Page 24 of Loco

She pulled back slightly, her lips barely an inch from mine, her breathing uneven. “I don’t know why this keeps happening,” she whispered.

I ran my thumb along the side of her jaw, holding her there, keeping her close. “Because we create our own storm when we’re together,” I murmured, watching her eyes darken. “But instead of havoc and destruction like the one outside,” I slid my fingers through her hair, tilting her face up so she could see exactly what she did to me. “It creates something beautiful.”

Sayla swallowed, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but instead, she leaned in again, claiming my mouth in a kiss that burned through every doubt, every hesitation.

And just like that, I was lost in the storm all over again. Only this time, the storm outside wasn’t the problem—it was the goddamn layers between us.

As I tried to feel her through the thick, fleece-lined armor she’d chosen to wear to bed, I groaned under my breath. Hoodie, leggings, and socks. It was like trying to seduce a heavily bundled pillow. My hands slid along her waist and up her back, searching for skin, for warmth, forher—and finding cotton. So much fucking cotton.

Granted, we’d never worn much in bed together before because we’d been doing other things, so I wasn’t used to not being able to touch and feel her, but this was a whole new realm of bullshit and hell that it was causing me. Thanks to the storm raging outside, Sayla had dressed for war against winter, and I was the one paying for it.

She shifted above me, and I must’ve made a frustrated noise because she laughed softly, the sound sultry and amused.

“What’s wrong?” she teased, voice low and wicked. “Not finding what you’re looking for?”

Before I could answer, she sat on my lap and reached for the hem of her hoodie. My breath hitched. The air between us practically crackled with anticipation as she peeled it over her head with that slow, deliberate confidence that made my pulse trip.

Except beneath the hoodie, she wore a T-shirt, or maybe it was a tank top. Either way, it wasnotthe naked skin I’d hoped for.

She caught my deadpan stare and grinned as if she’d been expecting it. “Patience,” she murmured, clamping her arms around the bundled hoodie beneath her arms and working her fingers beneath the next layer.

Both shirts started to rise, inch by torturous inch, baring the flesh I wanted so desperately. First, her stomach, smooth, toned, soft. Then, the curve beneath her breasts. A sliver of underboob.Then, Jesus, a nipple peeked out, flushed and tight from the chill in the room, and I forgot how to breathe.

And then she stopped. Her hands froze, the fabric bunched just beneath her chest, and she looked down at me, biting her lip. Not in that teasing way she usually did, but uncertain. Almost hesitant.

The air shifted.

I swallowed hard, dread and desire warring inside me. “What?”

Sayla’s eyes darted around the room like she was suddenly too aware of everything—the cold, the dark, me. She looked back down, face tight, like she was fighting herself. “Well… it’s just that…” Her voice broke a little, and she bit her lip harder like it might hold back whatever was building inside.

My heart clenched. “Baby,” I said gently, “what is it?”

She hesitated a second longer, then sighed and let the shirts fall. They slid down over her body like a curtain dropping between us, and with it came this sense of loss I couldn’t shake.

So near. So goddamn far.

Still straddling me, she didn’t meet my eyes or say anything. I ran my hands over her thighs, soft and steady, grounding her. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just about the clothes. I softened my expression and made sure she saw no pressure in my touch. “Sayla, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

She looked at me like I was the idiot of the century. “It’sfreezing, Roque.” Her voice snapped, but it wasn’t mean—it was full of frustration. “I thought I could do it. I wanted to. But the second the cold hit my skin, I panicked.”

I blinked, then let out a breathless laugh. “You’re cold?”

“No, I’mfucking frozen,” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I was trying to be sexy, but my nipples almost iced off halfway through, and I panicked.”

My brows shot up, but the laughter bubbled out anyway. I rolled up my sleeve, stuck my arm into the air above us, and winced. Yeah. The chill was worse than I’d realized.

“It’s colder than it should be,” I said, frowning. “I wond?—”

And right then, the world decided to prove its point. Every bit of ambient light—the clock, the nightlight, the faint glow from outside—snapped off, plunging the room into sudden, complete darkness.

Sayla went still on top of me. “Oh… that’s not good,” she whispered, her voice echoing slightly in the void around us. I saw her silhouette shift as her head turned toward the windows. “What do we do?”

I exhaled slowly and reached up to touch her waist. “Absolutely nothing.”

It was reckless—maybe stupid. The power had gone out, the generator wasn’t humming, and it was getting colder by the minute. But all of that could wait. Right now, Sayla was here. Her body was warm against mine, her breath feathering against my neck, her heartbeat thudding right in sync with my own.

Whatever the storm outside had in store for us—it could wait.

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