It's going to get steamy up in here, y'all. You've been warned.
Part 2: link
Arthur takes another ducha, ducha de that afternoon. He is anxious about seeing her again and has spent most of the afternoon working out, just to pass the time. The time that seems to be mocking me with its slowness. He walks out the door at four thirty-five, knowing exactly how much time he needs to get to the library. He drove past on his way inicial from the gym, even though it was completely out of the way.
He walks through the doors at exactly four forty-five. She is behind the main desk, but facing away from him. He pauses a moment, admiring the view. Then he strides up, affects a different voice and says, “Excuse me, miss, I’d like a biblioteca card, please.”
She spins around, saying, “Oh! Of course, sir…” her voice stopping when she sees Arthur standing there.
“Guinevere.”
It was like thunder rolling through her bones, hearing him speak her full name like that. She is rooted to the spot, yet her knees have turned to liquid and she feels truly faint for a moment. She opens her mouth slightly, her corazón body-slamming itself against her ribcage.
“Arthur,” she breathes. Then, shaking her head slightly to clear it, she manages, “You’re early.”
“I know,” he smiles at her, leaning on the desk. He inspects her. She looks every bit the proper little librarian, in a lightweight floral skirt, longer than the other day, más flowing, with a simple silk button-up blouse, light blue. The parte superior, arriba button is undone and he can see the little hollow where her collarbones meet. I wants to lick that spot, he finds himself thinking. She is also wearing a thin cream-colored cárdigan, chaqueta de punto sweater, despite the fact that it is summer. On her feet are simple ballet flats. He’s a little disappointed that he can’t see her delicious toes.
“Arthur?” she asks, noticing his stare.
“Hmm. Oh, I was just thinking that tu look really cute,” he says, grinning.
“Thank you,” she smiles at him, “just my work clothes, nothing special.” He is wearing black trousers, nicely tailored, with a red t-shirt made of some sort of soft clingy material that highlights his muscular chest just enough. She devours him with her eyes for a moment. Then she smirks at him.
“What?” he asks, straightening up.
“A red camisa, camiseta on a firefighter? Isn’t that a bit… predictable?”
“Yes, well, tu have a pencil in your hair.” Now it is his turn to smirk.
She squeezes her eyes together and winces in embarrassment. She reaches back and pulls a pencil out of the bun at the back of her head, saying, “Touché.”
Gwen looks at the clock. Four fifty-six. “Close enough,” she says and walks out from behind the escritorio and goes to lock the doors. “You’re going to have to wait for me now, since you’re so early,” she tells him.
“Can I follow?”
“Sure, why not?” She walks into the stacks, Arthur close behind. She sure walks fast for such a small thing.
The biblioteca is mostly clean, and Gwen bustles around, shutting down computers and pushing in chairs. Arthur helps where he can, straightening chairs as well and making sure the monitors are turned off. There are some libros lying around, and she scoops them up and walks towards the shelves.
“Isn’t it a bit warm for a sweater?” he asks her.
“I’m usually cold in this building,” she tells him over her shoulder. “I keep this sweater here.”
Gwen looks at the book in her hand, then up at the parte superior, arriba shelf. “Let me,” Arthur says, taking it from her. He reaches up and pushes the book into a slot.
“Not there,” she tells him.
“No?”
“You can’t just stick it in anywhere, tu know.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. She laughs suddenly at her unintentional double entendre.
“I amor your laugh,” he says, laughing with her, “it’s so… un-librarian.”
“I know, I get looks here sometimes.” She looks at him. “You have a wonderful smile,” she tells him, placing her hand on his cheek. He feels that same fuego under her palm again, and his eyes lock onto hers for a second.
“So, where should I stick it, then?”
“Excuse me?”
“The book.” He waves it at her. She removes her hand and points.
“There. See the blue one, with the yellow escritura on the spine?”
“This one?” he points.
“Yes. To its left.”
As he shelves the book, Gwen quickly reaches up and almost unconsciously unbuttons another button on her blouse. What on earth is wrong with me? Arthur turns from the shelf, and she quickly says, “This way,” and walks away from him. He follows like a lost puppy.
