Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires Page 4

His fingers hooked under the straps of my dress as I drank him in, his eyes eager to explore my body. But I wouldn’t have that. Not yet. There was too much I wanted to explore of him, first.

  “Uh uh,” I said, stepping away. I was panting. “If we do this, we have to follow the rules.”

  “Fuck the rules,” he said, lunging for me.

  I skipped away, finger wagging. “The rules are what got you here. Do you really want to deviate from them?”

  His hand went to the back of his neck. “What do I have to do?” he said. “Just say the word.”

  I bent down to pick up the book he had dropped. “As I seem to remember, the deal was to find something that you wanted to read from start to finish.” I held it out to him and winked. “We’re going to act out what you’re reading.”

  His eyes went wide as I dropped to my knees. I had a secret advantage here. The benefit of being a librarian. I’d read the book already. I knew what was coming.

  He opened to the first page and began to read. “Mouth congress for him.”

  Slowly, I drew the zipper down on his suit pants. I left the belt done up.

  I heard him swallow, loudly. “There are eight kinds of fellatio,” he said, “each one is done right after the other.”

  I could see the bulk of him straining within. I ran my fingers lightly over the fabric covering it and heard his voice waver. It wanted to be freed. I wanted to be freed. I reached past the zipper, exploring the mound before me, caressing it gently with my fingers.

  “Step 1: The Nominal Congress. She places the head of the… of the penis between her lips and moves it around.”

  I looked up at him, to find him reading, wide eyed, then returned to the task at hand. Gently, I drew the cotton of his boxers down. He sprang free, and I maneuvered his member outside the pants with a murmur of appreciation. He was beautiful—magnificent, hard and standing at attention entirely for me. Big, yes, but manageable, when it came time for that. I gazed at it, hypnotized, delighted at the part I had to play. I ran my hands up its length, then gently lowered my mouth to hover above it. Hot breath drifted over his skin as I breathed out, causing him to moan. Then slowly, delicately, I drew him between my lips; one hand around his base for support. I took only the tip, knowing what was yet to come. Knowing it would drive him wild.

  “Step 2.” He drew a deep breath as I rolled his head around my mouth. I could taste him, faintly, as his excitement grew.

  “Step 2: Gently nibble the shaft of the penis.”

  My head pulled back, leisurely drawing myself off him, lips retaining contact until the very last second. Then I held him slightly to the side, head returning once more to alternately kiss then nibble the skin down one complete side of his shaft. I felt his legs waver against me. Shivers broke out on my skin as I heard him moan.

  “Step 3: Take the semi-erect lingam with your lips and draw the foreskin back as it hardens.”

  I giggled, eyeing the rigid member before me. “I think you’ve beaten me to that one. Next!”

  “Push the head-. Ooooh” He groaned as I anticipated his next words, slipping my lips over his member once more and starting to bob up and down, still just on his tip. “… into your mouth and then withdraw.”

  I could feel him in my mouth. Feel his passion, just for me. The way I could excite him—it was liberating.

  “Now kiss it, as if you were kissing my lower lip, holding it in your hands,” he read.

  My hand began to slide up and down his shaft as the bobbing of my mouth stilled to focus on gentle suction. I imagined myself at his mouth, sucking his lower lip gently off his teeth. I could feel his thick, hard shaft between my hands, starting to throb with a tension that I was creating. I had thought it was hard before, but now it was swelling under my ministrations, growing even harder.

  It felt so powerful. So hot. I wanted to take his whole shaft in my mouth, to own it completely, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Just as he was bound by the rules, I realized I was too. The area between my own legs was growing warm, a tension fast building, built of the power I had over this man. The power these rules had over us both.

  Booker groaned above me. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  My head rose, though my hand kept going. “You can do it. What’s the next step? Read it out.”

  “Step 6: Rubbing. Touch the penis all over with your tongue and mouth.”

  My hands stopped their friction, letting him go briefly to stand quivering in the air before me. “See, now we take it slower.”

  Slower indeed, even as my own blood began rushing faster. I couldn’t take this, and I was the one dealing it! My right hand left him to travel down my own stomach. Pulling up the hem of my dress. Feeling my own warmth. I began to lick his shaft like an ice-cream. My right hand began to circle gently.

  Oooh. “Doesn’t that feel better?” I breathed.

  He groaned in response.

  I began to lick him faster, harder, moving in response to my own pleasures quickly building. I was spiking, sharp little peaks of pleasure rocketing me ever upwards to join him in excitement.

  “Mmm.” I was starting to lose concentration, the pleasure below making my pleasuring of him more and more difficult.

  I passed my tongue over the end of him, licking the salty drops that were appearing there more quickly now. He didn’t have long to go. But neither did I. “Keep going,” I groaned. “Keep going.”

  “Step 7,” he said, voice straining. “Sucking a Mango Fruit. Oh no. Oh, I don’t think I can take this.”

  “Read it out,” I breathed. I had started running my index finger in a line up and down myself now. That ball of tension was building again, growing within my hips and my heart, threatening to take over my world.

