Page 252 of What We Brave
"Not yet."
"Blake —"
"Not yet." I kiss her. Slow. Matching the pace. I don't want to rush this. I want every goddamn second of it.
Her eyes open. Find mine.
Yeah. Keep looking at me like that. Don't stop.
Reid's hand finds her breast. His thumb rolls across her nipple and her back arches and the angle changes and she clenches around me and —
"Fuck." I bury my face in her neck. Breathe. Try to hold on.
I can't go slow anymore. My body takes over — faster, harder, deeper — and she's moving with me, meeting every thrust, and the sounds filling this room — skin and breath and her voice sayingyesandright thereanddon't stop—
"Blake —" She's shaking. "I'm close. I —"
"I know." I can feel it. She's tightening around me, fluttering. "Me too."
Reid's hand slides between us. Lower. His fingers find her clit and his knuckles brush against where I'm inside her and—
It's Reid. It's fine. Not the weirdest thing that's happened between us. Kinda feels nice actually, not that I'll ever tell him that.
His fingers circle. Press.
Laine breaks.
She cries out — my name, I think — and her body clamps down around me and it hits me everywhere. My spine. My chest. Behind my eyes.
I bury myself in her and let go.
Something inside me — something old and rusted shut, something I've been carrying so long I forgot it wasn't part of me —
Opens. Like a joint I've been working for months. Frozen under years of paint and grime and neglect. And I finally —finally— feel it give.
I shake apart inside her. Empty out. And the voice — the one that's been telling me that I don't get to have this, that I poison everything I touch —
It doesn't disappear. But it goes quiet.
For the first time in so long I can't even measure it, that voice shuts the fuck up.
I collapse. Half on her, half beside her. Face in her neck. Breathing hard. I'm shaking and I can't stop.
"You okay?" Soft. Her fingers in my hair.
"Yeah." Muffled. Wrecked.
Reid snorts. “You look a little dead.”
I should move. I'm heavy.
I don't move. But I do manage to give him the finger.
Her fingers run through my hair. Slow. Steady. Reid's hand settles on the back of my neck. Same place he used to grab when I'd jolt awake on deployment, reaching for my weapon in the dark.
You're good. Stand down.
Same hand. Same message. Different bed.
