Chapter 17 #2
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three walls. A brass rolling ladder hooked against the highest shelf. Two leather chesterfield armchairs by a small marble fireplace that isn’t lit. A vintage typewriter on an antique desk in the corner, keys gleaming. A reading lamp with a brass crescent shade.
It smells like old books, paper, leather, and beeswax candles.
I walk slowly into the middle of the room and turn in a slow circle, looking up at the shelves.
There are literally thousands of books. Alphabetized.
Some of them are obviously rare—leather-bound, gold-leaf spines catching the light.
Some of them are cheap paperbacks with cracked spines, read so many times the pages have fallen open in the same place over and over.
I run my fingers along one shelf and reach for a book when I suddenly hear the door click shut softly behind me.
Turning, I see August standing in the doorway, his sandy blond hair still tousled from sleep, and he watches me for a long beat without speaking.
“I saw you come in here,” he says finally. His voice is soft. Careful. “Are you okay?”
I turn to face him. Still in the silk robe. Hair still a mess. Tears are already burning at the corners of my eyes, and I am trying so hard not to let them fall.
I hate being controlled.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head.
He crosses the library slowly and opens his arms. I hesitate, biting my lip, and then walk towards him. He gives me a silent hug. One arm around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head, his chin resting on top of my hair.
He holds me there. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t rush. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek, and his honey scent wraps around me like a blanket.
After a long minute, his voice is soft against my hair. “We’re not trying to cage you, Lia. We want to protect you.”
I cry into his t-shirt. Silent sobs shake my shoulders, and August doesn’t let me go. He strokes my hair, slow and gentle, and he kisses the top of my head.
I pull back enough to look up at him.
His blue eyes are soft and worried behind his glasses. There’s a small smudge of flour on his left cheekbone from breakfast, pale against his skin.
I reach up and brush it away with my thumb. Even though I barely knew him, August would never hurt me. I know it in my heart.
He goes very still under my touch. His breath catches. I don’t lower my hand. I run my thumb along his cheekbone, slowly, watching his pupils dilate until his blue eyes are almost black.
He swallows. Hard.
“Liana,” he whispers, as I rise up onto my toes and kiss him.
“I need you,” I say softly as my belly contracts, sending pain through my body.
He freezes for a second. Then he cups my face, his glasses fogging slightly against my cheeks, and he kisses me back.
He walks me slowly backward until my shoulder blades meet the bookshelf behind me. The leather-bound spines press into my back through the silk, and August kisses me deeper, his body pressing into my heat-ridden one, the silk of my robe sliding against his t-shirt.
I gasp into his mouth.
He kisses me again. Slower this time. His fingers find the sash of my robe and untie it slowly, asking permission with every fingertip against the silk.
I let him.
The robe falls open. He pushes it off my shoulders, and it pools on the floor at my feet. I am naked in the library, in front of the bookshelves, the morning light from the window behind me catching my hair like a halo.
August takes a step back and looks at me. I blush as he gazes at my entire body with admiration.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in this room,” he says, his voice rough, as he kneels in front of me on the antique red rug.
“Oh,” I say, shocked, as he gently lifts one of my legs and rests my foot on his shoulder. He looks up at my pussy and inhales my scent deeply as I feel slick seeping embarrassingly down my thighs.
“I’ve been imagining your pussy since last night and haven’t been able to focus on anything else since,” he murmurs as he spreads my pussy lips open with his fingers.
My heart pounds hard. I haven’t had alone time with August at all, and I have no idea what to expect from him as a lover.
“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” I whisper, encouraging him.
He takes one long, slow lick from my opening up to my clit, and groans against me like he has tasted something holy.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You are even sweeter than I imagined. You’re dripping for me already. Making such a mess on my rug, and I love it.”
He drags the flat of his tongue over me again. Slower. Gathering the slick that is running down my inner thighs. He sucks it off his lower lip with a filthy growl that makes my knees buckle.
“Oh god, your tongue feels so fucking good,” I moan, turning weak, and he has to grab my hips to hold me still against the bookshelf. He flattens his tongue against my clit and works me in slow circles. Then he sucks my clit gently into his mouth and rolls it between his lips.
I pant above him. One hand clutches a shelf for balance. The other is tangled in his hair, holding him exactly where I want him.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me. His lips are wet. Shining.
