Chapter Text
Jamie walked her up the stairs to her flat, one hand hovering at her back, not touching but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. She was sober now — painfully sober — and every step felt like walking toward a firing squad. He closed the door behind them, quiet and careful, as if she might bolt. She wanted to. He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, watching her with that steady, patient expression that made her chest ache. Finally: “Claire,” he said softly, “tell me what happened.”
She swallowed hard. “Nothing happened.”
“Dinna lie to me.”
Her jaw clenched. She turned away, pacing toward the kitchen, needing distance, needing air. “It’s stupid. It’s not worth talking about.”
Jamie followed, slow and deliberate. “It mattered enough to send ye spiralin’. It matters to me.”
She flinched. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Why?” he asked, voice low. “Why hide from me?”
“Because you’ll try to fix it!” she snapped, spinning around. “Because you’ll look at me with those eyes — like I’m fragile, like I’m broken, like I need saving — and I can’t stand it, Jamie. I can’t.”
Jamie’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his voice. He just stepped closer. “Claire. I’m no’ here to save ye. I’m here because I care. I want to help ye Sassenach, no do it for ye.”
Her breath hitched. She shook her head, tears burning. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to hold herself together. “It was an email.” Jamie waited. “From my uncle’s attorney.”
Jamie’s brows drew together. “Uncle Lamb's attorney?”
She nodded, throat tight. “It was about the life insurance policy… the money he left me… it’s how I’ve been paying for med school.” Jamie’s breath caught, but he stayed silent, letting her speak. “They sent me the updated balance.” Her voice cracked. Jamie exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried both understanding and heartbreak. Claire kept going, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “I thought I had it planned. I thought I was okay. I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought I could do this on my own.” Jamie stepped closer, but she held up a shaking hand. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t come closer. Don’t say anything. I know what you’re thinking.”
“And what’s that?” he asked gently.
“That you’ll help me,” she said, voice trembling. “That you’ll offer money or support or something noble and selfless and I can’t— I can’t take that from you. I won’t.”
Jamie’s eyes softened. “Claire—”
“No.” She backed up until she hit the counter. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to feel obligated. I don’t want you to fix this. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some charity case. I WANT TO DO THIS ON MY OWN!”
Jamie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is that what ye think I see when I look at ye? That ye are a charity case?" She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her silence was answer enough. Jamie stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he was close enough to touch her but didn’t. “Sassenach,” he said, voice steady, “I dinna pity ye. No' for a second. I admire ye. I see how hard ye work. How much ye carry. How much ye’ve survived. I see yer strength, no' yer weakness.” Her breath shuddered. “But ye dinna have to carry everything alone,” he continued. “No' anymore. No' wit' me.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and relentless. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I ken,” he said softly. “But I’m here.”
She shook her head, voice breaking. “I don’t want to need you.” Jamie’s expression softened into something fierce and tender all at once
.
“Then dinna,” he said. “Just let me stand beside ye.” That was it. That was the moment she broke. She collapsed into his chest, sobbing, and Jamie wrapped his arms around her — not to fix her, not to save her, but simply to hold her through the storm.
Claire woke slowly, the kind of slow that comes after a night of crying and a morning of emotional exhaustion. Her head still ached, but the fog had lifted. The shame was still there — sharp, sour — but it wasn’t crushing her chest anymore. Jamie was in her kitchen. She could hear him. The soft clink of a mug. The low hum of a kettle. The quiet, steady presence she’d once been terrified to need. She pulled on a sweater and padded out of her bedroom, heart thudding.
Jamie looked up the moment she appeared. His expression softened — not pity, not worry, just warmth. “Morning, Sassenach.”
She swallowed. “Morning.” He handed her a mug of tea. She took it with both hands, grateful for the warmth. They sat at the table. Silence stretched — not tense, just… waiting.
Finally, Claire exhaled. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Jamie shook his head. “Ye dinna owe me an apology for bein’ human.”
Her throat tightened. “I wasn’t just human. I was—”
“Hurt,” he said gently. “And scared. And overwhelmed. That’s all. Dinna fash Sassenach.”
She stared into her tea, blinking hard. “I didn’t want to tell you what happened because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to fix it.”
Jamie leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Claire. I’m no’ here to fix yer life. I’m here to walk beside ye while ye fix it yerself.”
