4. Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
The kiss ignited the second her hands pressed against my chest, like she’d been holding back a charge and finally let it loose.
Her mouth was warm, tentative at first, then hungry—opening under mine as I pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back to cradle the nape of her neck. She tasted sweet, and it made my blood rush south so fast, I had to fight a groan.
Then she pulled back, breathing hard, eyes wide and glassy. For a second, I thought she’d changed her mind. Instead, she turned without a word and started walking deeper into the stacks, heels clicking softly on the concrete floor.
I followed. My cock strained painfully against my zipper with every step, thick and aching. She led me past rows of bookshelves to the back corner, where a rolling ladder waited on its brass rail—a tall one that slid along the stacks.
Privacy. She was tracking down privacy for us.
When she reached it, she gripped both sides of the ladder with her small hands and turned to face me. That smile—half-bold, half-terrified—hit me like a punch. My dick throbbed harder, twitching in my pants.
She leaned back against the ladder and started undoing the buttons of her navy blouse. Her fingers fumbled. The smile trembled at the edges. Confidence on the surface, nerves underneath. It made something primal uncoil in my chest.
I closed the distance in two strides and caught her hands gently. “Let me.”
My voice came out rougher than I intended.
I shrugged out of my own shirt first, letting it drop to the floor, then went for hers.
Button by button, slowly, watching her chest rise and fall faster as more skin was revealed.
When her blouse joined mine, I kissed her again—deeper this time, tongues sliding, her soft moan vibrating into my mouth.
My hands dropped to her pants. The zipper whispered down. The fabric slid over her hips and pooled at her feet. She stepped out of her shoes and kicked those and the pants aside, standing there in a simple white bra and cotton briefs that somehow looked more erotic than any lace I’d ever seen.
I reached for her again, but she stopped me with a hand on my chest. “I’m on birth control,” she whispered.
I hadn’t even thought that far. Stupid. Reckless. I nodded, leaning in to kiss her again, but she pressed firmer this time.
“There’s something else.”
I waited. Her hesitation made my pulse hammer.
Finally, she blurted it out. “I’m a virgin.”
The words landed like cold water. I stepped back, staring at her. Virgin. Margeaux, with her razor-sharp mind and careful systems and that quiet intensity that had been driving me insane—she’d never done this. Never let anyone this close.
I shouldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. This was her workplace. She was too controlled, too precise for a quick fuck in a basement library. But the thought of being the first—the only one to have her like this—ignited something dark and possessive in me I didn’t know existed.
She didn’t wait for me to decide. She reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall. Then she hooked her thumbs into her briefs and slid them down, stepping out until she stood completely bare before me. Beautiful. Soft curves, flushed skin, the neat trim between her thighs already glistening.
“I want this,” she said, voice steady despite the tremble in her hands. “Here. Now.”
That was it. The last of my resistance snapped.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, parting her thighs gently.
At the very least, I was going to make this good for her.
I licked her folds, tasting her, and her sharp gasp filled the quiet stacks.
I worked her with my tongue—slow, deliberate circles around her clit, then lower, dipping inside her tight heat.
When she started rocking against my face, I sucked her clit between my lips and slid two fingers carefully inside her.
Her breathing fractured into the softest, most desperate little sounds—muted whimpers and broken sighs she tried to swallow back, hyperaware of how far a sound could carry in an empty basement.
Just before she came, her thighs began to tremble violently against my shoulders, the fine muscles fluttering and tightening as her hips jerked in shallow, helpless movements. The quiet, needy noises she made grew higher, tighter, until?—
She came hard, thighs shaking around my ears, a choked cry escaping her as she gripped the ladder for balance.
I stood, breathing ragged, my cock so hard it hurt.
She reached for my belt immediately, clumsy but eager, fingers shaking as she undid my pants and pushed them down with my briefs.
When her hand wrapped around me, I nearly lost it.
Her strokes were awkward, unpracticed, but the sight of her small fist around my thick length—her wide, fascinated eyes—made every fumbling touch better than anything I’d ever felt.
She sank to her knees.
“Margeaux—” I started, but then her mouth was on me, warm and wet and hesitant.
She took me deeper, tongue exploring, learning. I threaded my fingers through her hair, fighting the urge to thrust. It was too much. Too good.
I pulled her up, narrowly avoiding coming in her mouth. “Not yet.” I kissed her again, tasting both of us on her tongue, then broke it to ask, “Are you sure?”
She nodded, eyes dark with need.
I lifted her easily, her back against the ladder, one rung supporting her ass perfectly. I notched the head of my cock at her entrance, slick with her arousal. Slowly, so slowly, I pushed inside.
She was impossibly tight. Her breath hitched, a flash of pain crossing her face. I stilled, buried only halfway, jaw clenched with the effort not to move.
“Deeper,” she whispered.
“Touch yourself,” I murmured against her ear. “It’ll help. Rub your clit for me, baby.”
Her hand slid between us. At first, her fingers were hesitant, almost shy, but as she found her rhythm, circling her clit, her entire body began to soften around me.
Her inner walls fluttered and clenched, slick and incredibly tight, drawing me in with every small pulse.
The heat of her was unreal—scorching, silky, and so wet, I could feel her arousal coating me as I pressed forward.
I sank deeper, inch by inch, until I was fully seated inside her. A low groan escaped my throat at the sensation. She gripped me like a fist, hot velvet pulsing around every inch of my cock. The stretch, the pressure, the way her body fought to accommodate me—it was almost overwhelming.
In the hushed silence of the library, every sound felt amplified.
The wet, intimate slide of my cock moving in and out of her.
The soft, rhythmic smack of skin against skin as my hips met her thighs.
Her shallow, stuttering breaths and the quiet, needy whimpers that escaped her each time I sank deep.
All of it carried through the deserted room, turning the space between the shelves into something intimate and charged.
I continued moving slowly, savoring the drag and squeeze of her around me.
As her moans grew louder, I let myself go a little deeper, a little harder.
The sounds grew wetter, more obscene in the quiet.
The slick glide of her arousal, the faint creak of the ladder with every thrust, her broken gasps bouncing back from the walls.
She clenched hard around me, eyes fluttering shut.
Her thighs trembled violently against my sides as her second orgasm hit.
A raw, choked cry broke from her lips, sharp in the stillness, as she pulsed and fluttered wildly around my cock, milking me with rhythmic spasms so intense, I had to grit my teeth to hold back.
Only then did I let go. I thrust deep one final time, burying myself to the hilt as pleasure crashed through me. A guttural groan ripped from my chest, raw and unrestrained, as I spilled inside her in heavy, throbbing pulses.
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing together, her forehead pressed to mine. Then the laughter started—soft, unexpected, hers first, then mine. Real laughter. I’d never heard her laugh like that before, loose and unguarded.
We dressed between stolen kisses and quiet smiles. When we were presentable again, I caught her hand.
“Dinner at my place tonight?”
She looked up at me, cheeks still flushed, and nodded. “Yes.”
We left the library together, stepping back into the fluorescent-lit hallway as if nothing had shifted—except everything between us had. And for the first time in years, I wasn’t thinking about security, or betrayal, or control.
I was just thinking about her.