Chapter 6 Claimed
CLAIMED
JACK
The loft was dark except for the moonlight coming through the single window, pale and silver across the bed.
Elaine was still in my arms, legs wrapped around my waist, and I set her down on the edge of the mattress with more care than I'd used for anything in recent memory.
She looked up at me, eyes dark, lips parted, breath coming fast, and I felt something crack open in my chest.
Want. Need. Something bigger than both.
I'd forgotten what this felt like. Choosing someone. Being chosen.
"Second thoughts?" she asked, and there was a slight waver in her voice that made me want to promise her things I had no business promising.
"No." I crouched in front of her, hands on her thighs, steadying. "You?"
"No."
"If you change your mind..."
"I won't." She reached for me, fingers curling into my shirt. "But I need you to stop being so careful with me."
"I'm always careful."
"I know. That's the problem."
I almost smiled. "What do you want instead?"
"You. Without the checklist."
"I don't have a checklist."
"You're running one in your head right now. I can see it."
Assess. Check in. Don't rush. Make sure she's…
"Stop," she said, pulling me closer. "I'm not going to break."
"I know that."
"Then show me."
I kissed her instead of answering, slower this time, deeper, and felt her melt into it with a sound that went straight through me.
Her hands found the hem of my shirt and tugged, impatient, and I pulled back just enough to drag it over my head. She did the same with the flannel, then the thermal.
I took a breath.
She was beautiful, soft curves, flushed skin, the kind of body that made me want to touch everything and take my time doing it.
"Jack," she said.
"Yeah?"
"You're staring."
"I am."
"Is that okay?"
"Very."
She smiled, pleased and a little self-conscious, and reached for my belt.
I let her. Watched her fingers work the buckle, the button, the zipper. Steady despite the slight tremor in her hands.
She wasn't nervous. Just aware.
So was I.
I helped her with the rest, jeans, boots, everything, and then we were both bare and the air felt electric.
"Come here," she said, scooting back on the bed.
I followed, settling over her, careful to keep my weight on my forearms even though she was already pulling me closer.
"I like your hands," she murmured, tracing the calluses on my palm.
"They're rough."
"I know. That's why I like them."
I kissed her again, couldn't help it, and she arched into me, hands sliding up my back, nails digging in slightly.
I made a sound I didn't recognize.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Very okay."
"Good."
I moved down, kissing her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, and she gasped, fingers tangling in my hair.
"Jack..."
"Tell me what you want."
"You. All of you."
"You have me."
"Then stop holding back."
I lifted my head, met her eyes. "I'm not holding back."
"You are. You're thinking too much."
"I like thinking."
"I know." She pulled me down, mouth against my ear. "But right now, I want you to feel instead."
That cracked something else open.
I kissed her harder, let my hands wander, mapped every curve and dip and soft place until she was gasping my name and pulling me closer.
"Now," she said. "Please."
I reached for the nightstand, condoms I'd bought years ago and never used, and made sure she was watching as I rolled it on.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Yes."
I moved into her slow, steady, watching her face the entire time.
Her mouth opened. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her hands gripped my shoulders hard enough to bruise.
"Okay?" I managed.
"Yes."
I started to move, careful at first, then harder when she wrapped her legs around me and demanded more.
She felt perfect. Fit perfectly. Made sounds that rewired my brain.
I'd forgotten what it was like to be needed like this. To need someone back.
No, I hadn't forgotten.
I'd never had it.
Not like this. Not with someone who looked at me like I was exactly what she wanted and nothing she had to fix.
"Jack," she gasped. "Don't stop."
"I won't."
She came apart in my arms, shaking, gasping my name, and I followed her over with a kind of surrender I didn't know I was capable of.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling in the night air.
She was tracing patterns on my chest, idle, thoughtless, and I realized I didn't want her to stop.
Didn't want her to leave tomorrow.
That was a problem.
I'd built my life around not needing anyone. Not being needed. Disappearing into work and land and the kind of silence that didn't ask questions.
But lying here with her pressed against my side, her breath evening out into something close to sleep, I couldn't remember why that had seemed so important.
"Jack?" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"This is okay, right? Us doing this?"
"More than okay."
"Good." She shifted closer, tucking herself against me like she belonged there. "Because I don't regret it."
"Neither do I."
"Even if I'm stuck here until tomorrow?"
"Especially then."
She made a soft, pleased sound and settled deeper into sleep.
I stayed awake longer, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe.
I'd spent three years choosing solitude.
And in one afternoon, she'd made me want something else.
That should have scared me.
It didn't.
It just felt real.