She has three libros left to shelve, and does so as quickly as she can. Arthur watches her, admiring her efficient manner as she scurries about. She knows exactly where everything is. He also admires the way her hips oscilación under her falda and how the silk of her blusa pulls strategically when she reaches out to replace books.
“So, tu get looks for your loud laugh, but aren’t tu afraid you’re going to get in trouble?” he asks as he follows her.
“With who?”
“Oh, your boss, perhaps.”
“I am the boss. What are they going to do, complain about me to me?” She smiles as he stands there mutely staring.
She bends down to shelve the last book, on a bottom shelf, and Arthur angles his head to get a better view. Wait. Her blusa wasn’t open that much before. Was it? No. It definitely wasn’t. Did she…? he thinks, and feels a slight twitch inside his trousers as he walks to her.
She stands, and starts slightly to discover him so close. He puts his hands on her shoulders, then slides them down her arms, gazing down at her. She looks up and her lips part of their own accord. He bites his lower lip in an extremely alluring way, as if trying to decide about something. He makes his decision and kisses her, trapping her between his body and the shelf behind her.
She whimpers in the back of her throat, her hands on his chest. He breaks away for a fraction of a second, only to return hungrier, mouth open, tongue searching for hers. She lets him find it, besar him back, her own tongue probing as her hands slide up around his neck.
He slips one hand around to the side, pressing against the underside of her breast. She suddenly remembers where they are, and manages, “Arthur. Wait…”
He pulls away from her, saying, “Sorry, I…”
“No, not that. Just… not here.”
“Oh. Of course,” he says, looking around, a bit puzzled. There’s no one else here. The doors are locked. They are nowhere near the windows.
“Security cameras,” she tells him, almost as if she has read his mind. They stand for a minute, his one arm still around her, and she says, “You know, it is a bit warm in here,” and she peels off her sweater.
She reaches back to tie it around her waist and the neckline of her camisa, camiseta stretches open, allowing him a nice view of its contents. He blows a big puff of air out, and reaches for the sweater. “Here, I’ll hold that for you,” he says, taking the sweater. While she’s not looking, he raises it to his face and smells it. It smells like her. His trousers start feeling too tight again.
“Just have to check the children’s area,” she says, as she takes his free hand and leads him. “Shouldn’t be too bad. I don’t think there were any kids here today.”
I am losing my mind, she thinks as the warmth of his hand in hers spreads up her arm, threatening to melt her.
As she suspected, the children’s area is spotless, so she merely flips off the lights. “Come on,” she tells him and pulls him to the front again.
Instead of going to the doors, she leads him to a small hallway behind the circulation desk, to a door. siguiente to the door is a placard that reads:
Gwen Thomas
Head Librarian
She pushes the door open and leads him inside, closing the door tightly behind them, locking it. He cocks an eyebrow at her again, but she says nothing.
Her office is small, but tidy, with stacks of libros everywhere. Neat stacks of books. It does not look disorderly in any way, as if the libros are exactly where they should be. There is a escritorio with a chair behind it, and another chair in front of it. Against one muro is a small sofa. There are libros on the cushions, and Gwen walks over to mover them. She sets them deliberately on the floor, stacking them neatly like the others, intentionally bending at the waist instead of the knees. Arthur groans, hoping that she’s doing what he thinks she’s doing.
Once the sofa has been cleared, she turns and looks at him, saying, “No cameras in here.” He strides over to her and takes her in his arms again. This time she grabs his head pulls him down to her waiting lips, her hands in his hair. He runs his hands across her back, down to caress her backside. He gives it a gentle squeeze and she moans into his mouth, pulling them both to the sofa, stepping out of her shoes as she does so. He is over her now, his hardness pressing into her softness. Her hands glide down his chest and pull at his shirt, un-tucking it. He attempts to unfasten the tiny buttons on her blouse. Stupid small buttons, he silently curses them. She comes to his aid, her slender fingers undoing the rest of them with ease. He attacks her neck, biting and besar and licking, smiling as he sweeps his tongue in the hollow he saw earlier. She leans her head back and sighs as his hand starts pulling her falda up, caressing her leg as his hand scoots upward to her thigh, reaching up to hold her backside. Has she got no knickers on? He gropes around some. Ah, there they are.
