Late Return

Premise:

The library is empty. The lights dimmed. And yet, someone rings the bell just before close-returning a worn, overdue erotic novel. Claire, the prim, quiet head librarian, is ready to scold him until she sees Rowan-tattooed forearms, a crooked grin, and a voice that sinks into her spine. When he confesses he "got a little too into the story," she asks which part. He shows her. Between the shelves, against the stacks, he reads a passage aloud as he fingers her slowly... and then makes her beg for the late fee.

* * *

The library lights had dimmed five minutes ago. Claire stood behind the polished oak desk, fingers twitching with the reassuring snap of library order. Rows of silent books cast long shadows. The hush held weight.

Ding-the doorbell jangled. She spun.

There he stood.

Rowan. Clean-cut jeans, leather jacket, lips drawn into that crooked grin. Nights like this-and people like him-were why she hated locking the doors.

"Hey," he said softly, sliding the paperback across the desktop.

Claire caught her breath. The cover was creased and soft-almost like it'd been held between someone's legs. She smoothed the edge.

"This is overdue."

He tilted his head. "I got... carried away."

Her head snapped up. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a single bookmark-dog-eared like a secret.

She glanced at the clock. "It's closing time."

He leaned forward. "Can't blame me for wanting that last bit."

Claire's heart hammered.

Did he mean the book? Or her?

He walked around the desk and stood right in front of her. She swallowed as the desk loomed between them like a fragile barrier.

"Which part got you so into it?" he murmured, voice low.

"Don't-just put it in the bin," she said, cheeks burning red.

He chuckled-soft, knowing.

"Come on." He opened to the middle.

Claire bit her lip as he cleared his throat.

> "She trembled against him, velvet heat pooling as he slid inside her, her breath hitching on every slow inch..."

He looked up. His eyes flicked down to her lips, back to the page.

"Read it," he said.

She shook her head. "No."

He closed the book, but didn't move.

"Tell you what: I'll let you return the book if you tell me what that feels like."

Her pulse hit her throat.

Instead, her fingers found the bottom edge of her cardigan-nervous, needy.

His gaze dropped to her chest, to the curve of lace visible at her sternum.

"Still want it?" he whispered.

Her breath rattled. "Don't-"

"Show me," he whispered.

He touched her elbow gently-closing the distance the desk had defined for four years.

Claire's knees shook.

Rowan leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss across her cardigan.

She trembled.

"Stop teasing," she said, voice catching.

He lifted the cardigan slowly. Thumbs skimmed under the hem of her blouse. Heat bloomed beneath her ribs.

She gasped as his fingers reached her panties-still damp from her commute.

Claire closed her eyes as his index slid inside the waistband. Slow. Gentle. He teased. The outline of his fingers pressing down through the fabric had nothing to do with books.

He opened the desk drawer and yanked it open just enough to hide his hand from library cameras-and not enough to provide real cover. His wrist disappeared under the desk and into her panties.

She gasped, hips jerking forward.

"Rowan-"

He opposed her softly. "Shh... listen."

Instead, she heard the wet slick-sound as he rubbed her through silk. One finger. Then two.

Claire clamped her free hand to her mouth.

No one would hear her-but she would.

His thumb brushed her clit with rich, deliberate strokes. Each press made her knees tremble worse.

He pressed a fingertip deeper.

"You're so fucking wet," he murmured. "Is this what that book did to you?"

The question was too much. She shook her head and whimpered, mouth clamped.

His lips brushed her ear.

"Yes or no?"

She moaned around her hand.

"In the text?" he whispered. "What did she do next?"

Heat coursed through her.

One stroke.

Her body jolted.

Then two.

She bit her cardigan hard, hot tears pooling behind her eyes.

"God-Rowan-fuck-I-"

He didn't speak.

Just pressed harder.

Her legs shook. Her breath caught.

And with one filthy, exquisite moment, she came.

She bucked in the desk chair as a wet squeeze pulsed deep and fast-sharp and fierce-her voice muffled against silk and snags of fabric.

He held her thigh as she rode it out, coat sleeve braced under her shuddering, trembling body.

Her toes curled beneath the desk.

Her breath came in ragged pulses.

When her body finally unraveled, Rowan withdrew slowly. Two slick fingers retracted from her panties. He wiped them on his jacket and swallowed smoothly.

