Page 76 of Until the Storm Breaks

“Starting without me?” Maren says, voice still rough with sleep.

I turn to find her standing there, completely naked, with that sleepy smile that makes my chest tight. Fuck, she’s beautiful like this, all soft and rumpled from my bed.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” I say, immediately reaching out to pull her against me. “You looked too cute drooling on my pillow.”

“I don’t drool,” she protests, stepping into the shower.

The water hits her and she gasps, “Oh god, that’s hot,” then relaxes against me. “Perfect.”

“Good morning to you too,” I say, letting my hands slide down to cup her ass, just holding her there.

“Mmm, morning,” she mumbles against my chest, pressing closer. “You smell like lumber.”

“I was working on the sunroom,” I explain, my hands still on her ass, loving how perfectly she fits in my palms.

“Already? What time did you get up?” she asks, tipping her head back to look at me.

“Five-thirty.”

She pulls back slightly, incredulous. “That’s insane. That’s not even morning, that’s still night.”

“The sun was up,” I point out reasonably.

“Barely.” She slides her hands up my chest, fingers playing with the hair there. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Crazy about you, maybe,” I say, backing her against the tile wall. The shower is small enough that it only takes one step.

“Cheesy,” she accuses, but she’s smiling, her hands sliding lower down my stomach.

“You love it,” I counter, caging her in with my arms on either side of her head. She looks so fucking good like this, wet and trapped between me and the wall, looking up at me with those green eyes that always see right through me.

“Maybe I do,” she admits softly, then deliberately presses her hips forward against me. “Maybe I love a lot of things about you.”

Damn. The way she says it, casual but meaningful, makes my chest expand. This woman is going to be the death of me, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

I lean down to kiss her, slow and thorough, taking my time because we have nowhere to be, nothing to do but this.

Her mouth opens under mine, and when our tongues meet, she makes this soft sound that has me pressing closer, pinning her between my body and the wall. One hand slides down to grip her hip, pulling her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.

“Already?” she teases against my mouth, rolling her hips deliberately.

“Always,” I admit, nipping at her lower lip. “You walk in here naked and wet, what did you expect?”

“Exactly this,” she says with a wicked grin, then kisses me harder.

The kiss deepens, turns hungry. Her hands slide into my wet hair, tugging slightly, and I groan into her mouth. My hands find her waist, slide up her ribs to cup her breasts, and she arches into my touch. The water streams over us, hot and steady, as I kiss down her neck, tasting the water on her skin, finding that spot where her neck meets her shoulder that made her crazy last night.

“Calvin,” she breathes, her head falling back against the tile.

The way she says my name goes straight to my cock. Like I’m hers. Like she owns me. And fuck, maybe she does.

I work my way lower, taking my time because I want to memorize every sound she makes, every way she responds. The tattoo on her ribs catches my eye again, that same tiny cursive script I noticed before but still haven’t read properly. Something about how she went quiet when I asked tells me it’s probably embarrassing. An ex’s name or some old quote she regrets. Whatever it is, I’m not going to be that guy who pushes.

When I capture one nipple in my mouth, she moans, her whole body arching toward me. I use my teeth gently, the way I discovered she likes, and her hands tighten in my hair.

“Please,” she manages when I switch to her other breast. “Calvin, I need...”

“What do you need?” I ask against her skin, kissing lower, over her ribs, her stomach.