Page 3 of The Librarian of Souls
“Can I help you find something?”
It’s like honey and hot tea when you have a sore throat. His low, soothing voice washes over me for a second and warms my insides. For a moment, I savour it and let it soothe an ache I can’t name inside of me.
My apology is slow and a bit slurred, punctuated by a healthy yawn. He almost smiles, as the corners of his mouth tilt upward, but like the muscles aren’t used to being worked that way. I probably look like a hopeless grad student trying to get a paper finished. Something about the way his eyes move at that gesture is unsettling, though. I’ve seen him plenty of times before, but this is the first time I’ve heard the librarian speak. He’s probably just asking to get me to move along or to make sure I don’t make a mess of his space.
Fair enough, I wouldn’t want people making a mess at my job, either. I smile, a bit tight-lipped, and pick up the first book I can find,Critique of Pure Reason.
I hustle over to my usual area, the cliche dusty stacks and worn leather wingback empty as ever. I’m not sure why this part of the library is outfitted with these instead of more hot desks or study tables, but I’m grateful. The chair creaks a little under my weight, and my hips barely fit into it, but it’s my spot. I cross my ankles and settle into the worn cushion. Carefully, I open up the book, the leather spine protesting as it comes to lie on my lap. The philosophical words of Emmanuel Kant float through my mind whimsically but are easily pushed aside by more irrational thoughts. Like how surprisingly deep the librarian’s voice was, how his tone dripped with something secret. He doesn’t look old enough to have that much wisdom, but what did I know? He could be thirty or he could be fifty years old. My brain could be making all of this up in some sleep-deprived hallucination. I rub my tired eyes, blinking away the few tears that spring up from the pressure, and try to refocus.
Silence surrounds me. It’s easy to get lost in the transcendental aesthetic Kant sets forward. Sentences are strung along and merge into a blur of black and stained white lines. I don’t even realise how heavy my eyelids feel until I’m not in the library at all any more.
***
Warm, wet sand collapses beneath my feet as I walk along the beach.The waves lap at my ankles, making me shriek from the chill and giggle all the same. Behind me, there is more laughter, deep and different than what I remember.
My friends’ laughter was high-pitched and filled with squeals of delight as we drunkenly ran along the beach. That summer holiday with friends had been the trip of a lifetime. Renting a cottage outside of the city along the shore for a week. I remember it being blissful. Sunrises and sunsets merging into one, games in the sand, splashing in the salty water, it had felt like a dream even then.
Up ahead, the cottage lights are on, and the shadows of my friends stand out against the window. A smile spreads across my lips. I’m exhausted from all the chatting and in need of a moment of quiet. The sun is setting now, golden streaks turning to lush purples and reds. My feet stop, my heart telling me to slow down and enjoy the wonder around me. It’s not every day you see such beauty. The sun warms my skin, bathes me in comfort, and wraps its arms around me. A deep sigh passes over my lips, and I close my eyes.
Real, warm arms wrap around me, hands caressing my waist and soft stomach. They sweep up to my chest, long fingers guiding my head to the side so soft lips can pepper my skin in gentle kisses. My thoughts and memories are muddled. This definitely didn’t happen on that holiday, but I am going to let it happen now. The person behind me presses into my back. My body turns heavy, limbs unwilling to leave this embrace to head inside.
“Just lie back, darling, I’ll take care of you now.”
The words wash over me like a wave, holding me down, drowning me in that warm feeling. My heart quakes at the promise of those words, of letting another have control as if it is natural for me. I do as I’m told with an eagerness to please. My body sinks into the lush bed below me until I am surrounded by rich fabrics and scents. The arms hold me close, pulling me deeper into the warmth of this dream. The lips on my neck are more insistent, sucking and biting at my flesh. They pull sounds from deep in my throat, desperate and hungry ones that I didn’t even think I was capable of.
There are no inhibitions here.
My mind reels, fighting for awareness, but my body lets go. I can’t control how it craves these things when I am in bed with my lover. With anyone else, I would hold back, but everything here pulls and tugs until giving over all of me is as easy as breathing, and my mind is at peace.
