Page 123 of Anchor
He rested his hand against her stomach. “I’m going to remember it all. I swear to God.”
The only sound was the soft rustle of sheets as Claire shifted beside him, half asleep, but instinctively drawn to his body the moment he moved. Her thigh slipped over his, her breath catching as it brushed his shoulder.
Reid’s body ached in that quiet, lingering way that came after struggle. Dull pain settled in his muscles like shadows clinging to bone. But beneath that ache burned something else. Something deeper. He wanted her. Not out of desperation or dominance or pride. He wanted her like air.
He wanted the silk of her skin under his palms, her mouth pressing against his neck like a vow, and the heat of her folding into him like they’d never spent a second apart.
He shifted with a grimace, a tight stretch through his abdomen. The pain grounded him.
Claire stirred, her voice a breath against his chest. “What is it?”
He shook his head slowly, brushing back a lock of her hair that clung to her cheek. “I just… need you close.”
She leaned in, her lips soft against his cheek. “I’m right here.”
He caught her wrist, drawing it to his chest. He placed her palm over the thud of a heart that hadn’t felt whole until now. His fingers drifted up the inside of her arm, grazing the sensitive skin near the crook of her elbow. “No,” he murmured. “Closer.”
Her breath hitched, subtle but unmistakable. She sat up, silhouetted by the dim spill of hallway light. Her eyes, wide and alert, searched his face. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, guiding her palm down his chest, letting it rest just above the bandaged edge of his wound. “You make me feel like I’m still here, like I’m still me.”
Her expression softened, her hand spreading over his shoulder. She bent to kiss him, slow, lingering, a silent unraveling of every inch of distance between them. She moved gently, helping him sit up with care, one arm bracing his back, the other adjusting herself between his thighs.
The hospital bed groaned beneath their combined weight. Her nightshirt slipped off her shoulder, the slope of her collarbone catching the faint light, casting delicate shadows across her skin.
Her palm trailed down his side, avoiding the healing flesh with reverence. His breath caught, not from pain, but from the sharp, electric pull of her touch. It ran straight through him, from scar to spine, to the heat pooling low in his abdomen.
His hands slid up her back, slowly rediscovering the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, and the soft, warm rise of her ass. He took his time, mapping her again like she was the only geography that mattered.
Claire climbed onto his lap, careful of his injured thigh. Her belly brushed against his skin. It was warm and full, the shape of their future pressed between them. He laid his trembling hand there, fingers splayed across the taut skin.
“You feel different,” he whispered, voice rough.
“I am,” she replied. “So are you.”
He pulled her nightshirt up, exposing her breasts. They were fuller now, heavy, her nipples taut and flushed. He cupped a breast, thumb brushing lightly over her nipple, watching her mouth part with a soft gasp. Her hips pressed down involuntarily, grinding against the stiffness already growing.
She leaned forward, her hair falling around their faces, breath hot against his neck as she kissed down his throat. She placed them, slow and deliberate, letting her teeth scrape just enough to make him groan.
His hand slipped beneath her, fingertips tracing between her legs. She was wet, warm, slick, and ready. He stroked her gently, watching the way her eyes fluttered closed, her body rocking subtly into his touch.
When she lowered herself onto him, it was with a slow, aching slide that made both of them gasp. She cradled his face in her hands, resting their foreheads together, breath mingling in quiet moans.
Every motion was careful. Reverent but not shy. Her hips rolled, slow and steady, grounding him in the rhythm of her body. He held her waist, guiding her without force, just presence. His cock pressed deep, filling her core. There was no pain now.
Her hands explored him freely. Her fingertips danced along the edge of healing scars, the curve of his shoulders, the lines of his throat. He tilted his head back when her lips brushed his collarbone, whispering his name between kisses.
Their rhythm deepened. Her breath caught with each of his thrusts. His groans were low, ragged, spilling between gritted teeth as he struggled to stay gentle, to hold on.
She moved above him, eyes locked to his, her body slick with sweat and need. Her thighs trembled with the effort, and he reached up to touch her face, to keep her from slipping away.
When they came, it wasn’t a cry or a shout. It was a shuddering collapse. Her body clenched around him, his breath vanishing in a silent gasp, their limbs tightening together as if they could fuse. Their mouths found each other in the silence.
Afterward, she curled into him, her hand resting over his heart. He held her like she was the only real thing left in the world, and maybe she was.
MEDICAL WING – SONO SUITE A – 0830 HOURS
Claire lay back on the padded table, her blouse lifted just above her abdomen, the gel cool and slick on her skin. The sonographer moved the wand with a practiced sweep across her belly. The screen to the right flickered. Gray and white static gave way to an unmistakable shape. Not just a blur anymore, but a little human.
