Chapter 11: Keep Still

"Hands on the arms of the chair," I said. "And keep still."

Lucio Castaldi looked up at me from the big leather armchair in the reading room, with his jacket off and his tie loosened.

He did what he was told.

It was Wednesday, after close.

The only light was the green lamp on the oak table, and the shelves behind it went up into the dark.

I had locked the front doors.

Back in October I had turned the camera over the circulation desk to face the wall, when the manager started using it to watch teenagers.

"Is this in the terms?" he said.

"Here, after we close. It's exactly in the terms."

I stood in front of him and took off my cardigan.

I folded it and laid it on the table.

I took off my glasses and put them on the book.

I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, as slowly as he had.

His hands tightened on the leather.

"Keep still," I said again.

"I am."

"Your jaw isn't."

I dropped the blouse on the floor.

I knelt on the carpet between his knees, undid his belt, and opened his trousers.

He was already hard.

I took him in my hand, and he drew a breath through his teeth and shut his eyes.

"Look at me," I said.

He opened them.

I held his gaze, and I put my mouth on him.

He made a sound I had not heard from him before, a low rough noise that came up from his chest.

I took him slowly, as deep as I could, and let my tongue move along the underside, and felt his thighs shake against my shoulders.

His knuckles were white on the arms of the chair.

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