Read Online Sex in the Stacks by D. B. Shuster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: D. B. Shuster
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he took command of her mouth and her senses. His kiss banished the worry and doubts that had chased her here. Their passioned burned brightly, the only illumination she needed.
His hand slid over her ribs and down to her hips. The teasing touches only made her desperate for more. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her. She pressed her body against his as if she could climb inside him. She wanted his touch, his care.
He brought his hands between them and unbuckled his belt. Her mind jumped ahead, new fantasies fueling her lust. He would lift her in his hands. She would wrap her legs around him, and he would press her against the wall. Then he would thrust into her with wild abandon, satiating the gnawing emptiness at her core.
He did none of those things.
He freed his belt from the loops with a smooth slide of leather against cloth, and then he caught her hands in one of his. Before she could register the change in direction, he bound her hands tightly behind her back with his belt.
The leather squeezed her wrists with a tightness bordering on pain. She tested the bindings, pulling against them, but she couldn’t wrest free.
Not that she wanted to.
Simon had taken control, and not merely metaphorically. He spun her around and pressed her front up against the book case. “You’re my prisoner,” he whispered.
He gathered her abundant hair over one of her shoulders. Alternating nips and soft kisses, he nuzzled her neck while he unbuttoned a few of the buttons on her blouse until he created an opening large enough for his hands to slip inside and fondle her. His long fingers played over the lace of her bra and then under it, inside the cups, until the pleasure swamped her. When he drew a soft moan from her, he promised, “I’m going to make you scream down here in the dark, and no one will hear you.”
This naughty game in this inner sanctum of learning made her blood thrum. She was his prisoner, his to torture sweetly, his to command as he wished—in this library dungeon, surrounded by old books and knowledge.
She laid her cheek against the cool metal of the shelves, near a row of books that likely hadn’t been touched or discovered in years. With one hand, he unhooked the front clasp of her bra and pushed aside the lace until she was bare and exposed under the strafing of her cotton blouse. She was like one of these old books, newly opened under his touch, the brilliance hiding between the covers open to him, her careful reader.
She was surrounded by books, by thousands or perhaps millions of pages covered with words, but there was only one single word in her mind. More.
More. More. More.
Simon spun her around to face him. Her shirt was open to just below her ribs, her bra undone. The bindings at her wrists thrust her bounty forward. Simon lowered his head and trailed kisses along her neck, inside the collar of her shirt, and then lower still. His tongue trailed over her round, quivering flesh, until she gasped at the tug of his mouth, the pinch of his teeth. His white smile flashed in the dark.
He touched her as if learning her. His caresses were slow and studious as he diligently studied her reactions—the quickening of her breath, the trembles and squirms. He bothered to learn her as if she held the most profound knowledge, labored to make himself an expert on the sensitive points of her anatomy.
He was a very quick study.
In only a few stolen moments, he managed to pull responses from her—moans, uninhibited hitches in her breath, a soft pleading for more—that no one had before.
She closed her eyes, lost herself in the pleasure and pain of needing, craving, wanting still more than he gave her. He seemed to know this, seemed to enjoy her powerlessness to move him where she wanted or to pull away from the most intense of his explorations. He obviously enjoyed controlling her pleasure—how much, how fast.
A ragged sound, more desperate than a moan, breached her lips. She tried to clamp
His hand slid over her ribs and down to her hips. The teasing touches only made her desperate for more. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her. She pressed her body against his as if she could climb inside him. She wanted his touch, his care.
He brought his hands between them and unbuckled his belt. Her mind jumped ahead, new fantasies fueling her lust. He would lift her in his hands. She would wrap her legs around him, and he would press her against the wall. Then he would thrust into her with wild abandon, satiating the gnawing emptiness at her core.
He did none of those things.
He freed his belt from the loops with a smooth slide of leather against cloth, and then he caught her hands in one of his. Before she could register the change in direction, he bound her hands tightly behind her back with his belt.
The leather squeezed her wrists with a tightness bordering on pain. She tested the bindings, pulling against them, but she couldn’t wrest free.
Not that she wanted to.
Simon had taken control, and not merely metaphorically. He spun her around and pressed her front up against the book case. “You’re my prisoner,” he whispered.
He gathered her abundant hair over one of her shoulders. Alternating nips and soft kisses, he nuzzled her neck while he unbuttoned a few of the buttons on her blouse until he created an opening large enough for his hands to slip inside and fondle her. His long fingers played over the lace of her bra and then under it, inside the cups, until the pleasure swamped her. When he drew a soft moan from her, he promised, “I’m going to make you scream down here in the dark, and no one will hear you.”
This naughty game in this inner sanctum of learning made her blood thrum. She was his prisoner, his to torture sweetly, his to command as he wished—in this library dungeon, surrounded by old books and knowledge.
She laid her cheek against the cool metal of the shelves, near a row of books that likely hadn’t been touched or discovered in years. With one hand, he unhooked the front clasp of her bra and pushed aside the lace until she was bare and exposed under the strafing of her cotton blouse. She was like one of these old books, newly opened under his touch, the brilliance hiding between the covers open to him, her careful reader.
She was surrounded by books, by thousands or perhaps millions of pages covered with words, but there was only one single word in her mind. More.
More. More. More.
Simon spun her around to face him. Her shirt was open to just below her ribs, her bra undone. The bindings at her wrists thrust her bounty forward. Simon lowered his head and trailed kisses along her neck, inside the collar of her shirt, and then lower still. His tongue trailed over her round, quivering flesh, until she gasped at the tug of his mouth, the pinch of his teeth. His white smile flashed in the dark.
He touched her as if learning her. His caresses were slow and studious as he diligently studied her reactions—the quickening of her breath, the trembles and squirms. He bothered to learn her as if she held the most profound knowledge, labored to make himself an expert on the sensitive points of her anatomy.
He was a very quick study.
In only a few stolen moments, he managed to pull responses from her—moans, uninhibited hitches in her breath, a soft pleading for more—that no one had before.
She closed her eyes, lost herself in the pleasure and pain of needing, craving, wanting still more than he gave her. He seemed to know this, seemed to enjoy her powerlessness to move him where she wanted or to pull away from the most intense of his explorations. He obviously enjoyed controlling her pleasure—how much, how fast.
A ragged sound, more desperate than a moan, breached her lips. She tried to clamp
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