She sits up and pulls her blusa off her shoulders. He leans back and yanks his camisa, camiseta off over his head. In a moment of clarity, she stops and asks him, “You didn’t make any reservations o anything, did you?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I did. They’re not until six thirty.”
She looks at the clock. Five seventeen. “Plenty of time,” she says as he descends on her again, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. She reaches for his cinturón, correa and swiftly undoes it. siguiente she starts on his trousers. He shoves his shoes off with his toes and they fall to the floor with a clunk, clunk that makes her chuckle.
Bra discarded to the floor, Arthur takes a minuto to look. The only light on in the room is a small escritorio lamp, and there are no windows to let in any outside light. She is más gorgeous than I could have hoped. He finds a zipper on the side of her falda and undoes it, sliding the thin cotton down. She lifts her rear to allow the falda to slide off, revealing the cordón, encaje correa, tanga she had been wearing since early afternoon.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Arthur says, smiling as he runs his finger along the narrow waistband. Gwen smiles, blushing. He quickly stands and pulls his trousers and boxer, boxeador briefs off and they contemplate one another for a moment.
“You are beautiful, Guinevere,” he says, her name on his lips again making her insides flip.
“So are you,” she returns. He looks like a piece of art. A carved statue. He can’t possibly be real, the thinks. He grins and crouches siguiente to her. He places gentle kisses on her stomach as he slides the correa, tanga down, placing it gently on the floor. He kisses his way back up, noting a small beauty mark between her breasts, on which he deposits a kiss. She reaches for him as he climbs back onto the sofa; grasping him in her hand, no longer cool as it once was.
Arthur lets out a groan as she strokes him, and reaches down to touch her as well. She gasps as he does so, his fingers sliding as his lips familiarize themselves with her breasts.
She releases him and reaches back behind her to the canvas bag Morgana had brought earlier, laying on the mesa, tabla siguiente to the sofa, behind her head. Her blind groping catches Arthur’s attention and he looks up.
“What are you… ah, I see,” he says as he spies what she is reaching for. He reaches up himself, opens the box and takes one out. Then he looks at her questioningly.
“Don’t ask,” she says, reaching up to kiss him as she takes the condom from his hand. She opens it and places it on him, which he finds quite alluring. That’s a change, he thinks vaguely, returning his lips to hers, hungrily. He delves into her.
“Arthur…” she breathes, wrapping one leg around him as he thrusts, the other leg pinned between him and the back of the sofa.
Arthur’s mind is a complete fog. He’s had women before, but it has never been like this, especially the first time. No awkwardness o embarrassment, no fumbling. Each seems to know exactly what the other likes, as if they have been enamorados for a long time. His eyes drift closed. He forces them open again to look at her, writhing in pleasure beneath him. I cannot get enough of her. He increases his efforts, actually making the sofa scoot on the floor a few inches as he does so. She is digging her nails into his shoulders, but he hardly feels it. He clutches the arm of the sofa with one hand, the other is at her breast, caressing, teasing. Gwen starts to cry out as her climax hits her like a massive wave. She is completely gone; the only thoughts in her head are of him and how is making her feel. Arthur kisses her again, gently, while he thrusts powerfully yet into her, near to the edge himself. He lifts his head and growls, releasing, and practically blacks out from the intensity of it.
He lowers himself down once he can see again, resting his head on her chest, withdrawing himself from her.
“I’m not crushing you, am I?” he lifts his head to look at her blissful face.
“No,” she says, and kisses him. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
He stops breathing, worry and regret starting to shoot through him. Then he hears her start to giggle, and he breathes again.
“You mean tu don’t regularly shag men on this sofá that tu just met the night before?”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone in here before,” she admits.
