Quiet in the Library

He fell into exhausted sleep that night, no fantasy to claim his dreams. He could smell her and taste her and feel her still, and he knew this time it was all real. He awoke the next day with a proud erection and a smile on his face. They'd made plans to see each other again on Monday, and he was as excited for her company as he was to revel in her body again. Sunday crawled by at a maddening pace.

On Monday he met her at her house and to his surprise she had cooked for him. He followed his nose (and his half-staff cock) into her tidy little apartment that smelled of her and some delicious sauce. She was barefoot again, wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a top with a loose neckline that kept sliding down off one creamy shoulder. He couldn't help nibbling on that shoulder as he slid behind her, wrapping her up in a tight embrace as she was at the stove. She sighed and pressed back against his thickening cock with her ample ass, wiggling against him slowly while he hardened. He slipped his hand into the neckline of her shirt and was rewarded with a handful of soft tit in a barely-there bra, the candied nipple poking through the thin fabric, begging to be touched. He flicked his thumb across it and heard her gasp. He wanted to clear the table of her beautiful and well-orchestrated efforts and just fuck her right there, but decency dictated otherwise. He reluctantly slid his hand out of her shirt and kissed her softly and allowed her to pour him a glass of wine and feed him a delicious meal.

The conversation was as good as ever. She was intelligent and lively and funny and he truly enjoyed her company, although his reptilian brain was running a continuous loop of pornography, starring her, in the recesses of his mind. He made her laugh and she laughed like she came, with her whole body, tossing her hair.

And he wasn't the only one with sex on the brain. She screamed sex in her every move. She was naturally seductive and even more so for him. Dozens of times over dinner he met her hungry gaze and the message was clear. They still had food on their plates and wine in their glasses when he got up and pulled her to her feet and kissed her, and the way she wrapped around him he knew she wanted exactly what he wanted. She led him to the bedroom, stripping the loose shirt away, tossing aside the skimpy bra, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them off her hips. He hastily shed his own clothing and was naked with his rock-hard cock bobbing in front of him when they tumbled onto her bed. She was still wearing the panties and he peeled them off her, kissing her hips and her belly and nuzzling the russet muff as he slid them down her thighs. He was close enough to her cunt to kiss it and he couldn't resist, inhaling the scent of her as he planted soft kisses on her smooth lips. She sighed and curled her fingers into his hair and he took that as an invitation, sliding his tongue between the delicate inner lips and tasting her nectar before he began licking her in earnest. He loved hearing her moan and whisper encouragements to him as he ate her. She knew her body and knew what felt good and wasn't afraid to tell him, which made her even hotter.

Soon enough her thighs were trembling and her breath was ragged and his mouth and fingers were slippery from her juices. She was panting, "Please, oh, please!" and his tongue flicked furiously against her clit. Finally he sucked it into his mouth and slid a finger deep into her pussy and another just through the tight rosebud of her ass and she convulsed under him, bucking her hips and crying out. Before the aftershocks subsided he had flipped her over and drove into her, luxuriating in the feel of her weakly spasming around his cock. He clutched her hips and she moved with him, still breathless but meeting every stroke enthusiastically, her ass high and her arms stretched out in front of her, gripping the sheets as he buried himself deep inside her. Within moments she was moaning low in her throat and he picked up the pace, willing himself not to cum until she had climaxed again. He didn't have to wait long. She was clawing at the sheets and whimpering before he knew it, and he felt her clamp down on him again. He managed to pull out of her to spill on her ass, which was something he hoped she wouldn't mind as he loved to see his spunk dripping down a gorgeous backside. It was raw and dirty and so few of the women he had been with ever really liked it.

But he should have known she would enjoy it. She sighed happily and sank down onto the bed as he rubbed his cooling cum into her skin, eventually peeling a pillowcase off and handing it to him so he could clean himself up. His mind reeled as he cuddled her afterwards, her soft flesh in his hands and his weary cock nestled between her ass cheeks. He silently prayed to whatever gods or forces of the universe had allowed this to happen that they give him just one more week of this and he could die a happy man.

