When he said, “you should come over–I’ll show you my library,” I knew what he was doing– A thin excuse to get me back to his place. Maybe a glass of wine. He’d escalate through casual touch–a brush on the shoulder, a graze on the wrist, a bit of lingering… Then make his move.
What he didn’t know was the words “my library” already had me wet.
He was sophisticated and cute, and he had a charming little twinkle in his eye throughout dinner, but I wanted to take this one slower. I was still wounded from the last guy–a first-date-turned-sleepover that was a lot of fun but ended with him ghosting me two dates later.
Four dates before intimacy was my plan–until he mentioned his library on the first one.
Books; my weakness. My grandmother was a librarian–it was in my blood. At the cost of any kind of social life, I always had my nose in a book. When my peers went to the mall to hang out, I went to my local library. Books were my refuge, a ticket to whatever place, whatever time, whatever story I wanted to live.
A rush of heat and restlessness hit me, leaving me squirming in my chair.
“Oh, tell me more,” I said, losing interest in the final bites of my tortellini.
“I renovated my loft a few years ago. Most people add another bedroom, but a library seemed more worthwhile.”
It took everything in me not to squeal–or drool–as I leaned over the table.
“It’s only a few hundred square feet, but the ceilings are 16-feet and the shelves go almost all the way up. There’s a reading chaise. And a globe you can hide a bottle of whiskey in.”
“So it’s big…”
“It’s sizable, yeah.” He paused to smirk before continuing, “If that’s your thing.”
“It’s a plus, but it takes more than that to impress me.”
“I’m sure you could find plenty in there that would keep you entertained for hours on end.”
“Only hours?” I teased.
“If that’s not enough, I have a thick one that could test your stamina. It’s hard to put down and it never seems to stay that way.”
I almost choked on my wine. Other diners turned to look as I cleared my throat loudly. I wasn’t going to last three more dates with this much double-entendre.
He smiled wide before dropping the big one. “Did I mention the rolling ladder?”
“Stahhhhhhhhhhhp!”
“It is a lot of fun,” he said.
A hearty gulp of ice water did little to cool me down. I was finished.
“You should show me.”
His library didn’t disappoint. Neither did the pride on his face as he watched how enchanted I was with it. He propped himself against a large table while gesturing for me to explore the rows of shelves. Down one, then another, the more I saw, the more it worked its magic on me.
Gone were the instructions I repeated in my head on the ride over– “keep it quick, check it out, arrange another date if it goes well, and don’t have sex with him.”
Gone too were my kitten heels, at the far back of the aisle. Then my tweed skirt… my ruffle-front blouse… the wood hairpin that kept my hair off my shoulders– the outfit he said made me look at home in such a place.
They were on the floor, out of his sight, when I emerged from the aisle. Barefoot on the hardwood, wearing only my matching black underwear, I watched his eyes as they moved up and down me, my grin curling each time they paused somewhere new.
“You’re the whole ‘sexy librarian’ fantasy come to life.”
“I could say the same. I’m only one by education; you actually have your own library. Now, I believe I was promised a few things.” I strode over to the ladder, leaning back and draping an arm dramatically up its steps. “Help me up?”
“Certainly,” he said. He crossed to me and I held his shoulders for balance as my heel reached for the first step. Our eyes level, locked tight, I slowly unbuttoned his shirt. My fingers grazed over his lean chest and its sparse curls of thin black hair. Then over his lips, feeling his breath hitch as I licked my lips.
When I kissed him, his hands moved to my waist, the weight of his body holding me firmly against the ladder. After years of fantasizing, it felt better than I’d imagined. The dim lights. The smell of old paper and leather. Binding glue with a hint of dust. The feel of the varnished wood rails in my grip. Our lips meeting, crashing over each other.
I pushed him back and turned. One step higher, then another.
“A little help, mister?” I cooed, looking back over my shoulder as I wiggled my hips. His fingers pinched the black mesh on my hips and slid my underwear down. Turning toward him, testing my balance, I sent my underwear flying down the aisle with a flick of my ankle then landed my leg on his shoulder. “Would you be so generous?”
