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them. A needy sound tore from her throat as she slipped her hands up his arms to his shoulders—so hard—before curling around the back of his neck, her fingers playing over the short hair there. She angled her head to deepen the kiss as she pulled him closer. He chuckled against her mouth and drew her hips forward, so she could feel his arousal. Memories of the other night, of how he felt against her, inside her, flooded her with desire. She slid her hands down his back, ducked her hands under his arms to slip under his sweatshirt, over his firm, warm skin.
    Shuffling a step forward, he pinned her to the wall with his hips, his thigh between hers, then leaned back enough to strip the sweatshirt and his T-shirt off. He tossed it over a nearby chair and reached for the hem of her top. Wanting to feel his chest hair against her skin, she wriggled out of the garment and leaned forward. He smoothed his hands down her back to her hips and dipped his head to kiss her again, his lips more demanding now. She pressed her breasts against his chest, her nipples hard through the lace of her bra.
    He muttered something about her being a surprising librarian and slipped his hands between them to unfasten her jeans before reaching inside.
    She cried out and dropped her head back at his intimate touch, then clutched at his shoulders to put some space between them. “Not yet. Not yet, Marcus.”
    He lifted his head, breathing heavily. “I don’t have much control just now, Brylie.”
    “Fine.” She shed her jeans and stood before him in her lace underwear and bra. “But I hope you have a condom.”
    His gaze swept over her, hot and hungry, and he made a strangled sound. She slipped past him to the bed, not quite queen-sized. She laid back, one leg bent, and he dropped himself over her, bracing his weight on his arms. He kissed her again, this one almost sloppy with need. His forehead rubbed against hers as she slid her bare legs along his jean-clad ones.
    “You don’t pack in case of emergency?” he asked.
    “We used mine last time.” She skimmed her hand over the front of his jeans and he groaned. “Don’t tease me here, Marcus.”
    He lifted his head and grinned, holding up his wallet. To her relief, he drew out a condom, and she noticed he had a spare. Thank God.
    He rose off her long enough to shuck his jeans and shorts, then covered her again, kissing her mouth, moving to her jaw, finding the sensitive spot below her ear. His chest hair caught in the lace of her bra and that small sensation sent another tremor of lust through her. She slid her fingers from his belly over his chest, fingers flexing in the crisp hair, before she cupped his head in her hands and pulled him down to kiss her. Her hips lifted into his, an unmistakable invitation. He hooked his fingers in her underwear and pulled them down. The delicate fabric tore and she winced.
    “Sorry. Christ.”
    When he glided his hands up the backs of her legs, all was forgiven. He lifted his head to look into her eyes as he pushed inside of her.
    So much better this time, when she could zero in on every sensation, his weight on her, the flex of his muscles, the play of his mouth on her skin. They found a rhythm that was accented by the pitch of the ship, and Brylie alternately laughed in delight and groaned in pleasure.
    Gripping her hips, he rolled with her, still deep inside, so that he was on his back and she was over him. He loosened her bra, freeing her breasts, and lifted his head to capture a nipple between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Her fingers curling in his hair, she cried out, holding him to her as she rode him. He palmed her bottom, adjusting her, parting her, and they drove into each other until her legs burned and her body was tight with the need for release.
    He gave it to her with a swipe of his finger, then tilted her onto her back to find his own.
    Quivering, her hands skimmed down his sweaty back as his breath gusted against her throat. He