathing. “My birthday is March 3, 1996.” She looked at Reid, her voice cracking. “That doesn’t add up.”
Reid’s jaw tightened. “If Heather lost a son in February…”
“And I was born weeks later,” Claire whispered, staring down at the date. “Then I… wasn’t hers.” She touched her chest. “I don’t know where I came from. Is that birth certificate mine? I was born in January?”
Reid didn’t speak right away. He just reached for her hand, gloved and trembling, holding it gently.
“They placed me with her,” Claire murmured. “I was an orphan—or stolen, or bought. I don’t know. I don’t know what I am.” Her vision blurred. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Her body didn’t know how to process this.
“The birth certificate I have is fake,” she said softly. “I don’t even know if Claire Bowman is my real name.”
Reid’s voice was low. “You’re real to me.”
She swallowed. “But where did I come from, Reid?”
The silence that followed gave her the answer she feared most. No one knew. And maybe no one ever would.
The air felt heavier than it should have, not with heat but with what she didn’t know.
She wasn’t Heather’s daughter. Was she Joseph’s? She didn’t know whose she was. She didn’t even know if she’d been born… or created.
Reid stood there, watching her. She could see the struggle behind his eyes, the helpless ache of a man who couldn’t solve this for her but only feel it with her. That made it worse, but also somehow better. Because she didn’t need answers right now. She needed him.
Claire stepped toward him slowly, hands trembling as they found the front of his shirt, fingers brushing the faint scorch marks on his chest. He’d brought her the truth. He’d walked through fire for it. He didn’t flinch when she touched him.
He leaned in, no words, and kissed her like he meant to keep her this time. There was no restraint in it now. His mouth opened against hers, tongue sliding deep, claiming, tasting, reassuring.
She let out a small, wounded noise, her fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt.
He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “You’re real.” Then he kissed her again, deeper. His hands slid to her thighs and lifted her without effort, carrying her to the bed. She feltthe press of his body between her legs, sparking heat low in her belly.
He laid her back gently, but his mouth never left her skin. His fingers moved with growing urgency, finding the hem of her shirt and tugging it up over her head. She helped him, arms raised, and the cold air licked her bare breasts as soon as the fabric left her.
He looked at her like she was something holy. Then he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth. Claire gasped, arching up into him. His tongue circled her nipple slowly, then sucked hard, teeth grazing lightly as his hand slid down her stomach, hooking into the waistband of her shorts and underwear in one swift motion.
She lifted her hips and let him strip her completely. Then she was naked. Spread. Wanting.
Reid stood long enough to kick off his shoes and socks, to strip his shirt, his belt, his pants. His underwear was the last to go. His cock was hard, thick, flushed dark at the tip. Her mouth parted slightly.
He caught the look and groaned softly, “You want me…”
“I need you,” she whispered, voice already hoarse.
He climbed over her, lowering his body against hers. The heat of him, the weight of him, sent something wild unraveling inside her.
His hand found her center, his fingers sliding through slick folds, groaning when he felt how wet she already was. He teased her entrance with one thick finger, then slid it inside, watching her face.
Claire gasped. Her legs spread wider instinctively.
He added another finger, gently scissoring her open, working her with practiced care. She writhed against him, breath hitching. Then he leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
She bit her lip. “I’m ready now.”
He reached between them and pressed the head of his cock against her entrance. He paused. Claire looked up at him, heart thudding so hard, it hurt. “Reid…”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
