Wild Wolf
Graham kissed her chin. “You are so beautiful.”
Graham’s whisper echoed what he’d said the night they’d drunk tequila and roses, looking for a way to end the Fae’s spell. This morning, sober, he looked at Misty and said the same words.
Misty touched his face. Graham’s eyes drifted closed as he slid the rest of the way inside her.
Fully inside her. Graham drove high, his large c**k invading her. Her body gripped it, instinct overriding coherent thought.
He held her like that a moment, she against the wall, he straight up inside her.
Then Graham lifted her into his arms, holding her on him. He turned in a slow circle in the kitchen, looking into her eyes, the sunshine dancing on them. They were whole, together. One.
Misty felt him solidly inside her, pressing her in pleasure. She shuddered, her hips wanting to rock, but in the tight position, they could do nothing but be still and be joined. And that was no bad thing.
Graham kissed her. He said words between the kisses, but she didn’t understand them. Soft little words of tenderness, or so she thought. Misty ran her hands through his short hair, smiling into his face. The warmth of the sun, the heat of Graham’s body, the stiffness inside her, were the most wonderful things she’d ever felt. She’d longed to be this Shifter’s lover since the first night he’d kissed her and changed her world forever.
Another turn around the middle of the floor, Graham’s strong body holding them, then another and another. Dizzy joy, circling with the man Misty had been falling in love with, joined with him at last.
Graham slid his hands over her back, up under her tank top, pulling her to him for another kiss.
His last slow turn brought them to the table, bare now, since Misty had cleaned up. Graham supported her back as he laid her down on the table, the length of it taking Misty’s body.
Graham slid her hips to its edge, the two of them still connected. Misty glimpsed where his large c**k disappeared high into her body, before Graham drew back, exposing the dark length of it. He was wet and slick from being inside her, still hard for her.
A moment, a glance, and then Graham slid back inside. He nestled there for half a second, then drew out, then in again. Then again, faster this time.
His thrusts increased, one after the other, beautiful friction. Misty propped herself on her elbows so she could watch Graham, his hands on her hips, drive into her. Wild feeling like music took away her thoughts.
She knew nothing but warm sunshine, Graham firm and thick inside her, pulsing hard joy into her. The scents of cinnamon and sugar, syrup and frying pancakes lingered in the room. The mouthwatering scent of food and the feeling of Graham twined together, one layering over the other.
Misty lifted her hips, her eyes half closing, while Graham continued thrusting into her. He was sweating, body glistening in the sunlight. The tatts moved on his arms, flames curling around muscle.
“You are so beautiful.” Graham’s words were hoarse. “Nothing else matters when I look at you.”
Graham. Misty tried to say his name, but her tongue didn’t work. She was gone on feeling, pleasure, glory. Her hips bumped the table, and she reached to twine her fingers around his wrists.
Back and forth, rocking, silent now but for the sounds of him going in and out, the creak of the table, the faraway laughter of cubs playing in the common yard behind Graham’s house. There was so much life here, always movement, laughter, joy.
Joy. It wound up inside Misty and spilled out. A dark wave of feeling picked her up and washed her away, the room spinning around her as it had when Graham had turned with her.
Graham grunted. His hips moved faster and faster, his grip on her tight. He pumped into her in a frenzy, sweat dripping from him, his head back. He was a wild man, huge and strong. This was more raw than making love—this was pure, animal-like sex.
Graham’s thrusts came even faster, Misty lost in the friction of it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. A scream came from her throat, echoing against Graham’s shout.
Graham slammed into her one last time, groaning, his seed scalding inside her. His hips started moving again, the rhythm pounding, his hands sliding on her hips, slick with sweat.
He opened his eyes, his last shout of pleasure dying down into a groan. “Misty,” he said. “Goddess, help me.”
Graham lifted her again, gentler this time, and gathered her into his arms. Her legs went around his hips, he still inside her.
He turned with her in another circle, slower now, Graham kissing her with warm lips. He held her close, the fire gone from his eyes, a dark glow taking its place.
“Mate,” Graham whispered. “Mine.”
Misty touched his hair and kissed his lips, drifting on a cushion of happiness.
• • •
Graham carried Misty upstairs to his bedroom, where she’d lain in so much pain. Someone—probably Misty herself—had already stripped the bed, leaving the plain mattress ready for clean sheets.
Graham laid her down, stripped the rest of her clothes from her, parted her legs, and slid inside her again. He was not done sexing her. Not by a long way.
Misty lifted her body to meet his. She wasn’t a shy virgin—she liked sex, and she wanted Graham. Graham felt no triumph over this. It was just . . . right.
Goddess, she was beautiful. He couldn’t help saying it. Her round br**sts, tipped with dusky ni**les, tightened as he loved her. Sweet plumpness he could sink his fingers into, her brown hair spread across his pillow. And her eyes, lovely liquid brown eyes, watching him without fear or shame. Eyes a man could drown in.