Free Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) by Jeanette Murray

their lips met more firmly. First tentative, then more bold, she nibbled on his lower lip, then swept her tongue across to soothe the sting before opening her mouth to let his own tongue in to taste.
    Graham gripped the couch cushions hard enough he felt a few seams on the arm pop. But there was no way he could possibly touch her now. He’d ruin it, for both of them, and he was not giving up this moment for anything in the world. If she wanted more, she’d have to take it. And God, he’d give her whatever she wanted.
    After another moment, she moaned and rose up on her knees to press more firmly against him, then straddled him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her core settled firmly against his erection. Her thin yoga bottoms were of zero consequence; he felt it all. Everything. The pure heat of her, the way she opened for him. She had to feel the same.
    And he knew what heaven felt like. Heaven was Kara, inhis lap, surrendering to him and the feelings they’d both been fighting for far too long.
    He took the chance and let his hands rest on her hips, then cruise up to cup her breasts over the shirt. When she moaned and tore her lips from his, he froze, praying she wouldn’t give him a slap or pull away. But she did neither, just moved to his ear, nipping playfully as his thumbs circled around her nipples. Though she wore both a tank and what felt like a thin sports bra, the tips puckered beneath the fabric enough they were easy to find. He pinched, rolled and played until she was thrusting her groin against his in an imitation of an act he so desperately wanted to move on to with her.
    Then she was gone. Evaporated like smoke. He was left with his arms up, hands still cupped as if holding the comfortable, plush weight of her breasts instead of air. When he could unravel the knot of his brain, he blinked and found her across the living room, arms wrapped around herself as if she’d taken a sudden chill, back facing him.
    Damn. No, damn it,
no.
This was the exact opposite of what should have happened. Pushing the point was going to be the death of his chance.
    â€œKara,” he said hoarsely, then paused. He had no clue what else to say. “I’ll get Zach.”
    â€œWait.” She turned to look at him, and she was so pale beneath her freckles. Her nipples were still tightly budded beneath her tank, and it was all he could do not to let his gaze linger there too long. “I . . .” When words failed her, he wanted to kick his own ass.
    â€œI’ll get Zach,” he said again, then headed for the guest bedroom. When he got there, he found the boy still passed out, sprawled out across the bed, managing to take up three times his own body size in square footage. His hair draped over his forehead, and his shoes were still untied. This kid . . .
    Gently, Graham scooped him up, carrying him in hisarms to the living room. When Kara saw them, her eyes widened and she started to hold out her arms, as if he were supposed to pass the boy off. When Graham just raised a brow, she shook her head, grabbed her purse and hurried out the front door, leaving it open for him. She waited while Graham settled Zach in the back, buckling in the mumbling, half-conscious child firmly.
    Kara stood beside the driver’s door, sheltered behind it, using it like an Amazon uses a shield. He approached with a few cautious steps, praying she didn’t just run for the hills.
    â€œThank you, for getting him in the car. He would have been impossible for me to manage.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “You were such a big help today. I’m sorry I . . .” She let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t. Don’t be sorry. Just let me help some more. Let any of us help some more.”
    She shook her head, but the sadness in her eyes said she wished she could.
    â€œI know you have to get him home. I