He stepped closer. “What you’re finding is a man who keeps his word. And who wants you safe more than he wants his next breath.”
Her smile faded and was replaced by something raw and much more vulnerable. “Cyclops,” she whispered. He raised a hand slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she didn’t. His fingers brushed her cheek, warm and rough.
“You’ve been living under a madman for so long now,” he murmured, “that you don’t know what it’s like to have someone stand up for you.”
Her eyes glistened. “I don’t know how to let someone do that for me,” she admitted.
“Then let me teach you that too,” he whispered. Her breath hitched. Cyclops knew his next move could change everything between them, between him and his brothers, between whatever fragile understanding he and Trixie had built. He hadn’t meant to touch her tonight. He’d told himself he wouldn’t. But watching her pace the small compound bedroom in tight, restless circles made him realize that he was past the point of pretending.
The room was dim, a single lamp casting amber across the walls. Outside, his brothers patrolled in shifts, their voices low, the hum of the compound generator a steady heartbeat through the floorboards. Trixie hadn’t slept since they arrived, but neither had he.
She stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face him, her silhouette framed by the barred window. “You keep looking at me like you’re waiting for me to do something,” she said. Cyclops didn’t answer right away. If he did, he’d say something reckless—like he was waiting for her to admit that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. If he was being honest, he wanted her from the first time he watched her walk across the barroom towards him.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I am.”
Her arms folded over her chest, a makeshift barrier. “And what exactly do you think you’re waiting for?”
He pushed off the wall slowly, deliberately. Every step he took toward her felt like he was choosing a fire he had no business touching—but he couldn’t walk away from her. “I’m waiting for you to stop pretending you don’t want this,” he said.
Her breath stuttered. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed, “but it’s the truth.” She looked away from him, her jaw tight. Her reflection in the window looked as though she had been cornered—by fear, by want, by herself.
“I don’t do this,” she said roughly. “I don’t fall into bed with a man that I just met.”
He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the faint tremble in her breath. “I’m not just some man,” he murmured. Her eyes flicked up at him, and something in her face softened.
“You don’t even know me,” she breathed.
“I know you’re scared,” he said. “I know you sleep with a knife under your pillow. I know that your father has hurt you badly enough that you don’t trust kindness.”
Her voice trembled. “I don’t trust easily, but for some reason, I trust you, Cyclops,” she admitted. Silence pressed in from all sides of the room—the walls, the locked door, the forest outside. Then she stepped closer to him. Just one step closer, but it was enough.
“This can only end badly,” she whispered.
Cyclops didn’t move. “Most things worth havin’ usually do.” Her hand lifted hesitantly, shaking, and brushed the edge of his eye patch. She didn’t try to remove it, just touched it like she needed to know whether it was real, whether he was real.
“You don’t hide,” she said. “Most men would.”
“I already lost enough,” he murmured. She surged forward, kissing him with teeth and desperation, like she’d been starving for something solid to hold onto. Cyclops caught her instinctively, his hands gripping her hips tight enough to anchor them both.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was messy and urgent. It was a collision of fear, relief, and exhaustion. She tasted like coffee, adrenaline, and everything he shouldn’t want this badly. He broke the kiss only long enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, “and I will.”
She shook her head, breathing unsteadily. “Don’t stop,” she ordered. That was it. That was all he needed. He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper as his thumb traced the line of her jaw like she was something he’d want to remember. She made a soft, broken sound and fisted his shirt in her hands like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.
They stumbled toward the bed—her nearly tripping on the worn rug, him catching her with a low laugh. But the moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the laughter melted away. Their clothes came off in clumsy pieces, thrown somewhere onto the floor. It was nothing practiced, and nothingpolished—just heat and hands and two people who’d run out of ways to keep pretending they didn’t need this.
Cyclops laid her down carefully—like she was something fragile he’d been entrusted with, and when she pulled him down with her, he didn’t resist. He let her choose what she wanted next from him and let her set the pace. Cyclops was willing to let her take what she needed from him because he wanted to give her everything.
She gasped into his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging him closer. He groaned low, deep in his chest, and pinned her gently against the mattress. His body surrounded her, caging her in without trapping her—heat and muscle and intent everywhere.
“Trixie,” he whispered against her mouth. She dragged him back down instead of answering. His lips trailed along her jaw, down her throat—slow, teasing, and reverent in a way he’d never been with any other woman. He needed to remember that Trixie wasn’t used to being wanted like this. But he more than wanted her—he craved her.
Her hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing the scars and hard muscle there. He shuddered—actually shuddered. Her touch alone had made him dizzy with need. They moved together with urgent and tangled want. Their hands clutching, lips finding each other, and breath mixing in the dark. It wasn’t slow or gentle. Not this time. This was need—raw, sharp-edged, and overwhelming.
Cyclops kissed his way down her body, spreading her legs over his shoulders as he settled between them. “I need to taste you,” he breathed against her pussy. She was already so wet for him; he knew that once he got inside of her, he wouldn’t last, and he wanted to make this good for her.
Trixie looked down her body at him and moaned, giving a slight nod. He licked through her drenched folds as he plungedtwo fingers into her tight opening, making her shout out his name. He loved the needy, breathy sighs that he elicited from her every time his tongue circled her clit. She was close, and he didn’t have time to play with her. The threat was still very real, but not finishing this with Trixie wasn’t an option.
