Storm in the Dusty Stacks

Rain hammered the glass dome of the library, and the drops, lit by lightning flashes, looked like gold. I stood by the window, clutching a volume of Maupassant, and felt his gaze on my neck—right where a few damp strands had escaped. Mark stood too close. Close enough that I could hear his breathing, smell the rain and his cologne mixed with the dust of old books.

“Alex isn’t calling,” I said without turning around. “Probably stuck in the city.”

“Probably.” His voice was low, a little rough. I felt his fingers touch my waist—light, like an accident. “You’re shaking. Cold?”

“No.”

I turned. In the dark, his eyes gleamed like an animal’s. I swallowed, feeling my heart pound in my throat. We stood in the aisle between the stacks, and the old folios seemed to watch us like silent witnesses.

“He said you guys are good,” Mark whispered, stepping closer. “But I see how you look at him. And how you look at me?”

“Mark, don’t…”

“What if I have to?” He took my hand, pulled me to him. I pressed my palms against his chest but didn’t push him away. I could feel his heart beating under the shirt fabric. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Tell me you haven’t imagined what it’d be like to be with someone who actually wants you.”

I was silent. Then he leaned in and kissed me—hard, demanding, like he’d been waiting forever. I gasped, grabbed his shoulders, and a second later I was kissing him back, losing my mind. His hands slid down, grabbed my ass, pulling me against him, and I felt his cock pressing into my stomach through the thin fabric of my dress.

“You’re insane…” I breathed when he broke the kiss.

“Not yet,” he grinned, running his tongue along my neck. “But I’m getting there. Right now. Here.”

I bit my lip, feeling the heat and wetness between my legs. His hands were already unbuttoning my dress, each button snapping like a gunshot in the quiet library. The dress slid to the floor, and I was left in just my underwear—lace, black, bought for Alex, but now Mark was devouring me with his eyes.

“Jesus,” he exhaled. “You’re even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined?”

“Every night.” He dropped to his knees, ran his hands up my thighs, pulling down my panties. “Every fucking night when you were sleeping in the next room.”

I gasped when his tongue touched my clit—wet, hot, insistent. I leaned back against the shelf, and the old books wobbled, threatening to fall on us. His tongue licked me, pushed inside me, teased me, and I bit my hand to keep from screaming. A flash of lightning lit up the library, and I saw his face between my legs—eyes gleaming, lips wet with me.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please.”

He laughed—low, satisfied—and stood up. A second later, I heard his belt unbuckle, and his pants dropped to the floor. His cock stood in front of me—hard, with a wet head. I wrapped my fingers around it, stroked the whole length, and Mark hissed through his teeth.

“Sit on the edge of the table,” he ordered, nodding toward the massive oak table covered in maps and atlases.

I obeyed. The cold wood burned my skin, but I didn’t care. Mark walked over, spread my legs, and I felt his cock slide along my wet slit. He teased me, pushing in a couple inches and pulling out, until I moaned in desperation.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Fuck me. Now.”

He thrust in with one push—deep, all the way. I cried out, grabbing his shoulders, feeling him fill me completely. He started moving—slow, agonizingly slow—then sped up, pounding into me with a force that made the table creak and jump. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I whispered his name, feeling a hot wave building inside me.

“Look at me,” he breathed. “Look at me when you come.”

I looked. His face was twisted with passion, his eyes burning. He leaned in, kissed me, and at that moment I exploded—the orgasm crashed over me, arching my back, squeezing his cock from the inside. Mark groaned into my mouth, jerked, and came inside me with a hoarse roar.

We stood there, pressed together, gasping for air. The rain was dying down outside. I could feel his cum leaking out of me, running down my thigh.

“That was…” I started.

“One time,” he cut me off, pulling away and buttoning his pants. “Just one time.”

I nodded, but deep down I knew—this wasn’t the end. When he left, leaving me alone among the dusty books, I heard the door slam on the stairs. And I knew I was waiting for the next storm.