Quiet Corner

for the pervie searcher…thanks for the inspiration…~n~

She sat in the small sliver of sunlight in the quietest corner of the library. The novel, light and romantic, suited her mood. At this late afternoon hour there were few patrons about, and tucked away in this little nook, she was all but invisible.

A shadow fell across her, which she ignored. Occasionally someone would walk behind the stacks and block the slanting light coming from the skylight over the main foyer. The sense of presence made her look up after a moment. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting though she made no sound as she registered who had intruded on her space.

He sat beside her. The slight movement of his head indicated that she should return to her reading. He too opened a book, laying it across his lap. Shifting to lean closer to her, his fingers slipped across her breast, easily flicking open one, then a second button. Her breath caught in her throat as those skilled fingers eased up and into one lace cup, stroking the tip until it rose. Her body clenched, her pussy dampening when he pinched the thick bud.

There, in the long ray of light, he teased her tits, rousing her to a fever of lust. When she would have spoken, his barely spoken ‘hush’ silenced her. She craved more, wanting his long fingers to cradle each tit, to squeeze it until she begged for him to stop, yet he only stroked the tender tips. She longed for his fingers to graze her thighs, to part her weeping lower lips, to make her come, there in the quiet sanctuary of books.

Lips slid across her temple, fingers left her breast, leaving her mourning the loss. Her clit pounded maddeningly, her body lusting to be used, taken, ravaged. The cushion made a tiny squeak as he rose, and moved away.

Breathing in short pants, she tried to calm her racing heart. A breath in, a breath out. Eyes squeezed shut hard, then opened. The library was the same as it had been minutes before, but suddenly she didn’t feel the quiet peace, with the storm of need surging through her. Her eyes fell to the cushion where he’d sat. His book lay there, yet a yellow posty sticking out from pages caught her attention.

Tugging the tome closer, she opened it. A Rubens nude was featured on the page. She recognized “The Union of Earth and Water” but his words on the note made her smile, and yearn.

“Later, you will be my urn, and gush.”

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