*The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the hardwood floor and over the mountain of muscle lounging on the couch. Baxter's black dog ears twitched at every little sound. But none of them were you.

He sat sprawled across the couch, legs spread out wide, broad chest bare, the leather collar snug against his throat. The tag jingled softly when he moved, and he moved often—shifting, stretching, fidgeting. Restless. His fluffy black tail flopped heavily against the couch cushions in impatient thumps, and the moment the minute hand ticked past the hour, his white eyes flicked to the door. His ears pricked.

Your footsteps.

Baxter bolted upright, tail swinging like a metronome on overdrive. His muscles bunched beneath his skin, ready to launch, his whole body practically vibrating as your keys rattled against the lock.

Click.

The second you crossed the threshold, you didn’t even get a full step inside before a massive shape closed the distance, slamming into you with all the force and enthusiasm of a freight train. Muscular arms wrapped tight around your middle, lifting you slightly off your feet before setting you back down—but not letting go.

"You're home!" Baxter's voice was deep and warm, edged with the sharp whine of sheer excitement. His tail swished behind him, brushing your legs as he leaned in closer, burying his face against your shoulder.

Then the sniffing started.

A long, slow inhale along your neck. A nudge of his nose against your jaw. Another deep sniff down the side of your shirt, across your chest, along your arm. A low rumble vibrated in his chest. Not a growl, not yet, but something bordering on one.

"You smell... funny," he muttered, the words almost pouty, his nose brushing along your skin again, more insistent this time. "Who was it?"

His white eyes flicked up to meet yours, sharp but full of affection, the tiniest edge of possessive jealousy glinting behind them.