Moriah's Mutiny. Elizabeth Bevarly

But when they arrived at her room and Moriah opened the door to the expansive pale-peach-and-white suite, she discovered to her annoyance that it was spinning and pitching precariously and that all she could do to make it stop was cling to Austen like there was no tomorrow.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked her when she spun quickly and clumsily around to grab him.

      “Room’s jumping around,” she mumbled into his broad, muscular chest.

      “The room’s fine, Moriah,” he assured her with an affectionate chuckle, tugging at the arms that were circled possessively around his neck. “But I think you might be just a little bit tipsy.”

      Instead of letting him go, she buried her face against his chest and clung more tightly. “No, no, no,” she said as she shook her head fiercely. “I told you I never, never, never, never, never…” Her words trailed off as she lost track of what she was going to say.

      “You never get drunk,” Austen reminded her.

      “Right.” This time she nodded her head eagerly up and down. “I never do.”

      “Well, maybe you’re just a little bit tired then,” he corrected himself magnanimously.

      “Yeah,” she said on a sigh. Then realizing somewhat foggily that if she was tired she wouldn’t be able to talk Austen into doing what she wanted so desperately to do, Moriah quickly changed her mind. “I mean no!” she exclaimed frantically, lifting her head enough to gaze groggily into his eyes. “I’m not tired! I’m not! I swear!”

      Austen couldn’t help grinning. God, she was sexy. Her hair, that wonderfully thick mass of spun gold that he had delighted in touching all night, cascaded wildly about her face and shoulders like a crooked halo. Her huge, dark eyes danced dizzily with excitement, and her warm, curvaceous body was soft and pliant as she pressed it against him in an effort to remain standing. The scooped neckline of her black T-shirt had slipped over one shoulder to reveal sun-pinkened skin and the top of one lush, creamy breast. When Moriah rubbed herself against him unknowingly, Austen felt himself growing hard with need, felt all his good intentions about keeping his distance dissolving into a warm mist.

      “Austen?” she whispered thickly against the tanned, salty skin of his neck. Her warm breath stirred him even more, and unconsciously he dropped his hands to her hips to steady her, pulling her even more intimately against him, getting little relief from the desire that was fast ripping through him.

      “What, Moriah?” he rasped out raggedly. He had to get her into bed this instant. Alone. The longer he had to hold her up, the closer she’d pull herself next to him. And the closer Moriah got to him, the more dangerous their predicament became.

      “Don’t go home tonight,” she murmured softly against his chin, following her words with feathery little kisses to his jaw. “Stay here with me.”

      The hands that had been wrapped tightly around his neck now loosened, and Austen relaxed somewhat until he felt Moriah’s fingernails go scoring down his chest. He sucked in his breath as she spread her palms open across his flat belly and continued to kiss the warm flesh of his neck and collarbone. But when she came up on tiptoe to flick his lower lip with her tongue, reaching for the button of his jeans as she did so, Austen’s breath caught in a strangled gasp in his throat. “Moriah, don’t,” he warned her as he felt the first button slip through its hole.

      “Austen,” she whispered on a seductive sigh. “I want you.”

      The next button popped open at the same moment her lips fastened intently over his. Austen made a halfhearted effort to pull his mouth away from hers until he felt her fingers dip gently inside his waistband, then out again to stroke the hard fullness in his jeans.

      “Oh, damn,” he muttered brokenly. “Moriah—” But his words were cut off as she cupped him fully in her palm and pressed her hand urgently against him.

      That was the last straw. If she wanted to make whoopee, Austen thought, then damn it all, they were going to make whoopee. With the swiftness and grace of a pouncing jaguar, he swept Moriah into his arms and tossed her into the center of the flowered coverlet on the king-size bed. While she gazed at him with hungry intent, he reached back over his shoulder to bunch his T-shirt in one hand, then pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor.

      For a long moment he stood towering over her, his bronzed, naked chest sprinkled with coils of gold-tipped hair rising and falling rapidly with the passion she had raised in him, looking to Moriah like a glorious island king. Feeling more excited and reckless by the moment, she opened her arms to him in invitation, and with a deep and ragged groan, Austen threw himself onto the bed beside her.

      For a moment he was too overcome with desire to know where to begin. He’d never, ever, wanted a woman the way he craved Moriah now. His arousal strained painfully against the heavy denim of his jeans, begging to be set free and buried deep inside her welcoming warmth. But Austen wanted this to go slowly, wanted to take his time savoring the gifts she had to offer, wanted her in turn to hit new heights with him she’d never known before. As she lay flat on her back feasting her eyes hungrily upon him, he felt as thought they had all the time in the world to satisfy each other, felt as though this night would be one that continued forever.

      Wordlessly, his eyes never leaving hers, Austen dropped his fingers to the hem of Moriah’s denim skirt, spreading his hand open beneath her warm thigh before rubbing his palm urgently under her skirt to cup her hip tightly. Her pupils widened with wanting when he kneaded her flesh with determination, and she moaned out loud when his fingertips dipped quickly and firmly under the lacy fabric of her panties. He wedged his thigh between hers then, pressing it up feverishly to settle against the heated feminine core of her, pulling her body adamantly toward him to rub even more intimately against her. As Moriah arched her back and cried out loud, Austen’s other hand gripped the neckline of her shirt and urged it farther down her shoulder until he exposed one soft, supple breast. With a muffled growl he lowered his head to the swollen mound and took the rosy peak into his mouth. Moriah tangled her hands insistently in his hair and pulled him closer, crying his name out on a gasp, begging him please to never, ever, stop.

      With one quick move, he pulled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it to join his on the floor, then bunched up her skirt around her waist and settled himself once again between her thighs. Grasping both of her slender wrists in one hand, he pulled her arms above her head until she was helpless to do anything but surrender to him. Her eyes grew stormy when she understood his intentions, and a wicked gleam joined the fire in Austen’s eyes. Bending his head once again over her breasts, he slowly circled the dusky peaks of one with the tip of his greedy tongue while thumbing the other to life with his rough, callused hand.

      He’d never known a woman to be as sweet as Moriah, had never known a woman’s skin could be so soft, so warm, so incredibly responsive. As he touched and tasted her with quiet reverence, letting his fingers and his kisses blaze trails across her flat belly, Austen felt his own body coming alive for the first time. It was suddenly as if any other sexual experience he’d enjoyed in his life had only been a preliminary to this one, as if this time with Moriah were his first. All the anxiety and excitement of his first time paled in comparison to the feelings that burned and bothered him now.

      When a new thought invaded his muddled mind, Austen raised himself up on his elbows and gazed down anxiously into Moriah’s drugged, delirious eyes. “Moriah,” he asked her urgently, “are you protected?”

      She gazed at him blankly, clearly confused by his statement. “What do you mean?”

      Austen dipped his head down with a defeated sigh. “No, for some reason, I didn’t think so.”

      “What are you talking about?” Moriah demanded, feeling her blood start to cool rapidly at his seeming disappointment in her, suddenly feeling very tired.

      “I mean, are you using any kind of birth control?” he clarified for her.

      Her eyes widened in shock. “Birth control?” she repeated, aghast. “Why on earth would I be using birth control?”

      He