We are browsing books in a library, smelling all the good smells of ancient texts and worn-down pages. Rows upon rows of knowledge for us to discover, all in good time. Coffee in hand, we hold hands and finger the spines. The lighting is one of those fifty shades of gray in this seldom used section of historical texts used for the scholarly articles intellectuals write and no one ever reads.

You take a sip of steaming hot coffee and squeeze my hand, attracting my attention back to you, and I see you have found a particularly interesting book about daily life in ancient Egypt. My eyes lock onto yours and my fascination and happiness show. Your eyes instantly light up; you live to see me happy, as I do for you.

Your hand grips my wrist and your thumb glides down the inside of my palm. I stare up into those soul-seeking eyes, and slowly put my hands inside your jacket, a hand on each side of your waist. My fingers find your belt and pull, so my thumbs are against the skin of your hips. The silence of the library hits us. It should be about closing time. We should have just enough time for some silent sensual adventures not of the literary kind.

I use my grip on your belt to help raise me up to your lips. So soft, warm and caressing. I pull your bottom lip with my teeth and lick it with my tongue. I can feel your chest heaving faster and your breath on my face. You carefully place your coffee on a shelf amongst the dusty old books before both hands find the small of my back.

I have a girly little yellow dress on with toe cleavage sandals, but they don’t help me get all the height I need to reach your face. I pull a classic pose, tip-toe on one-foot with the other leg in the air. My knee slides firmly up your thigh, and I feel one hand fall free from my back and grab that leg and pull it up and around you. Your fingertips press into the flesh under my dress and I gasp with need.

Your lips move from mine to my neck. Tender at first, and then your wet hot tongue traces a line from my collarbone to my earlobe. You nibble it and I live for your shaky breath hot in my ear. I press my breasts against you and my hands find your wrists. I wrap my hands around them and use friction and pressure as I move my hands up your muscular arms. I reach your biceps and feel your hands slide down my sides, reaching the bottom of this dress.

Your nails scrape my ass as you slowly begin to lift. I unbutton your shirt and lean my face onto your chest, kissing ever so slightly while my fingers curl the hair on your chest. My fingers guide me lower and lower until I am tracing those lovely hips that pop out from the top of your pants.

I find your belt, and undo it, slowly. As soon as I drop it to the floor, in one swift motion you pull my dress over my head. I stand there, red bra and lace thong, staring at you in your unbuttoned shirt, wanting all of you. I lean back onto you and your hands cup my breasts. Your electric fingers slide around the back of me and release them.

I hear you groan and I feel your manhood pushing against my feminine triangle, nudging, begging to be released to me. Your hands cup my breasts, thumbs finding those delicate nipples and slowly flick back and forth. My hands have undone your pants and I am warmly rubbing your length, grabbing gently. I push your pants to the floor to join my dress, and pull down your briefs to release you.

You bite your lip and lightly pinch my nipples, making me even wetter. You lean forward and kiss me. I take you fully in my hands and begin rubbing you against my stomach, right above my thong so you can feel soft flesh and lacy fabric on your tip.

You grab my shoulders and give me a deep, passionate kiss. Then you are in control. You turn me and press down on my shoulder blades, silently begging me to bend over. My hands find the bookshelf in front of us and slide down the spines of books to grasp a ledge for support. I look back at you just in time to see you wrap a hand around yourself, ready to guide yourself into me.

My breasts are free and hanging, waiting for your attention. I feel you enter me and I spread to take all of you. Our thighs rub against each other, smooth and warm friction. Your left hand presses up and down my spine. While your right hand reaches around and cups my breast, fingers gently pinching my nipple as I moan. I push against the bookshelf, trying to put as much pressure onto your penis as possible.

My fingers can’t stop moving and soon, I hear the first book fall. You stop the rhythm for a brief second, and I hear a small laugh as you continue. Pushing harder now, your hands find my hips and guide me back and forth. I am so close, I could scream, but we are in a library after all. So, to stay quiet, my hands continue to dance along the shelves. More books fall.

I bite my lip and exhale sharply. You grab my hands and gently pull them around behind me. My breasts sway back and forth and I know I am close. You lean your back against the books behind you, and the thought of a million book spines leaving imprints on your back is so hot to me. As you release my hands again, I lose myself. Internally crumbling, my hands grasp books and pull them to the floor.

I turn around and you are still erect and waiting for me. I place my hands on your shoulders and push you back and down to the floor. Books fall as they scrape down your back, and you collapse into a pile of disheveled literature. I go down on my knees and spread myself on top of you. I kiss from your neck to the middle of your chest down to those hips and lower.

I take you into my mouth and feel you throb against my tongue. You are so hot and smooth and sweet. My tongue circles your head and you push your pelvis against me. Your hands massage through my hair and the back of my neck. I suck so hard, and hear you grumble. My hands reach up to yours and our fingers interlock. Your squeeze my hands and erupt inside my mouth. I swallow, letting you fill me in a different sense. I kiss the tip and lean back to look up at you, completely satisfied in every single way.

We find our clothes and slowly try to piece ourselves back together. The library is still silent, and this particular section smells delightfully of sex. We bend and begin to pick up the misplaced books.

Suddenly, a voice comes out of nowhere. “Oh, I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Is everything alright?” she asks sheepishly, and I assume she can tell something is out of place about the situation.

“Yes, everything is alright. We tried all night to find an idea for a climax to a story. Some things just can’t be found in books.”