Rhys Donovan
Fuck my life and agreeing to come here for my sister.
I swear, if I had a wife or a girlfriend I knocked up, I’d come with her for this task, even if I’d sure as hell make her be the one to complete the purchase.
That is, while I stood by her as a loving spouse, boyfriend, whatever.
Because that’s what I’d be. Loving. Supportive.
Caring. Especially since I was half responsible.
But having to not only come here alone, but also embarrassingly track down What to Expect When You’re Expecting as a man doesn’t look that good for whatever mess it is the people here at the bookstore would probably assume I got myself into.
For example, why isn’t my wife or girlfriend here with me?
Could it be because we’re estranged and I fucked up?
In more ways than just fucking her up.
Or is she home with morning sickness, or whatever the hell it is women get?
In that case, why am I not with her, attending to her every need, and therefore, again, not a fuckup?
Never mind the fact that I’m actually doing the chivalrous thing here for my sibling, who became a widow before she ever found out she was actually expecting. Who also, in fact, is home with morning sickness, hence the reason why I even know that fucking term.
My only solace is that I was told at the front desk of the downtown bookstore to find Aaron in the back-right corner of the store, who could direct me to what I’m looking for.
Solace that, in fact, came from a middle-aged woman who looked me up and down like the fuckup I assume she thinks I am.
Glancing at my ring finger and seeing I’m not married, she gave me a look that older women are veterans at.
Demeaning. Degrading. Humiliating. All in a matter of seconds.
I thought about explaining, but she was only into judging someone who actually has more heart than herself.
The irony.
At least this Aaron can probably relate. After I ask him to show me where the damn book is, I’m out of here. That is, if he doesn’t look at me with pity. In which case, I’ll have to explain, and I really am not in the mood to explain why I’m here, and why my sister is not.
I spot a worker pushing through the inventory door backward and fumbling with a stack of books. With a desperate need to get this over with as soon as possible, I approach quickly.
“Excuse me,” I say a little too loudly, causing the woman to jolt and drop some of the books in her hands.
Cradling the now smaller stack in her tiny palms, she turns as she drops to the floor to pick up the few she’s fumbled.
I do the same, helping her quickly and breathing in a scent that’s oddly familiar, but I can’t place where I know it from.
“I hope you can help me,” I continue as we both rise to stand. “I’m looking for...”
My stare falls to her name tag.
Erin.
Looking up into her familiar eyes, it hits me.
Fuck.
The girl from the library.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her all week.
I guess Aaron was really Erin, and now I’m fucked in more ways than one as her alluring mouth falls open, and she stares at me in wonder just as a few more of her books slip and once again fall to the floor.
Their hard spines hit me perfectly on the top of my foot, and I yelp as I jolt back in pain.
“Sweet Jesus,” I mutter as she starts to cry about how sorry she is.
“Dear God, I’m so sorry. Please let me help you,” she whispers as I bounce up and down on my foot, and she sets the rest of her books aside.
She grabs my bicep, and I immediately forget about the pain in my foot as a jolt rushes through my body.
She swallows hard as she helps me into the back room and ushers me to sit down in a nearby chair.
“I’m so sorry,” she continues.
But I’m speechless as her perfume confuses all my senses and the small space we’re enclosed in seems to become even smaller.
The air is thick, and it gets hard to breathe as she kneels in front of me, attempting to examine my foot.
All I can think about are the visions I had of her earlier this morning, kneeling in front of me and not examining my foot, I might add.
“Are you always so attentive?” I tease.
“When I’m to blame,” she responds without thinking.
In that case...
“You’re to blame for a lot more than my swollen foot.”
She looks up at me through hooded eyes and smiles.
“Is that so?”
I tell myself to respond; I tell myself to hit her with another line. Maybe then she’ll get up and walk away because I’ll come off as a stereotypical douchebag, but I can’t. I’m too overcome with the thought that staring into her eyes has blood rushing straight to my dick.
With a smirk, she rises and says, “I think you’ll be fine, Casanova.”
Without thinking, I reach out to her and pull her into my lap just as she tries to walk away.
Her sharp intake of breath tells me she’s just as affected by me as I am by her, and God, that’s bad on so many fucking levels.
As if I needed more proof, she grinds her ass over the bulge growing thicker in my shorts, closes her eyes, and hums a sexy purr reserved for when I’m pushing slowly, deeply in and out of her.
