Heat: Fifty Erotic Fictions For The Fevered Mind

The downtown bookstore smelled like old paper and amber wood polish.

Soft classical music floated through the aisles, barely louder than a whisper.

Clara always came on Thursdays-the quietest day of the week-and she always headed for the poetry section first.

Today, someone else was already there.

She noticed him the moment she turned the corner: tall, dark-haired with streaks of silver at his temples, black wool coat draped perfectly across broad shoulders.

He stood in front of the Spanish poetry shelf, his long fingers brushing the spine of Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.She hesitated.

That was her book.

As she reached out for it, his hand moved at the same moment.

Their fingers touched-just a graze-and a current pulsed between them like the flick of static before a storm.

He looked at her.His eyes were grey-blue. Calm. Intense. Searching.

"You have good taste," he said, voice low and smooth.

Clara felt her heart trip. "Neruda's kind of... essential."

He pulled the book from the shelf, opened it to the third page, and without looking down, quoted: "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

Her mouth went dry. She bit her lip.He noticed."I'm Julian," he said, handing her the book.

She took it. "Clara."Their hands brushed again.

She didn't pull away fast enough.

"You blush beautifully, Clara."

Her cheeks burned hotter.

"And you recite love poems to strangers in bookstores?"

He stepped closer-just enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

"Only to the ones I want to touch."

The air between them thickened.

She should have stepped back. She didn't.

Instead, she glanced around-the aisle was empty.

The far end was blocked by two leaning carts of unshelved books. Hidden. Quiet. Tempting.

He saw it too.Julian took a half-step forward, crowding her back gently against the shelf.

The edges of books pressed into her spine. Her breath caught.

He raised one hand and slowly brushed his knuckles down her jaw. Then over her collarbone.

Then-lower. His fingertips found the edge of her skirt and paused there.

She didn't stop him.His hand slipped under.

Clara's knees trembled as his fingers slid up her inner thigh-slow, careful, teasing.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"I'm turned on."

"Good."

When his fingers reached her panties, they were already damp.

He pressed against the wet cotton, dragging two fingers along her slit.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You're soaked."

She whimpered.

Her head tipped back, thudding softly against the books behind her.

He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, found her folds, and slowly slid two fingers between them. Hot. Wet. Silky.

She gasped-then bit her lip to silence it.

"I want to feel you come," he said softly. "Right here. Right fucking now."

He circled her clit with precise, firm strokes-just the right pressure.

Clara moaned quietly, thighs parting, hips rocking forward.

"You're going to keep your eyes on me," Julian whispered. "And when you come, you're going to bite my coat so no one hears."

Her whole body was burning.His fingers moved faster, rubbing tight circles, then dipping inside her-two fingers curling up, working rhythmically.

The sound of slick heat was obscene in the quiet aisle.

She pressed her face into the wool of his coat, breathing harder, moaning into the fabric.

"Oh my God-don't stop-don't-"

"I won't. Fucking soak my hand, Clara."

Her legs shook.

He thrust his fingers deep and angled them just right-and she broke.

Her orgasm hit like lightning.

She buried her cry into his chest, teeth catching on the lapel of his coat as her pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers, wetness gushing over his hand.

He held her steady, fingers still stroking slow inside her as she trembled and gasped against him.

When she finally looked up, her lipstick was smeared and her eyes were glazed.

Julian leaned down, his mouth close to her ear."Rilke next," he whispered. "And then I'm going to taste you."

The poetry aisle had turned from sacred space to sin-drenched altar, but Julian wasn't done with her-not even close.

Clara's legs were still shaky from the orgasm he'd pulled out of her with nothing but his fingers and a few whispered lines of Neruda. She clutched the edge of the shelf as her breath slowed, her panties soaked, thighs trembling, lips parted in dazed disbelief.

Julian leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth-soft, sweet. Almost reverent.

Then he murmured, "Back there."

He nodded toward the rear of the store, behind a half-curtained passage marked STAFF ONLY-where the lighting faded, and dusty crates of used books lined the walls.

Clara didn't speak. She just turned and walked, her knees still weak, heart racing.

Julian followed.

Back stacks. No cameras. No witnesses. Just the heavy scent of paper and want.

As soon as they were hidden behind the curtain, he pressed her against the wall of crates, mouth finding her neck, sucking deep bruises into her skin. She gasped, moaned, grabbed his coat lapels.

"Julian..."

He dropped to his knees.

Clara's eyes widened. "Wait, here? You're serious-?"

He didn't answer. He was already pushing her skirt up, sliding her soaked panties down her legs. They clung to her thighs, sticky with her arousal.

