Page 55 of The Librarian of Souls
His fingers flex and I feel the sharp tips of his claws. Augustine’s sands slide from his fingertips and around my neck. The weight settles me marginally. I swallow until my throat doesn’t feel dry any more.
“Take a deep breath with me,” he commands, instructing me and taking control of these instinctual acts. “One, two, three… One, two, three… there you are, mon abeille, again for me.”
We breathe together for several more cycles. I follow Augustine’s count until I don’t feel faint any more. My thoughts scramble at the list of things I need to do yet and my gut twists with anxiety about being away from work. The terror I feel crawling across my skin like bugs has me shaking all over again. The sand around my neck tightens a fraction and my eyes flutter closed. I can’t stop my body from heating, blood rushing to my cheeks and my panties growing damp under the pressure of my lover’s touch.
Augustine inhales sharply through his nose, causing humiliation to burn through my panic. He presses me back into his desk. His pen clatters to the ground and echoes off the stacks. He nuzzles his cheek into my temple and purrs. The sweet siren song of my mate.
My knuckles brush against the buttons of his shirt as I breathe in his scent— spiced honey and warm tea.
“I am going to suggest something,” he murmurs in my ear. “You may only say yes or no. Is this understood,mon abeille?”
I nod, but my eyes shoot open when a sharp talon tips my chin up so we can look at one another. Augustine squints at me. “Yes.”
“That’s my girl.” The corner of his mouth tips up ever so slightly. “I am going to take you back to my office and we are going to calm you down. You are going to be reminded exactly how valuable you are. Then we are going to have a little discussion about your job.”
“No,” I say instantly, my gut twisting at even the mention of it. There is so much to tell him, yet anxiety is building in my throat. “No work.”
“I have been patient enough, Joanna. I am not going to watch you attempt to work your newly immortal fingers to the bone. We will have this discussion. Your agreement is to whether you would like me to bring peace and pleasure beforehand.”
It feels wrong to say yes. My head, even in complete disarray, has no issue continuing the tirade of put-downs to remind me that Augustine is too good for me. I am using him if I say yes to whatever pleasure he is offering me. My heart yearns for it, though. For my thoughts to be suspended in the devilishly sweet space. My body hungers for his touch all over me. I can’t get enough of Augustine when we are together– mentally, emotionally, physically– he consumes me when we are near each other.
I have never known cravings like this for another person before.
“Yes,” I say.
Augustine wraps himself tighter around me for a moment longer, applying pressure to my whole front, before he pulls away to grab my hand. He guides me to the back office just like he did that first night. There is no demanding bond pumping through my blood now, though. Every step I take towards this one is with the knowledge that I am going to let my boogeyman do whatever he wants. Whatever he believes that I need because I am his.
He flicks the switch just inside that turns on the low light fixtures and closes the door behind me, turning the lock with a sense of finality. I am trapped in this agreement now. There is no backing out. In this room, Augustine knows what is best for me and knows that I am his to worship and punish as he sees fit.
“Mon abeille,” he sighs. The words he has called me since that night sound heavy, like he is at war with his own desires and control. “What do you say if it becomes too much?”
“Iris.”
“And if you can’t speak?” He moves about the room, tossing a large cushion onto the ground in front of the chair I usually sit in.
I swallow at the thought. “Snap my fingers twice.”
“Good girl,” he hums.
I stand near the door as he prepares to bring my overwhelming nerves back to the surface. My fingers flex against my purse. I don’t know what to do. Should I make tea? Sit down?
“Strip, Joanna,” Augustine says, the command in his voice sending a shiver up my spine.
He stands in front of me again, looming over me like the scary monster he pretends to be, while I struggle to release the grip on my bag. His eyebrows raise over the thin golden frame of his glasses as I continue to stare at the intricate knot of his tie. He holds out his blackened, claw-tipped hand. There is a moment where I am not sure what it is for, but as I place my bag in his hand and watch how he dutifully hangs it from the coat rack, something settles in me ever so slightly.
I pull my dress over my head, and he takes that too, folding it neatly before placing it on top of his desk. With each strip of clothing I remove, Augustine takes great care to tuck them away. Even as he grimaces at the tummy control shorts I wear, he treats my clothes like they are made of the finest silks and not some cheap polyester. It isn’t until he is kneeling before me I even remember that I am still wearing my flats.
Augustine gently lifts my right knee, kissing the top of my thigh before he removes my shoe. Butterflies explode in my stomach as I look down at him. His eyes glow softly, his claws digging soft little points into me. A warmth pools between my legs at the look in his eyes, the hunger that flashes as my mood settles into something sweet and carnal. He does the same for the left, tucking my shoes away at his desk, but he doesn’t immediately get up. His lips trace the patterns of stretch marks that decorate my hips and tummy. I gasp at the feel of his sharp teeth.
“Augustine.”
My hands latch onto his shoulders as he grips me tighter, kisses higher up my body until his tongue teases my nipple. Only when my hips rock against his hold does he stop. The way his cheeks darken ever so subtly tells me he forgot himself. He kisses my sternum once more and stands.
When he was on his knees, it was easy to forget I was the naked one, the vulnerable one. Standing face to face with him now, our power exchange is obvious, at the forefront of my mind because I am handing everything over to him. He may call me his queen, but I can’t be that now. I don’t want to be anything but used. For a purpose that is going to benefit someone who commands it of me with violent sweetness. I want Augustine to show me how worthy, and valuable, and lovely he finds me by making me into nothing more than a speck of dust on his shoes.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and l can’t stop the shiver that travels down my spine. Hints of my reflection appear in his glasses, in the blackness of his eyes, and I swallow. I am a mess, but there is only hunger in his eyes. Hunger for flesh, for emotions, for my very soul. I watch him move to the chair I usually sit in. He crooks his fingers at me, and I feel almost like I did that night at the theatre. Instinct drives me forward until I am standing between his spread thighs.
“I thought, perhaps, you would have learned by now, Joanna, that your place within the world is with me.” Augustine grabs hold of me and spins, pulling me down into his lap so I am seated just like I was the night atThe Gin Palace.
