It was suddenly the silliest thing in the world. Why hadn’t they kissed yet, when they were talking about rearranging their entire lives for each other? Misty was laughing breathlessly when Ty caught her mouth with his.
The rest of her laugh disappeared into the incredible heat of the kiss. She forgot anything else, any thoughts or considerations or anxieties, and devoured Ty’s mouth.
God, he tasted so good; he felt so good under her hands; he smelled so good; how could any one person be such a delicious joy to every sense? She just wanted to touch him all over, taste him all over, listen to his noises and feel him shudder under her hands.
His hands, meanwhile, were exploring all over, palming her curves, slipping into the slight gap her waistband made at the small of her back and making her shiver.
“Where,” she gasped between kisses, “where can we—”
“I’m in the guest room,” he rumbled, “which is—this way—”
Misty was horribly afraid they weren’t going to make it there, because she could feel that he was hard in his jeans, pressing against her hip, and once she realized that, she couldn’t help leaning into him, grinding a little, desperate to hear what kind of noise he’d make.
He didn’t disappoint—his low, wanting groan was everything she’d wanted to hear, and it made the muscles jerk deep in her stomach. Her sensible, no-one-will-ever-see-this underwear was probably soaked. Her clit was pulsing with sensation, and he hadn’t even touched her there yet.
“Oh, God,” he said, “we’ve got to be quiet, everyone’s a shifter, they’re going to hear—”
Misty blushed at the thought that anyone out there might know what they were doing here in Lynn and Stella’s house.
But the blush was lost in the heat that had overwhelmed her body. She meant to step back, but when she put a bare inch of space between their bodies, she felt the gap like it was a thousand miles, and had to step forward again, reach up and pull him down for another kiss.
He came willingly, tasting her mouth, his tongue clever and dexterous, making her wonder what it might do elsewhere on her body.
“Bed,” she gasped, and he nodded.
“Yes. Okay. This way.” He tugged her backwards, kissing her with every step, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. “Why is this uniform so hard to get off you?”
“That’s not really its—primary purpose—” Now that they weren’t plastered up against each other, she realized she could get her hands underneath his shirt, confirming to herself that he had a six-pack hiding beneath it.
“Stairs,” Ty muttered. “Okay.”
The stairs were a problem. Misty told herself they could reward themselves with a kiss for every stair. The problem was, one kiss would melt into another, and soon enough she was pressed against the banister, legs spread, with Ty’s narrow hips between them, half-wondering if they could just strip down right here, because she was aching with the need to have him inside her.
What is happening? a tiny, rational part of her wondered. I’m never like this. Ever.
Her doe had nothing to add, just a full-hearted wave of desire and approval.
So Misty let the tiny voice slip away, wrapped her arms around Ty’s shoulders, and opened her mouth to his next kiss, tipping her hips forward and sliding her hands up under his shirt again.
They panted together for a long moment, the ridge of his cock hard against her clit, grinding in desperate little movements. Misty was fascinated by t
he way he was falling apart, the clear hunger for her—for her. She wanted to eat it up, swallow every noise he made, every harsh exhale.
He tore his mouth away for just a moment and said, “We can do one more stair. Come on.”
Misty did not want to stop, at all, but she summoned up the ragged remains of her self-control and followed Ty up another stair. And then forward momentum kept them going, and then she could see the top, just three stairs away. “Almost there,” she murmured, and together they stumbled into the hallway.
“Made it.” She kissed him in reward.
“Not quite, it’s—down there—oh, forget it.” Ty muscled her up against the wall, unbuttoning her clothes frantically. Her shirt was gaping. Ty made a noise of frustration when he found the undershirt beneath it.
“Sorry,” Misty gasped. “It’s just an old T-shirt, do whatever you want to it.”
Ty leaned back, met her eyes, and ripped the shirt in one sharp movement, from neck to waist. A surge of excitement went through her at the sight of it—no hesitation, no struggle.
And that strength was all hers.
Right now, at least.