  “Insert the top half of the penis into your mouth,” he struggled, “and… and suck it.”

  I dove down onto him as my fingers dove into myself below, pleasuring us both with a force bordering wild abandon, my head riding up and down his long, thick length, while first one then two fingers plunged in then out of myself. I wanted this so bad. I could taste him. I could feel him.

  “Oh God. I’m so close!” he whispered.

  I prayed he be quick, for both our sakes.

  “Step 8: Swal... Swallowing Up,” he said, voice weak. “Put the whole penis into your mouth as if you’re going to swallow it, press… pressing to the very end.”

  My hand went to his hips and then my mouth slid down deeper, deeper, deeper onto him, deeper than I had thought possible. My lips touched his base, gripping the shaft tightly, and then I slowly, slowly, slowly slid back up. He groaned, a sound of pure agonized pleasure. I felt him swell harder than I’d ever thought possible.

  “Well done.” I whispered as I came up off him. “Isn’t this a book you want to read?”

  “Fuck the book,” Booker growled. He pulled me roughly to my feet, pressing me back against a book case with a force that sent a thrill through me. His eyes were clouded with lust. “I want you!”

  He leaned in to kiss me, hard, on the lips. His hand went to my dress and then he was lifting it up, tearing at my underwear. My hands went to his head—turned on, aroused, just a little bit scared. What force of nature had I awakened within this man? What passions had I unleashed?

  The cotton came away in his hands with an audible rip. I raised a leg to his hip and then he scooped me in his strong arms, my other leg raising to straddle his hips as he lifted me from the ground. My back pressed into the bookshelf.

  He pressed into me.

  It was everything I’d imagined, and yet somehow those fantasies paled in comparison, too. I felt each inch of his long, hard member as he slid into me; a thrill that grew with every inch, higher and higher.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself into him. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t hold on any longer. The thrill was spreading throughout my body, started by my own hand but finished by him. He began to move, plunging slowly but building quickly unti
l he was thrusting over and over again. I gasped. The thrill exploded within me.

  “Booker!”

  He was veritably pounding me into the bookshelf behind. I groaned with each sweet movement; the feel of his body against mine, the thrill within me going on and on and on.

  Books began to fall to the floor all around us. He let out an almighty groan, and then I felt him release inside me.

  “Oh God!” His fingers curled through my hair and shockwaves flew through my body, zinging up through me, rebounding back down to double my own pleasure with each thrust inside; each book that flew from the shelves. My pleasure didn’t stop until he had given everything he could and we both lay panting against the disheveled shelf behind.

  * * *

  I picked up the final book, the one that had started it all, to put it back on the shelf.

  “You’re such a librarian,” Booker said, smiling.

  I eyed him. “Should I leave it on the floor perhaps? That would just be anarchy.”

  He laughed. “You can’t put it away just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  He moved toward me. “I haven’t finished reading, that’s why.”

  My finger went to my lower lip. “Felt like you were finished to me.”

  He looked down, then back up at me, raising an eyebrow.

  I followed his gaze. “Oh.”

  No he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. “What now then?”

  He pulled the book from my hands. “We keep reading. We do have till dawn, after all.”

  BOOK 2:

  By the Letter

  There’d been something between us all night—the warmth of Booker’s hands, the way he’d held me when I cried, the way his eyes went wide when I made that joke about my breasts. It came to the fore when somehow, in my own library, I was tricked into reading the Kamasutra.

  Tricked? No, I hadn’t been tricked. I’d wanted to be there, and Booker had been smart enough to see that the only way I could allow it to happen was if I was trapped by my own rules.

  Now, finally, I’ve found love again, and it’s given me the strength to break the rules I created oh-so-long ago.

  But daylight is coming.

  And things always look different in the light.

  PROLOGUE

  Communications came online around sunrise, signaled by a thousand discrete beeps as message after banked up message was received by our phones.

  Booker had the majority, of course. I got two: one from my landlord asking why my rent was overdue, the other from Netflix asking if I’d like to upgrade my account.

  We forced a path through the snow soon after; out through the corridor, past the café with its smashed window and $100,000 check, past a helicopter now visible only as a mound of white.

  The night had been more than just sex. Though there had been a lot of that, so much that I blushed just thinking about it. There’d been a connection. Something primal and spiritual that joined us at the mind, as well as the hip. It had started, I think, when he’d first held me: that first time I’d broken a rule and shattered the window for food.

  He was the one, I knew it. Such a short amount of time, and yet it already felt like forever. It was like suddenly I’d woken up to find a whole new world around me, the snow covering up my sins as well as the streets.

  They were only ever sins in my mind. The man I’d been married to was happy now—another wife, and a beautiful child. And the man I’d left him for those three years ago no longer had a hold over me. His words couldn’t harm me anymore.

  The mistakes of the past didn’t have to taint the future. Booker had taught me that. Falling in love didn’t mean it would end in disaster. Breaking a marriage up once didn’t mean I would do it again. I wasn’t that same girl. It didn’t have to have the same ending.

  “Clara? Are you crying?”

