“Tell me what you need,” he murmured against her mouth.
“You.” Her fingers slid into his hair. “Just you.”
He kissed her jaw, down her throat. Found the spot where her pulse hammered and lingered there. Her head fell back, giving him access, trusting him completely.
The trust nearly broke him. “Claire.” Her name was half prayer, half apology.
“Stop overthinking.” Her hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. “I can feel you thinking. Just...be here. With me.”
He helped her remove his shirt, let her explore. Her fingers traced the scars on his ribs, his shoulder. Evidence of missions gone wrong, of being too slow or too reckless or too focused on saving someone else to protect himself.
“You’ve been hurt,” she said quietly.
“Occupational hazard.”
“Does it hurt now?”
“No.” Nothing hurt now except the knowledge that she didn’t know who he really was.
Her hands moved lower, traced his abs, the V of muscle that disappeared beneath his jeans. Her touch was confident but not aggressive. Exploring. Learning him.
“Your turn,” Garrett said.
Her tank top joined his shirt on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Of course, she wasn’t. She’d been trying to sleep when she’d decided to find him.
His breath caught. She was all soft curves and smooth skin and trust in her eyes.
“You’re staring,” Claire said, but she didn’t cover herself. Didn’t hide.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “I am.”
He lowered her back onto the bed and followed her down. Kissed her again while his hands mapped territory he’d been dreaming about for days. The curve of her waist. The dip of her spine. The soft swell of her breasts.
She arched into his touch, made a sound that shot straight through him. Tonight wasn’t about guilt. Tonight was about her. About giving her comfort and pleasure, and the connection she needed.
He could hate himself tomorrow.
His mouth moved lower to kiss the underside of one breast. Her sternum. Her ribs. She trembled beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair.
“You’re killing me,” she breathed.
“Good.” He looked up, saw her eyes dark with desire. “That’s the idea.”
She rocked her hips under him. He removed her pants, then his. As he knelt between her legs, he said, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Use your words.”
Her cheeks flushed. “More. I need more.”
He gave her more. Kissed lower, made her gasp. Her hips lifted off the bed, and he held her steady, took his time, drove her higher. When she shattered, his name on her lips, Garrett felt something in his chest crack open. Something he’d kept locked away for all these years.
This. This was what he’d been missing. Not just physical pleasure, but connection. Real connection with someone who saw him—even if she didn’t know all of him.
Claire pulled him back up, kissed him like she was drowning and he was air. Her hands fumbled with his underwear, tugging them down. He helped, kicking them off.
“Condom?” she asked breathlessly.
“Wallet.”
“Of course you’re prepared.”
