On Reserve

“So are we still on for tonight?”  His voice dipped at the end of the question, and a tingle settled in at the base of her spine.

“Yes,” she breathed out.  She felt the nip in the breeze against her flushed cheeks and goosebumps fluttered up her bare arms.

“Meet me at my place at seven.  Swing by the bookstore on your way, that little corner shop on East 23rd, you know which one?” 

“The one with the gargoyles and the reading cubbies in the back, right?” 

“That’s the one.  They’re holding a book on reserve for me.  It’s already paid for, I just don’t have time to get there.  Will you do it?”  Her mind still distracted by the thoughts of the upcoming evening she nodded absently in response.  “Victoria?” 

“Oh, sorry, yes, of course I will.  Sorry, drifted a bit there.”  He laughed, low and sexy, and she felt the ghost of it rumble against her sensitive finger tips.  “Your place, seven, and pick up the book on the way,” she repeated, to be sure she hadn’t lost anything.

“You got it.  Good luck on your last final and I promise we’ll celebrate tonight.”  A low mumur rose in the background and he sighed.  “I gotta run, Vic.  Don’t forget the book and I’ll see you tonight.”  He was gone before she could respond, and she folded her phone up with a soft sigh.

“Okay, I can do this.  Just one more test, and I’m done,” she murmured, gathering up her bag and study notes.  “Then…then I can live again.”  Two years of night classes, weekend workshops and endless papers and homework had devoured her life, leaving little time for her outside of her job.  Now, with her degree one test away, she could barely concentrate, so eager was she for the time to relax. 

The highlight, and source for her drive to complete the last run of classes, was her beau of four months.  Nicholas, tall, strong and brilliant, had shown up on campus, pursuing his masters in history, and swept her off her feet.  And now, a mere handful of hours away, loomed their first night together.  Knowing how she longed for a distraction from her studies, Nicholas had set a restriction boldly, on their second date, that they would not make love until her last final had passed.  And he had been oh so firm about that, resisting all of her attempts to sway him.

She paused, blinking away her thoughts, to focus on the tall brick building before her.  Almost there, Vic, you can do this.  She made her way inside, forcing her thoughts away from her anticipated evening and on to the subject at hand.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Victoria trotted across the street, ducking against the wind tugging at her heavy coat and the tails of her scarf.  The weather had turned vicious, surprising her with its intensity when she finally emerged from her last exam, drained and exalted.  She had had just enough time to make a trip to her apartment to shower and prepare herself for the evening.  She tightened her grip on her longcoat and hurried to the corner, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped into the shelter of the stoop. 

“Ah, Miss Victoria, come in, come in out of that wind!”  She started at the opening of the door behind her and smiled at the diminutive storekeep, surprised, and yet not, that he remembered her.  She followed him inside, relaxing as the warmly lit interior wrapped about her. 

“I do love this place,” she commented quietly.  The proprietor smiled over his shoulder at her.

“So do I, so do I.  And it’s youngsters like yourself having that very reaction that reassures me that I’ll be able to retire here.”  He made his way around his desk, books stacked haphazardly all around and selected one, seemingly at random, from a shelf behind him.  “And this, Miss Victoria, is what I believe you’re here to fetch.”  He favored her with a kind smile as he handed it over and she gasped softly at the intricately worked leather binding.  A phone rang imperiously from the back room, and he bowed to her apologetically.  “Please excuse me.” 

Victoria slid her fingers across the worked cover, wishing she could work out what was depicted.  Curious, she opened the book carefully.  The scent of myrrh with a musky undertone drifted up to twine through her senses, and she shivered as she read the title page.  “The Kama sutra of Vatsyayana,” she whispered to herself, a thrill tracing a down her spine to settle into the cradle of her hips.  A slip of paper slid out, a distinctive script slanting across it.

 

Are you ready for our weekend, my sweet Victoria?

I do hope so…I have ached for you beyond words. 

Do you like my book?  It is a reprinting of  Sir Richard

Francis Burton’s version, custom bound decades ago by a

middling British Lord for his new young bride. 

They enjoyed it immensely, or so I’m told, as I hope we do.

 

Turn this over, and follow the directions on the other

side….and trust me, always.

Ever Yours,

Nicholas

Lower lip held gently between her teeth, Victoria flipped the slip of paper over, anticipation drawing deep breaths into her lungs.

Go back to that section you enjoyed so much our first visit…do you remember?

