Whiskey Beach Part 48

He knew they couldn't dive into the bed, not literally, but he figured they came pretty d.a.m.n close. He forgot about moves, timing, technique. He sure as h.e.l.l forgot finesse. But she didn't seem to mind.

He wanted those soft, pretty b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands-the femininity of the shape, the smoothness of skin. He wanted his mouth on them-the leap of her heart against his lips and tongue, the grip of her hand in his hair as she pressed him against her.

As her body bowed up to his like an offering.

He gorged himself on the scent of her, that G.o.ddess-of-the-sea scent that brought mermaids and sirens to his mind. That sleek, sculpted body vibrated with energy, infused his own.

As they rolled over the bed, grasping, groaning, he felt he could do anything, be anything, have anything.

She yearned. She ached. Everything felt frantic, fast, fabulous. His hands on her body, hers on his. She knew the lines of him, the shape, but now she could take, now she could feel-not to soothe or comfort, but to ignite.

She wanted to fire him, and have the blaze consume them both.

All the needs, good, strong, healthy needs, she'd locked away broke free in a crazed stampede that trampled any thought of restraint or caution.

She couldn't get enough, ravaged his mouth in her quest to feed and fill. But the hunger only grew keener, like a blade whetted on a speeding wheel. She all but clawed her way on top of him to sink her teeth into his shoulder, lost her breath as he flipped her back again and found her white-hot center with his fingers.

The o.r.g.a.s.m ripped through her, a glorious shock. Dazzled and drugged with it, she groped for him.

"G.o.d. G.o.d. Please. Now."

Thank you, Jesus, he thought, because it had to be now. When he drove himself into her, the earth didn't simply move. It quaked.

The world shook; the air thundered. And his body lit up, then erupted with triumph and pleasure, with a desperate, dizzying demand for more.

She clung to him, arms and legs locked in the wild ride full of sound and speed. Fast, rhythmic slaps of flesh to heat-slicked flesh, the crazed creak of the bed, the pants of labored breath overrode the lazy beat of the sea to sh.o.r.e whispering at the windows.

He felt himself fall away, just fall away into that whirl of sound, into the rush, into the stupefying pleasure.

Into her.

He'd have sworn he flew, too far, too high, into a moment of exquisite pain, before he just emptied.

They didn't move. It had gone dark sometime during the race to the bedroom and the sprint to the finish line, but he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't been struck blind.

Better to stay just as he was for the time being. Besides, the sensation of her body beneath his, sleek and toned and absolutely still, felt so d.a.m.n good. Though she'd gone lax, her heart continued to rage against his. The rapid beat made him feel like a G.o.d.

"And I wasn't sure I'd pull it off."

"Oh, you pulled it way off. I may never get it on again."

He blinked. "Did I say that out loud?"

The laugh rumbled in her throat. "I won't hold it against you. I wasn't sure either of us would pull it off. I feel like I must be glowing. I can't understand why I'm not illuminating the whole room like a torch."

"I think we went blind."

When she felt him s.h.i.+ft, Abra opened her eyes, looked into the glint of his. "No, I can see you. It's just dark. There's only a quarter moon tonight."

"I feel like I landed on it."

"A trip to the moon." It made her smile as she brushed at his hair. "I like it. All I need now is some water, before I die of thirst, and maybe some food before we try for the return trip."

"I can supply the water. I keep some in the ..." He rolled over, reached out for the nightstand, and ended up on the floor. "What the h.e.l.l!"

"Are you okay?" She scrambled to the edge of the bed to stare down at him. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I don't know."

"Where's the lamp? Where's the nightstand?"

"I don't know. Did we end up in an alternate universe?" He rubbed his hip as he got to his feet, and stood straining to see while his eyes adjusted to the dark. "Something's not right. The terrace doors are supposed to be over there, but they're over there. And the ... Wait a minute."

Cautious, he moved in the darkened room, cursed when his toe stubbed against a chair, skirted it, then groped for the bedside lamp.

The light flashed on.

"Why am I over here?" she asked him.

"Because the bed's over there. It was over here. Now it's over there and turned sideways."

"We moved the bed?"

"It was over here," he repeated, then walked back to her. "Now it's over here." He got back in as she sat up beside him. Both of them sat, studying the empty s.p.a.ce between the two nightstands.

"That's a lot of pent-up s.e.xual energy," she decided.

"I'd say ma.s.sive amounts. Has this ever happened to you before?"

"It's a first."

"Me, too." He turned, grinned at her. "I'm going to mark it down on the calendar."

Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. "Let's leave it here for now, see if we can move it back again later."

"There are a lot of other beds in this house. We could experiment. I think ... s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. Pent-up s.e.xual energy. Abra, the bed's here, the nightstands, and the condoms are over there. I didn't think. I couldn't think."

"We're okay. I'm on birth control. How long have you been storing up your s.e.xual energy?"

"Some over a year."

"Same here. I think that area of safety's covered, so to speak. Why don't we hydrate, eat, then see what else we can move?"

"I really like the way your mind works."

She was right about the soup. It was exceptional. He'd begun to think she was very rarely wrong about anything.