She stared at him.

He opened the book again, not skipping a beat.

> "And as she quivered beneath him, she whispered his name..."

He closed it for good.

"Maybe I'll let you check it out again," he said softly.

Claire didn't respond. Her throat ached too much-not from words, but from want.

He didn't leave.

He kept standing there, calm, patient, offering.

Her heart pounded.

She finally looked up.

Rowan's eyes held hers.

"I haven't read the end," he whispered.

She realized her hands were shaking.

Her cheeks wet-not from sadness.

But from need.

"Neither have I," she breathed.

He pulled her up from the chair.

"Looks like you're overdue."

Claire's pulse raced in her throat as Rowan guided her to the poetry aisle. The overhead lights had been dimmed nearly off, leaving only the faint glow from the exit sign and the glow of her racing thoughts.

Her skirt hugged her hips as he backed her toward the step stool wedged between tightly alphabetized shelves. A few patrons had lingered earlier, but now, the stacks lay empty-books holding their secrets, waiting for better noise.

He stopped her by the stool and lowered himself to his knees. The aisle was narrow-books on either side pressed stiff and unread, but between them, he had her entirely to himself.

"Spread your legs," he whispered, voice low enough to echo off the thick bindings.

Claire dropped her gaze to his face. His dark eyes caught the last glint of what had just happened at the desk. He'd had her undone in front of cameras; here, in the quiet dark, he intended to take her even deeper.

She obeyed.

Rowan's hands moved instantly, palms pressing into her inner thighs, thumbs dragging up over the lace of her soaked panties. He parted her folds and inhaled.

"You taste like sin and permission," he murmured.

His mouth dipped low. He brushed his tongue across her labia-soft and slow- as she gasped, hands grabbing the edges of shelves as if the wood kept her upright. The brush of his beard against her skin made her shiver.

He flicked his tongue against her clit-once, then again. He let it hover.

"Answer me," he had said at the desk. Now he whispered again.

"Do you like it when I touch you like this?"

"Oh god-yes-Rowan-" she breathed, her knees trembling like they were shaking off shame.

Without hesitation, he dropped two long, glistening fingers inside her. The perfect curve, buried deep, curling up and in. She slid forward, breath hitching.

His lips replaced his fingers. His tongue washed up from the base of her slit to her clit, pressing, teasing, flicking. One long, hard suck and then he swirled, earned every wet drop on his tongue and drank it-the sound obscene in the still air.

Claire tilted her head back and moaned-not loud enough to echo through the library, but loud enough to shake her own bones. The call numbers on the spines blurred as emotion overtook her.

No time for books. This was now audible.

Her skirt had ridden up over her ass. His tongue dipped deeper, then rose again in filthy circles, working rhythm like a chant. He alternated slow, deep laps with fast stabs of the tip of his tongue, over and over, pinned tender and open above that stool.

Claire gasped and pressed her palms into the shelves, her nails scratching bindings she had no interest in reading. Her breath grew ragged. Her pussy was a damp heat, trembling, throbbing.

Rowan slipped another finger in, then another-two deep, throbbing strokes, and his tongue circling her slit again. She came with a strangled cry, toes curling, thighs clenching. The shock of orgasm wracked her body, every breath turning heavy as she collapsed forward against the stool, her spit-shiny core heaving.

She heard him chuckle low.

"Look at you," he muttered, voice filled with pride and want. "Melting into oblivion for me."

He brushed his fingers along her entrance once more, cleaning her before sliding his hand away.

Claire looked over her shoulder, cheeks flaming bright in the low light. "I-oh god, I'm still shaking."

Rowan didn't answer. He just slid to his knees behind her, mouth pressing to the nape of her neck.

"Your turn to read," he whispered, lips brushing her earlobe. "But this time, read me right."

He wrapped her in his arms, pressing himself against her. She could feel the hard press of his cock against her ass through both layers of cloth-new bookends to her aching need.

In that moment, the library, the books, and the rules all dissolved. It wasn't about pages anymore, but skin, heat, and the obscene echo of their passion.

