We walk over to the science fiction section and I continue, with Vincent’s hand still wrapped around mine.
“My dad did the best he could, but I never quite got the hang of clothes and hair and makeup,” I say with a laugh, pointing at my messy bun and strands of hair falling all around my face.
“I think you got the hang of it just fine,” he says quietly as we pause by a bookshelf and he looks down at me.
His words warm me up from the inside out, like he just told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Anyway, as soon as I started working here, I knew this is what I wanted to do with my life. My dad sacrificed everything, working seven days a week, twelve hours a day at the steel mill for as long as I can remember so I could get a bachelor’s degree in business management and my master’s in library science, which I just completed last year. And I’ve been running the library since then. It kills me that I might not be able to save this place.”
Vincent reaches up and cups my cheek with his palm, rubbing his thumb back and forth under my eye.
“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
We stand for several quiet minutes, Vincent with his hand on my cheek and me looking up at him, until I can’t take it anymore. I lift up on my tiptoes, link my fingers together behind his neck and pull his face down to mine.
As soon as our lips touch, I forget about all my problems. His mouth is magical and should have a hundred books dedicated to the way it moves against mine. The kiss starts off sweet and slow, but I don’t want sweet and slow anymore.
I tentatively slide my tongue across his bottom lip and a groan rumbles through his chest. All of a sudden, his arms are wrapped around me and he’s lifting me up.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he says against my mouth.
I do as he says, locking my ankles together behind his back and wrapping my arms tighter around his shoulders as he moves forward a few steps, until my back is up against the end of a bookshelf and he’s pressed right up against me, between my thighs.
“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.
“I’m not a—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I cut him off. “You’re not Prince Charming. Just shut up and let me have my fantasy.”
He smiles at me, bringing his mouth back down to mine for a soft, sweet kiss.
After everything he confided in me today, and what he was able to do to me in just a few minutes, I realize there is no way I’m going to be able to see where this thing between us goes without falling madly in love with him.
Chapter 21: What Have You Done?
“You want me to do WHAT with that chair?” I screech, wringing my hands together nervously.
“Make love to it,” Cindy repeats with a roll of her eyes.
She pushes the folding chair she pulled out of her trunk when she got here into the middle of Vincent’s living room, stepping back to point at it.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I whisper, rethinking my idea of inviting Cindy over here tonight to give me some dance tips.
“You’ve had sex before. Granted, it was just one time, but I’m sure you still remember how it worked.”
“He stuck it in, moved it around a little bit, and then he was done!” I shout in frustration, throwing my hands up in the air.
“Good God, that’s how you breed dogs,” Cindy mutters in disgust.
She quickly moves out of the living room and into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors until she finds what she’s looking for in a cabinet above the microwave.
Pulling down a bottle of liquor, she opens up another cupboard and grabs a small glass, walking them both over to me.
She hands me the glass, unscrews the bottle, and fills the glass with a few inches of
amber liquid.
“Drink.”
I bring the glass up to my nose and sniff it, grimacing in disgust.
“This smells awful. What is it?”
“It’s top-shelf bourbon. Shut up and drink it. You’re gonna need some liquid courage for this,” she explains, reaching over and pressing her fingers to the bottom of the glass, pushing it up towards my mouth.
I quickly pinch my nose and swallow the contents, choking and gasping as soon as it goes down my throat.
“It’s like fire!” I croak in between coughs as I bend over and try to breathe again.
Cindy pats my back, taking the empty glass out of my hand and pouring more into it.
“Down the hatch, kiddo,” she says, holding it back out to me.
Once I’m able to draw air into my lungs again, I notice a warmth spreading through my stomach that isn’t all unpleasant. I stand back up, plug my nose, and drain the glass, this time with a little less coughing and choking.
Cindy takes the glass from my hand and places it on the coffee table.
“Okay, you should be feeling a little buzzed soon, so that will help. According to what you told me happened the other night at the library, you now have a more recent, and clearly much better, experience to help you with this.”
My eyes glaze over and I stare off into space thinking about that night in the library.
Vincent kissing me. Vincent lifting me up and pushing me against the bookshelf. Vincent’s smell, Vincent’s taste, Vincent’s animalistic growl into my mouth, and the explosion of pleasure unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
“Earth to Belle!”
Cindy snaps her fingers right in front of my face, and I blink my eyes rapidly to bring myself back down to earth.
My phone vibrates over on the counter, but I ignore it, staring worriedly at the chair Cindy is still pointing at.
“I think using this chair as a prop when you dance at Charming’s would be amazing. You could start off looking all sweet and innocent, sitting down, reading a book and then BAM! The sexy librarian emerges and blows their minds!”
I bring my hand up to my mouth and start chewing the edge of my thumbnail.
“You can do this, Belle. I have complete and total faith in you,” Cindy continues. “How did you feel when Beast had you shoved up against that bookshelf, taking you to pleasure town?”
“You can stop calling him Beast, you know. He has a name,” I grumble.
“That remains to be seen. When he stops acting like an animal in my presence, I’ll stop referring to him by his nickname. Now, tell me how you felt,” she orders, crossing her arms in front of her.
My phone vibrates again on the counter, and Cindy glares at me when I look over at it.
“It could be important. Or an emergency.”
“The library is closed, Beast is at work, and Ariel is interviewing roommates at a bar in town. If there is a book or stripper emergency, the police can take care of it. And if Ariel has a roommate emergency, she’ll take care of it herself by slitting someone’s throat. Focus,” Cindy orders me again.
With a sigh, I go back to my happy place of thinking about how Vincent made me feel the other night. And the last few days since then, when we’ve had some very exciting make-out sessions. Sadly, they didn’t end the same way as the night at the library and left me feeling just a little bit frustrated, but they were hot all the same.