Victoria’s mouth went suddenly dry, the memory of Nicholas balancing her on his ever so talented fingers, toying with her intimately, as she read an erotic tale in a hushed whisper at his bidding.

Find that book.

She darted a look towards the back office where the owner’s voice could be heard as a low murmur.  Throwing caution to the wind and resting her trust in Nicholas she made her way back among the many bookshelves, no two the same design or height.  In the far corner she found the section she was looking for – a single narrow shelf, filled from one side to the other with volumes as varied as the constructs at her back.  She slid her finger along the spines, the difference in textures sensual, until she found the one with the deep red silk binding. 

Her heart pounded as she tugged it free of the clasp of the other books, fingers carressing it as she had the first time she’d seen it.  It was meant to be touched, the narrow handbound volume, numbered eleven of 42, created with loving care of the finest materials.  The tales within were printed on satin, silk, thin cotton, and even a fine vellum.  One couldn’t help but rub the pages between sensitive fingertips while reading.  Tucked amidst the printed satin pages was another slip of paper.

Your trust will be rewarded, my love.

The book is yours, to share, or not, with

me at your pleasure.  I admit I do hope

you’ll share it with me again.  The memory

of your voice as you read from these

sensual pages has tortured me many a

night.

 

I’ve two requests for you this time.

 

Taste yourself.  I want you to know

exactly what you’re tasting on my lips later.

Victoria gasped softly and closed her eyes against the wave of sensation his words caused, both the content, and the knowledge that he had planned her visit to the bookstore so thoroughly.  Clutching the two books to her chest she leaned against the bookshelf, breathing shallowly as she struggled for composure.  Her hand drifted unerringly down, sliding down the curve of her thigh to the edge of her skirt, then back up.  Her fingers traced the lacey edge of her thigh highs before tracing a line up her inner thigh.  She flushed as her fingers brushed against slick curls and her legs trembled.  A gasp escaped as she slid two fingers through the moisture and she sagged against the books as she lifted the coated digits to her lips.  She wasn’t a stranger to the taste of her own arousal, but somehow, obeying Nicholas’ request changed it, and she sucked at her fingers gently, smothering a low moan.

I bet you looked sexy as hell doing that.

Now, go to the photography section. 

She turned to take in the shelves around her, trying to remember where the shelf of coffee table books was amidst the stacks.  Finally she found them, the tall ungainly books dominating the top of a low shelf.

There’s a book tucked behind them – pull it

out and take it to one of the reading areas

before you open it. 

 

Victoria’s brows arched in curiosity as she retrieved a portfolio, and she made her way to the back of the store, now too wrapped up in Nicholas’ direction to worry about the proprietor.  She paused before chosing the far left area, the small room much more private than the others courtesy of the layout of the stacks.  Her lips quirked into a sultry smile as she enjoyed the memory of her first introduction to the secluded area, when Nicholas had lifted her up onto the desk and plunged his fingers inside her, swallowing her moans and small cries as she came wrapped around him.

With a grin she slid up onto the desk once again and shimmied out of her coat, looking forward to her next note from Nicholas.  With a tingle of anticipation she pulled the broad brass bound portfolio onto her lap and pivoted the stout cover open.  Another slip of paper fluttered, simply adorned:

 Enjoy.

N.

 

 Victoria turned the first page, and felt a wave of heat race from her crown to her toes.  Nicholas’ favorite hobby was photography, specifically monochromatic work, and he had turned his lens upon himself for her.  She turned pages without thought, eyes absorbing his bare form, devouring the sensuality of pose and composition.  The span of his back; a droplet tracing down his stomach; his neck arched and tense; the length of him, darkened skin against pure white sheets, covered just so.  The final image tore a low moan from her throat and sent a shudder of pleasure through her as she reached out to trace the line of his arousal, held proud and in offering to her, pale eyes daring her to take him.

“Nicholas,” she whispered needfully. 

“Victoria.”  The rumble of her name was nearly expected, and she looked up to find him watching her, jeans strained by his erection.  She reached out and he slid into the embrace of her arms and legs, growling deep in his throat as he claimed her lips in a rough kiss. 

She knew their first time would be fast and primal after the torture of his seduction, felt his immediate need as she freed him from his jeans and guided him into her. 

But later, later the seduction would begin anew, and they would work their way through the books once more.

 

© Scarlett Greyson

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