She follows.
Chapter 26
Gustav
The back corner of the library is colder than the rest of the building, a pocket of silence behind the tall shelves. Dust floats in narrow slices of light. Her footsteps echo faintly behind me. When she enters the corridor of books, I turn and scan both directions.
I grab her waist and push her back against the shelves. The thud is soft, muffled by old leather-bound volumes. She gasps. Her hands press to my chest to steady herself. She is warm. My control snaps.
My mouth crashes onto hers.
I kiss her like a starving man, like a man who died and came back hungry for only one thing. Her lips part and the taste of her hits me hard. Sweet. Soft. Too addictive. She makes a smallsound, trying to catch up to the force of me, but I have no patience.
Hell, I had a hard-on all through lunch just because she sat close enough for her breath to warm my neck.
She kisses back, but I can feel the hesitation in the way her hands tremble. How tongue doesn’t invade. She is holding back. I don’t care.
I lift her shirt with both hands, dragging the fabric up, yanking down her bra, and exposing her breasts to the air. The moment I see them, full in the dim light, I feel something wild flare through me. I lower my head and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking deep and slow, then harder. She shivers, fingers burying in my hair.
Her breasts are perfect. The size fits my palms exactly, and her nipples tighten beautifully under my tongue. Her soft sounds vibrate through me, stoking every dark desire I have been shoving down since the yacht.
“You are gorgeous,” I murmur against her skin. “I love your nipples.” I bite gently, then soothe the spot with my tongue. “I love this color. This softness. Every part of you.”
She moans, louder than she intends. I feel her arch toward me, offering more of herself. Her body doesn’t lie. She wants this. She wants me.
My hunger drops lower.
I sink to my knees.
She stiffens. “Gustav. Someone could—”
I look up at her from the floor. Her cheeks are flushed pink, eyes wide, lips parted. Her fear, her hesitation, her desire... perfect.
“No one is coming,” I say. “Only you.”
Her breath falters.
I hook my fingers into her waistband and yank her pants down with no grace whatsoever. They drop to her thighs, baring her small white panties.
Good God.
My pulse punches against my ribs. I stroke a knuckle over the cloth, pressing just beside her entrance. She jerks, gasping.
I do it again, slower. She is already wet enough that the fabric darkens.
She tries to close her legs, shy and flustered, but I grip her hips and force her open. I lean forward and lick her through the panties, letting my spit soak the thin barrier over her clit. Her head hits the shelf, eyes fluttering shut.
Again.
Her hips jerk forward with a desperate little grind she didn’t mean to give me. The friction pulls another flush of wetness from her and she curses under her breath, embarrassed by how fast she is unraveling. I grip her thighs and pin her in place, forcing her to take every slow stroke of my tongue. Her hands fly to my hair. She pulls. Not to stop me. To get me closer. To make me ruin her faster.
She is shaking.
Grinding.
Losing her mind with every slow drag despite the cotton barrier.
“Say my name,” I tell her, voice low.
