Page 38 of Anchor
Her gasp only spurred him. He stripped her fast—not carelessly, but not patiently either. His jacket slid from her shoulders first, his fingers trailing the skin it revealed as though erasing every trace of fabric between them. Her dress followed,tugged over her head, then her bra and panties, leaving her in nothing but breath and heat.
Reid knelt between her thighs, dragging her up the bed with him, spreading her wide with his hands firm at her knees. His gaze swept over her, fierce and unrelenting, memorizing every line, every mark, every shiver. “All of you,” he growled, restraint fraying to breaking. “Every inch—mine.”
He bent low, his mouth closing over her breast, teeth grazing the tightened peak before soothing it with his tongue. She arched up into him, a strangled sound breaking from her throat. His hand slid lower, cupping her mound, thumb circling her clit until she cried out and clutched him harder.
He took her apart with ruthless precision, learning her body, wringing every sound from her until she was shaking under him, undone by the sheer insistence of his claim.
When she gasped his name like it was the only word she had left, he pressed into her in one deep, unyielding thrust. Her body clenched around his cock, hot and tight, and his head fell to her neck with a groan that sounded more like a vow.
“Mine,” he said again, the word grinding out with every push, every withdrawal, every snap of his hips as he drove her higher. He didn’t let her look away. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head so her eyes stayed on his. “Say it.”
She could barely breathe, barely form words, but she gave him what he demanded, her voice breaking around it: “Yours.”
Something inside him snapped loose. His pace grew rougher, harder, until the sound of their bodies meeting echoed off the bare walls. He owned every gasp, every tremor, every cry as she shattered around him, her nails clawing his back, her body seizing tight and pulling him down with her. He spilled into her with a growl muffled against her shoulder, hips grinding deep like he could brand her from the inside out.
He didn’t let go. Even as the tremors eased, even as their breaths slowed, he stayed locked with her, chest to chest, his body pressing her into the sheets, his voice hoarse but steady.
“No bare-bones,” he whispered again, softer now, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Not with you. Never with you.”
They stayed joined until her pulse steadied under his mouth, until the aftershocks eased from violent tremors into soft quivers against him. Reid finally withdrew, slow and lingering, kissing her as if to seal every place his body touched her. She made a faint sound at the loss, and his chest tightened with something deeper than desire.
“Easy,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to her temple before sliding from the bed.
Reid could feel her eyes on him as he disappeared into the bathroom, her gaze like a quiet pressure on his back. After turning on the shower to warm it up, he moved to the kitchen.
He returned holding a cool bottle of water. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Claire.” He didn’t need to say the rest. He didn’t need to tell her how much he hated that she was scared. He watched her throat move as she drank.
Then he gathered her against him, lifted her and carried her into the bathroom. Steam clouded the mirror as he stepped them both inside, guiding her under the spray. Her sigh came out soft, unguarded, as the water sluiced over her hair and down her spine.
Reid pressed a hand to the small of her back, the other tilting her chin up so the spray ran across her face. He rinsed her slowly, methodically, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her shoulders, and across her ribs. Every touch was both care and claim, gentle but unyielding, as if reminding her she wasn’t alone in any breath, any ache, any moment.
When she leaned against his chest, he held her there, forehead lowered to her wet hair, letting the heat soak themboth. Words were unnecessary. The way he moved—so steady after the roughness, so careful after the claiming—was its own vow.
Afterward,he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to bed. By the time he returned with mugs of tea for her and coffee for him, she was curled on her side, his tux jacket still tangled in the sheets. She refused to let it go. He placed the mug in her hands, crouched beside her, and kissed her cheek.
What she felt was him, his hands, his steadiness, the way he seemed to know exactly when she needed gentleness, exactly when she needed him claiming her. She let herself sink into the mattress and breathe. Her body ached, but not in a way she wanted to escape. She traced the soreness with her mind, mapping each place he had touched her, each place he was the first to touch.
She had imagined what it would be like sometimes in flickers, sometimes in restless hours when the loneliness got too loud, but it was never this. She thought the first time would be something to get through, an awkward threshold crossed. Instead, it was a breaking-open. And then—this. The careful way he wiped her clean, the way he steadied her under the spray, as if every inch of her mattered.
Her throat tightened. She hadn’t meant for it to be him. She hadn’t meant for it to be anyone—not yet. Her life had always been guarded, her body hers alone, walled behind work and armor and her mother’s cutting words. But Reid had looked at her—seenher—in a way that burned down all her walls.
She pressed the warm mug of tea between her palms, still feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin.I wasn’t ready. I thought I wasn’t ready. But he didn’t just take me. He held me together after.
She glanced at him standing by the dresser, toweling his hair dry, the clean lines of his body now dressed down in a tee shirt and flannel pants. Not the tuxedo armor from the gala. Not the soldier she saw tonight in a suit. Just Reid. And still—hers.
That thought unsettled her, warmed her, terrified her all at once. Because, for the first time since her father died, she didn’t feel alone in her skin.
Legs curled beneath her, she finished the tea, letting the taste steady her. A virgin last night. A woman marked and claimed tonight. Not owned—never that—but known. And she realized with a quiet, startling certainty, she wanted more.
For a heartbeat longer, she stayed still, watching him. His face wasn’t carved into the soldier’s lines she’d seen at the gala or in the boardroom. It was softer, unguarded in a way that made her chest ache.
He reached for her without hesitation, one arm drawing her in until her head fit against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat filled her ears, grounding her more than any words could. His other hand rested at her waist, protective without being heavy, like he was promising something even in silence.
Claire let herself melt into him. “I’ve never…” she whispered, but the words slipped away before she could finish.
He pressed his lips to the crown of her head in answer, gentle and patient. No demand for her to explain, no sharp edge of curiosity. Just presence.
Her eyes grew heavy. She had never fallen asleep with someone else’s arm around her until last night. Never trusted enough. And yet, as her breath slowed to match his, she felt the edges of fear dull.