Part 4: link
Part 2: link
Arthur takes another ducha, ducha de that afternoon. He is anxious about seeing her again and has spent most of the afternoon working out, just to pass the time. The time that seems to be mocking me with its slowness. He walks out the door at four thirty-five, knowing exactly how much time he needs to get to the library. He drove past on his way inicial from the gym, even though it was completely out of the way.
He walks through the doors at exactly four forty-five. She is behind the main desk, but facing away from him. He pauses a moment, admiring the view. Then he strides up, affects a different voice and says, “Excuse me, miss, I’d like a biblioteca card, please.”
She spins around, saying, “Oh! Of course, sir…” her voice stopping when she sees Arthur standing there.
“Guinevere.”
It was like thunder rolling through her bones, hearing him speak her full name like that. She is rooted to the spot, yet her knees have turned to liquid and she feels truly faint for a moment. She opens her mouth slightly, her corazón body-slamming itself against her ribcage.
“Arthur,” she breathes. Then, shaking her head slightly to clear it, she manages, “You’re early.”
“I know,” he smiles at her, leaning on the desk. He inspects her. She looks every bit the proper little librarian, in a lightweight floral skirt, longer than the other day, más flowing, with a simple silk button-up blouse, light blue. The parte superior, arriba button is undone and he can see the little hollow where her collarbones meet. I wants to lick that spot, he finds himself thinking. She is also wearing a thin cream-colored cárdigan, chaqueta de punto sweater, despite the fact that it is summer. On her feet are simple ballet flats. He’s a little disappointed that he can’t see her delicious toes.
“Arthur?” she asks, noticing his stare.
“Hmm. Oh, I was just thinking that tu look really cute,” he says, grinning.
“Thank you,” she smiles at him, “just my work clothes, nothing special.” He is wearing black trousers, nicely tailored, with a red t-shirt made of some sort of soft clingy material that highlights his muscular chest just enough. She devours him with her eyes for a moment. Then she smirks at him.
“What?” he asks, straightening up.
“A red camisa, camiseta on a firefighter? Isn’t that a bit… predictable?”
“Yes, well, tu have a pencil in your hair.” Now it is his turn to smirk.
She squeezes her eyes together and winces in embarrassment. She reaches back and pulls a pencil out of the bun at the back of her head, saying, “Touché.”
Gwen looks at the clock. Four fifty-six. “Close enough,” she says and walks out from behind the escritorio and goes to lock the doors. “You’re going to have to wait for me now, since you’re so early,” she tells him.
“Can I follow?”
“Sure, why not?” She walks into the stacks, Arthur close behind. She sure walks fast for such a small thing.
The biblioteca is mostly clean, and Gwen bustles around, shutting down computers and pushing in chairs. Arthur helps where he can, straightening chairs as well and making sure the monitors are turned off. There are some libros lying around, and she scoops them up and walks towards the shelves.
“Isn’t it a bit warm for a sweater?” he asks her.
“I’m usually cold in this building,” she tells him over her shoulder. “I keep this sweater here.”
Gwen looks at the book in her hand, then up at the parte superior, arriba shelf. “Let me,” Arthur says, taking it from her. He reaches up and pushes the book into a slot.
“Not there,” she tells him.
“No?”
“You can’t just stick it in anywhere, tu know.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. She laughs suddenly at her unintentional double entendre.
“I amor your laugh,” he says, laughing with her, “it’s so… un-librarian.”
“I know, I get looks here sometimes.” She looks at him. “You have a wonderful smile,” she tells him, placing her hand on his cheek. He feels that same fuego under her palm again, and his eyes lock onto hers for a second.
“So, where should I stick it, then?”
“Excuse me?”
“The book.” He waves it at her. She removes her hand and points.
“There. See the blue one, with the yellow escritura on the spine?”
“This one?” he points.
“Yes. To its left.”
As he shelves the book, Gwen quickly reaches up and almost unconsciously unbuttons another button on her blouse. What on earth is wrong with me? Arthur turns from the shelf, and she quickly says, “This way,” and walks away from him. He follows like a lost puppy.
