Page 29 of Boiling Point
“Gabrielle,” he said softly, urgency and affection warring in his voice as he kissed me again and again, each one reaffirming. “Do you know what it’s like?” His words were fire against my skin. “To want you this badly?”
He traced his mouth along my jaw, and I sighed.
“I’d love nothing more than to toss you on your bed right now,” he murmured between ragged breaths, “and ravish you completely.”
The image seared through me, sharp and delicious, leaving me aching. A delicious flutter unfurled in my stomach.
“This afternoon…” He paused, drawing my earlobe into his mouth with exquisite tenderness before he found his voice again, words rasping. “When you were riding with me…your body pressed into mine with every turn.” He gripped my hips, hard and sudden, and traced my collarbone with his tongue, and I shivered. “I thought of pulling off the road and bending you over my bike.”
The image made me go liquid in his arms. He caught and steadied me against him, laughing softly at my reaction.
“God, Gabrielle. I longed to know what it would feel like, having those stunning thighs wrapped around me.” The words were a groan against my skin.
I could barely breathe, dizzy with wanting him so much. He slid his hands to the hem of my sweater again but paused there, leaving me burning at his hesitation.
“But—” His voice was raw, stopping me as well. He pulled back enough for me to see the war in his eyes. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to hold back.”
He kissed me then, fiercely tender and achingly sweet, like he had just laid something bare between us he couldn’t take back. I exhaled in a rush, almost a sob, feeling both relieved and wrecked as he gathered me close again, his cheek pressed against my hair.
“And unless we want builder’s tea, I suggest we pull those bags out.”
I tilted my head. “What’s builder’s tea?”
He stepped away with a laugh. “Sorry—I forget myself sometimes. It’s easy to do with you.”
At the counter, he plucked the bags from the mugs and tossed them into the trash. “Builder’s tea is what you get when you steep it until it’s strong enough to fight back. The kind of thing you serve blokes in high-vis jackets before sending them off to pour concrete. Black, bitter, and drowned in milk and sugar to make it drinkable.” He flashed a grin. “Not exactly what I had in mind for us.”
Cal grabbed the milk from the fridge and poured a splash into each cup. He turned, a flash of self-reproach in his eyes. “Do you take sugar? I didn’t think to ask before.”
I took the mug with a smile. “This is perfect. I’m trying new things.”
He followed me to the table, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“I usually drink my tea sweet, no milk,” I admitted, watching his expression shift. “And flavored.”
He crinkled his nose.
“What?”
“To each their own,” he said diplomatically.
“No, tell me,” I pressed, eyes narrowed in mock challenge.
“Flavored tea…” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “It’s like potpourri in a cup.”
I laughed, the sound rising between us. The tea was warm in my hands, but the company was warmer still. I watched him over the rim of my mug, savoring both.
“What does your day look like tomorrow?” I asked, careful to sound casual, even though I already didn’t want him to leave.
He furrowed his brow for a moment, then a small smile tugged at his mouth. “Our class at eight,” he said, ticking it off on his fingers. “Another lecture at ten. Then a string of meetings with my research students in the afternoon.”
I nodded, absorbing his schedule like it mattered more than it probably should. “What else are you teaching this semester?”
“In addition to our course? Electromagnetism and quantum mechanics.”
He said it without fanfare, but I caught the faint shift in his voice—a quiet pride behind the words.
“That sounds…intense,” I said, setting my mug down. “I’m impressed.”
