Snow Storm

Chapter 13

Claude

Claude was fine. Really. He was totally relaxed and completely chill and wasn’t freaking out at all about whether or not the text message had been Aminah’s way of politely hinting that Harley wouldn’t be back. That last night had been too much. That he had been too much.

Aminah: Ran into your new “friend”. He said to let you know he’s got some editor thing to take care of and he’ll be by in an hour and a half. FWIW? I like him.

He’d been too afraid to reply back with anything other than a thumbs-up, which he knew in today’s world was passive-aggressive. Aminah was kind though. She’d just sent him a string of multicolored hearts and then left him to his brooding silence.

He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He thought about pacing, but his legs were still weak and would be until he saw his doctor—or until Daniel came back to work some magic on his spasming muscles. Daniel wasn’t a cure, but he was a stopgap between Claude and surgery, which he appreciated because the recovery was always hell, and there was always a risk of it going wrong and leaving him completely paralyzed.

He wasn’t afraid of that life anymore. He just wasn’t done being able to stand on his own and walk when he needed to.

Which was not what he wanted to think about while he was waiting to see if his lover would return. He felt sick to his stomach. He tried a cup of tea, but it wasn’t enough. He tried coffee, but it was too much. He nibbled on the last of the bananas he’d managed to find at the market—something he wouldn’t have again until near spring, when the snow cleared and the produce trucks could make deliveries again.

Eating didn’t help either.

In the end, he headed into his workout room and did some of his stretches. His legs protested almost violently, spasming so badly they shook his whole body, but after getting his core warmed up, his body calmed down. He straddled his weight bench and stared at himself in the long mirror. Sometimes the reflection there was himself. Sometimes it was an unfamiliar, grey-haired stranger with wrinkles beside his eyes.

Today though, he saw a new version of himself. A man who’d spent the night experiencing something entirely new. His eyes were brighter. His lips weren’t turned down as much in the corners. He looked…well, happy was the only word he could come up with.

Had his face ever been so relaxed? So calm?

He couldn’t answer honestly, but he knew where he could find the truth. Sliding off the bench, he made his way into the foyer and opened up the coat closet. At the very top was a box he’d never been able to bring himself to throw out. He’d kept it tucked high on a shelf, memories he rarely felt the need to revisit, but he knew he’d regret it if he let it all go.

On the top of the stack were photos of his parents, then photos of him and Dorsey when they were younger—bashing around Stonehenge when their parents had gotten a wild hair about wanting the boys to be educated and cultured through travel.

Beneath that were photos of his first day at university and a few candid shots Dorsey had taken on his 35mm at a couple of parties. He had red-eye in all of them, and he looked pale and tired, but he was grinning.

But his smile hadn’t reached his eyes even back then.

The next pile of photos was in a large envelope. It wasn’t sealed, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened it. They’d been put away long before his accident and long before he’d caught Anabelle with Clark.

It should have told him something that she’d never put their wedding or engagement in frames after they’d gotten them back from the photographer. She ordered two dozen in different sizes, and they’d just sat under their bed for years. When she left, she hadn’t taken them with her, and he knew then exactly what the last several years had meant to her.

He pulled them out now and laid them on top of the rest. The first one in the stack was when they were still dating. They’d gone hiking in Scotland. West Highland Way. It had been a miserable day—pissing rain and freezing cold. But they’d laughed a lot.

He was smiling in the photo. His hair was longer and so much darker. But there was still that same dull look in his eyes. He remembered thinking he was happy, but he couldn’t recall the way he’d felt in his bones.

It certainly hadn’t been the way he felt when Harley was in his arms.

He flipped through a few more. Parties, get-togethers, Christmases. One of him at an ugly jumper party in London at Anabelle’s office. They were matching—big elves with glowing lights on their hats.

He wasn’t smiling in that photo. He remembered not wanting to go. He remembered being passive-aggressive about being dragged down there with her because he’d wanted to spend a quiet evening at home.

She’d insisted, threatened, and eventually guilt-tripped him into saying yes.

But he was realizing now that maybe that had been her last resort. He should have been kinder. And a kindness should have been leaving long before it came down to her cheating.

Claude jumped half a foot when a knock came at the door, and for a moment, he forgot who it was supposed to be. Then he remembered.

