Page 115 of Citius

Without further preamble, he leaned over and kissed me.

Unlike our first kiss, his every move was deliberate. His hands found my hips, drawing me forward until I straddled his thighs. Our torsos melded together as his tongue stroked mine.

Nothing else mattered, only his touch and the firm yet tender insistence of his mouth—disarming me slowly, thoroughly, with captivating determination.

It consumed me to the point that I even forgot about our potential audience upstairs.

An endless, conquering kiss from which I had no chance of escape.

Because I didn’t want to—I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Then, the faintest hint of fruit blossomed on my upper lip. What wasthat? Where had it come from? I had to have more.

I took charge, arms wrapping around his neck, my tongue darting into his mouth, chasing that elusive flavor.

It was like a perfectly ripe peach, just sweet and juicy enough to make me addicted. And something else… Something earthy. Woody with a touch of salt.

Almonds with an undercurrent of ripe peach.

Amaretto.

Cal.

His kiss tasted like amaretto. Like his pheromone signature.

I had experienced the taste—the scent—of an alpha’s pheromones for the first time in a decade.

This wasn’t a mere kiss. It was a bridge to something I thought was lost forever—a euphoric rush of desire and an instinctual understanding that this man was right for me.

But why now? Had something changed? Was my sense of smell returning, or was this an illusion born of desperation?

My certainty faltered. A heavy ache settled in my chest.

Tears swarmed my eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling down my cheeks.

“Talk to me, Morgan.” Cal cradled me against his chest, his thumb brushing away my tears, soothing me in his deep, reassuring voice—but it wasn’t enough to quell the emotions surging within me.

“I just—I…” A fresh sting of disbelief prompted more tears.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice hitched.

“No,” I said quickly, fingers scrambling to seek purchase in the fabric of his sweater, trying to reassure him.

“Good, that’s good.” He pressed our foreheads together. “Do you want this—want me?”

“Y-yes, even though I shouldn’t.”

“So, you’re not crying because I kissed you?”

“No—I mean, yes, but not the way you think.” I brushed away the remaining tears and took a centering breath before explaining myself. “I can’t really smell anything. Even up close, it’s faint at best. And it messes with my head sometimes. But just now… IswearI tasted amaretto. Your pheromones. That’s never happened before.”

“Really?” His comforting touches never ceased, but the glint of curiosity in his gaze betrayed that the pheromone-obsessed quadrant of his brain had been activated.

“Never. And I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve triedeverything. So, I didn’t think it would ever happen—that I would havethatfeeling again. Whenthe attraction…clicks.” My voice almost broke as I slumped against his shoulder. “And I don’t know how to process this right now.”

He pressed a lingering kiss against my hair. “Your sense of taste is almost as good at detecting compatibility as scent. As for why it hasn’t happened before…” Brimming with self-satisfaction, a wide smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “It’s just that your omega has standards. High standards. Was content to wait for the tallest, most intelligent—”

“I think my omega just wants to get laid.”

---