Page 118 of Citius

He angled my face until our lips met for a glancing kiss and whispered, “And that’s why she would have loved you.”

I tightened my hold on Cal and kissed him with everything I had, desperate to distract him—from memories of what he’d lost, the bitter emptiness of his mother’s unfulfilled promise—and to override the hot scratch in the back of my throat, threatening me with more tears.

If my options were to lose control of my emotions in front of Cal orlet go in search of physical pleasure with him, the choice was obvious.

Cal humored my frantic, unsophisticated overtures but had no intention of keeping pace. I cradled the back of his head and kissed him deeply, seeking every trace of his amaretto flavor—but he was content with taking shallow passes along my lips, teeth just grazing flesh. I nipped at his teasing, flickering tongue but couldn’t secure any meaningful contact.

When he launched a proper counterattack of sinfully decadent kisses, I balked, not wanting to take things slow, and tugged at the collar of his sweater.

“Off,” I said, half-demanding, not quite begging. “Take it off.”

He batted away the weighted blanket and the encroaching pillows before rolling me onto my back. My hands slipped from his neck, but I kept my gaze locked on him.

Cal gripped the hem of his cashmere sweater, pulling it and his undershirt off in one fluid motion, revealing the powerful planes of his torso. His muscles were solid slabs, lightly toned but unmistakable, with a layer of inviting softness around his waist.

He leaned forward, planting a hand on the upholstered surface of the nest, an edge of desire surfacing in his kiss. I trailed my fingers up his arms, along every inch of those broad shoulders, until I could reach his back, urging him lower.

I wanted Cal’s weight on me, grounding me, reminding me that this was real—and it was okay to want more.

“Hold on,” Cal said, hooking a finger around the side of my glasses. He pulled them off and set them beside his pair on the bookshelf. His form became distorted, making it harder to read his facial expression.

I tried to pull him closer, wanting to see him clearly while we kissed, but Cal didn’t comply. He was too busy unbuttoning my shirt, exposing the waistband of my pants and the first few inches of my stomach.

He paused.

It took me a moment without the aid of my glasses to realize he was looking at me, a silent question for permission to continue. I nodded.

Cal’s hand slipped beneath my shirt, caressing my skin as he recaptured my mouth.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “What do you like… Where’s it feel good?”

Why did his basic decency hurt so much? I couldn’t answer him, trying to bury the shameful admission between his kisses.

He paused, hand stalling against my ribcage. “Morgan?”

“Don’t know. I don’t know.” My head fell to the side. If I looked at Cal, my distorted vision would see rejection in his gaze, regardless ofwhether it was real. “Haven’t done this—just been with someone—since…before. Just heats.”

Cal eased down beside me, resting his weight on one forearm, hand retreating from beneath my shirt. “Heats you’ve stopped having.”

Face all but buried in the nest’s padded surface, I nodded. “Three years ago.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Because I—I need more…”

“Stimulation or lubrication?”

“All of it. Everything. And it’s a fucking hassle.”

His palm made rhythmic passes along my thigh, hip to knee, hip to knee. Cal lowered his faceso that it rested next to mine and pressed a long kiss to the center of my forehead.

“Can I try something?”

“Sure, I guess. If you want.”

Cal’s hand trailed along my side and onto my back, settling his palm between my shoulder blades. He inched closer, pressing his bare chest against my still-clothed breasts.

And purred.

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