Page 38 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

I’m perfectly content in my corner with my book and my bourbon, looking up every few pages to watch her work. She keeps catching me watching and giving me this private smile that makes everything else fade away.

I’ve never felt this settled before. This sure of something. Sitting here watching her pour drinks and joke with regulars should probably feel boring after a few hours, but instead it feels like exactly where I want to be. I’m completely gone for her.

The thought should terrify me. I’ve spent years avoiding this exact feeling, this vulnerability. But watching Maren work, seeing how she brightens when our eyes meet across the crowded bar, I can’t remember why I was so afraid of this. Of wanting someone this much. Of being wanted back.

Around ten-thirty, Maren finds me at my corner stool. “My shift’s over. Lark’s closing tonight.”

“Perfect timing,” I say, closing my book and standing.

“You actually made it through some pages,” she observes, pulling off her apron and hanging it behind the bar.

“About ten total. Kept getting distracted by this beautiful bartender,” I tell her.

“Smooth,” she says, grinning as she grabs her bag. “Ready?”

“Always,” I reply, already heading toward the door with her.

We call goodbye to Lark, who waves us off with a knowing smile, and head out into the cool night air. Without discussion, Maren takes my hand, interlacing our fingers as we walk. Her hand is smaller than mine, fitting perfectly, and I like how natural this has become already.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” she says softly, squeezing my hand.

“Thanks for not minding that I can’t stay away,” I say.

She laughs, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Why would I mind? I like having you there. Makes the shift go faster. Plus you’re very nice to look at between customers.”

“Objectifying me already?” I ask.

“Always,” she says cheerfully, swinging our joined hands slightly.

We walk slowly, neither of us in a hurry to end this. The moon is almost full, casting everything in silver light, and the familiar path between the bar and our cabins feels like its own private world.

The sun’s barely up and I’m already covered in sawdust and sweat. I’ve been working on the sunroom since five-thirty, trying to get the frame squared before the day gets too hot. My shoulders ache from holding boards in place, and there’s probably more dirt on me than on the ground at this point.

I still haven’t figured out how I can save the house, or even whether I can save it, but something in me won’t stop working on it.

I strip off my work shirt as I head inside, leaving it on the porch.

The cabin is quiet, morning light just starting to filter through the windows.

Maren’s still asleep in my bed, sprawled across the mattress like she owns it, which honestly she might as well at this point.

We’ve been sharing beds for days now, hers or mine, neither of us even pretending we’ll sleep apart.

I head straight for the shower, desperately needing to rinse off the construction grime. The shared bathroom between our cabins is small but functional, and I turn the water on, letting it heat while I strip off the rest of my clothes.

The hot water feels incredible on my sore muscles. I stand under the spray, letting it wash away the sawdust and sweat, already thinking about getting back to work after breakfast. If I can get the frame done today, I can start on the roof tomorrow.

The shower door opens behind me.

“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.

“You know what I need,” she says, and there’s that cheeky tone that drives me crazy. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Maybe I like it when you beg.” I drop to my knees, looking up at her. She’s flushed pink from the hot water and arousal, lips parted, watching me with her eyes gone dark with want.

“Calvin,” she says, and now she is begging, just a little. “Please.”

Fuck, she’s beautiful like this. Water running down her body, practically vibrating with need.

I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, using my strength to hold her steady, making sure she’s secure against the wall.

My arm wraps around her thigh, keeping her anchored, letting her know I’ve got her completely.

“Oh fuck,” she cries out when I lean in to taste her, her hands immediately tangling in my hair, pulling.

She tastes perfect, sounds perfect, and I’m addicted to the way she responds. I hold her firmly against the wall, making sure she can’t slip, can’t fall, can only focus on what I’m doing to her.

The sounds she makes, the way she pulls my hair, the way her thigh trembles against my shoulder despite my grip holding her steady—it’s driving me fucking crazy. My free hand grips her hip, keeping her exactly where I want her.

“Calvin, please, I’m so close,” she gasps, her hips trying to rock against my face but my hold keeps her still. “Don’t stop, don’t—oh god, right there.”

I double my efforts, and within moments she’s coming, crying out as her whole body shudders. I stay with her through it, holding her up as her legs shake, then slowly lower her leg and stand, pulling her against me.

“Holy shit,” she pants against my chest, laughing a little. “You’re really good at that.”

“I aim to please,” I say, standing back up to kiss her.

“So formal. Even in the shower.” She reaches between us, wrapping her hand around me where I’m hard and aching. “My turn to return the favor.”

The first touch of her hand nearly makes me lose it right there. She strokes me slowly, teasingly, and I groan against her shoulder.

“Someone’s worked up,” she teases, twisting her wrist in a way that makes me see stars.

“You just came all over my tongue,” I manage. “What did you expect?”

She drops to her knees and takes me in her mouth before I can respond.

I have to brace both hands against the tile to keep from buckling.

Water runs down her shoulders as she looks up at me, eyes somehow both innocent and wicked.

The sight of her like this is going to be permanently burned into my brain.