Page 33 of Cyclone

“But I don’t care anymore,” she whispered against my jaw. “I want you. One more time, and maybe one more.”

My breath hitched hard. I closed my eyes, gripping the edge of the seat so tightly my knuckles went white. My cock hurt, straining against my pants.

“Jude...” I rasped, every muscle in my body straining with the need to touch her.

“Please,” she breathed, her lips brushing the corner of my mouth.

That was all it took.

With a rough, broken sound, I surged to my feet, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her into my arms. Jude gasped, wrapping her legs around my hips instinctively, her hands tangling in my hair.

I kissed her like a starving man—deep, wild, desperate.

She kissed me back with the same ferocity, moaning into my mouth as I stumbled inside the house, carrying her as she clung to me, kicking the door shut behind us.

Our clothes fell off in a frantic trail across the floor—shirts yanked over heads, jeans shoved down legs, boots and socks discarded without a second thought. I leaned down and tasted her breast, she moaned, and her hands grabbed my hair, as she arched against me.

I laid her down on the old couch first, but Jude wasn’t having it—she tugged me down with her, our bodies colliding with a force that left us both gasping. My hand lowered as it explored her body. When my finger rubbed her clit she cried out for more.

I kissed her everywhere, her throat, her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts. When I went lower, she cried out andbegged me never to stop. With each kiss, I vowed this wouldn’t be the last time. But I didn’t dare say it out loud. My tongue drove her wild as she orgasmed time after time.

She pulled me closer, whispering my name like a prayer, a plea, a demand.

And when I finally sank into her, it wasn’t careful or slow—it was wild, reckless, and real.

We moved together in a furious rhythm, clinging to each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

I buried my face against her neck, groaning her name like it hurt, like it healed me all at once. Jude arched against me, every nerve ending burning with need. When we shattered together, it was messy and fierce and perfect.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweaty and shaking, hearts still racing. Then she climbed on me, smiling, as she directed me inside her.

When she bent to kiss me, she whispered. “I’m going to make you feel hot and crying for more.” And that was exactly what she did, before collapsing on me.

I brushed a kiss against her temple, my hand splaying protectively across her stomach.

“You’re killing me, sunshine,” I whispered against her hair, voice wrecked. I picked her up and walked to the bed, where we made love again and again.

Jude smiled through the tears burning the back of her throat.

And for the first time in forever, she wasn’t afraid of feeling everything.

The pale dawnlight crept through the cracked blinds.

I woke in Cyclone’s arms, our bodies still tangled, his hand resting over my heart like he was afraid to let go even in sleep.

For a long moment, I just lay there, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat.

But the weight inside me, the secret I buried for so long, pressed harder against my chest.

I couldn’t keep hiding.

Not from him.

I carefully slipped from his embrace, pulling on a wrinkled shirt from the night before. Cyclone stirred, blinking blearily at her.

“Hey,” he rumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Where are you going?”

I sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. My hands trembled slightly in my lap.

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