Harley.

Harley, with his big, sad eyes and his soft curls and warm skin and freckles. Harley, with his trembling fingers and his soft moans and the soul-deep need to be held and adored and spoiled. God, if he didn’t know better, he’d say this was falling in love.

But could a person do that in two days?

He supposed there were no rules about it. Not really.

“Just a moment,” he called. But before he could clear up the mess, the doorknob turned, and Harley stepped in. He was dripping from snow already melting off him, and he was shivering slightly.

“I’m s-so sorry. I’m c-cold, and—oh.” Harley froze as he stared down at the pile of photos between Claude’s legs. His face was pink from the chill, but it darkened into a full blush. “I didn’t…I can…should I come back?”

“No. Merde,” he swore under his breath. He used his hands to scoot backward so he could make room for Harley and his bags. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Harley’s eyes were on the photo he was holding. A wedding photo. Anabelle had looked so beautiful on that day, but she hadn’t felt like his when it was over. It was meant to be a beginning, but for him, it had felt like the path to an end.

He just hadn’t realized it at the time.

“Is that her? Your ex?”

“Anabelle,” Claude said. He scooted all the way back, and Harley carefully set his bags down. One of them was his own. The other was a thermal bag from the spa, which was…odd. But he wasn’t going to question him. “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

Harley carefully removed his boots, stepping wide over the little water puddles, then sank down beside Claude and peered over his arm. “Do you miss her?”

“No.”

“So why?—”

“I’m happy,” Claude told him. The words weren’t going to come out right if he wasn’t careful with them. “I realized after you left, the feeling I had when I woke up this morning was unfamiliar. And it took me too long to realize it was happiness. Then, I saw myself in the mirror, and I looked different. Not completely, but…” He brushed the tip of his finger against the left corner of his eye. “Right here, I think. I wanted to know if I ever looked like that before.”

“Had you?”

Claude pulled out the photos he’d been looking at before and handed them off to Harley. He held his breath as the younger man shifted through them. He felt Harley’s gaze move to his face, then back down to the photos. “I don’t think so. I just know that my face in these photos doesn’t look like the face I had in the mirror this morning.”

Harley ducked his head and smiled down at his lap. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

Claude tucked a finger under Harley’s chin and lifted until their eyes met. “I think you should.” He licked his lips. “I was worried you weren’t coming back.”

“I just had a?—”

“An editor thing?” Claude asked. The look in Harley’s eyes told him that Aminah had been lying. “Were you thinking things over?”

Harley let out a huffing sigh and shook his head. “No. I was planning something. For you,” he added, like that wasn’t clear. “A surprise. I sort of showed up here expecting to spend Christmas alone, but now I’m with you, and you’ve already done so much for me. I wanted to return the favor.”

Claude blinked. “I’ve done nothing special.”

Harley laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s kind of wild that you see it that way.” He grunted as he climbed to his feet, then offered both hands out. “Are you okay to stand? I can go find your chair if that’s better.”

Claude waved him off. “I’ll tidy up. You can put your things in my bedroom.”

Harley glanced behind him, then nodded. “Could you meet me in there?”

There was something heavy in his tone—important enough that it made him nervous deep in the pit of his stomach. But there was only one answer he could give. “Of course I can. I’ll be in shortly.”

Claude took his time, not quite on purpose, but not moving as quickly as he was able. He let himself look at Anabelle’s face one last time before putting everything away, and when the closet door was shut, it was like closing the lid on the memories of her.

There were no lingering feelings apart from a small surge of grief that he’d allowed himself to be discontent for so long. But even that was muted and dull in the face of what was waiting for him. He climbed to his feet but only made it as far as the sofa before his legs gave out. Luckily, his chair was parked within arm’s reach, so he grabbed it and rolled the rest of the way down the hall and through the bedroom door.

Harley was there, hovering beside the bed. He’d straightened the duvet and moved all the pillows to the floor and was wringing his hands nervously as he stared at Claude.

“I watched some videos.”

Claude stared at him, unsure what he meant. “Okay?”

“On…on massage. I know Daniel won’t be back for a while, and I’m probably not even a fraction as good as you were, let alone close to a professional, but I think I’ve got the gist. Uh…though if you’d rather not take the risk of me fucking up your back, I totally understand, but?—”

“Oh, mon ange.”

