“She looks over her shoulder. ‘I hear that all the time, but you sound like you mean it.’
“I know how she feels. After a while, compliments lose their meaning, words like beautiful, smart, talented, master of the universe running together with every other word like coffee or bus, app or text. Overuse strips them of their power, renders them not a gift but more noise. Perhaps she wants the noise to disappear as much as I do.
“I can’t resist. The fabric gleams in the light, and I run my palm over it from waistband to the curve of her buttock. It’s sleek and warm. I slip my index finger under the elastic, slide it back and forth. She purrs like a cat and turns to face me. My fingers trail over her hip as she moves, and once again I’m stunned by how sexy it is when a woman’s half dressed. The top of her gown droops away from her breasts, and from the front, the fabric of her bra cups is sheer, not hiding her nipples. The expensive gown is bunched inelegantly at her waist but there’s a method to my madness. The party is big, raucous, and spilling over into the rest of the apartment. Eventually someone will knock on the door.
“She sets the book on the shelf by her shoulder, then uses that hand to grip my neck and draw my mouth to hers. I brace myself against the bookshelves so I don’t crush her against the unforgiving wood, but when her other hand slips between my jacket and my cummerbund to pull me closer, I give in and press myself against her. When my erection presses into the thick folds of fabric at her midsection, I growl. Too soft. Not enough friction or pressure. Without releasing my nape she reaches forward to grip my cock.
“‘Jesus,’ I mutter. She pulls up her dress a bit more; I bend at the knees and lean, and there it is, the sweet friction of another body against mine, even if we are separated by layers of fabric. Her kiss is confident enough to light up my nerves, pressing open my lips so her tongue can touch mine. It’s slick and hot. She feels sexy like this, and her attitude spills over, feeding mine. I lean a little harder, using the greater weight of my body to simulate what could be a spectacular fuck.
‘Ground rules,’ she says breathlessly.
‘Go,’ I say.
‘Don’t touch my hair. I won’t walk back out there looking like I’ve had a quickie in the library. Same goes for no visible marks.’
“The fact that someone’s left marks, fisted his hands in her hair, the unspoken possibility that Daria Russell likes it a little rough, seeps into my brain. I skim the bookshelf situation. Her shoulders, bisected by the gleaming gold straps, are braced against one shelf holding atlases; the next shelf is a good two feet up. No friction on the hair. All systems go. ‘Okay,’ I say.
“Her panties drop to the floor, then her fingers make short work of my button and zipper. My cock tips into her waiting palm. ‘Condom,’ she says while she’s got a firm grip on me, and I almost combust then and there.
“Getting a rubber from my wallet while she’s stroking my cock might be the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I roll it down; she gently scratches my nape and my balls with her perfectly manicured nails, and then she guides me into place. I’m looking into her face when the first hint of yielding heat registers, and if I look half as dazed as she does, this is going to blow my mind.
“I think I’m all the way inside, but then she shimmies, seating me that extra bit deeper. She’s tall enough to make this easy, and she gives the whole thing that extra bit of stability by wrapping one arm around my neck and the other around my waist. One forearm against the shelves, the other at her hips to support most of her weight, and this is going to be good. She’s slick and tight and radiating a confidence that has nothing to do with winning an Oscar and everything to do with you, Simone,” he said.
Simone startled, jerked out of the story when he brought her into it. Except she was already in it, already imagining herself in the library, wet and aching for Ryan.
“She’s like this because your designs made her feel like this. Voices sound outside the library door, derivatives, an upcoming natural gas deal, a summer share in the Hamptons, and I freeze, my entire body ringing like a fire alarm from the tight heat around my cock, the position, the possibility of being caught like this. It’s the last thing she wants, and I expect her to turn her face away and hide from the door, but instead she turns and whispers ‘Go away.’
“It’s a command, or maybe a witch’s spell, and it works. The voices move on.
‘Damn, you’re good.’