Desert Wolf

Slipping his hand between her thighs, he skimmed the black lace, seeking the soft feminine folds that lay beneath the filmy scrap of fabric. Paxton made another sound...a surprised, breathy, totally sexy sigh.

He stroked her gently with his fingers, studying each reaction she made. Paxton clutched at the covers and arched her back. The light pressure of his fingers on her sex made her reach for him. In an attempt to hold on to whatever pleasure she was experiencing, she dug into him with her nails.

“Go ahead,” Grant whispered to her, his voice hoarse with expectation. “Enjoy this. Hell, your father might have planned for things to happen this way.”

Paxton’s lips parted as if she might challenge his remark. Grant’s mouth again found hers, sealing off any argument she might care to make.

Her hands moved, sliding up his neck and into his hair to tug him closer. He didn’t need the extra invitation. His hardness, at the moment still tucked inside his jeans, pressed against her hips. She, in turn, writhed on the bed enticingly, seductively, as if she couldn’t wait much longer to accept everything he held back.

But sliding his fingers over her arms made him hesitate. What he found there made him balk. Paxton had a birthmark on her left upper arm, a few inches down from her shoulder. Without having to see it up close, Grant knew exactly what that mark meant. Christ, he had one just like it.

Paxton Hall had a moon mark—a special kind of birthmark that would look exactly like an old bite from a full set of wolf teeth. And moon marks were proof of Were heritage that went way back.

What did she assume that mark was? Wouldn’t anyone question something like that?

“Do you know?” he asked her with his lips moving over hers, hoping she was too caught up in the same sensations moving through him to understand what he was getting at. “Do you understand what this is, between us?”

Realizing there was no way for Paxton to make sense of those words, and feeling way too wolfish all of a sudden, Grant took the fragile ivory skin beneath her right ear between his teeth and bit down lightly, as if teeth were part of the mating game.

He brought his lips back to hers for more kisses, more connection, more fire, tasting Paxton’s heat and allowing the flames she gave off to sink in. Her body moved like liquid sin beneath his. Her mouth was a monstrous delight.

The time had gone for adhering to rules governing wolf behavior. These moments were full and incredibly rich. Here she was. Paxton Hall. A she-wolf in human form. And she was waiting for the very thing he wanted most without realizing it could mean they would never again accept any other partners.

The sting of her nails on his back kept Grant’s wolf tethered, so the man could have his fill of the woman beneath him without interference. Faint traces of the scent of blood filled the air. Her nails were going to leave welts.

With his hands on her hips, Grant pressed his body against Paxton’s, tight to the spot that would soon open and accept him.

She was ready.

He was ready.

To hell, he wanted to shout, with everything else.

As he pressed her into the pillows, Paxton made another sound, one that abruptly brought Grant up from the world of dreams and rapidly fading willpower. It came from deep in her throat. Not a moan, a sigh or an argument against what they were about to do.

No.

Not this time.

Paxton growled.

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