"Because you told me Maren loved books. That she read the way Lily reads. And then you walked me to the door and said what you said and I think the reason you're standing in my library right now is because you need to say her name to someone who'll listen."
He looks at the floor, then the stacks, then me.
"She laughed at my lectures," he says. "I'd practice them at the kitchen table and she'd sit across from me eating Cheerios and laughing. She said my reading glasses made me look like a sexy accountant." He pushes the glasses up. "She had opinions about everything. Parking meters. School board elections. Whether oregano belongs in chili. She'd argue with anyone about anything and she won every time because she didn't care about winning, she just cared about being right."
I step forward and take his hand. His fingers close around mine and I hold on.
"She would have liked you," he says. Quieter now. "She'd have sat down right here and joined in on every argument you and Lily have about Le Guin."
He doesn't say anything else. His thumb traces across my knuckles, slowly as the library settles into silence. The rain on the skylight. His breathing. Mine. He's close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, his hand tightens around mine, I look up at him and he's already looking at me and the four feet between us has become nothing.
I don't decide to kiss him. The distance just closes and my mouth finds his and my hand is still in his hand.
Five years of waiting for men to choose me. Derek served me divorce papers between bites of pasta and I sat there and took it. I'm done waiting. Colt drove here in the rain after forty minutes of arguing with himself, and I'm done standing feet away from the thing I want.
His hands land on my waist. He pulls me into him and his mouth opens against mine. The sound I make against his mouth surprises me. His thumbs trace my jaw. A growl builds in his chest, low enough that I feel the vibration through my whole body, the sound goes straight between my legs. I press closer,grip the front of his top, pull him down to me. The growl gets louder.
He lifts me. One arm around my waist, the other under my thigh, and my feet leave the ground. A hundred and forty pounds picked up with one arm like it's nothing to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, his face drops to my neck and he breathes in, long and deep, scenting me, the rumble in his chest vibrates against my skin.
My back hits the stacks. A paperback falls behind me. His mouth drags down my throat, slow, and I feel his tusks scrape the curve of my shoulder, my hips rock against him. I pull his glasses off with both hands and tuck them onto the shelf behind me, his mouth finds the hollow above the collar of my dress.
He kisses across my collarbone. His teeth catch the neckline of my dress and tug it lower and his mouth finds the top of my breast. I gasp loud enough to hear it bounce off the ceiling. His hands slide up my ribs, thumbs dragging over the fabric across my nipples, my spine arches off the shelves. I can feel him hard against the inside of my thigh, even through his jeans. I've read enough monster romances to know what orc men are built like. The reality pressed against my thigh makes my mouth go dry.
"I can smell how wet you are." His voice against my ear, so low the words press into my skin. "I've been able to smell it for months. Every Saturday at four o'clock you'd stand behind that desk, get wet for me and pretend you didn't, and I pretended I didn't notice, but I noticed every fucking time."
His hand slides under the hem of my dress, up the outside of my thigh, and I stop breathing. His fingers hook into my underwear and pull them to the side and the first touch against my pussy drags a sound out of me I don't recognize.
He groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "Fuck, Ellie. You're soaked."
His fingers slide through me, parting me open, and the wet sound of it fills the quiet library. His thumb finds my clit and presses and my whole body jerks against him. He holds me pinned to the shelves with one arm, my weight nothing to him, while his other hand works between my thighs.
"That's it." He growls against my neck, his tusks pressing into the curve of my throat, the rumble shakes through me and rattles the shelf. "Let me hear you."
He slides two fingers inside me. Thick and long. I cry out and my hips roll into his hand because I can't stay still, I can't hold anything back, his fingers curl inside me while his thumb keeps circling my clit. He scents me while he touches me, his nose dragging up the side of my neck, breathing me in deep, and every exhale comes out rough. His breath burns against my skin and the sound he makes isn't human, my body wants more of it.
"You smell like mine." His voice drops low enough that I feel it more than hear it. "You taste like mine." He pushes deeper inside me and I clench around him, my nails scoring through his flannel into his shoulders. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to make you come."
His thumb grinds my clit while his fingers fuck me in a rhythm that makes my thighs shake, and his mouth stays on my neck, his tusks against my skin, his growl matching the pace of his hand. I come so hard and so suddenly my vision goes white, my face buried in his shoulder, his name breaking apart in my mouth, and the orgasm rolls through me in waves that tighten my whole body around his fingers. He doesn't stop. Keeps working me through it, slower now, gentler, until the last wave passes andI'm shaking against him with my face pressed into his flannel and my legs locked around his waist.
I reach for his belt. My hand finds the buckle and then the hard length of him straining against his jeans, I can't even close my hand around him through the denim. He's big. My hand on his cock through his jeans and my stomach drops and I want him inside me, I pull at his belt because I'm done waiting for anything tonight.
He catches my wrist. His hand wraps around it—his fingers overlapping—and he holds me there, gentle, firm, my stomach flips because his hand goes all the way around my wrist with room to spare.
"Not yet."
"Colt—"
"You're not ready for me, sweet girl." His forehead presses against mine. His breath comes ragged, out of rhythm. His cock presses against my inner thigh, hard and hot through his jeans. "I'm not talking about ready as in willing. I'm talking about ready as in—Ellie, I'm built differently. You need to understand what that means before we go further."
I look at his hand around my wrist. I look at where he's pressed against my thigh.
"You're going to make me wait."
His eyes close. His grip tightens for half a second before he lets go. "I'm going to make it worth it, I promise. I don't want to hurt you or rush this."
My legs are shaking. He eases me down and he follows me to the floor, shrugging his coat off and tucking it under me. We end up side by side between the stacks, his arm around myshoulders, both of us breathing hard with our backs against the shelves. The carpet smells like old paper and lemon cleaner, I start laughing because I just came in my own library and I'm going to have to face the romance section tomorrow knowing the exact row.
"What?" He turns his head.
