Hurricane Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 1)

She let go of my shirt and pressed her palms to my stomach, slowly sliding them around my side as her body leaned closer to mine. “I want to believe that. I really do, but—”

“No,” I growled, feeling how close we were to her admitting what she truly wanted. “We’re not doing buts, Birdie.” I snaked my arm around her waist and pulled her flush against me. “Stop denying how much you want me, how much you want us.” Without giving her another second to think about this, I dropped my lips to hers and showed her how much I needed her.

Fuck, Birdie was made for me. I loved the hell out of her mind and her soul, but when we came together like this, we were fire. I lost myself in her, every damn time.

She didn’t resist me like she had been. Instead of resisting, she gave me a piece of herself, the piece I’d been pushing for. Instead of forcing me away, she clung to me like I was giving her life. Instead of fighting, she surrendered.

Birdie needed me as much as I did her. It was right there in her kiss, in her touch, in her long deep sigh.

Carey took that moment to come back, interrupting us with, “I’m heading out, but by the looks of it, you two won’t care.”

Birdie dragged her mouth from mine to acknowledge him with a nod. I met his gaze with a lift of my chin while keeping Birdie firmly against me. If she took this opportunity to walk away, I’d lay down the fucking law—no wasn’t an answer I’d take. Not after that kiss. Turned out I didn’t have to worry. As soon as Car

ey exited the house, she picked right back up where we’d left off.

It was like a switch had been flipped in Birdie’s mind, and after pushing me away all this time, she was now unable to keep her hands and mouth off me. As she pressed herself against me, I reached down and lifted her. Those legs of hers I could never get enough of wrapped around my body like they’d never forgotten me.

With my lips firmly glued to hers, I walked us into Carey’s spare bedroom and deposited her on the bed. She watched as I removed my T-shirt, her hungry eyes tracking every movement I made.

“Holy shit,” she murmured as I undid the button on my jeans. Sitting up, she traced a tattoo on my chest. Eyes to mine, she said, “You put me there?”

I didn’t need to ask which tattoo she was talking about. It was the bird on my heart. Her.

Running a finger down her cheek, I nodded. “I was always coming back for you, Angel. You were always the one.”

The air turned thick with emotions as she stared up at me with a look I wanted to see every day of my life. It was love and desire and adoration. It was everything I’d wanted for the past five years. Fuck, it was all I ever needed in my life to be a happy man.

She moved off the bed, raw need blazing from her as she undid my jeans. Practically panting, she said, “What the fuck are we doing?” before kissing me and shoving my jeans down. She didn’t give me a chance to answer that question, but I had no intention of doing that anyway. As far as I was concerned, what we were doing was what we should have been doing every day for the past five years. It was what we should never have stopped doing.

As she undressed me, I reached for the zip on the back of her dress. She’d turned up in the shortest black dress fucking known to man. It had taken every ounce of willpower in me to stay on the couch and simply watch her when all I wanted to do was get my hands all over her.

The dress hit the floor and she frantically ripped her bra off while I discarded her panties. I’d imagined this reunion with her a million times and had always thought I’d draw it out, rediscovering her body slowly. I hadn’t taken into account that five years without each other meant we were both desperate for this. That waiting even one second longer to get inside her felt like waiting an eternity.

Our naked bodies came together and her hands met my skin. “There’s barely an inch of you not inked,” she said, her gaze roaming over me.

She was right.

I’d had only three tattoos when we broke up. The last five years had been filled with shit designed to take my mind off her; inking my skin was part of that. But now was not the time for her to discover my ink; now was the time for me to remind her of how good we were together.

“Angel, enough talking. I need my mouth on you, and the only thing I wanna hear while I fuck you with my tongue is you telling me how fucking much you missed me.”

Heat flared in her eyes right before her lips came to mine again in a frenzy of passion. Fuck, I wanted her like this every day. She was all hands and mouth and need. Wild and abandoned.

“I don’t think I can wait,” she panted when she tore her mouth from mine. Reaching for my dick, she stroked it a few times and added, “I want your mouth on me, but I want you inside me more.”

Fuck.

Her hand on my dick caused my brain to trip. Where I’d been laser-focused on tasting her a second ago, all I wanted now was to slam my dick into her and fuck any lingering doubt from her mind. Once I was finished with Birdie tonight, she wouldn’t be able to walk straight or think straight, except to know I was her man. I would fuck that understanding into her.

The only thing my brain did manage to not trip over was the fact we needed a condom. I wanted Birdie in my life, but that wouldn’t be because a child connected us. Although I wanted a family with her, an unplanned pregnancy wouldn’t be how we started over. The kicker in this was that I didn’t have a fucking condom on me.

“I don’t have a condom,” I said, regretting the hell out of this fact. “Do you?”

“Shit. No.” She frowned, cocking her head. “Seriously? You don’t carry condoms?”

My eyes bored into hers. “I haven’t had sex in three months, Birdie.” I hadn’t even looked at another woman after I ran into Birdie at the airport three months ago.

Her breathing slowed as she processed the meaning in those words. “Well,” she said slowly, “we don’t need a condom. I mean—”