Page 98 of Roses in Summer

I don’t say anything else as I turn and push open the steel door beside us. My steps are slow and measured as we ascend the stairs, cognizant that Seraphina’s legs are half the size of mine. While she may speed walk, there’s no way I’m forcing her to run up three flights of stairs.

If I didn’t think she’d freak out on me, I’d grab her and toss her over my shoulder, but something tells me that my little thorn would rather crawl on hot stones than let one of her coworkers see her in that position.

A shame, really, because I’d like nothing more than to handle Seraphina and let everyone in this building know she’s mine.

My anxiety doesn’t abate as we emerge from the top floor’s door, nor does it recede as we wind through the rows of empty workstations and encyclopedias they keep in this part of the library. It’s only when I pull her through an empty tutoring space tucked into the corner and shut and lock the door behind us that I feel remotely at ease.

I don’t give Seraphina a moment to ask a question. I’m on her as soon as that lock is turned. Dropping her arm, I grip her waist and pull her up, pinning her against the heavy wooden door and my body. My mouth is on her just as quickly, diving down to take her lips in a kiss that conveys all the frustration and anxiety that I’ve felt in the last two hours. She meets my aggression with a sweet sigh, one that I swallow as it bleeds into a moan on my tongue. I fuck her mouth, moving my tongue against hers as I stake my claim, owning her in the small study room the same way I want to do in public.

Her arms come around my neck, dragging me impossibly closer, and I shift my hips against her center, letting her feel how hard I am through the unfortunate amount of clothes between us. Another moan slips out of her, and I use the opportunity to trail kisses down her jaw and neck, shifting her higher so that her head is above me and her cunt rests against my upper abdomen.

The move causes her to drop her head back, letting her back arch as she grinds against my stomach in a way that makes me wish we were naked and truly in private rather than in a secluded section of the library.

“Lincoln,” she breathes out, her voice barely audible against the rushing of blood in my ears. “Wh-what’s wrong—oh my god,” she stutters as I latch onto her pulse point and suck hard, hoping to leave a mark, a visual representation that this tiny little siren is mine. “Please.” She moans, pelvis pressing forward and back arched in an effort to feel more, take more of me… from me.

“Fuck, ciern.” I lick against her collarbone, sucking and biting and leaving so many goddamn marks against her olive flesh that she’s going to look like she was attacked by a vampire. “I fucking need you, Seraphina. Tell me this is okay.”

She doesn’t respond but grabs at my head, pulling me up and leaning down to attack my lips. It’s fucking filthy as she grinds against me, moving her hips in time with our tongues.

Ripping my mouth away, I pant against her shoulder. “Words, ciern. I need words.”

“Yes, Lincoln. Whatever your question is, yes.”

Her consent is all I need to turn from the door and set her down on the wooden table in the center of the room. Her legs are locked over my hips, and I grab her thighs, easing her hold as I pull over a chair and sit down in front of her. I didn’t get a good look at Seraphina’s outfit when I arrived at the library, but now I soak it in.

One thing I’ve noticed about Seraphina, both four and a half years ago and now, is that she rarely moves outside of a neutral color palette unless it’s to wear red. Her tan-and-cream floral skirt reminds me of something Stevie Nicks would have worn in the early seventies, and the cream tank top she’s wearing is conservative yet sexy since it shows off the small swells of her breasts and highlights her collarbone. Around her ankles are strappy-heeled sandals, ones that put her almost to the average human adult height but still fall short by about two inches. Glasses frame her face, an accessory I’ve never seen her wear, with a chain secured to the arms like a wet dream from the 1950s.

“You look like a sexy librarian, ciern. Do you even need glasses?” I reach up to finger the gold links. “I’ve never seen these on you.”

She swallows as my finger flicks against her skin and the metal. “Just for distance, but I had a headache today and decided to wear them.”

“Hmm.” I play with the links, rubbing against them as I consider her words. “I’ve had a lot of fantasies about you over the years, ciern. But none of them have ever done this visual justice—you, dressed like a little nerd, soaking wet under your long skirt.” My hands work their way up her calves as I speak, stopping just below her knees. “I want to tear this goddamn fabric from your body and slip into your cunt, ciern. What do you think your little librarians would say about that?

“Does it turn you on knowing that at any minute, someone could walk by and see me buried inside you, worshipping your body like you deserve? Because me? It makes me hard as fuck knowing that people will know you’re mine. I want you to smell like me, have my cum dripping all over your thighs, and brand you with a goddamn poker.”

“Lincoln,” she murmurs, body writhing on the table.

“It does, doesn’t it? I bet your cunt is soaked beneath this little prim skirt, isn’t it? Tell me, ciern, are you as needy for me as I am for you?”

“I—”

“You are,” I cut her off, moving my hands higher on her legs, grabbing the outside of her thighs. “You’re soaked for me. I can fucking smell it. Tell me, ciern, if I flip this little skirt up, will your pussy be as wet for me as I think?”

She nods against the wooden table, lifting her hips in the air in a silent offering. This time, I don’t force her to say the words. My hands eat up the distance to her panties, tugging down on the fabric until it slides against her skin and pools at her ankles. Glancing down, I look at the flimsy red fabric, a large wet spot in the center of the lace. “Fucking soaked,” I murmur, lifting each foot to untangle the straps from her limbs.

Once the fabric is freed, I bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. “Delicious, ciern.” I keep my eyes on Seraphina as I slip the lace into my pocket, making sure to bury it deep in my jeans so that there’s no risk of the damp panties falling onto the library’s floor.

Her pussy now bare beneath the flimsy skirt, I push at the fabric covering her from me, moving it up until it’s pooled at her waist, and her pretty little cunt is on full display.

I groan at the sight—the thin strip of hair that appears perfectly aligned with the center of her pussy, the lips that hide her wetness, and the little clit that seems to bring her the most insane amount of pressure.

I spread my hands against her thighs, moving them until they wrap around the underside of her legs and pull her toward me, positioning her at the edge of the table with her pussy pointed upward. “I was going to sink into you, fuck you against this table until my cum was dripping from your cunt, but this pussy is too fucking tempting.” I bend down, running my nose against her slit and breathing her in.

Repositioning myself, my tongue darts out, licking the same path my nose just traveled, and I gather the wetness on my tongue and swallow, moaning at the taste. Seraphina’s an aphrodisiac, a heady mix of desire and need, and I don’t stop myself from taking another taste, grabbing onto her hips to pull her tighter against my mouth.

She moans as I lick into her, long, pressured flicks of my tongue that are meant to tease rather than get her off, and I feel like a fucking king as she pumps her hips into my face, seeking more pressure from me as I eat her cunt.

“Lincoln, more,” she pleads, hands falling to my hair to push my face in farther. “Please.”

---