Harley closed his mouth with a loud click of his teeth.

“Are you saying you want to give me a massage?”

Harley gestured weakly at the thermal bags. “Aminah said I could take some things from the spa. I found the oils you like and some hot towels. And, uh…I think I can at least help you relax? If you’d like that?”

Claude felt like his heart was trying to expand past his ribs. No one had ever done this for him before. Not once. Not even in the worst of his pain. At least, not when they weren’t being paid. When he’d come home from the hospital and was wracked with spasms, Anabelle had fed him drugs and then slept in the guest room.

She said it was so she didn’t disturb him—and while he knew it was a lie, he understood why she needed distance from him. But it had been achingly lonely. He’d wanted the comfort of human touch, but he’d learned to get by without it.

This felt almost cruel to accept a gift he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep.

But it was also impossible to say no.

“How do you want me?”

Harley’s mouth softened into a small grin. “I really like that question. For now, face down? However you’re comfortable. Sorry I don’t have a fancy table where you can put your face.”

Claude carefully rose from his chair and took the handful of steps to the bed. His knees trembled a bit, but they held as he pulled off his shirt, then carefully worked the buttons on his jeans. He stripped down to nothing and tried not to look at his flaccid cock. If his back wasn’t acting up, he’d be sporting at least a half chub.

And he was petrified that Harley was going to take it personally.

“You’re really hot,” Harley whispered, then pressed his fingers to his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “Sorry. I hope you don’t feel all gross and, you know, objectified.”

God, this man was a fucking wonder. Claude sat down, giving his legs a reprieve, and he held his hands out for Harley, pulling him between his knees. He pressed his fingers into his lover’s hips tightly and looked up at him.

“I don’t mind being objectified by you.”

Harley huffed a laugh and shrugged. “I just hope you know it’s not all about your body. You’re funny too. And sweet. And really, really kind.”

Claude had been given years and years to cope with the way his body both looked and functioned. He was fine with his circumstances. But he would be a liar if he’d said he wasn’t sure he was ever going to hear those words from an honest person ever again unless they had a disability fetish.

But Harley was neither a devotee nor a liar. He saw the whole of who Claude was and wanted him for every inch of it. His body, his mind, his heart. And it was easy to accept in that moment because that’s exactly how he felt about Harley, and the idea that it went both ways was wildly erotic.

“Kiss me.” It was the only thing he could think of to say right then.

Harley obeyed. He cupped Claude’s jaw and gently touched their tongues in a sweet, open-mouthed kiss. It lingered for a long while, probably too long, but Claude didn’t care. He felt the tension in his body leaving, and something else took its place.

Desperation. Need.

A willingness to compromise where he never had before.

He couldn’t let this be over without trying. He’d let it sit for a few days—because they had that. But he wasn’t going to let Harley leave Wrought Iron without at least trying to make something work.

This was too special to give up.

“Ready?” Harley asked, breaking the kiss.

Claude nodded. He turned his body and carefully arranged himself face down on the blankets. His cheek pressed into the mattress, gaze on the wall, and he listened to Harley unzip the thermal bag. There was a soft thud, thud, thud as he set bottles on the nightstand, then the shfft of a plastic bag—probably warm towels.

Claude’s body felt like it was vibrating with anticipation, and he breathed through it as he heard Harley moving around for a few more moments. Then, there was stillness.

And then came a soft, tentative touch between his shoulder blades. “So, I watched some videos.”

Claude chuckled into the blankets. “Yes. You said.”

“Informational ones on how to massage people with spine injuries without hurting them. Most of the ones I could find talked about quadriplegics. Um,” Harley coughed. “Which I know you’re not. But I wanted to make sure I could do this without making anything worse.”

Claude pushed up on his forearms and looked at Harley, who was standing beside him with a worried expression. “My injury is years old. Decades. You’re not going to re-break my spine, mon ange.”

Harley’s cheeks pinked at the nickname, and he nodded shyly. “No, yeah. I figured. But I want to make sure I’m taking care of you. The videos said sometimes you can be really sensitive in places near where you were injured.”