That undid her more than anything. She nodded slowly, breathing through the ache in her chest. “Okay. Then… I should tell you the rest.” He waited. She took a shaky breath. “The email from Uncle Lamb’s attorney… it wasn’t just a balance update. It was the final one. The last payout. And I’m short. I don’t have enough to cover my last year of med school.” Jamie’s brows knit, but he didn’t interrupt. “I thought I had it planned,” she whispered. “I thought I was being responsible. I thought I was doing everything right. And then suddenly—” Her voice cracked. “Suddenly I’m thousands short and I don’t know what to do.” Jamie reached across the table, palm up. An invitation. Not a demand. Claire hesitated… then placed her hand in his.
He squeezed gently. “All right. So now we ken the problem. Let’s talk about solutions.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t want you to offer me money.”
“I’m no’ going to,” he said simply.
Her head snapped up. “You’re not?”
Jamie smiled softly. “No. Because ye told me that’s not what ye want. And I heard ye.”
Relief washed through her — warm, unexpected. “So,” he continued, “what do ye want?”
Claire blinked. “I… I don’t know.”
“Aye, ye do,” he said gently. “Ye’re just afraid to say it.”
She swallowed. “I want to finish. I want to be a doctor. I want to do this on my own.”
Jamie nodded. “Good. Then we find a way for ye to do that.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You’re not… disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” He laughed softly. “Claire, I’m proud of ye.”
Her eyes stung. “Even after last night?”
“Especially after last night,” he said. “Ye broke. And ye’re still here. That takes strength.”
She looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing his knuckles. “I don’t know where to start.”
Jamie squeezed her hand again. “Then we start together. Ye talk to yer advisor. Look at scholarships. Grants. Work‑study. Whatever it takes. And I’ll be right here while ye figure it out.”
Claire exhaled — a long, shaky breath that felt like letting go of a weight she’d carried alone for too long. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I can do that.”
Jamie smiled, soft and sure. “Aye. Ye can.” And for the first time since the email arrived, Claire believed there was a way.
Claire stood outside Dr. Abernathy’s office, clutching her folder so tightly her knuckles ached. The hallway smelled like old textbooks and burnt coffee — normally comforting, today suffocating. She took a breath. Then another. Then knocked. “Come in!” Dr. Joe Abernathy looked up from his computer as she stepped inside. His face softened immediately. “Claire. You look like you’ve been through it.”
She forced a smile. “Long night.”
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “What’s going on?”
Claire sat, smoothing her skirt, trying to keep her voice steady. “I… got an email yesterday. From my uncle’s attorney.”
Joe’s expression shifted — not pity, but concern. The kind that comes from someone who’s seen too many students hit too many walls. “Bad news?”
She nodded. “The life insurance policy. The money I’ve been using for tuition. It’s… it’s almost gone. And I’m short for my last year.”
Joe leaned back, exhaling. “How short?”
“A few thousand.”
He winced. “That’s not nothing.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked despite her best effort. “I thought I had it planned. I thought I was being responsible. And now I don’t know how I’m going to finish.”
Joe didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let her breathe. Let her gather herself. Then he said, “Claire, listen to me. You’re one of the strongest students I’ve got. You’re smart, you’re driven, and you’ve survived more than most people twice your age. You’re not going to lose everything over a few thousand dollars.”
Claire blinked hard, throat tight. “I don’t want pity.”
Joe snorted. “Good. Because I don’t do pity. I do solutions.”
She let out a shaky laugh — the first real one in days. “Okay,” she whispered. “Solutions.”
Joe pulled up a file on his computer. “There are emergency grants for students in your situation. Quiet ones. No big application process. I can nominate you.”
Claire’s breath caught. “Really?”
“Really. And there’s a research assistant position opening next month. Pays decently. Flexible hours. You’d be perfect for it.”
Her eyes stung. “Joe… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll let me help,” he said gently. “Not because you’re weak. But because you’re worth investing in.”
Claire swallowed hard. “I… I want to finish. I want to be a doctor.”
“And you will,” Joe said firmly. “But you don’t have to claw your way there alone.”
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them. Joe handed her a tissue without comment. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Anytime,” he said. “Now go home. Get some rest. And Claire?” She looked up. “Tell whoever’s worrying about you that you’re going to be okay.”