I felt majestic up here–graceful and pumped full of confidence, watching him begin his worship at my freshly-trimmed landing strip. Maybe intimacy had been inevitable long before he’d mentioned his library, but at home in the shower, pondering with razor in hand, I never imagined it happening like this.
His tongue rode between my lips, one hand clutching my ass while the other steadied us against the rail. My heel urged him closer, my hips grinding my clit over his lips and tongue. I wondered if I was the first to indulge his own fantasy of cunnilingus on a ladder.
My need was already peaking, about to burst. I felt invigoratingly slutty, the act more lurid than in my fantasies, more real–I could smell his aftershave, feel the subtle grip of his pomade on my fingers, the slight bristle of his five o’clock shadow and the heat of his breath on my sensitive skin.
“Mmm, yes…” I hummed, knees starting to tremble. His tongue pressed flat on my button, long slides with a terminal flick that sent shivers through me. My hips urged his pace, my breaths matching. “Yes, yes! Eeeep!” I squealed, backing off a touch as the sharp quake hit.
Slower. Softer. My body buzzed while white-hot hollowness pinged inside. I wanted to fuck him right here on the ladder, but my precarious balance was already wearing thin. Dismounting his shoulder, then the ladder (with his helping hand), I drove him backward until his butt was against the table.
I dropped to the floor and took his pants down with me. His cock sprung out, not as thick as he’d hinted, but far from disappointing. His dark pubes were trimmed short, balls hanging low under his pale, smooth shaft. I pulled his foreskin back and ran my tongue over its luxuriously soft head. Citrus bodywash and the sweetness of his precum swirled on my palate.
“How does it go in your fantasy?” I asked between licks from base to tip. “Pardon my tawdriness, but… does the sexy librarian get fucked?”
“If she wants. It’s her library.”
“His, yes,” I corrected.
“Ah,” he said, grinning. “In that case, definitely.”
Plucking the condom I’d stashed in my bra, I tore it open and rolled it down him. It wasn’t mere preparedness; this was fate. Demurely as I could, I wet the tip with a dribble of spit and spread it with my fingers, hoping the sight of it wouldn’t put him off.
He hummed acceptance and my fingers slid up his body, my lips following. With my arms draped over his shoulders, I kissed him again, his hardness sandwiched between us. His fingers closed on the back of my bra.
“That’s going to stay on for now,” I cautioned. It’s not that I’m self-conscious, but they’re not my best feature, and the way they sag makes them flail when I’m on top. A bridge too far for a man I just met.
Turning around, I reached underneath to line him up and pushed my hips back. I whimpered softly as he entered, his chest flat to my back.
My toes started to tingle as I worked him in my shallows, his ridge popping in and out of me, his tip pressing nearer and nearer to my spot, then directly on it. Shaky breaths poured out from my lips over the noise of wet friction.
I swung my hips back hard, bouncing him against my spot over and over. “Oh, oh. Oh yes,” I panted, closer and more desperate by the stroke. Hot tension pooled in my belly, spreading then squeezing, only to spread again. Hotter each time, until it snapped. Chest heaving, legs shaking.
“Oh, YES!” I squeaked. That spot made it so easy, it felt like cheating. I had barely peaked when he pulled me onto his lap, sending his cock deeper.
I jolted. Shivered. Murmured in defeat as he bottomed out. His fingers found my clit and swirled over it.
“So that’s… how… oh… oh, you’re good at that…”
I felt myself clenching, waves of tightness rippling outward from the hardness filling me, making my belly twitch and heave. A sudden flood of heat, tighter still, wetter between my legs. My feet lost their grip, nearly toppling me, but for his arm catching me around the waist.
“Need a minute?” he asked with mild concern as I dangled limply, still fully impaled.
“Oh no… I’m so fine,” I replied, dazed, fuzzy. Had it been three already? Was he that good, or was it the library? I’d stay long enough to find out, I hoped.
“May I suggest the chaise? There’s chilled water in the globe.”
If I were still wearing panties, they would have dropped. I did the next-best thing–unclasping my bra as I sashayed to the chaise. My belly fluttered, still hot. “How perfect.”
“You fit right in,” he said with a coy grin.
My legs drifted enticingly apart as I reclined. “Speaking of… the hot librarian needs to come here and get back to work.”
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