“I felt sexy. And wanted. And alive,” I whisper with a blissful sigh.
“Perfect! Now, remember those feelings. Pretend like you’re the only one in the room. Straddle this chair and move like you did when that beast of a man shoved you up against the bookshelf.”
Knowing if I don’t do as she says she’ll just spend the rest of the night pestering me, I walk over to the chair, lean over, and grab onto the back of it.
“Aright, now spread your legs on either side of the seat and sit down nice and slowly.”
“But . . . I’m wearing a dress!” I complain, knowing that as soon as I do what she says, it will ride up my thighs.
“And you’re going to be wearing practically nothing when you’re stripping! Just do it!”
I swallow nervously, sliding my left foot across the floor until it’s next to the chair. I squeeze my eyes closed and slide my right foot to the other side of the chair until I’m standing over top of it.
My phone buzzes again, and my eyes fly open to look over at the counter.
With a huff, Cindy comes up behind me, puts her hands on my shoulders and shoves me down onto the chair.
Go to my happy place, go to my happy place. . . .
Clutching the back of the chair in a death grip, I start slowly moving my hips, forward and backwards, pretending like Vincent is sitting in front of me, and I’m not just dry humping an empty chair.
“Nice. Now, swivel your hips and slowly bring your arms up. Gently pull out your hair tie and shake your hair all over the place.”
I do as she says, but when I shake my hair out of its messy bun, a few strands poke me in the eye and fly into my mouth, making my eyes water as I spit the pieces of hair out.
“Okay, that needs some serious work, but at least you’ve got the body movements down somewhat.”
Cindy spends the next thirty minutes teaching me some basic moves to do with the chair, and by the time she’s finished, I actually feel quite proud of myself, even though my stupid phone going off the entire time kept breaking my concentration.
When she finally tells me we’re done for the night, I get off the chair and race over to the counter and scoop up my phone. When I see I’ve missed fifteen phone calls from my father, my heart drops into my stomach.
“Oh, no. My dad,” I whisper worriedly, quickly hitting redial from one of his missed calls and bringing the phone up to my ear.
“Oh, shit,” Cindy mutters, coming over to stand next to me. “I need to tell you something.”
I look at her questioningly as the call connects.
“I may or may not have sent PJ’s mom over to your dad’s house to strip for him.”
“You did what?!” I shout in horror as the phone starts to ring through.
“In my defense, she’s been begging me for a job because the part time one she has as an administrative assistant gives her too much free time and she’s bored and wants to meet new people and she’s my boyfriend’s mom and I just want her to like me!” Cindy rambles. “Also, your dad seriously needs to get laid and forgive you because I’m tired of you being sad all the time and missing him. Two birds with one stone! Yay!”
She holds her hand up for me to give her a high five and I smack it away.
I met PJ’s mom, Luanne Charming, once when she was over at Cindy’s house for dinner. She’s a very lovely woman and very pretty, but still. This has bad news written all over it.
“So, what, we’re going to offer geriatric strippers now? Don’t worry, folks, our strippers bring their own walkers!” I shout hysterically as the phone continues to ring.
“Luanne isn’t geriatric, she’s fifty-three! And you’ve seen her. She’s hot! I figure if anyone can get your dad to loosen up, it will be her.”
I open my mouth to let out a bunch of random curse words at Cindy when the phone stops ringing and my dad’s voice bellows so loudly in my ear that I pull the phone away and wince.
“ISABELLE MARIE READING!”
I slowly bring the phone back to my ear, hoping maybe Luanne never showed up at his house and he’s calling because before I moved out, I rearranged some of the items in the kitchen cabinets and he can’t find something. Maybe this is just a Crock-Pot emergency.
“Dad? It’s so good to hear your voice!” I chirp happily into the phone, crossing my fingers.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.
“In the Chinese feng shui system, the kitchen is considered one of the key rooms in a home, and being the place where food is prepared to fuel and sustain us, the kitchen represents nour
ishment and prosperity. The design, placement, and setup of the kitchen is said to influence prosperity and health, so the Crock-Pot is under the kitchen sink now, so you can have plenty of prosperity and health!” I blather.
“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT FUNGUS SUSHI OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU’RE RAMBLING ABOUT!” he screams. “I SPENT THE LAST THIRTY MINUTES TRYING TO GET HER TO LEAVE, AND SHE SPENT THE LAST THIRTY MINUTES PLAYING DIFFERENT SONGS ON HER FANCY PHONE AND ASKING ME WHICH ONE GOT MY JUICES FLOWING! I DON’T KNOW WHO THIS KID STONE IS, BUT HIS MUSIC DOESN’T MAKE ANYTHING FLOW AND YOU NEED TO GET HER OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
By the time I’m finished with this call, I’m probably going to have a busted eardrum.
“Um, I think you mean Kid Rock, Dad. And I’m so sorry. I had no idea my friends would—”
“Hey!” my dad suddenly shouts, his voice fading a little and I realize he’s not talking to me. “Stop that! You stop that right—ooooh, ha ha! That tickles!
My eyes widen in shock and my mouth drops open when I hear my dad giggle. I also hear the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice in the background, along with the sexy beat of Kid Rock’s “Cowboy,” and then my dad clears his throat.
“What is the meaning of this, Isabelle? You sent a stranger over to my home and . . . oh. Oh, my goodness . . .” he trails off.
“Dad?! Dad, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask in a panic, hoping he isn’t having a heart attack or something.
“She just took her shirt off. Huh. Maybe this Kid Stone music isn’t so bad,” he says in a loud stage whisper.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in ten minutes and—”
“Don’t come over!” he interrupts. “Gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
The line immediately goes dead, and I pull the phone away from my ear to stare at it.