Claire sat on the couch with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea she hadn’t touched. Her leg bounced restlessly, the only sign of how tightly she was holding herself together. Dr. Patel settled into her chair. “How have you been since our last session?”
Claire let out a humorless breath. “A mess. But… a slightly more self‑aware mess, I suppose.”
“That’s still progress,” Dr. Patel said gently. “You mentioned last time that losing people has shaped a lot of your fears. I’d like to explore that more today, if you’re willing.”
Claire stared at the mug. “Yeah. I think… I think I need to.” A long silence stretched before she finally spoke. “When my parents died, I didn’t understand what was happening. I was so young. Everyone kept telling me I was ‘so brave’ and ‘so strong,’ but I wasn’t. I was just… numb. Like someone had unplugged me.” Her voice softened, almost childlike. “I remember the quiet more than anything. The house felt too big. Too empty. I felt like I was floating through it.”
Dr. Patel nodded. “And then you went to live with your uncle.”
“Yeah.” Claire swallowed. “Lamb. He was… chaotic. Brilliant. Kind. He didn’t know how to raise a child, but he tried. And for the first time since my parents died, I didn’t feel like a ghost.”
Her eyes grew distant. “But before he decided to take me with him, he tried to send me to boarding school. He said it was ‘for the best,’ that I needed stability. But all I heard was: I’m leaving you too.” Her breath hitched. “The day he dropped me off, I had my first panic attack. I didn’t know what it was. I thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight. I begged him not to go.”
“And did he stay?” Dr. Patel asked softly.
Claire let out a shaky breath. “Yes. He did. He saw me fall apart — really fall apart — for the first time. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, I was convinced he was abandoning me just like my parents. And instead of leaving me there, he… he took me with him.” Her eyes softened with the memory, even as tears gathered. “He marched me right back to the car, got my passport sorted, and said if I wasn’t ready to be on my own, then I wouldn’t be. Simple as that.” She gave a small, watery laugh. “And then I spent years trailing after him through dig sites and tents and dusty little towns. I slept under stars and in hostels and in the back of jeeps. I learned how to catalog artifacts before I learned how to braid my own hair.”
Her voice wavered. “I had just started to love him. To trust him. To feel… at home with him. Like I wasn’t temporary. Like I wasn’t a burden he’d eventually put down.” She swallowed hard. “And then I came to the UK to chase my dreams. To become a doctor. He was supposed to be there when I graduated. He was supposed to see me succeed. He was supposed to be the one person who didn’t disappear.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “And then he was just… gone. And I had no one.” She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
She whispered. “He was supposed to be there when I graduated. When I became a doctor. He was supposed to be there for all of it.” Tears spilled freely now. “And he was just… gone. Just like my parents. Just like everyone.”
Dr. Patel’s voice was steady, grounding. “You were left alone again.”
Claire nodded, shoulders shaking. “I had no one. No family. No anchor. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. That needing people only led to pain.”
“And Jamie?” Dr. Patel asked gently.
Claire let out a broken laugh. “Jamie ruined all of that. In the best way. He made me feel safe again. Seen. Loved. And that terrified me. Because if I let myself need him… if I let myself love him… then losing him would destroy me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I don’t think I could survive another loss.”
Dr. Patel leaned forward slightly. “Claire… you’ve been carrying the belief that love equals loss. That closeness equals danger. That needing someone is a weakness. But those beliefs came from trauma, not truth.”
Claire wiped her eyes again, slower this time. “I know. Or… I’m trying to know.”
“You’re not that abandoned child anymore,” Dr. Patel said gently. “You’re an adult with agency. With support. With people who care deeply for you. Including Jamie.”
Claire’s breath trembled. “I want to believe that.”
“That’s what we’ll work on,” Dr. Patel said. “Not erasing your past — but helping you build a future where love doesn’t feel like a threat.” Claire nodded, tears still clinging to her lashes, but her shoulders eased — just a little. For the first time, she didn’t feel like she was drowning. She felt like she was learning how to swim.
Jamie knocked once, then let himself in with the key she’d given him. He was braced for anything — tears, silence, an empty flat. His chest was tight with worry, hope, fear. What he wasn’t prepared for was… this. Claire was in the middle of the living room, headphones on, hair bouncing as she danced with a broom in hand. She wore an oversized t‑shirt and underwear, long legs bare, moving with a lightness he hadn’t seen in days. The place was spotless. And Claire was smiling. A real smile. Bright. Unburdened. Alive. Jamie froze in the doorway, breath catching in his throat. Claire spun around mid‑dance — and saw him. She yelped, dropping the broom and instinctively turning to hide her backside, tugging the hem of her shirt down even though it did absolutely nothing.