The rest of the week was busy for both of them but they planned to meet again on Friday. She was closing up the library and he was meant to pick her up there. He'd sent her flowers, and when he passed her desk he was pleased to see them there. She'd taken the trouble to bring them to work where she could enjoy them all day, and he was strangely satisfied, as if he'd claimed her in some way.

There was only one librarian there with her and she didn't seem to mind the woman seeing her throw her arms around him. She explained that she had to check the back and he followed her into the stacks, where she promptly drew him against her for a kiss and whispered, "Every time I'm back here I think of fucking you." He was pretty sure the other librarian could catch them at any time but he allowed her to unzip him and take his cock out. He was somehow harder at the thought of being caught, though being caught by an elderly librarian did little for his erection. He groaned when she squeezed him and she giggled and whispered, "Quiet in the library!" Her mouth was still curved in a smile but her eyes were hot and horny as she stroked him efficiently until he was afraid he would spill in her hand. He gripped the shelf and tried to grab her wrist but she sank to her knees in front of him, and the look of anticipatory bliss on her face when she took him into her mouth sent him over the edge. He stifled a moan as she drank him down, neatly licking him clean, zipping him back up, and rising again just as the other woman called to her nervously.

"Just cleaning up a mess back here, Betty," she called back. "Someone put something where it didn't belong." She flashed a naughty look at him and kissed him. He could taste himself on her lips and if his cock had cooperated he would have flipped her skirt up and fucked her right there, co-worker be damned. She was so sexy, so uninhibited, so hot. It was unimaginable and yet very real.

This time they went to a movie and sat in the back row like teenagers. He had his hand up her skirt before the previews were over and stroked her to the edge of orgasm several times. Her top was unbuttoned and her tits were out and she had one foot up on the seat in front of her to allow him easy access to her wet cunt. She had taken his cock out and she stroked his firm length and gently squeezed his balls as he fingered her. She was incredibly slick and hot and willing. It was glorious. When everyone left they arranged their clothing just enough for decency and ran to his car, where they hopped in the cramped backseat and he unceremoniously shoved into her before fucking her slowly, almost unbearably slowly, just loving the feel of her wetness and savoring her eager kisses. They rocked the car for well over an hour, getting close and then stopping and then getting close again, his shirt sticking to his back and her hair sticking to her forehead and neither of them any longer heedful of being out in public, all for the crazed delirium of fucking each other's brains out, before they finally came together in an exhausted sweaty heap.

When he took her home he didn't want to say good night and neither did she, so he agreed to sleep over and leave early. As he nuzzled into her soft curls he realized he was falling in love with her and it didn't even scare him. He wanted to be with her all the time. His sexual obsession was still as strong, but there was a tenderness to it as well. She was strangely vulnerable in her slumber, and he wrapped his arm protectively around her as they slept.

In the morning she kissed him hungrily before he left, her soft tits beckoning him from the sheets. He knew if he allowed himself to touch her he would never stop in time for work, so he mustered every bit of strength and pulled out of her silken embrace. With great reluctance he said goodbye and promised to call her later.

When they finally talked about being exclusive, it was surprisingly low-key. They mused over it while feeding each other ice cream in bed and decided they made sense together. She was happy and he was happy and the ice cream got all over them both and they had great fun laughing and licking it off one another. As her lips closed around his ice cream-covered nipple he wondered how on earth he had gotten so lucky. He literally could not get enough of her and she was equally insatiable. That night she gave him an epic blow job, starting with his balls, drawing each gently into her mouth while she stroked him slowly and firmly with her long fingers, then licking his shaft like a kitten before deep-throating him until he shot like a geyser.

They settled into couplehood and he worried if it would kill their sex life. He'd had relationships that had started out hot (admittedly, not this hot) and fizzled very quickly. But her enthusiasm and clear enjoyment of him made it easy to keep the fires burning. They made love and they fucked like beasts and every bit of it made him cum so violently his teeth ached.

