Page 7

“Westerns. Back aisle. Now.”

I go to the front door first and flip the sign to BACK IN TWENTY MINUTES. I’ve never used it in the four years I’ve worked here.

When I get to the back aisle, he’s waiting for me. His shoulders almost touch the shelves on both sides, and the aisle has never looked this narrow.

I back him into the shelf at the end and put my hand flat on his chest. He’s as hot as the radiator, and his heart is pounding under my palm.

“I’ve been wet since yesterday,” I say. “You’re going to stand there, and I’m going to do the rest.”

“Yes.” His voice comes out rough.

I open his jeans. He’s hard already. His cock comes out of the denim heavy and hot into my hand, and my mouth waters. There’s a ridge that runs partway down the shaft, and I rub my thumb over it to make sure it’s real. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. None of the orc romances mention this detail. The real thing is better than the books.

When I run my hand down the length, he sucks in a breath and his ears go flat.

Then he hums.

I feel it in my hand first, a deep vibration that runs the whole length of his cock and up my arm. The shelf behind him picks it up, and then the glass in the reading-room doors sings one high note at the far end of the building. If he does that when he’s inside me, I’m going to lose my mind.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“You know what. The whole street can hear that. I’m going to have to be quick.”

I wrap my hand around his cock, and my fingers don’t close.

“Okay, big boy,” I tell him. “I’m going to need both hands.”

I add my other hand. A clear bead of pre-cum wells up at the head, and I spread it down over the ridge with my thumb. His cock is slick in about ten strokes, and I can hear it.

I keep stroking him from the head down to the base and back up. Every stroke is louder than the last. When I twist my grip under the head, his hips jerk.

“Mmm, someone likes that.”

I do it again, and more pre-cum runs over my knuckles. His hands are flat against the shelf behind him, and they’re shaking hard enough to rattle the books.

“Paige.”

I don’t look up. I can’t stop watching my hands on his cock. The head is dark and wet, and it pulses on every stroke. This close, he smells like hot wax.

“I made myself come last night thinking about you,” I tell him. “It took less than a minute.”

He groans, and his cock jerks in my hands.

I go faster. I squeeze on the way up and drag my thumb over the ridge on the way down. When his hips start to push, I slow down until he holds still, because I’m doing this, not him. Then I speed up again.

“I am going to—” His voice breaks. “Paige. I am going to come.”

“I know. Come for me. I want to see it.”

His head goes back against the shelf, and the hum in his chest turns into a groan. His cock swells, and I cup my palm over the head just in time. Hot cum shoots into my hand and runs between my fingers and down my wrist. There’s a lot of it. I keep stroking him with my other hand through every pulse, and I catch all of it. He says one word in his own language; the implant doesn’t translate it.

His cum is all over my hands, and I’m breathing as hard as he is. “Well,” I say. “That’s done.”

His eyes open, and there’s almost no amber left in them. He looks down at my hands.

I wipe my hands on my own skirt. Worth it.