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“Is this okay?” he asks softly.
All I can do is nod, wanting more, but having no idea how to ask for it. There’s already a tingling sensation happening down below, where the dress of my skirt has risen up, and I can feel the seam of his jeans pressing against my satin underwear.
He slowly dips his head and takes my mouth, this time harder and more powerfully than before. His tongue pushes past my lips, and as soon as it circles mine, I am completely lost. My hips jerk against him like they have a mind of their own, which makes him let out another groan right into my mouth. It’s the hottest thing that has ever happened to me, and yet, I still want more.
Our kiss becomes wild and frantic, his tongue pushing in deeper and his lips bruising mine with the force of his mouth on me. I cling to him harder, my arms tightening around his shoulders to bring him as close to me as possible, and the muscles in my legs tensing around his hips, pulling him right where I need him most.
Right when I think I might die from how good this feels, Vincent thrusts his hips between my thighs and stars explode behind my closed eyes as our heads change position to deepen the kiss. He continues to slowly move between my legs, the hardness inside his jeans rubbing against me in the most delicious way. He starts up a leisurely rhythm, the movement of his hips matching that of his tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, until I’m aching so badly I want to scream.
I’m not a stranger to orgasms. I’ve given myself a few here and there when the mood struck, but I’m in no way prepared for what it feels like to have someone else be so in tune with what I need to make it happen. My hips start jerking erratically against him, sliding myself against the bulge in his jeans that is hitting me in the perfect spot.
Vincent was absolutely right. I wasn’t comfortable with him before, even though I thought I was. Being here with him today, sharing a huge part of my life with him, having him fully interested in what I showed him and what I told him, is hotter than anything I’ve ever read in a book—and I’ve read some pretty risqué books in my time, let me tell you.
Everything about this man—from how he made sure I was okay with what was happening between us before he proceeded, to the way he smells, to the way he feels moving between my legs, to the way he holds me tightly against him, making me feel safe and secure, to the way he devours me with his kiss—skyrockets me right up to the top of the cliff in record time.
The overwhelming sensation starts at my toes and works its way up between my legs until it explodes out of me so quickly and with so much force that I have to tear my mouth away from his in order to breathe.
“Oh, my God!” I shout at the top of my lungs, burying my face in the side of his neck as my release rushes through me.
I’m panting against the skin of his neck and my nails claw against the back of his shoulder as Vincent continues to slowly rock his hips between my legs until every muscle in my body turns to jelly and I collapse, letting out a long, deep sigh.
“Oh, my God,” I say again, this time in a whisper as I try to get my heart to slow down to a normal speed.
With his arms still wrapped tightly around my body and my legs still securely around his waist, I finally lift my head up to look at him, wondering why I don’t feel completely mortified about what just happened.
“Are you okay?” Vincent asks, studying my face with concern.
“Research gathered in a study by scientists at Groningen University in the Netherlands found that when women experience an orgasm, the amygdala, the part of the brain associated with fear and anxiety, shows little to no activity,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you’re okay,” he chuckles. “Remind me to thank Mrs. Potter for the tip. This A-B shelf really is quite sturdy.”
I can’t help it—I toss my head back and laugh so hard I snort. Vincent holds onto me tightly as I unwind my legs from around him, surprised I’m able to stand on my own when my feet hit the ground. With my arms still wrapped around his neck, a little more loosely now that I’m not losing my mind from an orgasm, and also because he’s seven thousand feet tall and I can barely reach, I smile up at him.
“You know, this is, like, my number one fantasy: Being with a hot guy in a library, doing hot things with him,” I tell him, my fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck.
