Page 124 of Citius

The sanity is currently being tested by Owen—who’d just texted me yet another revision to the revamped blood sugar monitoring proposal.

What part offinaldid he not understand?

Thirty-Four

Joaquin

The massive gray chaise in the upstairs living room was my favorite place to sketch, especially in the evening. Alijah was curled up beside me, utterly absorbed in the latest episode ofDesignation Dance-Off—where teams of alpha and omega celebrities tried to outshine each other on the dancefloor for a cash prize and tin-plated glory.

“Do you think Morgan ever gets offers for stuff like this?” he asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the large bowl in his lap.

“Maybe, a few years ago. Though I bet the infamous Jacobi still gets plenty of invitations.”

“He does sound fun. Think we’ll ever meet him?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Morgan?” I couldn’t resist needling him. Alijah stuffed more popcorn into his mouth rather than respond. “You can’t keep avoiding her.”

He nodded, hesitated, shook his head, hesitated again, and finally shrugged—all while staring at his knees instead of meeting my eyes.

“Wow,” I teased, “what a compelling argument.”

He scrunched his face into a sour pout and ate another handful of popcorn.

I chuckled and glanced at my sketchbook. What had started as a lighting design storyboard had evolved into something else entirely—a figure study of a woman with an athletic physique. Full breasts, generous thighs, wrapped in a slinky whisper of a Grecian-style gown. She stood in a column of light, chin lifted in defiance, confronting the darkness head-on. My pencil hovered over the sharp point of her sloped nose.

“If you’re not going to make a move on her,” I said, lead dancing across the paper as I framed the angular planes of her face with flowing tresses—incongruous with Morgan’s actual appearance but fitting for a goddess of victory. “Then I will.”

Alijah sat up and turned to face me. Uncertainty flickered across his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to…”

With a final flourish, I turned my sketchbook toward my mate.

“Oh,” he breathed softly.

His near-black eyes darkened further, desire glimmering in their depths as he stared at the suggestive form I’d committed to paper. Excitement thrummed across the bond, interwoven with a thread of arousal.

“We want her,” I said. “Or am I wrong?”

Alijah’s fingers ghosted over the outline of Morgan’s face.

“Of course not. That’s what I—what we both want.” His hand fell away from the sketch, shoulders curling inward. “And that scares me. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? Sometimes, I can’t read her expression at all. She’s always kind to me, but what if she’s just being polite?

“Does Morgan strike you as someone who willingly tolerates people?” I asked, even though we both already knew the answer.

“No, not really.” He indulged in a self-deprecating laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a lingering sigh, he leaned against the back of the chaise. “With you… You’re like a warm blanket. No, my favorite blanket. The one you want to cuddle up with after a long, grueling day.”

I couldn’t resist slipping my hand inside the collar of his shirt, brushing my fingers over his mating bite. “At least I’m not a wet blanket.”

He shoved my hand off and muttered, “Forget it.”

When he tried to shift away, I gently tugged him closer and delivered a series of apologetic kisses.

“You’re right. I’m a terrible menace. The absolute worst,” I said, smirking against his mouth. “What else?”

Alijah’s sulkiness melted away as he nuzzled into my neck. “I’m trying to say you make me feel safe. Like—like coming home after a long trip.”

Cradling the back of his head, I claimed his plush lips once more, savoring their softness and the fresh tang of his scent. “That’s love, babe.”

“Mm, lots of love,” he murmured between kisses. “You make everything easy for me, Joaquin. You’re solid. But Morgan…”

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