Page 147 of Citius

Cal could only withstand the stranglehold of my pussy a few seconds longer. He came with a bellow, head thrown back, the muscles of his arms and neck bulging, fingers digging into my hips, ass flexing forward, still trying to bring us closer.

Full. That was the only thought in my blissed-out head. So full of Cal and his warmth.

Until the purring started.

Cal hovered over me, thumbing a nipple as he shifted to suck on the side of my throat, vibrations tingling down the length of my spine. My pussy fluttered around the solid weight of his knot, still seeking another climax.

“God,” he rasped in my ear, “you feel…”

“You too—I’ve never… You know I’ve never…”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You did so damn good, so fucking good.”

Cal blanketed me with the rumbling expanse of his torso, peppering kisses along my hairline as he subtly gyrated within me, holding my leg at the perfect angle to send shuddering pulses straight to the apex of my sensitive nerves.

“Never want to let you go.”

A secret desire slipped out with a sigh. “Then don’t.”

Forty

Morgan

“You sure I can’t talk you into staying?” Cal asked as he took a bite of scrambled eggs. We were cuddled up against his headboard, him naked, save for a pair of boxers, and me swimming in one of his Narwhals t-shirts, eating breakfast in bed.

Which was a culinary miracle, considering the man was half-asleep and still on his first cup of coffee.

Nibbling on a piece of toast, I shook my head—or tried to. It felt like someone had screwed a crank into my skull while we slept and was now yanking my nerves out by the roots.

Well, while he slept. I only managed to drift off for a few fitful hours.

“Didn’t bring the right pills,” I said.

That was a lie. I’d packed my entire slate of pills, with enough doses to last until tomorrow morning. But I hadn’t anticipated waking up to a migraine and crippling nausea.

The glare outside his high-rise, amplified by the surrounding glass skyscrapers, sliced through Cal’s new curtains. Cream-colored linen might be tasteful, but it offered no defense against the aggravating light.

He didn’t need to witness one of my bad days so early in our relationship.

“Say no more. Health first.”

While he polished off his coffee and eggs, I ducked into the bathroom with my overnight bag. The soreness in my core was a pleasant reminder of our intimacy, a sharp contrast to the acidic sting that flared every time I bent my arm or lifted a leg. Even amazing sex couldn’t exorcise mysuppressant side effects.

Leggings were all I could manage. I was in too much pain to bother wrestling with a bra. It was unceremoniously shoved into my bag, along with my rumpled cocktail dress and heels.

I did, however, pull on one of his oversized cardigans, a shale gray cable-knit beauty that reached my knees.

Wearing his clothes sent a small thrill of possession through me. It was a satisfying proxy for my inability to smell the amaretto-scented pheromones clinging to my skin—evidence of our night together.

Being simultaneously territorial and comfortable was a win in my book.

Cal didn’t remark on my commandeered sweater. Instead, he draped his arm around my shoulders and peppered the top of my head with kisses all the way down to the underground parking garage.

It was a quick drive home, but our parting was anything but. One kiss turned into two, then three, a welcome distraction from the pain radiating through my body. His affection was the only thing keeping the worst of it at bay.

But then the crank started up again, sharp and relentless, making me wince. My vision blurred, and my nausea intensified.

Reluctantly breaking away, I grabbed my bag and inched toward the door. “I’ll text you later.”

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