“Jamie!” she squeaked, cheeks flaming. “You weren’t supposed to— I didn’t hear— oh God.”
He couldn’t help it — he laughed. A warm, relieved sound that loosened something tight in his chest. “Ye look happy,” he said softly.
Claire’s embarrassment melted into something else — something warm and bold. She crossed the room in three quick steps, grabbed the front of his shirt, and kissed him. Not tentative. Not careful. Not afraid. A deep, hungry kiss that tasted like relief and gratitude and the first breath after drowning. Jamie made a low sound in his throat, hands coming up to steady her — one at her waist, the other sliding instinctively lower, fingers brushing the curve of her backside. She gasped against his mouth, a soft, involuntary sound that sent heat rushing through him. Her hands fisted in his shirt. His grip tightened just slightly. She pressed closer, kissing him harder, deeper, as if she’d been waiting for this moment for months. When they finally broke apart, breathless, Claire rested her forehead against his.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I really am.”
Jamie cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her flushed skin. “Aye. I can see that.”
She smiled — shy and radiant all at once. And for the first time in days, Jamie felt the knot of fear in his chest unravel. She was here. She was healing. And she wanted him close. Claire was still breathless from kissing him, cheeks flushed, hair wild, shirt barely covering anything. Jamie’s hands were still warm on her waist when she suddenly remembered her state of undress and squeaked, tugging the hem down again. Jamie bit back a grin — and failed spectacularly.
“Weel now,” he said, voice low and teasing, “if I’d kent ye cleaned house like that, I’d have shown up sooner.”
Claire groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please don’t. I’m mortified.”
“Mortified?” Jamie echoed, stepping closer. “Sassenach, ye were dancin’ about in your underwear, singin’ into a broom like ye were headlining at the Hydro.”
She swatted his arm. “I was not!”
“Aye, ye were,” he said, laughing softly. “And ye looked bonnie doin’ it.”
Her blush deepened. “Jamie…”
He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’m only teasin’. It was good to see ye happy.” That stopped her. The room went quiet — not heavy, just… full.
Claire exhaled, the last of her embarrassment melting into something softer. “I am happy,” she said quietly. “More than I’ve been in days.”
Jamie’s expression gentled. “Aye. I can see that.”
She hesitated, fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. “I, um… I actually have news.”
“Good news?” he asked, hopeful.
She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Really good.”
Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Tell me.”
Claire took a breath — steady, confident, nothing like the woman who’d spiraled two nights ago. “I met with my advisor this morning. Joe. And he… he helped. He really helped.”
Jamie’s brows lifted. “Aye?”
“He’s nominating me for an emergency grant,” she said, voice trembling with relief. “And there’s a research assistant position opening next month. He thinks I’ll get it.”
Jamie’s smile spread slow and wide, pride shining in his eyes. “Claire. That’s incredible.”
She nodded, tears pricking her eyes — but this time, they were the good kind. “I’m going to be okay. I’m going to finish med school. I’m not… stuck.”
Jamie cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “I never doubted ye.”
Claire laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “I did.”
“Aye,” he murmured, “but ye’re allowed to doubt. I’ll hold the faith for both of us when ye can’t.”
Her breath caught — not from fear this time, but from something warm and steady blooming in her chest. She rose onto her toes and kissed him again — slow, grateful, full of promise. And Jamie kissed her back, hands gentle at her waist, teasing forgotten, replaced by something deeper. Something real.
Claire sat in the exam room, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the paper gown rustling every time she shifted. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, and for once, she didn’t feel like running. She felt… determined. Nervous, yes. Embarrassed, absolutely. But determined. She’d made the appointment days ago, right after her second therapy session. It felt like the first adult decision she’d made in a long time — not out of panic, not out of fear, but out of care. For herself. For Jamie. For the future she was finally allowing herself to imagine.
Her doctor entered with a warm smile. “Good to see you, Claire. What brings you in today?”
Claire exhaled slowly. “I… want to get tested. Just to be safe. And I’d like to talk about long‑term contraception options. Specifically, an IUD. Not for right now, but… for when things feel right.”
