The whole room laughs. Ellie gives Knox the look she gives patrons who argue about late fees and pulls the cut on anyway.
"I like her," Jess says from the doorway.
Lily doesn't look up from her book. "I told you, Dad."
Ellie pulls the cut on over her dress, the floral one with the buttons down the front, the one she wore the first time I walked into this library and forgot why I came. The leather hangs loose on her frame, the Feral Sons patch down her back, PROPERTY OF COLT across her shoulders. My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with grief.
The brothers say their pieces. Knox shakes my hand. Rex pounds my back. Garrett nods toward the door. Finn tells Ellie she's stuck with all of them now, good luck with that, and Jess pulls Ellie into a hug that lasts long enough for me to look away.
Sarah picks up Lily's bag. "Lily, you're coming home with us tonight. Sleep over, girls night."
Lily closes her book and stands. She walks to Ellie and wraps her arms around her waist, face pressed into the cut. Ellie's hand goes to Lily's hair.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Lily asks.
"You'll see me tomorrow."
Lily nods and follows Sarah to the door. The brothers filter out behind them, boots on tile, quiet voices, one by one until the library empties and the only sound is the ventilation humming through the stacks.
Ellie stands behind the desk in my cut and her floral dress.
I lock the front door. When I turn around she's moved from behind the desk, standing between the rows of shelves.Thereading lamp in the back throws warm light across the leather on her shoulders.
The distance between us closes in four steps. My hands find her face, fingers threading through her hair, and I kiss her with every month I spent pretending I came to this library for the books. She rises on her toes and grips the front of my shirt, pulling me down to her, the growl that rolls through my chest vibrates into her mouth.
I lift her. Her legs lock around my waist and I carry her through the stacks to the reading nook in the back corner, the deep leather armchair under the brass lamp, the one she tells me patrons fight over on rainy afternoons. I sit with her in my lap, her knees bracketing my hips, and the chair creaks under our combined weight.
My mouth drops to her throat. I scent her there, the hollow below her ear where her pulse kicks hard, the dip of her collarbone where her scent pools warm. Cedar-vanilla, rich and warm, and underneath the sharp note of wanting that makes my cock strain against my jeans. I drag my lips down her neck and her head falls back, fingers curling into my hair. The scent of herarousal thickens with every pass of my mouth and the orc in me starts pulling at the leash.
I work the buttons of her dress one at a time. She shrugs the dress down but keeps the cut on, my leather against her bare skin, and the sight of her in nothing but the Feral Sons patch and her underwear makes my hands shake.
"Leave it on," I tell her. "The cut."
"Bossy." She laughs and the sound breaks open in my chest. I pull her bra down and take her nipple between my lips, scrape the flat of my tusk against the swell, and her laugh turns into a moan she tries to swallow. I switch to the other breast, sucking hard enough to mark, and her hips grind down against me. My cock throbs against the seam of my jeans and the friction drags a groan out of me that fills the empty library.
She grinds harder and I can feel the heat of her through my jeans, the wet warmth of her soaking through the denim. My hand slides between us. I pull her underwear to the side and drag my fingers through her folds, and fuck, she's drenched. Slick and hot and coating my hand, and the scent of her arousal hits me so hard a growl tears out of my chest that rattles the lamp above us.
"Colt." Her voice catches on the single syllable.
I push two fingers inside her. She's tight, always tight around me, her body still getting used to my size, and I curl deep, stretching her, working her open. Her forehead drops against mine as we breathe the same air, and she moans against my lips with every stroke. I fuck her slow and deep, my thumb circling her clit, and her pussy clenches around me in pulses that make my cock ache against the zipper of my jeans.
"More." She breathes it against my lips. "I can take more."
I add a third finger and she gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders. Three stretch her the way she needs to take my cock, and I work her open with slow, deliberate thrusts, spreading her wider on each stroke. Her hips roll against my hand, grinding down, taking me deeper. Her pussy grips and flutters around all three and the sounds she makes stop being quiet, raw moans carrying through the empty stacks, her body riding my hand in my lap.
I press my mouth to her ear. "That's it. Take what you need."
She comes apart in my lap. Her pussy clamps down, clenching in long rolling waves, her whole body shaking, my name ripped from her throat loud enough to bounce off every shelf in the building. I hold her through it, my free hand gripping the back of her neck, my mouth on her jaw, feeling every tremor run through her and into me.
I strip while she catches her breath. Pull my shirt over my head, lift her enough to shove my jeans and briefs down. My cock springs free, thick and hard against my stomach, and she looks down between us with blown pupils. She wraps her hand around me and strokes the full length, her thumb tracing the ridge of the head, and I hiss between my teeth. Her hand looks small wrapped around my cock. A growl rolls out of me, low and rough, and she tightens her grip.
I grip her hips and position her over me. The head of my cock presses against her entrance, her pussy slick and swollen and ready, and I hold there, letting her set the pace.
She sinks onto me. Not all at once—inch by inch, her hands braced on my shoulders, her breath coming in short pulls against my neck. Her pussy stretches around my cock, tight, wet and gripping every inch, and my fingers dig into her hips hard enough to bruise. When she takes all of me, I drop my foreheadto her shoulder and the sound that tears out of me isn't a word in any language.
"Fuck, Ellie." I grip her hips tighter. "You feel so fucking good."
She rolls her hips. Slow grinding circles that drag my cock against her inner walls, and my hands slide up her back under the cut. She finds a rhythm, rising and sinking, and I thrust up to meet her on every stroke. The armchair rocks beneath us. My mouth finds her breast, teeth grazing her nipple, she moans and grips the back of the chair above my head and rides me harder. The wet sound of her pussy taking my cock fills the quiet stacks and the orc in me goes feral, a low continuous growl rumbling through my chest into hers with every thrust.