Claude felt his ears heat. He was more sensitive there. He just hadn’t told Harley about that yet. There was a line right above where his spine had broken that could feel very, very good or very, very bad depending on the type of touch and on his mood.

Right now, he was pretty sure Harley could bring him right to orgasm if he wanted to.

He cleared his throat and reached one hand behind his back. His fingertips pressed around until he felt the familiar zing. “Right here.”

“You have scars,” Harley whispered.

“Surgeries,” Claude told him. “Seven in total. And right here is where my spine was broken and my spinal cord was damaged. Right above it is where I feel…a lot.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both,” Claude admitted. “Just maybe be careful right there.” Not that he didn’t want to feel Harley playing with his body and bringing him over the edge, but he knew this wasn’t about sex. This was something else—something important and, dare he say, precious.

Harley hummed in thought, then bent down and pressed a kiss just above that tender spot. Claude felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Fingertips brushed lower, over his scars. The sensation was dulled, mostly just pressure, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there.

Even Daniel avoided that spot.

“And here?”

“Anywhere below is fine. My legs don’t feel much, but pressure on them is always amazing,” Claude said. His voice was rough and ragged from need, but he didn’t want Harley to think the moment was cheapened by him being absurdly horny.

Harley was trying to give him a gift, damn it. The sex could wait.

Claude felt the bed shift and then the barest, barely there press of a kiss somewhere below his hips. “Can you feel that?”

“A little. Not sure where you kissed me, but…”

“Here.” Harder pressure now. Harley’s hand was right above the curve of his ass.

Oh. The intimacy of it all was overwhelming. Claude’s face heated, and he wasn’t entirely sure, but he had a feeling if he rolled over and looked down, his cock would be a little thicker. He shifted, rubbing his nipples against the sheets, sending tendrils of teasing pleasure up his spine.

This wasn’t just a massage, he was coming to realize.

“I’m going to start. Let me know if I get anything wrong.”

“Okay,” Claude said, lying through his teeth. Even if Harley put him in agony, he wouldn’t say a word. How could he after this? This was a gift no one had ever given him before. A gift he wasn’t sure he could live without.

He felt pressure against his legs, weighty and pressing. Harley was straddling his calves, and then he smelled clove and orange from his favorite oils. His eyes closed against his will, and with the first pass of Harley’s hands, he was in heaven.

He groaned loudly, trying his best not to arch into the touch, but God, it was too good. Harley’s hands were powerful and strong, seeking out all the tense spots, almost like he could sense them through his skin. He worked at knots gently, slow, careful circles, unknotting muscles that had been bunched up since before Harley set foot on the property.

“If you ever quit writing, I have a suggestion for your next job,” Claude said from behind a groan.

Harley laughed and leaned down, speaking into Claude’s ear. “I would only do this for you. Would you take me on as your private masseuse?”

“Masseur,” Claude corrected absently. “It’s French.”

Harley let his lips drag over the shell of Claude’s ear. “Is that a yes?”

Claude lifted up on his forearms and turned his head so he could see Harley. “Would that make you feel strange? Being under my employ…and under me?”

Harley blinked. “I…I wasn’t. Oh. Sorry. Crap.” He moved off, and it took Claude’s body a few too many seconds to come back online. He only just managed to catch Harley’s arm before he was off the bed.

“ Attends ,” he said, then repeated in English, “ Wait .”

Harley froze, but he didn’t look over. His gaze was fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Claude carefully pulled Harley to him, reading his body language, ready to let go the moment it was clear he didn’t want the touch. But with every stroke of Claude’s fingers against his arm, Harley relaxed into him.

It wasn’t long until they were both lying down, and Claude kept one arm tightly around Harley’s waist. “Where did I mess up?” Claude asked.

Harley shook his head so quickly it had to have made him dizzy. “It wasn’t you. I’m such an awkward-as-fuck mess. Like, I know you were joking, but I panicked for a second that you were serious, and then I panicked because I didn’t want you to think I thought you were serious, and…”

“Harley,” he said very gently, interrupting his babbling flow of words.

Harley swallowed heavily and looked up, shame written all over his face. Claude hated that. He hated that Harley was driven to this feeling because the people in his past had tragically and completely failed him.

“Yeah?”

Claude used his free hand to cup Harley’s jaw. “I’d like to kiss you.”