I’m not tired, I’m alive in this delicious fantasy. A tongue lashes at my pulse point, a frantic feeling settling in my belly. It’s achy, needy, my hips bucking up to find any sort of friction. I can’t form a single thought, form a coherent word, but my body screams and demands pleasure from the person toying with my body.
“Hush,” my dream lover breathes against my ear. “There is no rush. We have all night, darling.”
My fingers crush the velvet beneath me. A wet gasp leaves my lips at the feeling of sharp teeth dragging over the column of my throat. My back arches up, seeking the sensation even as my mind tells me something isn’t right. I’ve had dreams close to this, with the teasing and touches, but never this demanding and fierce. Maybe it should scare me, but it just makes me crave more. My lover’s voice in my ear is familiar, but there is an edge to it, a longing that makes my insides flutter and buzz with new excitement.
Fingers play with my body like they own it, like they’ve known me and my secrets for an eternity, drowning out everything but my desire, my need to truly be seen. I can’t shake the aching feeling that pools in my belly. It grows the more he teases me, unable to grab hold of the person, the man, punishing me with his mouth.
His hands are no different. They soothe and taunt me with every sweeping touch. They glide up my sides, caressing the soft rolls that usually make me squirm, until they reach my breasts. They grab, massage, and pinch until my nipples ache from the attention. They wrap around my throat, giving me the softest squeeze, asserting their control over my body as if I needed reminding.
Fingers tease my lips and pull at my bottom lip until I can capture one of them. He vibrates against me, purring deep within his chest as I suckle, stroking him teasingly with my tongue.
“Is this what you need tonight, darling? Something to fill you up and make you focus while I finally take you apart piece by piece?”
I think I nod, but it’s difficult when he presses that finger deeper into my mouth.
He slides it out, my mouth following the motion. His soft laugh rumbles through the air, echoes around walls I can’t see. Two fingers are stuffed into my mouth next, pushing my tongue down until I feel his skin break against my teeth. He shudders above me, a deep groan leaving his lips as my mouth floods with a sweet honey. It mixes with my drool and seeps from the seam of my lips as I try to swallow it down, too addicted to the taste on my tongue to think about what he has just given me.
The hand that isn’t fucking my slack mouth moves between my legs to spread my thighs until the stretch burns. Finally,finally, his fingers move to my soaked pussy, teasing my folds and slit but purposefully avoiding my throbbing clit. It makes me delirious, the need to be filled driving my hips against his palm. Anything to make the ache go away, the burning desire rolling through my belly while the fingers in my mouth mimic what I really need. His hand traces a path back up the hills and valleys of my body until he is holding my nape.
“You’re so responsive, darling, like you were made for this.” His teeth scrape the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Such a devious imagination as well, so many dark desires trembling just beneath the surface. I may just have to keep you.”
Moaning. It takes all my focus to even do that as a response to him. Though he probably didn’t expect anything from me in this state except begging. Something I am more than willing to do if it makes the ache go away. His fingers slide from my mouth, a line of spit still connecting me to him. That first free breath of air is choked by the whine that comes from my lips when his spit-slick fingers thrust into me. They glide in easily, my pussy swallowing them up like they will save me from the needy, achy syrup I’m drowning in.
I want to see him, to open my eyes and gaze into the face of the man ruining me so effortlessly, but my eyelids are heavy. It’s so much effort to grip the velvet beneath me, to even close my mouth. My muscles are loose and warm, my pulse thrumming in my ears as every breath I drag into my lungs takes all my energy. The only thing keeping me moving, begging for more through panted moans and whimpers, is the burning need to be filled. It’s all my brain can latch on to, when words are failing and my pussy is weeping for release.
“Are you ready for me, darling? I can feel how much you want it, how your body aches for me. Say you want it. Tell me you want me as much as I want you, darling.”
Fingers around the back of my neck squeeze, move my head until I feel a nose brush against mine. Soft lips press against my jaw and cheek, but never my mouth. My tongue glides across my lips, wetting the dry skin just for my laboured breaths to make them chapped again. The saccharin taste of him dances across my taste buds again as I try to do as he requests. I repeat the action to force my lips, my tongue, my jaw, any part of me, to move on my command so I can answer him.