Often he visited her at the library and they snuck off into the stacks like horny kids, their hands in each other's clothing. More than once he made her cum with his fingers while the students milled about, just on the other side of the shelf, his hand covering her mouth and whispering in her ear, "Shhh...baby...quiet in the library!" Once she came so hard that in an attempt not to scream she bit his hand, and he wore that scar proudly, two little teeth marks in the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger that reminded him that this woman, his woman, was sex-crazed perfection.

She was far from perfect in little ways. She left her hair all over the bathroom and drinks half-finished all over the house and had a habit of being late when it really mattered not to be late. But in all the big ways she was everything he'd ever wanted, and when she flashed that smile of hers or looked up at him with those clear, naughty eyes he was powerless to resist her. Sometimes he watched her walking and was reminded of how attracted he was to her. He watched other men watching her and was proud instead of jealous, because he knew she was his. He would get to take her home and bury his cock in her and they would go home to lesser women who were half as beautiful and half as smart and nowhere near as uninhibited.

And as couples do they experimented. Things he'd never seriously considered before he found himself wanting to do with her. He tied her up, which she loved, and she tied him up, which made him nervous at first until she lowered her cunt on his face and then he was lost in the smell and taste of her and willingly did her bidding for the rest of the afternoon. At her insistence he dripped hot wax on her one night, loving how she arched and moaned as he painted her alabaster skin with drizzles of paraffin, a blindfold around her eyes and her pussy blooming open for him, needy and wet. They fucked outdoors and again in the car and in a dressing room at the mall which almost got them caught, and of course they fucked in the library. They both loved the library.

One night she handed him a bottle of lube and asked him to take her virginity and he spent a glorious evening with his cock buried in her ass. She loved it, and he filled her with his spunk three times before calling it a night. He'd done it before and was surprised (but pleased) that she hadn't. His other partners had offered it up like a big sacrifice, like something they'd read in a magazine that had to be done to please a man. But she took his length in her ass as eagerly as she took it anywhere else, and though he was slow and careful with her the first time, by the third time he was growling and plowing into her like a cave man while she rubbed herself off underneath him. Feeling her climax with his cock in her ass was one of his life's sexual highlights. He really didn't think it could get better than that.

And then it did. He shyly confessed to her one night that he'd always wanted a woman to fuck him in the ass, and two weeks later she surprised him by whispering in his ear that he was going to get fucked by a woman and it was going to blow his mind. They showered together and she soaped his ass, dropping to her knees and sliding a slick finger into him. She tapped against his prostate while his dick knocked against her face, and he secretly hoped she'd be rough with him. He had never given control to a woman before, not like this, but he trusted her and she clearly wanted to give him an exceptional experience.

In his bed she laid him on his stomach and kissed her way down his back, her erect candied nipples scratching against his skin while she nipped and licked and kissed him. She spread his ass cheeks and he nearly fainted when he felt that dainty wet tongue on his hole, licking for what seemed like an eternity as his cock grew so hard he thought it might poke through the mattress. She left him writhing on the mattress while she went to get the harness on. When she returned his brain went into overload.

She was a pornographic vision. No longer his sexy librarian lover, she was something out of a movie. The dildo made her look powerful, even though it was much smaller and thinner than his own cock. The black straps of the harness gave her a hard look that was far from her usual romantic dress. She was one for lacy lingerie, wispy scraps, delicate things, and the harness was downright masculine. But above the complicated straps and the slick purple rubber cock was her sweet face and hungry eyes and those scrumptious, womanly tits.

She asked if he was sure and he nodded, terrified of the purple intruder but powerfully aroused at the thought of her taking him as he so often took her. On his hands and knees he had second thoughts, but then she was inside him and his hair stood on end with the sensation. She had one hand wrapped around his cock and with the other hand she grabbed his hips and worked herself in and out of him. It was exquisite. He was dizzy with pleasure, overloaded with sensations. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. He wanted to cum that way but he wanted to be inside her, too.

