Bookworm

Sarah hated the third floor, even when she didn't have to haul a crate of books along with her. The ceiling was low, the aisles were narrow, it was always either too hot or too cold. There were no windows, and the only exits—the main stairway and the emergency fire escape—were often hard to find amongst the maze of shelves. As much as she loved books, spending long periods of time in the top reaches of the store always gave her creeping sensations of being trapped.

She cursed her luck that now, an hour until closing time on a dead Sunday night, Mr. Winters had decided that this was the best time for her to do shelving up there.

She'd worked as fast as she could, avoiding her usual side-tasks of straightening and dusting in favor of just dumping the books in their approximate locations as fast as possible. She was now down to the last few in the crate, an assortment of political commentaries earmarked for Middle Eastern studies.

She rounded the corner to proper alcove, already fantasizing about a warm shower and bed, then stopped in surprise.

The bookshelves on the lower, friendlier floors were proper bookshelves. Up here, they were mostly accumulations of scavenged wood planks and cinderblocks. One of these planks had collapsed, spilling its books onto the shelves below. Since this shelf had been the top shelf, and the top shelves often held oversized, heavy books, their considerable weight had taken out every single one of the rickety shelves below them. Some of the cinderblocks had fallen over too, scattering cracked stone amongst the books scattered across the floor.

She dropped the crate in shock as she surveyed the carnage, broken spines and crushed covers everywhere. She debated pretending she hadn't seen it. No one had heard the crash, so there would be no way to tell that it hadn't simply happened overnight. She could just gently tuck her books in amongst the mess and call it a day.

But as quickly as she weighed this idea, she abandoned it. Mr. Winters was old, and it was hard enough for him to even get up to the third floor. Repeated bending and kneeling to sort the books and drag out the broken shelving would be beyond him. And even though customers often stuck to the lower floors, her pride couldn't abide the thought of letting the store open with this mess left in the open. Depending on when one of the few other employees was next on the schedule, it might not be dealt with for a couple days.

With a resigned sigh, she knelt down amongst the mess and started gently pulling out and stacking books.

She worked in silence, nothing but the sound of the gentle scuffs and thumps of the books as she moved them, and subtle creaks of the building. Normally she would probably hear customer voices drifting up the stairwell from the lower floors, but tonight the store was empty.

Thus, she noticed right away when a heavy set of footsteps slowly ascended the stairs and stepped onto the wooden floor. She paused in her work. The steps hadn't sounded like Mr. Winter's usual wheezing, heavy climb, but a customer at this late hour was equally unlikely.

"Hello?" she called tentatively. There was no verbal response, but she heard the steps start to move slowly across the floor. "Careful coming over here, some shelves broke. I'm working on dealing with it now but let me know if you need anything."

She leaned over to get back to work. She could hear the heavy footfalls navigating the maze of shelves a few aisles over, but the person attached to them still hadn't said anything. Part of her thought it was a little creepy, but she told herself it was probably just one last-minute browsing customer that had a set of headphones in their ears.

As she sorted, she realized with frustration that the collapse had spilled a bunch of subjects together that wouldn't be easy to parse back out again. The stack of books on Alexander the Great, for instance, could just as easily go under World History as Ancient History, and there seemed to be an arbitrary distinction whether works on Turkish culture were shelved in history or grouped with the other modern Middle Eastern stud—

The footsteps suddenly came around the end of her row she and stopped right behind her. She sat up, surprised, and started to turn around. "I'm sorry, am I in your—"

Before she could, a strong hand grabbed the hair at the back of her head. She gasped, but before she could cry out another hand reached around and covered her mouth. She reached up to grab at the hand on her face, but it was locked in a strong, masculine grip. She tried to struggle, but the hand on the back of her head was equally strong. Slowly, both hands guided her head around. She had no choice but to shuffle herself around on her knees in response.

She looked up at the face of her assailant. Green eyes stared fiercely down at her over a strong chin covered in well-groomed stubble. His clothing was nondescript, the same sort of jeans-shirt-and-jacket combination she'd seen on many young engineers her age around the city.

But the minute her gaze met his she froze, overwhelmed by the dominant energy he was directing down at her. She released her hands from his wrist and slowly relaxed, never looking away. His hand on the back of her head tightened in response.

He released the hand from her mouth. She considered speaking, but the hand holding her head shook gently, telling her to remain quiet. She shuddered, her lingering adrenaline rush magnifying every sensation, from the subtle draft that worked it way across the floor from the stairwell, to the rough wood under her knees, to the pinky finger of the hand on her head stroking ever so slightly back and forth across her hair.