She has three libros left to shelve, and does so as quickly as she can. Arthur watches her, admiring her efficient manner as she scurries about. She knows exactly where everything is. He also admires the way her hips oscilación under her falda and how the silk of her blusa pulls strategically when she reaches out to replace books.
“So, tu get looks for your loud laugh, but aren’t tu afraid you’re going to get in trouble?” he asks as he follows her.
“With who?”
“Oh, your boss, perhaps.”
“I am the boss. What are they going to do, complain about me to me?” She smiles as he stands there mutely staring.
She bends down to shelve the last book, on a bottom shelf, and Arthur angles his head to get a better view. Wait. Her blusa wasn’t open that much before. Was it? No. It definitely wasn’t. Did she…? he thinks, and feels a slight twitch inside his trousers as he walks to her.
She stands, and starts slightly to discover him so close. He puts his hands on her shoulders, then slides them down her arms, gazing down at her. She looks up and her lips part of their own accord. He bites his lower lip in an extremely alluring way, as if trying to decide about something. He makes his decision and kisses her, trapping her between his body and the shelf behind her.
She whimpers in the back of her throat, her hands on his chest. He breaks away for a fraction of a second, only to return hungrier, mouth open, tongue searching for hers. She lets him find it, besar him back, her own tongue probing as her hands slide up around his neck.
He slips one hand around to the side, pressing against the underside of her breast. She suddenly remembers where they are, and manages, “Arthur. Wait…”
He pulls away from her, saying, “Sorry, I…”
“No, not that. Just… not here.”
“Oh. Of course,” he says, looking around, a bit puzzled. There’s no one else here. The doors are locked. They are nowhere near the windows.
“Security cameras,” she tells him, almost as if she has read his mind. They stand for a minute, his one arm still around her, and she says, “You know, it is a bit warm in here,” and she peels off her sweater.
She reaches back to tie it around her waist and the neckline of her camisa, camiseta stretches open, allowing him a nice view of its contents. He blows a big puff of air out, and reaches for the sweater. “Here, I’ll hold that for you,” he says, taking the sweater. While she’s not looking, he raises it to his face and smells it. It smells like her. His trousers start feeling too tight again.
“Just have to check the children’s area,” she says, as she takes his free hand and leads him. “Shouldn’t be too bad. I don’t think there were any kids here today.”
I am losing my mind, she thinks as the warmth of his hand in hers spreads up her arm, threatening to melt her.
As she suspected, the children’s area is spotless, so she merely flips off the lights. “Come on,” she tells him and pulls him to the front again.
Instead of going to the doors, she leads him to a small hallway behind the circulation desk, to a door. siguiente to the door is a placard that reads:
Gwen Thomas
Head Librarian
She pushes the door open and leads him inside, closing the door tightly behind them, locking it. He cocks an eyebrow at her again, but she says nothing.
Her office is small, but tidy, with stacks of libros everywhere. Neat stacks of books. It does not look disorderly in any way, as if the libros are exactly where they should be. There is a escritorio with a chair behind it, and another chair in front of it. Against one muro is a small sofa. There are libros on the cushions, and Gwen walks over to mover them. She sets them deliberately on the floor, stacking them neatly like the others, intentionally bending at the waist instead of the knees. Arthur groans, hoping that she’s doing what he thinks she’s doing.
Once the sofa has been cleared, she turns and looks at him, saying, “No cameras in here.” He strides over to her and takes her in his arms again. This time she grabs his head pulls him down to her waiting lips, her hands in his hair. He runs his hands across her back, down to caress her backside. He gives it a gentle squeeze and she moans into his mouth, pulling them both to the sofa, stepping out of her shoes as she does so. He is over her now, his hardness pressing into her softness. Her hands glide down his chest and pull at his shirt, un-tucking it. He attempts to unfasten the tiny buttons on her blouse. Stupid small buttons, he silently curses them. She comes to his aid, her slender fingers undoing the rest of them with ease. He attacks her neck, biting and besar and licking, smiling as he sweeps his tongue in the hollow he saw earlier. She leans her head back and sighs as his hand starts pulling her falda up, caressing her leg as his hand scoots upward to her thigh, reaching up to hold her backside. Has she got no knickers on? He gropes around some. Ah, there they are.
