Wild Wolf

When he finished, they looked at each other. “Now what?” Graham asked.

“I don’t know.”

The book hadn’t specified whether the moon should be full, waxing, or waning. Or whether the roses had to be fresh cut, or other details like that. Could be the book was just the ramblings of someone who loved whimsy, and it wouldn’t help at all.

Graham was watching her, his body quiet in the darkness, moonlight glinting on his Collar. He belonged out here in the night, a wolf, a being of the moon.

Other Shifters Misty had met could look and act exactly like humans, but Graham never quite could, not entirely. Graham was always a beast—tall, broad, raw strength in his bare arms. She had the feeling he kept to human shape only for convenience . . . his.

“Nothing’s happening,” he said.

“I know,” Misty said glumly. “Maybe we—”

Pain choked her words to a halt. She bent in agony as blood surged through her veins as hot as the tequila had been, burning its way to her heart.

Misty thought she screamed, but only a faint cry escaped her lips. She pressed her hands to the hot core of her chest, struggling to breathe.

Not a heart attack. She couldn’t be having a heart attack. Could she?

“Call . . .” Misty coughed, lungs begging for air. She clawed at her chest, trying to open it, to let the air in. What the hell was happening to her? She was falling, falling . . .

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**k 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.