Page 90 of Cyclone

“Don’t need to.”

She turned in my arms slowly, her eyes meeting mine.

“You’re everything, Cyclone.”

It was quiet.

So quiet I almost missed it.

But it hit harder than any gunshot.

I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb over her skin. “Say it again.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re everything to me.”

God.

I kissed her like a man dying of thirst.

Her arms slid around my neck, pulling me in, and that fire that always lived between us ignited. But this time, it wasn’t wild or rushed.

It wasslow.

Intentional.

She peeled the shirt off herself, and I let my hands roam—mapping skin I already knew but would never stop wanting. I kissed my way down her throat, across her collarbone, tasting the promise in every heartbeat.

She tugged my shirt over my head and flattened her palms to my chest. “I don’t want safe tonight,” she whispered. “I wantyou.All of you.”

“You have me,” I said, voice rough. “Always.”

We fell to the bed, tangled in sheets and heat, letting the storm rage outside.

But inside?

It was calm.

It was right.

I moved over her slowly, reverently, like I was worshipping something sacred.

Because I was.

And when she came apart beneath me—eyes locked on mine, breath shuddering, body trembling—I followed her over the edge, holding nothing back.

When it was over, I pulled her into my chest, our legs still tangled, her hand resting over my heart.

“Promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“Whatever happens next… don’t hold back.”

I kissed her temple.

“Not a chance.”

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