Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(29)

But Graham had caught her, solid arms around her, cradling her as she went down. He was on his knees with her, gathering her to him.

Misty felt Graham’s heart hammering in his chest. He closed her in his arms, hands on her back.

“Stay with me, Misty.” His voice was harsh. “Stay with me, love. Don’t . . . don’t . . .”

Misty opened her mouth—and found air rushing back inside her. She gasped out loud as hot desert night air flowed into her lungs, expanding them again. Oxygen pounded to her heart, filling her blood, which shot fire around her body again.

And then the burning eased, little by little, cooling as did the baking desert under a soft fall of rain.

Misty drew another breath, this one more natural. She licked her lips, tasting the residue of tequila, feeling moisture linger in the wake of her tongue.

Moisture. Not parched lips and dry mouth. The horrific thirst had vanished.

“I think it worked.” Misty looked at Graham in relief. She smiled. “I think it actually worked.”

Graham said nothing. He bathed her in another of his intense stares, then he cupped her face in one hand and kissed her mouth.

No slow starts and easing in this time. Graham’s hand was hot on her cheek, thumb at the corner of her lips. He took her mouth in hard strokes, and Misty clutched Graham’s shoulders, his skin hot through his T-shirt. He curved over her, sending her down into the ground.

Misty’s body came alive. The kiss this afternoon had been burning, but this . . .

Gravel cut into her back until Graham thrust his arm behind her, lifting her to him. He moved himself over her, his large body engulfing hers. Misty met his kiss with hers, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth, wanting him.

She felt the rough of his palm on her shoulder then the skinny strap of her tank top moving downward, and with it the top, baring her to the night. With his other hand, Graham unsnapped her bra, pushing it and the tank down to her waist.

Graham never stopped kissing her. He closed his callused hand over her breast, her nipple tightening to meet his palm. Heat streaked from the cup of his hand to every part of her, settling at the join of her thighs.

Misty scrabbled at Graham’s T-shirt, wanting to touch him too. His skin was roasting, which worried her, but the worry was dim, buried behind the rush and roar of the kiss.

She worked his shirt upward, finding the smoothness of his back, the curve of his spine, the muscle of his shoulders. All the while, she kissed him. She tasted the bite of tequila, the sweetness of the rose petals, felt the burn of the spell beyond the insistence of his lips on hers.

Graham pulled back abruptly. Moonlight outlined the harsh planes of his face and glinted on his Collar. His lips were parted, eyes hard.

Misty lifted to him again, seeking his mouth. Graham raised his head away from her, but his hand remained on her breast.

His eyes narrowed, silver and gleaming. Then he said softly, “Aw, f*ck it.”

Graham tugged off his T-shirt in a few quick jerks and flung it away from him, and then pulled Misty up to him. His hands were hot on her back, kisses hard.

Graham took his mouth to her neck. A sharp pain, a love bite, then he licked his way to her shoulder, closing his teeth over the skin. Another bite, before he moved down to her breast.

Part of Misty’s brain reminded her Xav and Reid were in the house and could emerge at any time. The other parts told her to shut up. She needed this.

Graham drew his teeth together over her firm nipple. Misty gave a quiet cry, the not-pain brushing white heat through her.

He licked and played for a time, circling her areola with his tongue, nibbling the tip. Then he pulled her breast all the way into his mouth and suckled, strokes firm.

Misty arched to him, a groan escaping her lips. Magic and moonlight, and Graham.

Graham traced her navel with his fingertips then popped the button of her shorts. Before Misty could say a word, Graham unzipped the shorts and slid his fingers inside.

He found her sweet spot right away. God, did he find it.

Misty’s hips rose, she seeking the wonderful friction of his hand. She felt his fingers grow moist and slick, evidence of how much she wanted him.

Graham lifted his head, his lips damp from suckling her breast, his eyes alight. “You feel good, sweetheart.”

Misty tried to respond, but all that came out were incoherent sounds. Graham smiled, and slid one strong finger inside her.

The stiff invasiveness made her tighten. At the same time, Graham brushed his thumb across her opening, drawing more moisture and more heat.

“What are you doing?” Her whisper came out a croak.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Graham slid in a second finger.

His fingers were large, stretching her. Misty drew in a breath, prepared to tell him to stop, but the words didn’t come. She didn’t want him to stop. For months she’d craved his touch, and now he was giving it to her.

Misty wormed her fingers under his waistband, finding his slick, warm hip. Graham yanked her hand out again.

“Not yet,” he growled. “Feel me.”

She couldn’t not feel him. Graham slid a third finger into her, and Misty groaned. Her legs opened of their own volition, wanting this spreading, his large hand inside her. He was going to think she was no better than a Shifter groupie, begging with her body for the touch of a Shifter.

Who cared? Graham kissed her again, his mouth a place of goodness, while his fingers gave her pleasure. Her breasts were bare, pressing against his torso, and Misty pulled him closer. When he eased off kissing her, she reached up and caught the skin of his neck in her teeth, leaving her own love bite.