She smacked his ass and he bucked against her, working the dildo along with her. It was bumping against his prostate and his cock was drooling on the sheets, but he needed to be inside her, so he asked her and she said yes and removed the harness. He was barely in her wet cunt when he choked and shivered against her, his mind going blank as she whispered how good it had felt to fuck his ass, to be inside him, to take control of him. He felt oddly vulnerable but he had fulfilled a fantasy with her, and that was incredibly hot. He loved her for being a girl who would do that for him, but for some reason he held back and didn't tell her.

And then the inevitable fight happened. He'd been stressed with work, she'd been working late hours for exam week, and they were testy and sleep-deprived. She left hair in the sink and he was a condescending prick about it and yelled and made her cry. She left his place wounded and he felt like shit but stubbornly resisted calling her.

He knew he was being an asshole but made it through one exhausted night and half a work day before his brain took over and brought her back to him. He dreamed of her the way he had before he'd even met her, when she was an unknowable red-haired goddess in the library of his alma mater and he was just another patron in a button-down shirt, easily mistaken for a lecturer.

In his dreams he went to her and kissed her tears, tasting the proof of her sadness and strangely aroused even by that, as if her vulnerability was inherently erotic. She was aloof and made him work for it, and he paid his penance, kissing every inch of her ivory skin, but he could not make her climax. He tried everything. She was passive beneath him and he took minimal gratification from his body's horny betrayal when he spilled inside her. For the first time, he felt he'd let her down as a lover. It was a horrible feeling.

He took it as a sign that he needed to apologize, and the next day he sent an obscene number of flowers which he hoped would make her smile and not curse his name. The card said: I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. Come back to me. She called him on her lunch break and asked what he would do for her if he did something really shitty, and he fell in love with her all over again.

That night he told her that he loved her. The words blurted out of his mouth before he realized he was even saying it and she smiled and kissed him and told him she loved him, too. When she led him back to the bedroom for what he hoped would be make-up sex she stripped off her pencil skirt and blouse and she was wearing a cheeky garter belt with stockings and a push-up bra. He silently thanked the gods again as he dropped to his knees in front of her, holding her close to him for a moment before he made love to her with his mouth, licking her to a quick climax before he put her on all fours and slammed into her with great satisfaction, loving that she had worn something so fun when she received his apology. They devoured each other for hours, until the beautiful lingerie was forgotten on the floor and her beautiful curls were knotted at the back of her head and both their mouths were swollen from orally pleasuring one another. His cock was sore but he thought he still had more in him. At one point he was inside of her and he dozed off. They made a pact to continue the next morning.

She woke him while it was still dark and climbed on top of him, lying so her face was buried in his neck and his cock was buried in her cunt. They moved against each other slowly until she got impatient and really started riding him, bending back to grab his calves while she worked himself on his hard cock. She was beautifully disheveled, lost in her pleasure yet totally connected to him. He thought, not for the first time, that he could never tire of fucking her. When he knew she was getting close he rolled her over and pushed her knees up to her chest and fucked her with quick, deep thrusts until she clawed at his ass so hard she broke the skin and sounded like she was sobbing when she came. He told her he loved her over and over again as he spent into her. Afterwards they apologized to each other again for the fight and went their separate ways to work.

He realized it would never get better than that. It would never get better than loving her, needing her, missing her, even hating her. It would never get better than waking up to her or falling asleep with her, than his happiness at seeing her at the end of the day, than the little ways she still managed to surprise him sometimes, just when he thought he really knew her. No woman would ever beckon to him in his very dreams, like a siren, the way she had - nor would he want them to.

He knew what he would do, and where. It made perfect sense. She was his dream woman and he wouldn't waste more time. It was the thing he'd tried to avoid his entire adult life, the thing which made him break out in a cold sweat when other women had suggested it. And now, with her, it was different. He imagined a life with her on their own terms. A life defined entirely by them, a covenant of two.