Page 102 of Discretion at Its Finest

His grip was so tight it almost hurt. It felt like his hands couldn’t wait to memorize me again. Like they were deprived of me just as I was him.

I heard a heavy sigh from behind. ”—thirty minutes,” the guard finished before pulling the door shut. But it was a blur. All I could think of, all that was on my mind, was Reid.

“Mon amour,” he whispered into my hair. “My Vieve.”

He smelled like detergent, soap, and an edge of aftershave. My knees nearly buckled.

My hands slid up his back, over the fabric of his thin grey shirt, curling into his shoulders, clinging so tightly my nails dug into him.

He didn’t care; he just pulled me even closer. His breath was hot against my neck, uneven, almost trembling, his fingers splayed wide across my spine, trying to carve his name into my bones, brand his touch into my skin, like I wasn’t already ruined for anyone else.

“Reid—” I breathed, half a sob, the other half a sigh of relief. I wasn’t even sure what to say. I was just so happy, so relieved to be in his arms again. His hand slid up, threading into my hair, tilting my head back so he could stare into my eyes.

“I told you to stop the visits,” he murmured, voice low and uneven. “I told you to limit the calls.”

“You still answer every one,” I whispered, and he sighed, one slow exhale as he pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes closing.

“You know I can’t help myself,” he admitted, voice roughened at the edges.

I couldn’t help the smile that broke onto my lips as I crashed them into his. He devoured me hungrily, like he couldn’t get enough, his tongue darting into my mouth, tasting and savoring me as my fingernails dug into his muscles.

Soon we pulled away despite me wanting more. His arms stayed wrapped around me, his hands more possessive and assertive as he held me.

“I didn’t think they’d give us this room,” he said. “Not this soon.”

“This room?”

His jaw flexed once, his fingers tightening on my waist. “In prison… sometimes,” he said, voice low, steady, maddeningly calm, “couples are allowed private visitation rooms.”

I stared at him, my eyebrows furrowing as he placed a kiss between them, a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“…Couples?”

“Yes.”

Oh? …Oh.My stomach flipped, heat flooding my skin. “Oh,” I whispered, and he let out a low chuckle that went straight to my core.

“Yeah, baby… oh.”

Before my pulse could settle, he guided me toward the cot, his hand at the small of my back, firm.

“You look tired,” he assessed, his tone possessive almost.

“I’m fine,” I lied, taking a seat on the fresh sheets.

He ignored that, fingers curling around my ankle to lift my leg, sending a shiver through me.

“Reid—”

There was no room for argument. He slipped my boot off slowly, eyes flicking up my body like he was checking for anysign of discomfort, examining the damage life had done since he last touched me.

He tapped the other leg, another command, and I obeyed before I even thought.

The second ankle boot slid off and he dragged his thumbs up the arch of my foot, into the swollen pads beneath my toes, finding the exact pressure points I’d complained about once to him.

A low curse escaped him. “Your morning sickness isn’t getting any better,” he muttered.

I could only roll my eyes. “Reid.”