Chapter 7: First Night

The library at ten o'clock was darker than I'd ever seen it.

The fire had been lit, and I could tell by the sound.

I could not tell by the light.

Every flame in the room was leaning toward the far corner.

"You came," Ambrose said.

"You asked nicely."

"I did not know I could."

I stepped toward his voice with both hands out.

The first thing I touched was a button on a wet wool coat.

He let me find it.

He let me find the next one, and the next, and each time I opened one he drew a longer breath.

"You're shaking," I said.

"I have not been touched in sixty-nine years."

"Then you're going to be bad at it."

"Yes," he said. "Teach me."

"No."

I pushed the coat off his shoulders.

It fell with a heavy, wet slap.

The cold under it was deeper and cleaner.

His hand closed on my hip, and he turned me and walked me back until my shoulder blades met the shelves.

"I'll teach myself," he said into my hair.

The words slid down my spine.

His mouth took mine, harder than in the cottage.

I could feel him learning me, the angle of my jaw, the catch in my breath.

He broke the kiss and kissed my throat.

He kissed down it, and my blouse was open, and his cold mouth closed on my nipple through my bra.

I cried out and my knees went.

He caught me with one arm and held me up against the books.

He sucked, slow and deep, and every pull went straight between my legs.

"Ambrose."

"Say it again."

"Ambrose, please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me," I said. "I've been wanting it for two days, and I don't know your face."

He made a sound that was almost a snarl.

He lifted me.

My legs went around his waist and my skirt rode up.

He carried me to the rug by the fire and laid me down.

The flames bent over us both.

His hands stripped me, and I helped him.

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