Harley’s eyes went wide as he finally met his gaze. “Really?”

“Very much.”

Licking his lips, Harley nodded and eased forward, meeting Claude halfway. It was a quick thing—tender, chaste, warm. Claude let the kiss linger for as long as it took to get Harley’s breathing back to normal, and then he eased away.

“Mon ame.”

“My…”

“Soul,” Claude said. “Not meant to be taken literally. It’s just a little stronger than darling. And that’s how I feel about you.”

Harley swallowed heavily and bit his lip. Their gazes connected again, and then Harley looked away. “I usually do know when someone’s not being literal. Not always. It’s harder for me, but…but I do get it. I’m not a total hermit or whatever. I write people for a living, and the fact that my books did really well means I know something about the human condition. I think.”

“Yes,” Claude said with a smile. He traced a finger over Harley’s freckles. “I confess I haven’t read your books?—”

“Thank God,” Harley said. “Trust me, it’s so…when people I know read them, it’s hard. Like, they know me. They know my brain is three jigsaw puzzles thrown together in one box and shaken up. And I feel like if they read my books, they’ll think I’m some kind of fraud.”

“No,” Claude said. “But I’d never read without your permission. I just meant to say that I don’t have to read your books to know that you pay attention. You understand people in ways others don’t. You’ve given me things I need that even my closest friends and family haven’t.”

“I hope you don’t mean sex.”

Claude burst into laughter, hiding the sound in the crook of Harley’s neck. “No, my sweet. No. But this tonight?” He pulled back to look at Harley. “I was in pain, and having no experience whatsoever, you took an hour and learned a skill no one else in my life has been brave enough to take on. And you are really very good at it which is kind of amazing if it really was your first time.”

Harley’s smile was a little crooked, higher up on the left than the right. “It was. It’s kind of a superpower? Like, if I’m good at something, I’m really good. If I’m bad at it, I’m really bad. There’s never an in-between.”

“Then I’m grateful I’m relaxed instead of gritting my teeth in pain,” Claude said. He kissed Harley once more. “You don’t have to panic with me. You can take everything I say metaphorically or literally, and you can ask me a hundred questions to clarify, and I won’t get tired of explaining it all to you.”

Harley looked almost afraid to believe him. “Will we have enough time together for me to ask a hundred questions?”

“I’d like to,” Claude confessed. Fuck. He had told himself to wait. He was supposed to draw this out before bringing it up. But he saw hope in Harley’s eyes, and damn him, but the thin wall he’d put up around his heart was cracking.

Claude shifted up onto his elbow, propping his head on his hand, and he looked down into Harley’s nervous gaze. He traced the shape of his lips with his finger, then his chin, then down, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Say it,” Harley whispered, and Claude’s resolve shattered. “Whatever you’re holding back, just tell me. I can take it.”

Claude bowed his head and held his breath until his lungs burned. He let all the air out with a slow hiss, then met Harley’s gaze. “I don’t want this to be over after Christmas ends and the snow clears. I don’t know how to make this work. You live so far, and I can’t leave here, but?—”

“Well, it’s not like I have a job that I need to clock in for,” Harley said quietly.

Claude frowned at him.

“I’m a writer. I can do that pretty much anywhere. You’d be amazed at the places I’ve finished book endings.”

Claude felt a honey-thick surge of affection roll through him. He smiled. “Where?”

Harley’s cheeks pinked. “Once in a men’s toilet. I was struck by this idea I couldn’t let go of, so I locked myself in a stall. The smell was overwhelmingly disgusting. One guy came in and took the nastiest shit. I was writing a love scene epilogue.”

Claude burst into laughter. “Is that so?”

Harley nodded, grinning. He held Claude a little tighter. “I’ve never told anyone that story before.”

Claude kissed him for that. “Where else?”

“Uh…my old tree house. My dad had it built for me when I was younger because I used to get overwhelmed by a lot of noise in the house. One night when I was visiting him, I was feeling worked up, so I took my laptop up there and finished the ending to my fourth novel.” Harley’s tone turned softer. Maybe sadder. “My dad found me in there the next morning. He saw my hand sticking out through the little door and thought I was dead.”

Claude’s smile widened. “I’m sure he was relieved.”

