Page 120 of Citius

Pleased with my initial reaction, Cal’s focus shifted to my clit, fingertip circling ever closer to the perfect spot, never quite where I needed him.

I whimpered, hips bucking, desperate to come.

“Shh, easy. I’ve got you.”

He continued his exasperating yet breathtaking ministrations, the texture of his finger precisely what I wanted, if only—if only…

Cal pulled back. The golden ring around his irises flashed with hunger.

“Trust me?”

I nodded, watching with rapt attention as Cal ran his fingers across his sweaty brow. He slipped the damp digits between my lips and stroked my tongue—flooding my mouth with the essence of amaretto.

Unable to help myself, I sucked on his fingers, yearning for more of his flavor.

And then he flicked the tip of my clit. I cried out, back arching, hovering at the precipice. He rubbed tantalizing circles around my frenzied nerves by way of wicked apology.

So close, I was so close.

My mouth latched onto the sweat-slicked expanse of his chest, licking his skin. Needing the extra kick of his pheromones.

His purr ramped up another notch.

I was at the mercy of his determined rhythm—fingers, hips—clinging to his chest, whimpers lengthening into a needy whine, the electric tingle of pleasure dancing across my skin.

My release was so complete—so overwhelming—that I forgot to breathe. He’d stolen all control from me, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Cal rolled onto his side, pulling me flush against him before draping a blanket across our merged forms. His hands never stopped moving,leaving kisses along my bare skin. Purring all the while.

“I got wet,” I murmured, still loose and uninhibited, safe within his embrace. I couldn’t help myself.

Tonight had been revelatory.

“Yes,” Cal said in symphony with an extra deep purr. “And next time will be even better.” He kissed the curve of my neck, precisely where a mating bite would go. “I promise.”

Thirty-Three

Morgan

Acapsaicin-fueled hammer pounded against my skull, jolting me awake just after nine—extremely late, according to my body clock. Cal held me tight, his stubbled cheek nuzzling deeper into the crook of my neck, rooting for my absent scent signature even in his sleep.

Kip was draped over my shins while his brother sulked on the cat tree, showing his chubby backside in protest. Apparently, it was a criminal offense to let a man hog the good cuddle spots all night.

A phone buzzed nearby. Jacobi, I assumed, eager for more details about last night—until I remembered my phone was still on the kitchen island.

The temptation to laze about was strong, but a quiet worry crept in. Something might have happened to Cal’s grandfather.

I stroked his arm and whispered, “Your phone’s ringing.”

“Ugh.” Cal reached back without shifting position or opening his eyes, finding his phone with two lazy swipes. Even hungover, the man had better aim than I did on a good day. He dropped the phone on the padding beside me. “Who?”

I squinted at the missed call notification until it came into focus. “Spencer.”

“Need to call him back.”

“Okay,” I murmured, pressing kisses along his solid wrist and forearm. “Take your time. I’m going to freshen up.”

He grumbled in agreement, nose trailing through my hair, heaving agreat sigh before finally letting go. Sitting up, I waited a moment for my aching brain to settle, then reached across the mountain range of his bare chest to fetch our respective glasses.

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