Turn the Page

They had agreed to meet at Turn the Page, which was a quiet, tucked-away place, less frequented than the trendier bookshop at the corner, which sold coffee and had a lounging area and hipster staff. Turn the Page was older and smelled it, the ancient wood trim and floors had been polished many times over but now lacked luster, just the faintest scent of lemon lingered; dust motes danced in the soft light that streamed through the slightly dirty storefront window; the familiar old book odor a heavy canopy in the shop. She had slipped in before him and was thumbing through an old coffee table book of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and he stood in the doorway, watching her devour the pages, her hair framing her face and brushing the tops of her ample breasts as she read. He was as bewitched as ever; it took very little from her to excite him, and he was enflamed as he observed her flipping the pages slowly, almost sensually, her delicate fingers caressing the paper as she admired the image of each painting in turn, unaware of how hungrily he was watching her.

When he spoke her name, it barely croaked out of his throat, but she looked up like a startled animal, her hand flying automatically to her hair, her eyes dark and bright. And when she saw it was him her entire body relaxed, and he almost felt her pulling him, as if by some invisible power. She smiled at him and lowered her eyes back to the book and he was immediately and painfully aroused. She was making him come to her, which both annoyed and excited him; she wasn't taking one step in his direction, but it wasn't stopping him from making his way quickly to her side. And when he reached her, he could smell her, the familiar smell of her shampoo and perfume and that other scent that he could never place but that reminded him of her sheets every time.

"Hi," she murmured, still not looking up from the page.

"Hi," he replied, breathing her in and appreciatively ogling her soft curves, accentuated by the dress she was wearing. The wrap-style neckline fell open slightly, giving him a glimpse of her generous breasts and the edge of her lacy bra. The pressure in his groin grew as his eyes followed the line of her body from her tits to her plump, round buttocks and smooth legs.

"You look beautiful," he said, and she smiled with sincere pleasure, and this time she did look up. To her credit, she could take a compliment graciously, which made her all the more enjoyable to be with. He could tell her that she looked beautiful or that her tits looked hot in a particular sweater, and she always smiled and usually kissed him, which she did this time, too, her warm mouth brushing over his as her full breasts pressed into his chest. He had an urge to grab her against him, his hands clutching her ass cheeks, and press her against the nearest shelf. The urge to do that, to press her against something so she could feel his hard cock between her thighs, was so strong he had to pull back from her, but she knew, and her eyes sparkled when they broke apart. She cocked an eyebrow and he was done for. That was her tease and her promise both, and he further stiffened in his pants.

She went back to looking at the book, but he knew she wasn't really interested in the book – not anymore. It was her game, though, and he played along with it, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her, just under the swell of her tits, pulling her tightly to him and burying his nose in the silky curtain of her hair. She made a little soft sigh in her throat and pulled her hair to one side, exposing the side of her neck, the side it drove her crazy when he kissed, and he rubbed his lips on her soft skin, nibbling her earlobe and making a steady trail down toward her shoulder. She shivered against him, arching her back so her ass pressed against his straining cock, and his hands slid down to her thighs, bunching the hem of his dress up with his fingers and trying to draw it up toward her waist.

"No," she breathed, tugging her dress back down. "You can't..." She looked in the direction of the shop clerk, who was eighty if she was a day and didn't even seem to be aware that they were in the store at all.

"She's not looking," he said, undeterred, sliding one hand up between her thighs. She squeezed her thighs together, but he was already there, and all she did was trap his fingers against her soft mound. She was blazing through her thin panties, already damp, her pussy hot against his hand, and when he pressed against her she shuddered, and he brought his lips to her neck again. "Do you want me to stop?"

She moaned softly and nodded, but it was an unconvincing nod.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" He took her hand and brought it to the bulge in his pants, and her fingers moved as if they had a life of their own, automatically cupping and squeezing him. She sighed again and parted her legs slightly, allowing him just enough room to slide his fingers inside her panties. As she continued to squeeze him, he worked a finger through her soft furry mound and onto the swollen nub of her clitoris, which was slick and eagerly jutting out from between her smooth folds.

