She tastes like need.
I stand, taking her with me, her legs wrapping around my waist. Three steps and her back hits the bookshelves. She gasps as the spines dig into her shoulder blades.
And then she looks at me.
Not the way she looks at me during. Not glazed, not gone. Present. Searching. Like she’s trying to find something in my face I didn’t mean to show.
I go still. Something in my chest splits open. Just a fracture. Just a second.
Then I crush my mouth back to hers, harder than before, and the tenderness drowns under the flood.
“The book got you wet.” I yank her sweater over her head, drag down her bra, bare her breasts to the dim light. “Let’s see if the real thing measures up.”
I kiss down her throat. Take one nipple between my teeth, suck hard while my touch works between her thighs. She’s making sounds, desperate little whimpers, and I remember we’re not alone in this house.
My palm comes up. Covers her mouth.
“Quiet.” My voice is rough against her breast. “Not a sound.”
Her stare goes dark. She nods beneath my palm.
I release her long enough to strip her leggings and underwear down her legs, to free my cock from my pants. Then I’m lifting her again, pressing her against the bookshelves, positioning myself at her entrance.
“Your duke fucked his duchess against a wall.” I say against her ear. “I’m going to fuck my wife against my bookshelves. And you’re going to be silent. Understand?”
She nods, frantic.
I thrust into her in one hard stroke.
Her whole body arches. Books rattle on the shelves. My palm muffles the cry that tries to escape her throat.
Cristo.
“That’s it.” I pull back, drive in again. Her pussy grips me so tight my vision whites at the edges. “Take it. Take my cock like a good girl.”
She’s so wet I can hear it. Obscene sounds filling the space between us as I fuck her against my bookshelves, as her back slides against leather spines and her nails rake my shoulders through my shirt.
I know her body now.
I shift the angle. She clenches around me, gasping. I grind against her clit on every thrust and within seconds she’s shaking, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Better than the book?” My voice is low, filthy. “Better than your duke?”
She nods, glazed, her breath hot against my palm.
“Your pussy was made for my cock. Not some fictional bastard’s.” I punctuate each word with a thrust. “Mine. Only ever mine.”
Her inner muscles are starting to flutter. She’s close. The tension coils tighter with every stroke.
“Come for me.” The command scrapes out, raw. “Let me feel you.”
Her body detonates.
Silent except for the muffled sound against my palm, her body clenching around me, pulling me deeper. I watch her face. Every flutter of her lashes. Every crease of her brow.
Then I’m following her over, burying myself to the hilt as I come, filling her while her body milks every drop.
We stay like that. Pressed against the bookshelves. Breathing hard.