The poetry aisle was dark, almost pitch-black, but for the tiny strip of light bleeding in from the exit sign and the glow of Rowan's phone-still open to that stained paperback. Claire's back was flattened against the cold metal of the bookshelf, heat pooling at the edge of her damp panties. Her hand was pressed hard to her mouth, muffling breathless gasps and soft moans, her other fingers clutching a binding like it was her lifeline.

Rowan was behind her, hands strong on her hips, the tip of his cock pressing wet and insistently against her entrance.

He pushed in-slow. All the way to the hilt. Claire froze at first, chest flush against the shelf, heart pounding in her throat. Then her body took over, her slick heat swallowing him, the tight swell of her pussy pulling him deeper.

"Oh fuck-" she breathed, quiet but feral.

His hands slid up to her waist, gripping the band of her skirt and tugging it up until her ass was bared. The cool night air of the library brushed her cheeks, sending tremors of contrast across her flushed skin.

"You're so fucking tight," he murmured, voice low and thick. "Poetic little pussy-built for fucking."

He pulled out halfway, then slammed into her-hard. The sound of him filling her echoed off the metal, wet, obscene. Claire's head rolled to the side, trying to catch air; she bit her lip, throat burning.

Rowan leaned in close to her ear.

"Her breath came in staccato whispers, wet and desperate as he drove into her..."

He quoted from the book, voice husky, each line timed with his thrusts. His grip on her hips tightened, guiding every brutal pulse.

The pace slowed, deep and deliberate now, gripping her womb with each inch he offered. Claire couldn't think, didn't want to. There were no pages anymore-just the press of him, the length of him inside her.

He kissed the back of her neck.

"She trembled against the grime of desire, her body collapsing into the rhythm he gave her..."

His words pressed as hard as his cock. Claire moaned softly, then louder-hand flattened firmly over her mouth. She craved to howl, to let her voice carry down the aisle. But the hush of the library weighed on her-broken knowledge echoing like a vow.

Rowan bent lower, running his lips along the curve of her shoulder before pulling back and thrusting again-hard, slow, then viciously faster. He angled his hips so he pounded into that soft spot inside her just right. Claire's knees buckled.

"Oh god-Rowan-" she moaned into her palm.

"Her legs shook-and he held her aloft, caged in the lust he'd carved with every stroke..."

He quoted again, satisfied when she wet herself again, riding his cock with every thrust like she was drowning in relief.

He wrapped one arm around her stomach, the other around her waist, pulling her deep into him. She felt every ripple of muscle, every pulse of his breath against her spine.

> "And when she finally came, the world cracked-silent as the grave, loud as a confession."

He didn't stop. Not when she came. Not when her entire body clenched around him in wave after wave of tremors. He just held her tight, thrusting her through it.

His thrusts turned sloppy now, scorching, urgent, driven by her orgasmic trembles. He hit his own edge-finger tightening on her waist.

She felt it-the press of his cock pulsing inside her.

He growled.

"She broke first. He followed."

He slammed into her one final time, hard and full, and spilled inside her with a deep, guttural moan.

Claire froze-hot, sticky, trembling, her breath loud in her chest. He rested his forehead to her shoulder, breathing ragged.

They stayed like that, still joined, hearts racing, pulse echoing in the quiet. The stacks held them like guardian witnesses.

Rowan slid out slowly, pulling Claire into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, then pulled her down the aisle, feet moving her body closer to the desk. She looked at him-smudged, dazed, ruined-in the low glow, and let him guide her.

He set her on the desktop. Lined her legs on either side of him. Her skirt was a mess around her waist. Her bra undone. The novel lay open under her hands-wet, crumpled, dog‑eared.

He looked at it, then at her.

He pulled the book free with one hand, and his own wet fingers brushed between her thighs again, smart with urgency.

"One more time?" he rasped.

Claire stared at him-ache behind her eyes, voice hoarse.

"Yes," she finally breathed. "One more time."

He kissed her, deep and rough. Closed the book with his other hand-cover snapping shut with authority.

She rode him one more time, skin slick, body trembling, pulses crashing as she came again-slow, powerful, echoing under the hush of books. Rowan groaned and came with her, feeding her tight until he fell forward, forearm over her back, his breath ragged.

They collapsed.

Wet.

Ruined.

Fallen between covers and reality.

Claire wrapped her arms around him, head against his chest.

He rested his cheek atop her head and said softly:

"Shh... we're right where we belong."