She sits up and pulls her blusa off her shoulders. He leans back and yanks his camisa, camiseta off over his head. In a moment of clarity, she stops and asks him, “You didn’t make any reservations o anything, did you?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I did. They’re not until six thirty.”
She looks at the clock. Five seventeen. “Plenty of time,” she says as he descends on her again, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. She reaches for his cinturón, correa and swiftly undoes it. siguiente she starts on his trousers. He shoves his shoes off with his toes and they fall to the floor with a clunk, clunk that makes her chuckle.
Bra discarded to the floor, Arthur takes a minuto to look. The only light on in the room is a small escritorio lamp, and there are no windows to let in any outside light. She is más gorgeous than I could have hoped. He finds a zipper on the side of her falda and undoes it, sliding the thin cotton down. She lifts her rear to allow the falda to slide off, revealing the cordón, encaje correa, tanga she had been wearing since early afternoon.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Arthur says, smiling as he runs his finger along the narrow waistband. Gwen smiles, blushing. He quickly stands and pulls his trousers and boxer, boxeador briefs off and they contemplate one another for a moment.
“You are beautiful, Guinevere,” he says, her name on his lips again making her insides flip.
“So are you,” she returns. He looks like a piece of art. A carved statue. He can’t possibly be real, the thinks. He grins and crouches siguiente to her. He places gentle kisses on her stomach as he slides the correa, tanga down, placing it gently on the floor. He kisses his way back up, noting a small beauty mark between her breasts, on which he deposits a kiss. She reaches for him as he climbs back onto the sofa; grasping him in her hand, no longer cool as it once was.
Arthur lets out a groan as she strokes him, and reaches down to touch her as well. She gasps as he does so, his fingers sliding as his lips familiarize themselves with her breasts.
She releases him and reaches back behind her to the canvas bag Morgana had brought earlier, laying on the mesa, tabla siguiente to the sofa, behind her head. Her blind groping catches Arthur’s attention and he looks up.
“What are you… ah, I see,” he says as he spies what she is reaching for. He reaches up himself, opens the box and takes one out. Then he looks at her questioningly.
“Don’t ask,” she says, reaching up to kiss him as she takes the condom from his hand. She opens it and places it on him, which he finds quite alluring. That’s a change, he thinks vaguely, returning his lips to hers, hungrily. He delves into her.
“Arthur…” she breathes, wrapping one leg around him as he thrusts, the other leg pinned between him and the back of the sofa.
Arthur’s mind is a complete fog. He’s had women before, but it has never been like this, especially the first time. No awkwardness o embarrassment, no fumbling. Each seems to know exactly what the other likes, as if they have been enamorados for a long time. His eyes drift closed. He forces them open again to look at her, writhing in pleasure beneath him. I cannot get enough of her. He increases his efforts, actually making the sofa scoot on the floor a few inches as he does so. She is digging her nails into his shoulders, but he hardly feels it. He clutches the arm of the sofa with one hand, the other is at her breast, caressing, teasing. Gwen starts to cry out as her climax hits her like a massive wave. She is completely gone; the only thoughts in her head are of him and how is making her feel. Arthur kisses her again, gently, while he thrusts powerfully yet into her, near to the edge himself. He lifts his head and growls, releasing, and practically blacks out from the intensity of it.
He lowers himself down once he can see again, resting his head on her chest, withdrawing himself from her.
“I’m not crushing you, am I?” he lifts his head to look at her blissful face.
“No,” she says, and kisses him. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
He stops breathing, worry and regret starting to shoot through him. Then he hears her start to giggle, and he breathes again.
“You mean tu don’t regularly shag men on this sofá that tu just met the night before?”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone in here before,” she admits.
Part 4: link
