Bibliophile

They touched her. She spread wide open, inviting and positively shaking with the feelings they provided her. Excitement, apprehension, curiosity, a slow but steady stream of pleasure.

She slid her fingers over them, taking them in. Her huge green eyes flashed over details. She absorbed it all at once.

Their own ecstasy transparent but with every long drag of her skin across the table, she felt their purpose swell up inside her own body. A brand new meaning slid slowly from their own taut skin into her mind and she relished her ability to give them this.

“Find everything you were looking for, miss?” The handsome young man beamed at her as she onerously glanced in his direction beneath dark eyelashes. She looked back at her books, a mother to children who slip quietly away when she’s caught in conversation.

“Uh,” she paused, “yes. And then some.” A grin played on her face. The young man was steady, reading the titles and authors she had picked.

“Funny: The relationship between a good book and its reader. The both seem to leave with a little more than they showed up with.” She would have heard him… but she was swept off in a sea of words.

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