Chapter 5 #2
"That's it." He growls against my neck, his tusks pressing into the curve of my throat, the rumble shakes through me and rattles the shelf. "Let me hear you."
He slides two fingers inside me. Thick and long.
I cry out and my hips roll into his hand because I can't stay still, I can't hold anything back, his fingers curl inside me while his thumb keeps circling my clit.
He scents me while he touches me, his nose dragging up the side of my neck, breathing me in deep, and every exhale comes out rough.
His breath burns against my skin and the sound he makes isn't human, my body wants more of it.
"You smell like mine." His voice drops low enough that I feel it more than hear it. "You taste like mine." He pushes deeper inside me and I clench around him, my nails scoring through his flannel into his shoulders. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to make you come."
His thumb grinds my clit while his fingers fuck me in a rhythm that makes my thighs shake, and his mouth stays on my neck, his tusks against my skin, his growl matching the pace of his hand.
I come so hard and so suddenly my vision goes white, my face buried in his shoulder, his name breaking apart in my mouth, and the orgasm rolls through me in waves that tighten my whole body around his fingers.
He doesn't stop. Keeps working me through it, slower now, gentler, until the last wave passes and I'm shaking against him with my face pressed into his flannel and my legs locked around his waist.
I reach for his belt. My hand finds the buckle and then the hard length of him straining against his jeans, I can't even close my hand around him through the denim.
He's big. My hand on his cock through his jeans and my stomach drops and I want him inside me, I pull at his belt because I'm done waiting for anything tonight.
He catches my wrist. His hand wraps around it—his fingers overlapping—and he holds me there, gentle, firm, my stomach flips because his hand goes all the way around my wrist with room to spare.
"Not yet."
"Colt—"
"You're not ready for me, sweet girl." His forehead presses against mine.
His breath comes ragged, out of rhythm. His cock presses against my inner thigh, hard and hot through his jeans.
"I'm not talking about ready as in willing.
I'm talking about ready as in—Ellie, I'm built differently.
You need to understand what that means before we go further. "
I look at his hand around my wrist. I look at where he's pressed against my thigh.
"You're going to make me wait."
His eyes close. His grip tightens for half a second before he lets go. "I'm going to make it worth it, I promise. I don't want to hurt you or rush this."
My legs are shaking. He eases me down and he follows me to the floor, shrugging his coat off and tucking it under me.
We end up side by side between the stacks, his arm around my shoulders, both of us breathing hard with our backs against the shelves.
The carpet smells like old paper and lemon cleaner, I start laughing because I just came in my own library and I'm going to have to face the romance section tomorrow knowing the exact row.
"What?" He turns his head.
"Nothing. I'm going to think about this every time I shelve returns."
His mouth twitches.
I cover my face. "I'll never teach Dewey Decimal the same way."
He's quiet for a while. The rain picks up against the windows. I lie on the floor of my library with an orc's arm around me and I don't recognize my own life.
He turns on his side and presses his mouth to my forehead. Holds it there. "I'm tired of fighting this," he says against my skin. "I don't want to fight it anymore."
"Then don't."
"Yeah." His mouth stays against my forehead. "I think I'm done."
We stay on the floor. He tells me about the monograph on Victorian property law and I tell him about the time I accidentally shelved an entire cart of returns in the wrong section and didn't notice for three days.
He laughs, and the sound fills the empty library, I realize I've never heard him laugh like that.
Open. Unguarded. We talk about Lily's project and the archive photographs and the fact that his daughter has been orchestrating this since September and neither of us stopped her.
The rain slows. The tapping on the skylight spaces out, then stops.
He stands first and reaches down and pulls me to my feet. My legs are stiff from the carpet and his hand stays on my waist until I'm steady.
We lock up together. He holds the door while I check the bolt twice, the way I always do, and we walk across the wet parking lot to my car. The air smells like rain and the tail end of a storm.
He opens my door. I stand in the gap between the car and him and he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead again, I close my eyes.
"Drive safe, sweet girl," he says.
"Goodnight, Colt."
He waits in the parking lot until my headlights hit the road.
I drive home at midnight. My skin smells like him, leather and that sharp edge underneath that isn't human, the same scent I caught the first time I met him.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and replay every second.
His hand around my wrist, the fingers overlapping.
My hand on his cock through his jeans, the size of him, what built differently means when I'm already sore from two of his thick fingers.
My face burns but my body still hums, I press my hand between my legs because I can still feel him there.
I'm done. Whatever this is, wherever it goes, there's no going back to Mr. Rivers and Miss Frost and Saturdays at four.
I close my eyes and I can still feel his mouth on my neck.