When she stepped out of them, he caught them mid-drop and tucked them into his coat pocket with a smirk.

"Mine now," he said.

Then he lifted one of her thighs over his shoulder, steadying her against the books behind her, and leaned in.

His mouth found her slit like it belonged there.

Clara nearly screamed.

His first lick was slow-obscene, from bottom to top, tongue flat and greedy. Then a second, firmer. His lips sealed over her clit and he sucked, just once, and her head thudded back against the wooden shelves.

"FUCK-Julian-oh my God-"

He growled into her pussy, hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise, tongue now relentless-lapping, flicking, circling, pressing.

Her juices coated his face, slick and hot and sweet. He fucking devoured her like a starving man, burying his face deeper, nose rubbing her clit as he tongue-fucked her entrance.

"Shit-fuck-don't stop-don't you dare stop-" she babbled, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

He didn't.

He moaned into her-moaned-sending vibration after filthy vibration through her core.

She couldn't stand.

Her free leg buckled, and he pinned her tighter to the shelf, fucking her with his mouth like he meant to ruin her.

Two fingers joined his tongue-sliding into her heat with a wet squelch that echoed off the old wood.

"Julian-fuck-I'm gonna come-I'm-I-oh my God-"

Her orgasm hit like a wave breaking over rocks.

She bit her own wrist to keep from screaming, eyes wide, body convulsing as she came against his mouth-gushing, trembling, shaking so violently he had to hold her upright.

He kept licking. Softer now, lazy swirls of his tongue as her pussy twitched around his fingers and leaked down his wrist.

When she finally sagged into the shelf, he kissed her inner thigh, then stood.

His face was wet. Glazed in her.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned close and whispered against her ear.

"Next time you'll ride my cock right here."

She couldn't speak. Her mouth opened-but only a moan came out.

He kissed her-slow, filthy, wet-making her taste herself on his tongue.

Clara was still trying to catch her breath, thighs shaking, panties gone, when Julian took her by the wrist and pulled her toward the center of the back room-toward a waist-high poetry cart stacked with old, half-priced paperbacks.

She knew exactly what he meant to do.And she let him.

The moment they reached it, he spun her around, bent her forward, and pressed her chest down over the books.

The cart wobbled slightly under the sudden weight of her body, her bare ass now fully exposed beneath her hitched-up skirt.

She looked over her shoulder.

His belt was already unbuckled.

She licked her lips.

"Don't go slow."

Julian's eyes darkened.

"Oh, baby," he said, stroking his thick, leaking cock through her slick folds. "I'm not here to be gentle."

He lined himself up and shoved inside.One brutal, perfect thrust.

Clara choked on a moan, eyes slamming shut, fingers clutching the edges of the cart.

He was big-thick, hot, hard as fuck-and buried so deep she could feel him pressing against everything inside her.

Julian groaned behind her, hands gripping her hips like handles.

"Fuck, you feel like heaven. This pussy's so wet for me. You wanted this the moment we touched that fucking book, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," she gasped, pushing her hips back against him. "Wanted your cock in me. Hard. Rough. Just like this-fuck me-"

He did.

Hard, fast thrusts that slammed into her, making her tits bounce against the books.

The sound of skin against skin was loud, wet, primal.

Every thrust shoved her forward, spine arching, pussy clenching.

"You hear that?" he growled. "That's the sound of this tight little cunt taking me."

"Julian-fuck-deeper-please-"

He bent over her back, lips brushing her ear.

"You love being used like this, don't you? Bent over a poetry cart, books digging into your tits, stuffed full of cock while someone could walk in any second."

"Yes," she sobbed. "Fuck, I love it-I'm your dirty little bookstore slut-don't stop-"

He didn't.

He slammed into her harder, fucking her with abandon, thick cock splitting her open again and again, each thrust driving a new moan from her throat.

Then he reached around, found her clit, and rubbed-fast, firm, ruthless.

Her whole body jerked.

"I'm gonna come," she cried. "Julian-I'm gonna-fuck-"

"Then fucking come for me," he growled. "Soak my cock. Let this shelf hear how messy you are."

She broke.

Her orgasm ripped through her, pussy convulsing around him, screaming into the books as she gushed, soaked, trembled beneath his grip.

He wasn't far behind.

With a final thrust, he groaned into her neck and came deep-hot, thick, pulsing inside her as he buried himself to the hilt.

They stayed like that-breathing hard, sweating, shaking.

Clara laughed, breathless. "That was... not subtle."

Julian pulled out slowly, kissing her shoulder. "Neither are you, sweetheart."

She looked back at him, eyes still dazed."Think they'll let us back in next week?"

Julian smirked. "Only if we leave the cart standing."