Page 39 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

“Fuck, Maren.” My hand tangles in her wet hair, gripping just firm enough to guide her rhythm. “You look so good like this. So fucking good with my cock in your mouth.”

She pulls back, swirls her tongue around the tip, then takes me deep again. Her tongue does something on the underside that makes me see stars. She’s enjoying this, the power she has, the way she can make me lose control.

“Fuck,” I breathe, thrusting forward into her mouth.

She hums approval, nails digging into my hips, urging me on. We find a rhythm together, and the sight of her looking up with such heat, such satisfaction at what she’s doing to me—it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” I tell her.

She moans at my words, takes me deeper, and I have to fight not to lose it right there. My thrusts get less controlled, and she encourages every movement, pulling me in, showing me she wants it.

“I’m close,” I warn. “Maren, I’m going to...”

She doubles her efforts, but I need to be inside her. I pull out, the loss making me groan, and spin her forcefully to face the wall. “Hands on the wall,” I say. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“Bossy,” she says, breathless and grinning, but she’s already bracing herself, looking back at me over her shoulder with a smile that’s pure sin. “I like it.”

Water streams down her back, over the perfect curve of her ass, and she wiggles her hips just a little, teasing.

I run my hands over her hips, down her thighs, back up to cup her breasts from behind. She pushes back against me, impatient, and when I finally line myself up and push in slowly, we both groan at the sensation.

“Fuck,” I breathe against her shoulder. “You feel so good. So fucking perfect.”

She’s tight and hot around me, still swollen from coming on my tongue earlier, and from this angle, I’m deep, so deep I can feel everything.

Every flutter, every pulse, every tiny movement she makes.

I start moving, slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, wanting to savor this, wanting to make it last.

“More,” she demands, pushing back against me. “Calvin, please. I won’t break.”

Something primal takes over. I grip her hips tighter, fingers digging in hard enough that she’ll probably have bruises, and give her what she wants.

I set a pace that has us both panting, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the bathroom walls, mixing with the spray of water and our combined moans.

The sight of her bent over for me, taking everything I give her, makes me wild. I lean forward, kissing her shoulder, her neck, tasting the water on her skin. My hands slide up to her breasts, playing with her nipples while I thrust into her, and she cries out, her hands slipping on the wet tile.

“I’ve got you,” I tell her, one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady while the other hand continues teasing her breast.

“Calvin,” she moans.

I give her what she needs, driving into her with enough force that she has to brace harder against the wall.

Each thrust pushes little sounds out of her, these perfect little “ah, ah, ah” noises that match my rhythm.

The water’s starting to cool but neither of us cares.

All that matters is this, the slide of my cock inside her, the way she takes me so perfectly, the sounds she makes.

“Touch yourself,” I tell her. “I want to feel you come around me again.”

She does, her hand sliding down between her legs, and the first contact makes her whole body jerk. I can feel it, feel how close she already is from the way she’s tightening around me.

“That’s it,” I encourage, maintaining my rhythm even though I’m getting close too. “Show me how good it feels.”

“So good,” she manages between moans. “Calvin, I’m... fuck, I’m going to come.”

“Come for me,” I growl in her ear. “Let me feel it. I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come.”

That does it. She screams my name as she clenches around me, her whole body shaking with the force of it. The feeling of her coming around me, the sound of my name echoing off the walls, the sight of her completely undone, sends me over the edge right after her.

I bury myself deep, groaning her name as I come so hard my vision whites out for a second. My hips jerk with aftershocks as I empty myself inside her, and she pushes back against me, taking everything, milking every last drop.

We stay frozen for a moment, both breathing hard, still connected.

My forehead rests against her shoulder, and I can feel her heartbeat racing as fast as mine.

Slowly, carefully, I pull out, and we both make sounds at the loss.

I turn her around immediately, needing to see her face, needing to kiss her.

She wraps her arms around my neck, and the kiss is lazy and satisfied and perfect. Her whole body is trembling slightly, whether from exertion or the cooling water, I’m not sure.

“You okay?” I ask against her lips.

“I’m amazing,” she says, then laughs. “Though my legs might not work properly for a while.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“My hero.” She’s teasing, but there’s a softness in her expression that makes my chest tight.

Then the water turns ice cold.

“Motherfucker!” she shrieks, and we both scramble out of the spray. I fumble for the faucet, finally getting it off, and we stand there dripping and laughing.

“Every damn time,” she says through chattering teeth, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself quickly. “The water heater in this place is vindictive.”

“Worth it though,” I say, pulling her against me, both of us still wet and shivering.

“Completely.” She goes up on her toes to kiss me quick. “Now coffee. Seriously. Before I actually turn into an ice cube.”

Back in my cabin, she immediately raids my dresser for clothes, pulling on one of my t-shirts and a pair of my boxers that she has to roll at the waist to keep from falling off. She looks ridiculously cute drowning in my clothes, and something possessive flares in my chest seeing her like this.

“What?” she asks, catching me staring.

“Nothing. You just look good in my stuff.”

“Flatterer.” But she’s smiling as she finger-combs her wet hair.

I can’t help myself. I cross to her, pull her against me, and kiss her properly. Not hungry or desperate like in the shower, but slow and deep and tender. She melts into it, her hands coming up to frame my face, and when we finally break apart, we’re both breathing unsteadily.

She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me, her thumb tracing along my jaw. The morning light catches in her wet hair, and she’s wearing my clothes, in my space, looking at me like I matter.

I want this. Want her here every morning, stealing my clothes, making my cabin smell like her shampoo.

Want to keep fixing this house while she hands me tools and tells me stories.

Want whatever this is becoming between us, even if I can’t name it yet.

Even if it scares the hell out of me how fast it’s happening, how much it already means.