Harley snorted. “He was relieved, then pissed, then relieved again. I wrote a dedication to him and the tree house in that book.”

“I’d like to see that someday.”

Harley laid his slightly parted mouth against Claude’s jaw and held it there. “I can do that,” he eventually murmured. Harley sighed and nestled all the way against Claude, his ear against his chest. “I feel like if I can write in a bathroom stall and a tree house, I can write near a luxury resort with its own spa and my sexy lumberjack mountain man who spoils me with attention whenever we’re within arm’s reach. Maybe a little house in town not too far from the property, you know?”

Claude felt something creep up his spine. It was a strange emotion—like a mixture of fear, anticipation, joy, and hope . “Is this wrong? To talk about something like this after only knowing you for a few days?”

Harley shrugged. “I think it’s risky. My neurotic tendencies could get really annoying after a while. Or too much.”

“And the reality of my body might be too heavy for you once you see how it is being with me day-to-day.”

Harley took Claude’s hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Maybe, but I doubt that.”

“And I doubt you’ll ever be too much,” Claude told him. He took his hand back and tipped Harley’s chin up. “But I suppose all we can do is decide if the risk is worth it.”

“I don’t know. I want to say yes. I never felt like this with Darren. Not once. He never made me feel like I was worth loving. Just that I was lucky that someone was willing to put up with me in spite of how difficult I am.”

Claude felt honest hate bubbling in his gut, and he had to swallow it down. “He was wrong.”

“Maybe.”

“I might not know you as well as I’d like yet, mon ame, but I can tell you that everyone is not only worthy of being loved for who they are, but there are people out there who can and will give that to them. I’d like to try being that man for you.”

Harley was quiet for a long time. “Do you trust me?”

“Trust you…?”

“That I’m going to tell you the truth? That I mean what I say when the reality of your body isn’t too heavy?”

That was the question of the hour. Claude was happy with who he was, but his ex had done a number on his belief that his own self-love could be matched by someone else’s love for him. That his body would be good enough as is.

So far, Harley hadn’t seemed put out by anything Claude did or anything he needed. But that could change.

“I want to try,” Claude said eventually. “I don’t know how it’s going to work, but I don’t want to give up.”

Harley looked up at him through thick lashes. “Then, if you can give that trust to me, I can give my trust to you. We’ll never be able to see the future, but I think we’re both logical and experienced enough to know when it’s worth the risk.”

Claude let out a breath and bowed his head, knocking his forehead against Harley’s. “Tu es trop bien pour moi,” he murmured.

Harley didn’t ask him to say that again in English. He just tilted his head to the side and then shifted so he could take the kiss Claude was always and forever willing to give. It lingered, soft and warm, and Harley broke away with two pecks at the corners of his mouth. “There’s a town not too far from here, right?”

Claude nodded slowly.

“When the snow clears, we can do things the regular way. On the slow path. I’ll find a place to rent, and we can figure out what works for us.”

“The regular way? You mean date?” Claude asked.

Harley grinned. “Is that so bad?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, tapping his chin. Then he rolled over, shoving a laughing Harley on his back. He kissed him slowly, with tongue this time, until he was heated all over. “Dinner. Dancing?”

Harley wrinkled his nose. “Not much of a dancer.”

“Neither am I. Cinema, then,” Claude amended. He lifted one of Harley’s hands and began to kiss the pads of his fingers. “Late-night strolls, ice cream shops…”

“Stargazing,” Harley added.

“Walking you to your door and kissing you on your porch.”

Harley swallowed heavily and lifted his head up so their lips were almost touching. “Inviting you in for a nightcap.”

Claude shivered at the thought. “Breakfast together the next morning.”

“And sometimes lunch too.”

Claude’s heart was heavy in his chest but in the best way. How had he gone his whole life without this man? How had he survived such mediocre romance before now? “And then, somewhere down the road, a happily ever after for us. Our epilogue.”

Harley stared at him for a long moment. “If you wanted to quit your day job, I think you’d make a killing as a writer. You’d hit lists .”

“I don’t know what that means,” Claude said with a small grin, “but I’ll leave the book words to you and save mine for your ears alone.”

“Kiss me again,” Harley said, breathless.

Claude leaned in and obeyed.