"How's your manuscript coming?" he surprises me, refilling my wine.
"Good. The protagonists just realized their fake relationship might be more real than they thought."
His eyes meet mine over his glass. "Art imitating life?"
"Or life imitating art."
His fingers trace patterns on my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. The tension between us builds with each touch, each glance.
"Want to see the collection properly? In the evening light?" I ask, needing to move, to break this moment before I do something reckless.
"Lead the way."
We both know this is a pretense.
The library is bathed in the last rays of sunset filtering through stained glass, painting everything in jewel tones. Books glow in the colored light—emeralds, rubies, sapphires bound in leather and cloth.
I climb the rolling ladder, reaching for a high shelf.
"This first edition of 'Wuthering Heights' is special." I reach out, and my fingers close around the leather binding. "Violet found it at an estate sale in Yorkshire."
When I look down, Adrian stands at the base of the ladder, watching me with an intensity that steals my breath. I descend slowly, the book clutched to my chest like a shield.
He doesn't step back when I reach the bottom. Instead, he moves closer, one hand on the ladder beside my head, caging me. We're both breathing harder, though neither of us has exerted ourselves.
"Emmy."
I kiss him, decisive and demanding. His response is immediate, a groan against my mouth. His arms wrap around me, lifting me against him as we stumble toward the leather couch near the fireplace.
We fall onto it in a tangle of limbs, hands everywhere. I pull his shirt over his head, buttons be damned. He tugs my dress up andoff, tossing it aside. His mouth traces down my throat, along my collarbone, lower. I drag my nails down his back, loving how he gasps against my skin.
Adrian lays me back on the leather. His mouth finds my breast, and I arch into him, gasping as his tongue circles my nipple. His hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet. Wetter than wet.
"You're so wet. Is this all for me?" he asks, voice rough with desire.
"Yes. God, yes. Don't stop."
"Never. I could touch you forever."
Everything becomes sensation—his touch, his mouth, the colored light washing over us. I've never felt this way before, like I'm coming apart and being remade with each stroke of his fingers, each press of his mouth.
He slides down my body, settling between my thighs, and I stop thinking altogether. His tongue finds my pussy, and I cry out as he drags it along the slit, not caring about the echoes in the library. My hands tangle in his hair, guiding him as he alternates between sucking my clit and sliding his tongue in and out of me. Tasting my very essence.
Pleasure builds, overwhelming, until I'm chanting his name like a prayer—"Adrian, Adrian, Adrian"—coming against his mouth, shaking with the force of it.
He flicks his tongue over my clit, sucks on it, then nibbles gently. He slides a thumb into me while continuing his berserk tongue work on my clit. He swaps his thumb for a curled finger, presses it against the inside of my vagina, that sweet spot, and almostlifts me. I exhale, and my mouth forms an 'O'. I pull on his shoulders.
He kisses his way back up my body, positioning himself between my thighs. Our eyes lock, his questioning.
"Please. I need you," I whisper.
He unbuckles his pants, his gaze never leaves mine. He wraps a hand around his thick, girthy cock, and pushes inside, slow and deep, and we both gasp at the sensation. Perfect fit, again. I cannot believe how perfect this seems. He starts moving, measured at first.
But I want more. Want, no, not want,needto see him lose control completely. More berserker mode, please.
I push against his chest, flipping us until I'm on top, straddling him. Surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by pleasure as I begin to move. His hands grip my hips, guiding me. I cannot believe my thighs can handle this, but they do. He shifts his hands under my ass to support me. I rise and fall on his cock. Move my hips forward and back again then twist, totally in control of my own sensations, my own timing, my rhythm.
"God, Emmy. You're so beautiful like this," he moves his arms and folds them behind his head. He watches me move above him, "what a view," his lips blow an air kiss up at me.