Her doctor nodded, completely unfazed. “That’s a very responsible step. We can absolutely take care of that.”
The appointment was clinical, calm, straightforward. Bloodwork. A few swabs. A long conversation about options, risks, and timing. Claire asked questions — real questions — and didn’t apologize for any of them. When she left the office, she felt lighter. Not because everything was solved, but because she’d taken a step toward the life she wanted, not the one she feared.
Days later, her phone buzzed while she was studying in the library. A notification from her doctor’s office. Your results are in. Her stomach flipped. She opened the message with trembling fingers. All clear. Everything looks healthy. Claire closed her eyes, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Relief washed through her — warm, steady, grounding. For the first time in a long time, she felt ready. Not for everything. Not all at once. But ready to keep moving forward. Ready to keep choosing herself. And maybe, when the time was right, ready to choose Jamie too.
Claire fumbled with her keys, exhausted down to her bones. Between classes, labs, and the new research assistant position, she’d barely slept in days. She missed Jamie — missed him so much it ached — but their schedules had become a cruel joke. Passing kisses. Late‑night texts. Half‑awake phone calls. She pushed open the door to her flat, already planning to collapse face‑first onto the couch. And froze. The lights were off. But the room glowed.
Candles — dozens of them — flickered across every surface, casting warm gold light over the walls. The air smelled like garlic and rosemary and something rich and comforting. And in the center of it all stood Jamie. He wore a soft button‑down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair slightly mussed like he’d been fussing over the stove. The table was set — real plates, real cutlery, a bottle of wine breathing beside two glasses. He smiled when he saw her. A slow, warm, I’ve missed you smile. “Welcome home, Sassenach.”
Claire’s bag slid off her shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. She blinked at him, stunned, throat tightening. “Jamie… what is all this?”
He stepped toward her, hands gentle as he brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “Ye’ve been runnin’ yerself ragged. Work, school, the lab… I ken ye barely have time to breathe.”
Her eyes stung. “I’m sorry we haven’t—”
“Dinna apologize,” he said softly. “I just wanted to give ye a night where ye dinna have to think about anything but eatin’ and restin’.”
She looked around again — the candles, the table, the food he’d clearly spent hours making — and something inside her cracked open. “Jamie,” she whispered, voice trembling, “this is… beautiful.”
He shrugged, cheeks pink. “It’s only dinner.”
“It’s not,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s you thinking about me. It’s you making time when I couldn’t. It’s… everything.”
Jamie cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw. “I’ve missed ye, Claire.”
She leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment. “I’ve missed you too.”
He kissed her forehead — soft, lingering, full of quiet devotion — then pulled back with a grin. “Sit. Before the food gets cold.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and relieved. “What did you make?”
“Something edible, I hope,” he teased. “Though if it’s terrible, we can always order pizza.”
Claire shook her head, smiling as she let him guide her toward the table. “Jamie Fraser, you cooked for me. I’d eat it even if it were charcoal.”
He huffed a soft laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good thing it looks a wee bit better than charcoal, then.” He was being modest — painfully so. Claire knew better. His mother had taught him and Jenny to cook when they were barely tall enough to reach the counter, and it showed. Jamie wasn’t just competent in the kitchen; he was thoughtful, deliberate, almost tender in the way he prepared food. And tonight, he’d done it for her.
She sat, watching him move around her kitchen like he belonged there — because he did. Because he’d made himself part of her life in ways she never expected, never dared hope for. And as he set the plate in front of her, Claire realized something simple and profound: This wasn’t just a romantic gesture. It was a reminder. That even when life was chaotic, even when she was stretched thin, even when they barely saw each other… Jamie was still her home.
Dinner had been perfect — warm food, soft candlelight, the kind of easy conversation they hadn’t had in weeks. Claire felt full in a way that had nothing to do with the meal. After they cleared the dishes, Jamie guided her gently toward the couch. “Turn around,” he murmured.
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because ye look like your shoulders are carryin’ the weight of the whole bloody NHS.”
She snorted, but she obeyed, settling on the floor between his knees, her back to him. Jamie sat on the couch behind her, his hands warm as they rested lightly on her shoulders. “Tell me if it hurts,” he said. Then he began. Slow, steady pressure. Thumbs working into the knots at the base of her neck. Fingers tracing the tight lines along her shoulder blades.
Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Oh… God. That feels incredible.”
Jamie chuckled softly. “Aye, I can tell. Ye’re meltin’ like butter.” She leaned back slightly, letting herself relax into his touch. For the first time in weeks, her mind wasn’t racing. She wasn’t thinking about deadlines or lab reports or tuition or the next exam. Just warmth. Just Jamie. Just this. After a long, quiet moment, he spoke.
“Claire… can I ask ye something?”
“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes closed. “As long as you don’t stop doing that.”
He smiled against the back of her head. “I’ll keep goin’. But… where do ye see yourself in a year?”
Her eyes opened slowly. “A year?”
“Aye.”
She hesitated — not because she didn’t know, but because she wasn’t used to saying it out loud. “I see myself finishing med school,” she said softly. “I see myself… surviving it. Maybe even thriving.”
Jamie’s hands paused for a heartbeat — just long enough for her to feel the warmth of his pride — then continued their slow, soothing rhythm. “And us?” he asked quietly.
Claire swallowed. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of her eye. “I see us too.” Jamie’s breath caught — a tiny, involuntary sound that made her smile. “I see us figuring things out,” she continued. “Even when it’s messy. Even when we barely see each other. I see… more nights like this. More dinners. More… us.”
Jamie’s hands slid down her back, gentle, reverent. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I see that too.”
She leaned her head back against his knee, letting herself rest there, letting herself be held without being fixed. “Jamie?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you. For tonight. For… everything.”
He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “Always, Sassenach.”
She closed her eyes again, letting the warmth of him seep into her bones. For the first time in months, the future didn’t feel like a cliff edge. It felt like a path. And she wasn’t walking it alone. Claire shifted closer, her breath warm against his cheek before she kissed him — slow at first, then with a sudden, hungry urgency that stole the air from his lungs. Jamie responded instinctively, one hand sliding to her waist as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing fully into his.
When she moved her hands to his belt, she paused, lifting her gaze to his. It wasn’t hesitation — it was a question. A request. A moment of quiet, deliberate consent. Jamie’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he gave the smallest nod. That was all she needed. Her fingers worked with surprising confidence, loosening the buckle, slipping open the button, easing down the zipper. He felt every brush of her knuckles like a spark. She looked up at him again — checking, confirming, grounding them both in the moment.
“Claire…” he breathed, voice already unsteady.
She answered him with another kiss, softer this time, full of intention. And when she finally lowered herself, when her touch became something deeper, something he hadn’t expected — Jamie’s head fell back, a raw sound escaping him before he could stop it. His hand found her curls, not to guide her, but because he needed something to hold on to. “Christ, Claire…” he groaned, the surprise and pleasure hitting him all at once.
She released him with a soft pop and met his eye, "Just relax Jamie. I've got you." a groan rumbled through his body as his head fell to the cushion again. moments later he tried to pull back, calling out her name in warning but she held fast. Taking every last drop with a wicked smile.
He was in awe of her — truly, visibly undone. This woman, this fierce and tender and complicated Claire, revealing a side of herself he’d never seen before. He watched her throat work as she swallowed, his breath catching as she leaned in and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the tip of his cock, that made his whole-body tense. His breathing was still uneven, his eyes dark and wide with something raw and unguarded as Claire lifted her head again. Her lips brushed lightly against his stomach on the way up, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through him before she rose to her knees.
He looked stunned — open in a way she’d never seen, stripped of all his usual steadiness — and the sight of it sent a warm, powerful rush through her. She’d done that. She’d brought him to this edge. And he was looking at her like she was something extraordinary. “Claire…” he whispered, voice rough, almost reverent.
She cupped his jaw, guiding him down to her, kissing him with a softness that contrasted the intensity of moments before. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks as if he needed to ground himself, to make sure she was really there. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling. “You okay?” she murmured.
Jamie let out a shaky laugh, one hand sliding to the back of her neck. “Aye. More than okay.”
She smiled — small, shy, but certain — and he kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, his fingers threading through her hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. The world around them softened. The candlelight flickered. The music hummed low in the background. Their breaths synced, warm and steady. Jamie shifted, pulling her gently into his arms, and Claire melted against him, her hands curling into his shirt as he held her close. There was no rush, no fear, no hesitation — just the quiet, overwhelming certainty that they were exactly where they were meant to be.