Free Grave Secret by Sierra Dean

the one I was grimacing at. I caved in and took a sip. The faint limey taste of the beer reminded me of him in such a painful way it almost made my eyes water.
    “Des…”
    “Shh, Jeter is up to bat.” He pointed to the TV.
    “Oh, fuck Jeter.”
    The werewolf at my side gave me a wide-eyed look of faux shock. “ Heathen .”
    “This is serious.”
    “And a man with over three thousand career hits isn’t? It’s Derek Jeter .”
    I kicked his thigh playfully, and he caught my foot, pulling it into his lap as smoothly as any natural habit. The future Hall of Fame batter in question got his three-thousand-and-somethingth career base hit while I stared at Desmond across the space of a few inches.
    “He can’t take you away. Not again.”
    Desmond gave my foot a squeeze. “No, he can’t.” Alex Rodriguez scored a grand slam, making the score an embarrassing 7-0 against the poor Mariners. All in the top of the third inning. Desmond was trying to be serious, but he could barely suppress his yip of joy. And that, in a nutshell, was why I loved him so much. Someone was threatening to completely uproot his life, and he still took the time to delight in his favorite team trampling another.
    When he looked back at me, he saw something that made him mute the television. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”
    “I can’t lose you,” I replied.
    He didn’t point out I’d already lost him. There were no bonus painful reminders that he’d left me and was obviously rebuilding himself with a new life, in a better apartment, with a promising future having nothing to do with my dark, scary world. His new home had windows. He couldn’t have windows with me.
    Gently, he cupped my chin so I had to meet his serious gaze. The violet-gray eyes I loved more than any other single part of him were cloudy and intense. “He’s made this threat before,” Desmond reminded me. “I’m still here.”
    He was so close I could have licked my lips and touched his. Our breath mingled, smelling of light beer and limes, and it wasn’t unpleasant at all. Instead it reminded me of summer and the former taste of his lips. I couldn’t have that memory fresh in my mind and not act on it.
    I closed the distance between us, placing a frantic, desperate kiss on his parted lips. He let out a small moan, either a noise of surprise or pleasure, and pulled back a moment later. He looked dazed and uncertain, my chin still cupped in his palm.
    “I don’t think—”
    “Don’t think,” I whispered, my voice gone thick. I slid closer to him—it was easy to do with my foot already in his lap. Soon I was straddling him and his hand had slipped to the back of my neck, angling my head towards his. I thought he’d fight me, but he wasn’t. He was yielding in a way I’d only dreamed he might. It was too easy, but I didn’t care.
    “Secret…”
    I was unbuttoning his shirt, shushing his words with fluttery kisses every time he opened his mouth. “I love you.” Nothing I’d ever said had been as true as those words in that moment. “I need you.”
    One of his big hands squeezed my thigh, making me feel small. The other hand held my head effortlessly, forcing my gaze to meet his. The same intensity flooded his eyes, but there was something hot there now. Desire eclipsed rage, turning his eyes almost solid purple. Need plucked at my insides, demanding I make this happen before anything stopped us, like common sense.
    “I need you,” I repeated, sliding my hands into his unbuttoned shirt, my fingers finding the smooth circle of flesh where his chest hair no longer grew. It was the size of a quarter and felt cool to the touch in contrast to the flushed skin around its perimeter.
    He growled, a sound I wasn’t used to hearing from Desmond.
    “You still smell like him,” he said. He meant Lucas. The werewolf marriage ceremony left his impression all over me as a giant Fuck off, this is mine signal to any wolf who might think I was