"Am I stopping?" he asked, and this time she barely shook her head no as she let out a little moan, just a tiny noise back in her throat. He growled against her neck and rubbed at her clit and she writhed in his arms, her fingers finding his zipper and freeing his velvety cock, which leaped at her from its confines and welcomed the warm embrace of her firm fingers. He continued to rub, steadily stroking her, feeling her move against him, focused on her pleasure, wanting him to just rub her to orgasm, but he denied her and slid a single finger into her slippery cunt, finding the little rough patch of her g-spot and working in earnest now. She moaned his name and leaned back against him as he touched her, all her concentration on cumming, but several times he brought her close and then pulled his fingers back, leaving her whimpering in frustration.

The elderly clerk was still paying no attention, but another couple had come into the shop, and they watched them from the semi-obscured spot in the back, his hand never leaving her moist heat. The couple wandered around and then left without buying anything, and as soon as they were walking out the door he yanked her panties down over her hips and flipped her dress up so he could slide his erect cock between her soft cheeks, where it burrowed until it was nudging against her lubricious opening.

"Please," she begged, and he needed no more prompting. He slid inside her with luxurious slowness, sinking into her depths like he had all the time in the world in which to fuck her. She gasped as he filled her, undulating to meet his strokes, and he slid the fingers that had been inside her cunt into her warm, wet mouth. She sucked them eagerly, pressing her hips back and leaning over, bracing herself against the table so he could pound her harder. But he recognized her need and wanted to leave her wanting a bit more, so he kept a steady pace, enjoying the satisfying clutch of her tight pussy, her juices coating his cock.

She moaned on his fingers, and for some reason that boiled his blood and he stopped trying to keep any sort of pace whatsoever. He plundered her in earnest, holding her tightly to him with his free hand, grunting quietly, watching the clerk and almost hoping she would see them, or that someone else would enter the shop and see him pleasuring this beauty, making her cry out softly as she was now, approaching her orgasm. He wanted someone else to approach the table, to watch him make her cum, to see her face as the bliss exploded throughout her body and to know that he had done it, that he was responsible for her ecstasy.

But no one appeared in the shop door, and the clerk never looked up from her own book, and he forgot that thought and concentrated on his own climax, which was rushing at him out of nowhere, fueled by her whimpers that told him she was on the lee of her own orgasm. He wanted to hold her at the precipice of that pleasure forever, but it was too much; she bit down on his fingers as her spasms overtook her, mewling through her waves of pleasure, and he was right behind her, clenching his teeth as he shot rope after rope of scalding cum inside her. Her legs were trembling as they pulled apart, breathless and delirious, her thighs coated with their comingled juices and the front of his pants conspicuously soaked around the fly.

And she melted into his arms, her mouth meeting his for a still-hungry kiss, her body telling him that this was just the appetizer; dinner was still on its way. Her hand found his still-sticky shaft and squeezed life into it as her tongue danced across his lips, and she nibbled at his mouth and pressed herself into him.

The novelty of fucking her in a public place was taking a backseat to the desire to be home where he could toss her around his big bed at will and shower with her and spend endless hours wallowing in the paradise of her naked, warm body. He whispered as much to her, and her eyes shone as she backed away, wiping away the semen that had trickled down the insides of her thighs, pulling her panties back up around her round buttocks, and smiling naughtily at him as she tucked herself back into her clothing and straightened herself. He zipped himself back up and tried his best to dry the damp front of his trousers, finally throwing in the towel and just untucking his shirt to partially hide it.

"I've got the whole day," he said huskily.

"Me too."

"I've got like three more in me at least."

"At least." She smiled coyly.

They walked swiftly out of the bookstore, tossing a hasty "Have a nice day!" over their shoulders at the clerk, and then raced each other to his car.