“You’re going to come on my tongue,” he says, his voice dark and certain. “I won’t have it any other way.”
He drags two fingers through my folds and slides one inside me. Then a second. His mouth goes back to my clit as he sucks on me hard.
I cry out as my pussy clenches around his fingers. “August! Oh my god.”
He fucks me with his fingers slowly. Curling them up against my G-spot, he keeps catching the fresh slick that pours out of me on his chin and licking it clean. His inner wolf is feral but gentle, and I love every second of it.
At one point he pulls his fingers out of me. Holds them up between us. Eyes locked on mine. And sucks them into his mouth, slow and deliberate, his tongue wrapping around each digit.
“Best breakfast ever,” he says as he shoves his fingers back inside me and sucks on my clit again, making me shudder with my incoming orgasm.
“Every day, I’m going to lick you clean in the morning before coffee.
And then after breakfast, you’re going to walk around this penthouse leaking me out of you. ”
I am shaking against the bookshelf within minutes. Both hands tangled in his hair now, holding him exactly where I want him.
He hums against my clit. The vibration rolls through me, and I shatter.
I come apart against his mouth with a broken whimper. My thighs tremble around his ears. Fresh slick spills out of me in a wave that he laps up greedily, his mouth never leaving me, his fingers still working me through my orgasm.
He gentles me down. Kisses my inner thigh. Kisses my mound. Licks one more long, slow stripe through my folds, making me gasp and twitch, and only then does he pull back.
He stands up slowly. Kisses me with my own taste on his tongue, pushing it into my mouth, making me taste myself.
“You’re delicious,” he whispers against my lips.
I moan. My whole body is still trembling.
He walks me over to the leather chesterfield in front of the unlit fireplace and lays me down on it. The leather is cool against my overheated skin.
He stands at the foot of the couch. Undresses to fully knot me, quickly pulling his t-shirt over his head.
His chest is lean and golden, softer than his brothers’.
As he pushes his pajama pants down, I look at him.
His cock is hard and flushed, leaking against his stomach.
He removes his glasses and sets them carefully on the side table.
The lines of his poetry tattoo run down his right side from his ribs to his hip, small script in black ink. I trace it with my eyes.
He climbs onto the couch over me. Careful with his weight. Kisses my shoulders. Kisses my breasts. Sucks one tight pink nipple into his mouth and rolls it on his tongue.
I arch off the couch, my lower belly clenching with need and fire from my heat.
“I want you. I need you now,” I gasp. Then his cock presses against my pussy, and he leans down, his mouth to my ear.
“Your pussy is mine now,” he says, low and rough. He slides into me slowly. Carefully. Watching my face.
We both gasp at the same time when he sinks in to the hilt. He fits inside me differently from the others—gentler, deeper somehow, like he was made to be exactly where he is.
He begins to fuck me slowly. Whispering my name against my lips. Kissing me in time with his thrusts. “So wet for me, you’re going to ruin my couch. And I want you to.”
My breathy moans turn desperate within minutes. I’m gripping his shoulders. Begging him quietly for more.
He gives me more. Then slows down. Gives me less. I whine.
He laughs softly against my throat. Pauses mid-thrust, buried inside me to the hilt, bracing himself on his forearms above me.
He looks down at my face. His blue eyes have gone almost black.
“Your pretty wet pussy is squeezing me so hard,” he says against my mouth, low and rough. “This soft little sound you keep making in my ear. You are mine.”
I make a small, wrecked sound against his throat. Pull him down to me and kiss him hard. I feel most comfortable with August. I know he won’t ever judge me.
“Please keep going,” I whisper, unable to think straight. “Please. I want your knot.”
He thrusts harder and deeper into me.
“Fuck,” he growls out as he pistons into me and his cum spills deep inside my womb. I clench hard to keep him there, and suddenly the base of his cock swells, locking us together. The stretch of his cock inside of me is such a relief.
I lie there gasping and happy at last.
“God, your knot feels so good,” I moan, feeling his cock spurt more cum inside of me, cooling down the raging inferno of my heat.
He rubs my belly softly, over the bulge of his cock. “You look so beautiful and full. Wish I had my phone with me to take a picture of your belly swollen with my knot, but we’ll have the rest of our lives to do that.”