Page 81 of Anchor
He held her gaze and pushed inside. She gasped loudly, the stretch sharp, almost like their first time, her body clenching around him. He moved slowly, giving her time, filling her inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.
She felt full.Claimed. Real.
“Jesus, Claire,” he breathed. “You feel… perfect.” He held still, his body trembling with restraint.
She wrapped her legs around him, shifting her hips as he began to thrust. Slowly at first, deep and grinding, he rolled his hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her toes curl. The pain was gone, burned out by the heat building between them.
Her nails dug into his back as his pace picked up. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Her breath grew ragged. His name fell from her lips in a broken moan.
He bent to kiss her—deep, wet, and needy. She kissed him back, teeth clashing, tongues sliding. She was shaking now, every nerve lit.
He slipped a hand between their bodies and found her clit. He rubbed it in circles in time with his thrusts. That was it.
She came hard, her back arching, body locking around him, her cry swallowed in his mouth. Her orgasm ripped through her like a storm, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.
He cursed, hips jerking as he drove into her faster, chasing his own edge. Then he came with a strangled groan, spilling deep inside her, pulsing with each thrust until he finally collapsed over her, panting.
For a long time, neither of them moved. Just breath. Just skin. Just the aftermath of something too big for words.
When he finally rolled to the side, he kept her close, pulling a sheet over their tangled bodies. She curled into his chest, heart still pounding. “I don’t care where you came from,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re mine.”
Claire closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she believed that might be true.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CHASE EXECUTIVE SUITE – 1803 HOURS
She was still holding the photograph when the door opened. The one of Heather in Geneva—pregnant, polished, looking every inch the diplomat’s wife. The timestamp was unmistakable. So was the coldness in her eyes.
Reid stood as Ian Chase entered the suite. No guards. No entourage. Just Ian, dressed down in dark slacks and a black sweater, the lines of fatigue showing more than usual.
He glanced at Reid, then at Claire, then at the box on the table. “You got it out before the detonation,” he said. “Good.”
“If Vos wanted the box, he didn’t have to blow up the building. That tells me he knew what was in the box, and me and my team were the target,” Reid said.
Ian’s brow arched as he stepped closer, looking down at the scattered contents. The field notes. The report fragments. He paused when he reached the death certificate. A baby—only a couple weeks before Claire was born. His jaw set tight.
Claire sat very still on the couch, hands curled together in her lap, cold and tense. “You didn’t know.”
Ian looked at her. “No,” he admitted. “I had theories. I knew Heather was hiding things. But this?” He exhaled. “I didn’t know what was in that box.”
Claire lifted the photo again. “Then who was I to Joseph?”
Ian sat across from her like a man carrying the full weight of a history he didn’t write. He looked at her without hesitation. “Judging by what I’ve seen? Joseph knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to see what Heather did. Enough to fight to keep you safe.”
Claire’s throat tightened. She could barely breathe.
Ian went on, “That also means something else.” His voice dropped. “He adored you. No matter what the truth was. He loved you like his own. That was never a performance.”
Claire stared at the photo, then lowered it slowly. “He called me Firefly.”
Ian smiled faintly, eyes creased with something fragile. “That tracks. That’s how he talked about you to me. His Firefly. Said you had more light in you than the whole damn world.”
Her eyes stung. Reid reached across and took her hand.
Ian let the silence settle before continuing, “I want to be clear with you, Claire. This changes the landscape. Not just personally for you, but politically. Legally. Vos doesn’t act without purpose. If your father had records, and those records expose connections we didn’t see…” He paused, then added gently, “I need time to get full answers and to verify what this means. And I’d like your permission to pull apart what’s here.”
Claire blinked, trying to find her voice. It came smaller than she expected. “What happens if she lied about everything?”