He traced the line of her jaw with his free hand, and that too was unnaturally intense. Her eyes fluttered slightly, unsure where to focus her attention. She could feel herself starting to draw inward slightly, becoming even more light and relaxed in his grip.

He removed his free hand from her face and reached for his pants. With surprising dexterity, he undid his button and zipper one-handed and reached inside. He shimmied his loosened pants a little lower on his hip then pulled out his cock.

He stroked it slowly, watching her. Her eyes flicked back and forth between it and his face, watching his gaze intensify as his cock grew larger and harder in front of her. He pulled her head toward him very slightly, then leaned forward to rub its hot, smooth head across her cheek.

Finally, he spoke, a low smooth growl. "Open," he commanded. She quivered, dropping her jaw open slightly. His free hand let go of his cock and reached forward to grab her jaw, forcing it open more. She whimpered and struggled slightly, trying to keep her balance on her knees.

He slid into her, his warmth and size overwhelming her mouth just as his scent overwhelmed her nostrils. He groaned slightly, and his grip on her hair tightened. Obediently, she opened her mouth even wider and flicked her tongue along the underside of the head.

Gently, he started sliding in and out of her mouth. She relaxed into it, and reached her hands up to grip his thighs to steady herself. "Mmm, that's a good girl," he growled, and started to move a little faster.

She closed her eyes. Gradually, she stopped thinking about the broken bookshelves, the pressure of her knees on the wood floor, or even the building ache in her jaw. She was overwhelmed by his strength and force, and her world shrank down to just his smell, his taste, and his pleased moans above her.

She felt his legs tense under her hands, and his grip on her head pulled her further onto his cock. She gagged a little at the sudden force, and then again as she felt him start to come in her mouth. Hot, salty spurts filled her throat and she struggled to swallow.

"No," he growled suddenly, pulling out slightly, still releasing a few final spurts into her mouth. "Keep it in your mouth. Don't swallow until I say so."

She nodded, and as he pulled out completely, glistening wet from their combined juices, she kept the last of his cum in her mouth as she sank back onto the floor.

He watched her, his gaze still intense as he pulled up his pants. "Come with me," he said finally, and held out his hand. Meekly, she held up one hand. He grabbed it by the wrist, pulling her swiftly to her feet, and then started to lead the way out of the maze of shelves.

They descended through the bookstore, still blessedly empty. Sarah still felt floaty, following his strong grip as much as descending under her own power. Part of her, though, started to break through the fog and consider how strange it was to be walking through her place of work with a mouth full of semen.

They reached the first floor without incident, but as they approached the front the spell was finally broken by Mr. Winter's voice calling across the shelves. "Is that you, Sarah? Jeremy was just here looking for you, I sent him—Oh, looks like he found you."

They had rounded the last row of shelves and were now in view of the counter, Mr. Winter's seat of power. He sat on a high stool, surrounded by stacks of books to be processed, and was now peering at them over one arm of his throne as they came down the aisle.

Sarah realized that Jeremy's hand on her wrist had suddenly shifted down to clasp her hand. It still gripped her tightly, reminding her of his instructions, so rather than swallow the cum to respond, she just smiled at Mr. Winters in response.

"You don't have the crate with you, did you get those last books shelved?"

Sarah's face dropped as she remembered the broken shelves. She had to tell him about them, but she still couldn't speak. On top of that, she remembered her resolve to fix the mess before the store opened tomorrow. She looked up at Jeremy pleadingly.

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand again, this time in reassurance, and he turned to respond instead. "No, it looks like one of the shelves broke and scattered a load of books everywhere. Sarah has to work at the restaurant tomorrow, but I have the day off; I can come in first thing and help you rebuild them and get everything cleaned up."

Mr. Winters grumbled good-naturedly. "God help me, one of these days I'll earn some money to get some real shelves for up there. Thank you, Jeremy, that would be very helpful." He disappeared briefly as he leaned under the counter, then came back up holding Sarah's coat and purse. He handed them over the stacks of books and she took them with her free hand.

"He's a keeper, that one," he told her with a smile, not bothering to lower his voice. "I've known many girls with much worse taste in boyfriends, and very few with better."

Still unable to respond, she smiled shyly, turning to look at Jeremy. His green eyes danced mischievously and he leaned in to kiss her delicately on the lips.

Jeremy straightened, then started to walk to the door. "Have a good night, Mr. Winters! See you in the morning!" he called over his shoulder, and lead them both out into the night.