Page 144 of Citius

“No, no,” I said, squirming in his hold, “I take it back—”

“Too late. I put up curtains for you. Invested in ambient lighting.” Cal pulled me back against him, his mouth grazing mine. “Did you notice the paint samples on the fridge? I’m thinking midnight blue for the bedroom.”

“Looks like I’ve finally foiled the omega whisperer,” I teased, drumming my fingers against his pecs.

“Why—what did I miss?” The playful spark in his eyes dimmed. “Is the lighting still too bright? I knew we should have gone back to your place. Let me grab my keys and—”

“Stop.” Covering his mouth with my fingertips, I leaned in, pressing our chests together. “It was a joke. The punchline is that I’m physically incapable of giving an opinion on paint colors. Just ask Kelsey. But that’s beside the point.”

Replacing my fingers with my lips, I gave Cal a long, hopefully reassuring kiss. I knew my tactic had worked when a hint of amaretto sweetened our exchange. A greedy stroke of his tongue across mine left me a bit breathless.

“I appreciate everything you do for me,” I murmured between kisses. “Especially because you don’t have to. This is your space, and it should be comfortable for you.”

He cupped my face in my hands, thumbs stroking my cheeks. “But I want you to be comfortable here, too.”

“I am…because I’m with you.”

A determined glint flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced with his usual easy-going affection—but he couldn’t fool me. Every time Cal spent the night at the loft, he used my morning workouts as an excuse to dig through another volume of my medical record. He knew white walls bothered me, and his condo came in nothing duller than eggshell.

The man would paint every wall in here whether I liked it or not.

While I appreciated his intentions to adapt his living space for my comfort, I didn’t have the patience to play along. Interior decorating decisions brought out the worst in me—something he would no doubt discover in time.

Cal pressed a kiss to the center of my forehead. “Told you I’m stupid when it comes to you.”

“Hmm, true. But you do fill out a suit nicely…” I toyed with the top button of his shirt. “Guess I can keep you around a little while longer.”

“Just around?” His forefinger traced the neckline of my dress, his touch lingering and eyes heated. “I was hoping for something a bit more…hands-on.”

Buoyed by a flirtatious smirk, I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, “I’ve never been tackled before.”

His brows shot up, failing to fend off an amused snort. “Was that supposed to be sports-themed innuendo?”

Heat bloomed across my face as I tried to wriggle free. “Shut up.”

“No, no. It was cute.” Cal tightened his hold. “Try again. Practice makes perfect. Tell me all about your superb ball-handling skills. We could run the gauntlet—or would you prefer to godeepandpenetratethe end zone? You’ve got access to an all-star tight end, you know.”

“Enough, enough. Oh my god—stop!” I tried to cover my ears, laughing wildly as he swept his arm beneath my legs and lifted me into a bridal carry. My eyes widened, arms scrambling to encircle his neck.

He carried me toward his bedroom, punctuating each word with a deliberate, playfully exaggerated step. “But—he—could—go—all—the—way!”

“Maybe five minutes ago—”

Cal quickly bent down—but not too quickly—and dropped me onto the bed. He tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and planted a knee on the mattress. The breadth of his body arched over mine, blocking out the white glare of his ceiling.

“This dress,” he half-growled, dipping lower as he rested his weight on one forearm, “is driving me crazy.”

“But it doesn’t show much.”

“I know, that’s the problem.” His fingers traced the single strap before slowly guiding it down my shoulder. “Keep thinking about all the curves I can’t see, how soft you are to touch,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the inked rings of my tattoo. “And how much I want you.”

Hooking a hand around the back of his neck, I guided his mouth upfor a heated kiss. “So go for the gold, big guy.”

Cal burst into butterfly-inducing laughter.

“New ground rule,” he said, unable to stop laughing, even as his hand slipped beneath the hem of my dress, fingers caressing the bare skin of my thigh. “No mixing dirty sports metaphors in bed.”

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