Page 33 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)

SKYE

I couldn’t breathe when I saw him standing there—JD, older, broader, darker somehow. Time had sharpened him, and yet I knew him in a way that made my chest ache. That fire still lived in him, wild and consuming, and it was aimed straight at me.

Every step I took to explain felt like cutting myself open. My voice cracked as I told him everything. Malik. Shaniqua. Jackson’s first steps. First word. His love of baseball. The way his chin sets when he’s frustrated—it’s yours, JD. Your fire. Your storm.

But when I said Tyler’s name… everything changed.

The air snapped between us, fury pouring off him like heat off pavement in a Santa Fe summer.

Then he grabbed me. I didn’t resist—I couldn’t. I’d ached for this. For him. For the only man who ever really owned my body and my soul.

The door slammed shut behind us. My back hit the wood. My breath left in a gasp.

“You ruined me,” he growled. “But you’re still mine.”

The feral possessiveness in his eyes should have scared me. But it didn’t. It lit me up from the inside. I wanted to be his again. Recklessly. Completely.

He stripped me bare like he was unwrapping something sacred. His hands were rough, reverent. Calloused fingers sliding over my skin with the kind of familiarity that made me sob.

“My girl,” he rasped into my neck. “My full-breasted, wide-hipped, baby-making goddess. You feel that? That’s what you were made for. I’m gonna make you mine again. Right fucking now.”

I moaned as he drove into me, my body arching to meet his. Every inch of him felt like fire licking my insides, a furnace ignited by six years of silence, secrets, and longing.

“You kept my son from me,” he growled, rocking into me harder.

“But fuck me, Skye… you gave me a son. That’s the hottest goddamn thing in this world.

” His abs were still cut. His body was more thickly muscled and it hurt so good as he drove in deep.

My hips met his thrust for thrust. It was raw.

Wild. Just like we always were for each other.

The thought of him with Evie made me see red. Just like his nick name for me.

My nails dug into his back. My lips found his. I didn’t want any other woman feeling him inside her. I would kill for this man. And I’d never run again.

I wrapped my arms around him like a lifeline. His whispered words were filthy, but his tone—God, his tone—was worship.

Each thrust drove the guilt and grief deeper, but also cracked open something I’d sealed off years ago. Love. Still alive. Still savage.

He kissed me like a man starved, his hands everywhere—palming my breasts, gripping my thighs, fisting my hair as he growled how he’d never let me go again .

His skin was hot against mine, slick with sweat, every hard muscle flexing above me as his hips rolled in a rhythm that made the stars behind my eyes explode.

I was drowning in the scent of him—whiskey, cedar, sin. The coarse stubble on his jaw rasped over the delicate skin of my throat as he whispered filthy promises that melted my spine into the cushions.

“Never lettin’ you go again, baby,” he groaned against my ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “You were mine the first time I slid inside you, and you’ll be mine until the goddamn grave.”

His breath hitched when my nails dragged down his back, hips bucking deeper until I cried out.

“You feel that? That stretch?” he panted, lips brushing my collarbone. “That’s me reminding your body who it belongs to. Who it *always* belonged to.”

I arched into him, gasping, legs wrapped tight around his waist like I could anchor us both to this moment.

“You gonna give me another baby?” he growled, voice hoarse. “Gonna keep me buried deep until I fill you again?”

My head fell back with a sob of pleasure. “Yes… yes, JD…”

His hand splayed across my stomach possessively. “Already gave me one. My son. My blood. You don’t get to run from that. You don’t get to run from me.”

I was unraveling beneath him, pulse thudding in places I didn’t even know could ache.

He kissed down my chest, mouthing at the heavy swell of my breast, tongue swirling around the nipple before he sucked deep and hard, making my toes curl.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, voice wrecked. “Like the only thing that’s ever been real.”

When he thrust again, harder this time, deeper, the slap of our skin was filthy music, echoing in the air thick with sex and sweat and unspoken need.

I clawed at him, mindless, boneless, as he growled my name like a curse and a vow, over and over until we shattered together in the dark.

He stayed on top of me, panting, forehead pressed to mine—as he came undone spilling his hot seed into me again and again. We were older this time. Wiser I hoped. But I was too lost in this angry sexy man reclaiming me in every way he could.