Anchor - M. Mabie Page 0,2

here.”

“I was dreaming about this.” He shifted under me and the darker thoughts I’d had earlier started to fade. The knot in my belly changed to need.

“Really, which part?”

“You. But you were kissing my neck.” He moved his head to the side and I laughed to myself. He invited me to press my lips against the skin under his ear. He tasted sweet and satisfying and better than any meal I’d had in a long time.

“Mmm. Like this?”

His hips rocked and he ran his hands up and down my sides under my tank top. It made me arch into him, and I took liberties, grinding against the glorious piece of man beneath me.

“Yeah. Kinda,” he mumbled. “And my mouth.” His lips puckered and he gave me a little squeeze. My ribs screamed and my breath caught, the pain surprising me. Out of all of my injuries, my ribs were the worst. He sensed my brief discomfort. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

He relaxed his hold. The room was barely bright enough for me to see his worry. I didn’t like it. I missed the reckless passion his eyes held only a few weeks ago.

“I’m okay. Please. I’m ready.” I snuck a hand between us and stroked him over his briefs. No matter what he said, part of him was ready too.

“Blake, you’ve only been home a few days. I’m not going anywhere.” What he was saying and the way his hips rocked into my hand contradicted each other. He continued, “Don’t rush yourself.”

“I’m not. I want to.” Wanted to? Hell, I needed to. I needed to feel good. To be consumed by him. I wanted my lungs heavy with his breath and my ears full of words from his worshiping lips. I wanted there to be, at least, a few peaceful seconds, where I wasn’t pretending I couldn’t remember what happened at Grant’s.

I wanted the calm that came right after we were intimate.

Mostly, I wanted to tell him all of that, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. I knew he’d understand. Or try. What were the words for fix me? Let’s fix this together?

Words failed me, but my hand did not.

I continued to glide over his length, our skin only separated by thin fabric.

“I want that too, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m not going anywhere.” Casey’s words reassured me, but it was short-lived. Anxiety or panic, although quiet, whispered in the background of my mind. He’ll have to go back to San Francisco at some point. Will he stay long? How long will we be apart?

“But what about when you do go? You’ll have to go, won’t you? Eventually?” The words spilled out before I could make them yield to my better judgment.

What if Grant came here when Casey was gone?

He sat up in bed and leaned back against the headboard, taking me with him. He embraced me as I naturally lay my head on his bare chest. All heat gone from the moment. My fleeting chance at a diversion from my thoughts, vanished.

“It’ll be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

“I want all of this to be cleaned up. All of the mess I’ve made to disappear. I want you,” I confessed as I searched for clues on his face in the dark. Something reassuring. Something convincing. “How do you know it’s all going to be fine?”

“Because you and I, we’re workers.” His hands ran circles over my back in a slow, soothing pattern.

“Workers? I haven’t worked in a week and neither have you.” I wasn’t following. How was that supposed to make me feel any better?

He laughed at me a little and continued.

“We don’t mind work is what I should have said, I suppose. We fell in love. It wasn’t the right time. It was inconvenient as fuck and, at times, it hurt so bad. It would have been much easier to quit.” His fingers tenderly brushed across my cheek. “You and I are tough, Blake. Even though it probably doesn’t feel or look like it, we were fighting to be together that whole time. And we’re so close. We’re so close I can feel it. Look at us. I’m here in your home. In your bed. No one to hide from. No one to tell us it’s wrong or tell us we should be anywhere else. I’ve dreamed of us being like this. Together. I think you have too.” His thumb ironed out my brow, releasing the tension I held there.

“I have, but I