Page 36 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

Each movement is deep and claiming, hitting places inside me I didn’t know existed. The bed creaks with every thrust, the air thick with the sound of our bodies meeting, and I can’t hold back the moans spilling from me. Every stroke feels like he’s claiming me, marking me from the inside out.

He captures my jaw in his hand, tilting my face so he can look right into my eyes while he drives into me again. “Look at you, Maren. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

No one has ever spoken to me like this. The words make me flush hotter, embarrassment sparking at the bluntness, but the rush of heat low in my belly only proves how much I love it.

I grip his shoulders, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart, arching into him, chasing every thrust, every brush of him against that perfect spot inside me.

“Oh god,” I cry out, my back arching off the bed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls. “Going to fuck you just like this until you come all over my cock.”

I clutch at him, nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks, my voice breaking on his name. “Calvin... oh god, yes—I’m close, I’m so close—”

He groans against my neck, breath ragged. “That’s it. Come for me. Let me feel you.”

The command in his voice and the way his cock drives into me, hitting that perfect spot while his fingers work my clit, shatters my control completely.

My orgasm hits hard, harder than the first one, tearing through me in waves so fierce I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

I cry out, probably scream his name, my body clenching around him like a vise, dragging him deeper with every pulse.

My thighs lock tight around his hips, holding him there as pleasure rips me apart at the seams.

“Fuck, Maren.” His curse is strangled, his thrusts getting harder, more desperate as my climax grips him.

I whimper, lost in the rush, and that’s all it takes. He slams deep, buries himself to the hilt, and comes with a broken groan of my name, spilling hot inside me. His body shudders over mine, every muscle straining as he lets go, and I can feel every pulse, every hot jet of his release filling me.

The heat of him floods me, the feeling of him coming inside me with nothing between us sending aftershocks through my own release until I’m gasping against his mouth. He kisses me through it, rough and desperate, swallowing every sound I make, and I’ve never felt so possessed, so claimed.

When he finally stills, we’re both shaking. His lips brush my temple, my cheek, my jaw, like he can’t stop touching me.

His voice is low. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

I smile weakly, dizzy and aching in the best way, my whole body still pulsing with aftershocks. “Good thing we have all night.”

“Not nearly long enough,” he murmurs, kissing me soft and sweet, such a contrast to what we just did.

I can feel him still pulsing inside me, feel the warmth of what he just gave me spreading between my thighs, and the intimacy of it makes my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to love.

“That was...” I breathe, unable to finish.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Intense.”

“Understatement.”

He shifts slightly and we both gasp at the sensation.

He’s still semi-hard inside me, and when he finally pulls out slowly, I can’t help the whimper that escapes.

The loss of him leaves me feeling empty, incomplete.

I can feel our combined wetness immediately start to leak out, warm and slick between my thighs, evidence of what we just did. It makes me want more.

Calvin rolls to his side and immediately pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his arm tight around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

His lips find my shoulder, pressing soft kisses there while we both come back to earth.

I can feel his heart hammering against me, matching the frantic pace of mine.

The rain has picked up, drumming harder against the roof. His hand splays across my stomach, fingers tracing lazy patterns that make goosebumps rise on my skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot on my still-sensitive skin.

“More than okay.” I turn in his arms to face him, needing to see his expression. “That was... I’ve never... it’s never been like that.”

His expression softens, and he cups my face with one hand, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. His palm is rough from years of boxing, but his touch is infinitely gentle. “For me either.”

“Really?” I find that hard to believe. He just took me apart with a confidence that speaks of experience, knowing exactly where to touch, how to move.

“Really.” He kisses me softly, different from before. This is tender, careful, like I’m something precious he’s afraid might disappear. “I’ve had sex, Maren. But that? What we just did? That was something else entirely. That was...”

He trails off, searching for words, and I watch his face in the lamplight as he struggles to articulate something I already understand. This wasn’t just bodies meeting. This was recognition, like finding someone who speaks your exact language after years of translation.

“I know,” I whisper, saving him from having to find the words.

The relief in his eyes tells me I got it right. I kiss him again, trying to show him without words that this thing between us is bigger than just physical attraction, bigger than proximity or loneliness or grief bringing two people together.

When we break apart, he traces a finger down my ribs, and I realize he’s looking at my tattoo again. In the dim lamplight, the script might be visible now. My heart starts racing for a different reason.

“What does it say?” he asks, leaning closer to read it.

I catch his hand, bring it to my lips instead, kissing each knuckle. “Just something that meant a lot to me once.”

The truth sits heavy in my throat. They’re his words, from his book.

Some storms are good enough to dance in. Even if they ruin everything in their path.

How do you explain that without sounding like every obsessive fan who shows up at his readings? Without becoming just another person who wants Calvin Midnight the writer instead of Calvin the man? The words stay trapped behind my teeth like the coward I am.

“Mysterious,” he says, apparently deciding to let it go. He pulls me closer, arranging us so we’re facing each other, legs tangled, breathing the same air. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”

If only he knew.

“I should clean up,” I say eventually.

“Stay here.” He kisses my forehead and gets up, completely unconscious of his nakedness.

I watch him walk to the bathroom, admiring the view. His back is scratched from my nails, red marks across his shoulder blades that will definitely be visible tomorrow. The thought that I marked him, that he’ll carry evidence of this night on his skin, sends a fresh pulse of warmth through me.

He comes back with a warm washcloth and tends to me with surprising gentleness, careful and thorough and somehow making even this feel intimate rather than awkward.

The care in his movements, the way he watches my face to make sure I’m comfortable, makes my chest ache in the best way.

No one has ever done this for me after. Most men I’ve been with either fell asleep immediately or started looking for their clothes.

“Hey,” he says softly, noticing the emotion that must be showing on my face. “What’s that look?”

I meet his gaze, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I’m just not used to someone taking care of me. Not like this. Not after.”

“Get used to it,” he says, voice soft but certain, like he’s making a promise. “This is what it’s supposed to be like. What we’re supposed to be like.”

After he tosses the cloth aside, we settle under the covers properly this time, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces that were always meant to connect.

He pulls me against his chest, and I rest my head over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm slow from exertion to contentment.

The rain has softened to a steady patter against the roof, peaceful now, like nature’s own lullaby.

“Maren,” he whispers against my hair.

“Mm?”

“You’re incredible. You know that?”

I smile against his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hand finds mine under the covers, fingers interlacing. “I mean it. You’re... you’re everything.”

The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. I squeeze his hand, unable to speak past the emotion in my throat.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”

For the first time in years, maybe since my parents died, I feel truly safe.

Not just physically safe, but that bone-deep safety that comes from being completely seen and still completely wanted.

The kind of safe that lets you stop bracing for the next loss, the next ending, the next goodbye.

The kind of safe that makes you believe in tomorrow again.

I close my eyes and let myself sink into it, into him, into this moment where everything feels possible and nothing needs to be decided except how long we can stay exactly like this.

My body feels liquid, boneless, held together only by his arms around me and this new feeling blooming in my chest that might be hope or might be something even more dangerous.

The rain continues its quiet song against the windows. The world outside can wait. Right now, wrapped in Calvin’s arms with our legs tangled and our hearts finally unguarded, I’m exactly where I want to be.