Not that I’ll let myself do that. But if I did. Fuck, I bet that’s what she’d sound like.
“I’m not fine, Delilah,” I whisper, finally placing her heavenly floral scent, giving her a nickname she deserves, and taking a deeper breath in.
Fuck, she was an innocent flower when I first met her, but the way she’s slowly rocking her ass against my dick makes me realize she’s more of a Jezebel than I originally thought.
A femme fatale.
Biblical.
Like Samson and Delilah.
If I let her, she could be my only weakness.
Against my better judgment, my fingertips trail up her spine, and to my delight, or rather fucking horror, my weakness in question stands and then straddles my hips.
Sucking in a sharp breath, her soft core meets my hardening length, and our eyes meet in the dim light of the back room of the busy bookstore.
“Damn,” she hisses, staring down at me through hooded lashes as the girth and length of my dick press against her soft opening. “You feel more than fine to me, Casanova. But my name’s not Delilah.”
I look down at her name tag and grin.
“Mine’s not Casanova.”
My eyes lift to hers.
She bites her bottom lip, runs her lace-covered velvet lips back and forth against the crown of my dick, and I swear I almost explode.
“Any objections to a name that’s equal parts heaven and hell, and makes you my only weakness?” I groan as she continues her beautiful assault.
She timidly shakes her head no.
Taking my hand, she glides it under her skirt and to her core.
Instantly, I fist her hair to hold her still.
Playing with the edge of the lace covering her pussy, she urges me to slip a digit inside her, but I hold back.
A stroke inside her center, and a little more rocking of her hips, and I won’t be able to stop myself from tearing her skirt up to her waist and thrusting inside her.
“Please,” she begs, and hell, I almost cave.
“You need to get off, Delilah,” I groan, her eyes glimmering with delight at the use of her new nickname. “Tell me, did you touch yourself since I saw you last?”
She shyly shakes her head no.
“That’s a shame,” I whisper, leaning in and kissing her neck. She moans, and my mouth rises to her ear. I nibble her lobe tenderly as I play with the edge of her panties.
“I did,” she gasps as I tease her opening. “Every day,” she groans as I push a finger slowly inside her. “At least twice.”
“What did you...” she starts to ask, but stops as I stick a second finger deep inside her cunt and then lean back to meet her eyes.
“What did I ‘what?’” I urge her to continue as she rocks her hips and I finger-fuck her gently. My thumb rubs lazy circles against her clit, and she moans as I whisper, “What did I think of?”
Her head falls back as I bring her higher and she breathes out, “Yes.”
Fuck it, we’ve gone too far now. With a glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is about to come in, I eagerly focus back on the show in front of me and raise her skirt slowly up her thighs.
“How wet I could make this pussy,” I groan as I watch my fingers slip in and out of her wet core. Sucking in a sharp breath, my cock grows painfully erect as her smell permeates the room. Trailing my fingers through her wetness, I raise my hand to my mouth and sample her.
Her confidence grows as she watches me lick my fingers and then asks, “Do you like the taste of me?”
“I fucking love the taste of you,” I moan, urging her closer as I pull her panties to the side and pull my cock free. Her lips hover above mine as I say, “But you’ll have to be quiet, Delilah.”
Her mouth falls open as I start to press inside her.
The crown of my cock breaches her entrance, and I ask, “Is this okay? Because I’ll stop if…”
She cuts me off with a quick nod.
“Erin?” Someone shouts, barging through the back door, and I swear to God, I’ve never seen a woman hop off my lap so damn fast.
With the crown of my cock covered in her desire, I quickly tuck myself away and glance over my shoulder to see the disapproving eyes of the lady from earlier glaring down at me.
Glancing back my girl’s way, I watch as she nervously smooths out her skirt.
My girl.
Christ.
Where did that come from?
“I just got word that the order that was supposed to come in tomorrow will be here before closing tonight. I’m going to need you to stay late and help with the display.”
“Yes, ma’am,” my girl answers immediately.
When silence stretches, and the smell of sex continues to grow thick in the air, the older woman stares us both up and down and asks, “Is there a problem back here?”
Erin stammers, “No, ma’am, I just dropped a stack of books on his foot and...”
“And she was just making sure I could walk, and I wouldn’t be pressing charges,” I add quickly as I stand and give Erin a reassuring wink.