  I wiped at my eyes with a sleeve. “Sorry. It’s the cold. Makes my eyes sting.”

  His arm went round my waist, enfolding me in a warm embrace from which I never wanted to leave. We stayed there, my head resting on his shoulder, until a car engine sounded in the distance.

  “That’ll be me,” he said pulling away. A silver Porsche was approaching.

  I’d forgotten he was wealthy; the Porsche just another reminder of the divide I’d have to deal with eventually. His wealth—or rather, my lack of it—hadn’t mattered last night; we had both been equal under our blanket of snow. But how were we going to make this work in the light of day?

  I could imagine him opening the door to whisk me away. “Come with me,” he’d whisper. “My wealth is nothing. I’d give it all up for you.”

  I’d shake my head with a laugh. “You fool,” I’d whisper back. “I’m not asking you to.” Then we’d drive away into the sunset and live happily-

  I shook my head. The daydreams could end now. I’d finally found someone worth breaking my own rules for. I could be a new person. I could start a new life beside him.

  The silver Porsche pulled up to the curb, the shadow of a thin blonde vaguely visible through the driver’s side glass.

  I reached for his hand, but he was worrying the ring on his right index finger. “You sure you’ll be okay here?” he asked.

  “I’ll manage.”

  His hand went to the door. I leaned in for a kiss, but he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d better not.”

  “Why?” I asked, brow furrowing.

  “Clara, last night everything seemed so simple. I thought I knew all the answers. But now… well, it’s complicated.”

  Oh no. Please.

  His hand went to the ring on his right hand again. He pulled it off, then slipped it onto his left. “I can explain-”

  No no no no no.

  “Who is it?” I said, voice rising. “Who’s in the car?”

  He looked at me, emotion a sudden storm across his features. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s my wife.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The helicopter was gone—that was the first thing I noticed.

  It was the first time I’d left the house in… well, when you start doing calculations based on the number of Chinese food containers left on the kitchen table, you don’t need an exact number.

  I’d fallen for a married man. A man who, still glowing with the after effects of our passion, had slipped into the car beside his wife and driven off with a promise that he would call shortly.

  The girls had called saying he’d phoned, but I wanted nothing to do with him. It had only taken one night to break down my walls. Now they were so high that no man could ever come near me again.

  But I’d healed enough to function—it was time to go back to work; the reason I was standing in the snow outside my library. My vacation days were about run out, and I was getting danged sick of Chinese food.

  I took a deep breath and entered the outer door, the wind shutting off with a snap as it closed behind me. A long corridor lay ahead; the library at the other end, the community café that occupied the front of the building to my right. The window I had broken was fixed, that was good. I peered through it. There were renovations going on inside as well: plastic chairs, white walls and glass cabinets now replaced by a forest of green—some of it, actual forest. Potted trees graced the floor and tables. Ferns and vines hung from roof and walls. And in the far corner a huge mural of a tree was being constructed from recycled timber, the branches spreading out along walls and roof. Someone had propped a super cute stuffed toy monkey at its apex; a mascot surveying the café before it.

  I squinted. There were books everywhere, too. The old beat up stainless steel counter had been cut at the front to become a bookshelf highlighting endangered species across the world. Plastic tables had been replaced with long, picnic style constructions with stacked books at each corner for legs. And the huge mural sported books hanging from its branches instead of fruit—food for the mind just waiting to be plucked.

  The café was being renovated to fit
its surroundings—the parkland outside, and the library next door. It was beautiful, but it must have cost a fortune.

  At least he stayed true to his word. The thought came unbidden to my mind—I pushed it away. It was time to move on.

  * * *

  My co-worker Sandra came in at nine, when the library officially opened. I had a love / hate relationship with Sandra. She was tall, skinny and happily single—everything I was not. She squealed, rushing over to give me a huge hug before standing back to hop from foot to foot with excitement.

  There was only one thing that could make Sandra wring her hands so. “Let me guess. You have news about a boy?”

  She nodded energetically. If enthusiasm were raindrops, she’d be Lake Michigan.

  “So that sexy librarian pic you put on Tinder worked?”

  She nodded but then shook her head, confused. Okay, so it had worked, but that wasn’t the news.

  “You’ve been out on a second date with someone?”

  She shook her head.

  I sighed. “Ok, out with it then. Make me jealous.”

  She bit her lip. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

  “You drive me crazy, but never mad. Go on, I promise.”

  “Well, have you seen the new foreman yet? From the café renovations?”

  I shook my head. “This is my first day back, remember?”

  “He’s so dreamy!”

  I laughed. “Sandra, you think everyone is dreamy.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Whatever. Just wait till you see him—even you would get drunk in his eyes, little miss stone cold sober.”

  I loved Sandra, but I didn’t want to talk about boys right now. “I’m really happy for you—you’ll be great together.”

  Sandra was still hopping from side to side. “Wait! He doesn’t want me. He got out half the romance books in the library!”

  “Probably thought they were choose-your-own adventures.”

  She was literally jumping up and down now. “Stop interrupting. That’s not the best part!”