Page 4 of The Librarian of Souls
“Please,” I pant, “need… you.”
He groans into my neck, and sucks the skin between his teeth until I’m certain he’s left a permanent mark on me. His cock slides through my folds, hot and heavy, coating him in my juices before I feel the blunt tip of it pressed against my slit. My hips jerk, wordlessly trying to make him move faster, to fill me up, to fuck me hard like my body craves. It’s so close, the thing I’ve been solely focused on for what feels like years. Anything, I’d give anything so long as he is buried in my pussy.
He steals whatever breath I have as he surges forward, thrusting his cock into me. I feel him all the way to my throat; I’m so full of him. If it weren’t for his hand holding me up, I’m sure I would have drowned in these sheets and honey. My back arches up as he draws his hips back. The smooth motion of his cock slipping from my pussy makes me clench. He can’t leave me so soon when we’ve only just begun.
“Beg for me, darling,” he commands, his lips bumping against mine, his deep voice sending a shudder up my spine to give me enough energy.
“Fuck, please,” I moan. “Fuck me, need you, jus’ needta be full, please.”
My words slur together, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else as it echoes around the room we’re in. He doesn’t make me beg for long, as the ragged breath he draws makes it sound like he’s losing control as well. For a fleeting moment, I believe he is just as affected as I am, barely keeping his own head from swimming in the same syrup that coats my thoughts, and it pulls at the strings of my heart in such a way I would happily stay here forever if he were to ask, if he were real.
Hips snap forward, slick skin meeting and echoing around the room—a cacophony of sin vibrating through the syrup dripping over my mind. I can’t think of anything else, just this connectedness and fullness overwhelming all other senses. While I can’t find the strength to lift my arms, my legs wrap around his waist. A hand squeezes the meat of my thigh hard enough to ride the edge of pain. Sharp nails dig into my skin, sending shocks of pleasure through me.
He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses against my throat and growls when my pussy tightens and clenches around his cock. Words in a language I can’t comprehend, maybe French, maybe even English still, are poured over my skin like boiling sugar until I am burning under the feeling of his lips. I’m so close to cumming. The muscles in my thighs are beginning to shake with the effort of holding back. I just need a little more attention where I’ve been denied it thus far. A whimper escapes my lips when he grinds into me, my clit throbbing with need. The hand on my thigh moves, squeezing between my sweat-slick body so his thumb rests right over my clit.
“Let go for me,” he breathes. “Cum all over my cock, darling. You are taking me so well, you deserve to cum. You deserve everything I am going to give you. I have you, darling, fall apart for me.”
His words turn frantic as he begins to circle my clit. My pussy clenches and gushes over his cock. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and the feeling of his hips furiously slamming into me only prolongs the pleasure. As his movements stutter, I feel teeth against my skin again, sharp and wet.
They only pierce my throat when he cums. A scream rips through my throat, my head snapping back even as his fingers dig into my flesh, holding me against his hard body. The pain is nothing compared to the pleasure that floods through the hazy honey of my thoughts. My pussy spasms, it feels like too much. I’m slipping away from this reality.
“So delicious,” he hums, licking at my neck. “You’ve done so well for me, such a sweet naughty thing you’ve been, but it’s time to wake up, darling…”
***
A weight lifts off me, a light filtering past my closed eyes. I gasp when my eyes snap open, only to blink rapidly to adjust to the bright sunlight filtering through the windows overhead. This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen asleep in the library. Never have I ever had a dream that explicit and vivid where I felt the choice of my actions. Most of my dreams involve me shouting at my boss or stomping on my high school math teacher’s fingers, but I am just a watcher in those dreams. In this dream, I was there. I made the choices. Something about this dream was very different.
And I think I like it.
I shift slightly in the chair, grimacing at how wet I feel. Heat rises to my cheeks, embarrassment tightening in my chest, but it doesn’t take away from the lightness I feel from the little bit of sleep and release I got from my public wet dream. I pick up the book that has fallen off my lap as my thoughts drift back to the dream. How different it was, how differentIwas. So willing to give my dream man every part of me when I try so hard to keep all those secret parts of myself buried. All those little things that I tell myself I don’t need, I am willing to give to this man who has haunted my dreams for months.
As I stand up and stretch out the kinks from sleeping in the chair, a pain in my neck throbs. Instinctively, I rub away the feeling. The flesh is hot, tender to the touch, and slightly swollen. A quick shower when I’m home should get rid of all the aches and pains. I make my way back toward the philosophy section to replace the book.
For the first time in weeks, I feel rested. My headache is mostly gone, just a lingering dull feeling at the base of my neck. There is almost a feeling of elation that I haven’t felt since I was a kid. The world is brighter, the colours richer. Is this all from a decent chunk of sleep? I stare down at the cover of the philosophy book and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time.
Shit.
I need to get going so I’m not late to work. The book slides back into its home, no one the wiser to my late-night reading except the dust bunnies.
When I turn this time I catch the librarian staring at me from his station. He glows in the early morning sunlight, his lips spread into a lackadaisical smile, slow but closed. He adjusts his glasses, catching them in the sun and making it look like he is truly golden. I rub my eyes, distinctly aware of the mess between my thighs, as if he will be able to smell me or see a wet spot. Maybe I’m not as well rested as I thought. I raise my hand to wave goodbye, a sheepish smile on my face, feeling like I’ve been caught doing something I wasn’t allowed.
“Have a good day, darling.”
3
Joanna
Ican’t shake the guy’s look out of my head as I rush through my morning routine. This is the most clear-headed I have been in weeks, but it’s all I can think about. Maybe it’s because I’m picturing two different versions of him in my head. The librarian from another time, who is stoic like a statue, and the librarian from this morning, who was golden and almost teasing. Was that the right word for it?
His words still haunt me as I triple-check that my front door is locked before heading to the bus stop.Darling. Goosebumps erupt on my arm, even just thinking about the dream again. Fuck, where had that come from? Definitely not from that boring philosophy book I had been trying to read. I can’t even remember the last time I watched porn. The inspiration for that little incident is certainly just from my ill-placed crush on the librarian.The librarian. God I don’t even know his name, yet I’m having pornographic dreams in which my mind casts him as the perfect man for me.
I’m nearly 30 years old. I shouldn’t be having those kinds of dreams. I’ve known for a long time that those kinds of sexual encounters don’t happen in real life. I’ve dated plenty of people who just want you around while you’re giving them something to fuck, but when you need something? They leave. When you don’t need anything from a partner, they can’t hurt you. When you don’t need people at all, they can’t leave you when you least expect it.
The early April chill blasts my face and makes the hem of my wrap dress flap dangerously high. I shove it down, my purse sliding off my shoulders while I do it. Even with a few hours of sleep under my belt, I feel like a hot mess. A shower and a touch of lip gloss can’t fix everything, I guess. The weather is humid but cool, the clouds burning up as the sun gets higher in the sky. My phone’s news bar said today would be the first hot day of the year. I hate it.
Summer brings its own challenges. It’s hot and sticky. I sweat through whatever I’m wearing the moment I step out of my door. The city is triple-packed with tourists, making the pavement even more crowded. I like the dark and cold of winter. Hot drinks and soft sweaters are what I crave, but when it’s a billion degrees and humidity is at 115%, that’s not exactly easy.
And let’s not forget the return of the contract worker.
