"No," I gasped, the word tearing out of my throat. "Not... medical."
I stumbled back as Daniel reached for me. I didn't want cooling pads. I didn't want water. I didn't want logic.
I felt lightweight, untethered, like a balloon with the string cut. I needed gravity. I needed to be crushed back into the earth until I remembered I was made of matter, not pixels.
"Make me real," I whispered, looking up at Daniel. My eyes were wild, searching his face. "Please. I’m floating. Put me down."
Daniel understood. He didn't ask for clarification. He read the frantic frequency of my scent and knew exactly what the remedy was.
"Bed," Daniel said to Simon. "Now."
He scooped me up. I didn't cling to him this time; I was too shaky. I hung in his arms, a collection of loose wires and static.He carried me into the darkened bedroom, kicking the door wide. He deposited me in the center of the massive king-sized mattress.
I tried to curl into a ball, but Simon was there instantly. He crawled onto the bed behind me, hauling me back against his chest. He was solid. Wiry warmth. He wrapped his arms and legs around me, a human straightjacket of denim and heat.
"I’ve got your back," Simon murmured into my hair, his breath hot and smelling of burnt sugar. "I’m the wall."
"Daniel," I begged, looking up at the mountain standing by the edge of the bed. "Weight. I need weight."
Daniel climbed over me.
He didn't hesitate. He settled his massive frame directly on top of me. He took his weight on his forearms to keep from crushing my ribs, but he lowered his hips and chest until I was completely covered. Blanket coverage. I was sandwiched between the artist and the anchor.
"Heavy enough?" Daniel rumbled, pressing his forehead against mine.
"Heavier," I whimpered. "Crush it out of me."
Daniel let out a breath and lowered himself further. The pressure was immense. It was a physical absolute. It forced the air out of my lungs and replaced it with his scent. It pinned me to the mattress, pinning me to the moment.
"Simon," Daniel directed, his voice vibrating through my sternum. "Lock it in."
Simon tightened his grip from behind, his hands splaying over my stomach, pressing me back into him while Daniel pressed down.
"We have you," Simon whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive shell of my ear. "You aren't a ghost, Tessa. Ghosts don't feel this."
Then, they began to move.
It wasn't sex. It was survival friction.
Daniel began a slow, tectonic grind against the front of my body. His heavy thigh slid between my legs, separating them, pressing against the ache that the adrenaline had spiked. The denim of his jeans was rough against my leggings, a high-friction drag that sent sparks flying through my nervous system.
"Breathe," Daniel commanded, rocking his hips forward, digging his weight into me.
Behind me, Simon matched the rhythm. He ground his hips into my lower back. They moved in sync, a push-pull of pressure that rolled through me like a tide.
"Oh god," I gasped, the shaking in my hands stopping as my focus narrowed down to the contact points. "It’s... it’s better. Keep doing that."
"We aren't stopping," Daniel promised. He nuzzled into my neck, his stubble scraping my skin, adding another layer of sensation. "We are grinding the panic out of you. Every vibration. Every shake. We'll take it."
I closed my eyes. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist. There were no cameras. No drones. Just the crushing weight of Daniel and the sharp, possessive grip of Simon.
"Anders," I breathed, realizing the circle wasn't closed.
"I'm here."
Anders’ voice came from the foot of the bed. I felt a hand, cool, firm, authoritative, grip my ankle. He squeezed, hard enough to bruise.
"Strategy requires a clear head," Anders stated, though his voice was rougher than usual. "Let them settle you. I'll handle the perimeter."
