Page 18

Cyclone

T he night was warm, with a soft desert breeze stirring the dry earth and the faint hum of insects filling the air.

I sat on the porch, staring out at the endless black, a beer bottle resting against my knee. The stars overhead were sharp and clear, but I couldn’t see them.

All I could see was her.

Jude.

Every laugh, every touch, every time she looked at me like I was something worth believing in—it was driving me out of my mind.

I heard the creak of the screen door, the soft pad of her bare feet against the wood. She came and sat beside me without a word, close enough that our arms brushed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air between us was heavy, pulsing with everything unsaid.

Finally, Jude broke the silence.

“I’m tired of pretending,” she whispered.

I turned my head slowly, afraid to move too fast and break whatever fragile thing had cracked open between us.

Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, wide and vulnerable.

“I know what I said,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I know I told you no more. But...”

She leaned into me, her hands sliding up my chest, her touch hesitant but hungry.

“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 and begged 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 dawn light 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.

“I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

He sat up, instantly alert.

“Jude?”

I closed my eyes, gathering every ounce of courage I had.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Not my family. Not my friends. Not even the therapists they forced me to see after it happened.”

Cyclone moved closer, his hand brushing my back gently.

“You can tell me,” he said, low and steady. “Whatever it is, sunshine, you’re safe with me.”

I drew a shuddering breath.

“I lost them... my husband, my daughter... because of me,” she choked out. “It was my fault. I forgot my phone. I went back inside to get it. If I hadn’t—”

My voice broke completely, sobs wracking my body.

Cyclone pulled me into his arms without hesitation, holding me so tightly I could feel every beat of his heart against my ribs.

“No,” he said fiercely, stroking her hair. “No, Jude. That wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. If you hadn’t gone in for your phone, you would be dead now.”

I clung to him, weeping into his chest, the dam inside me finally breaking.

Cyclone rocked me gently, murmuring against my hair, letting me pour out years of pain and guilt and silence.

When the storm inside me finally calmed, and I could finally breathe again, I realized something I hadn’t let myself believe before.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

I wasn’t broken beyond repair.

And maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to be afraid to love again.

“It was him. He knew I was onto him. he wanted me dead. He killed my family. I’ve been after him for six years,” I said, wiping my eyes.