The week between Christmas and New Year’s crawled. Every shift at the library, Lena’s eyes flicked to the door the moment the bell jingled. Every time, it wasn’t him—just harried mothers with hyper kids, or retirees grabbing winter thrillers.
By New Year’s Eve, she had given up.
Snowflakes stuck to the windows as she locked the front doors, flipped the sign to Closed. The clock above the front desk read 5:58 PM. No patrons, no Walter. Just the tick of the radiator and the quiet hum of the overhead lights. She exhaled, fingers fumbling with her scarf. Maybe it had been a one-time thing. Maybe he had gotten what he wanted and moved on.
Her stomach twisted at the thought.
Lena’s hands shook as she tightened her scarf. The wool scratched her throat—a roughness that made her think of his voice, the way it had rasped against her ear. Her thighs clenched. The ghost of him still pulsed between her legs, sticky and hot, six days old now and aching.
She turned off the lights. The sudden darkness pressed in, sharpening the memory of Walter’s fingers in her hair, the grunt in his chest when he came, the possessive spread of his palm over her ass. It played on loop behind her eyes every night since. Addict, something in her hissed. And worse, starving.
Her blouse felt too tight. She fumbled with the buttons, breath coming short. Without the distraction of customers, the store echoed—every creak of the floorboards sounded like boots approaching. Her pulse raced each time. Disgust warred with need—detox tremors in her bones, and all she wanted was another hit.
The scarf slipped from her fingers. She left it there, crumpled on the floor. Step by step, she forced herself toward the back exit, but her gaze snagged on the office door. Half-open. Shadows pooled where he had bent her over the desk. Her vision blurred. A wave of heat licked up her spine.
Shouldn’t, she thought, biting down hard on her lip.
Her hand crept under her top. Fingertips skimmed her belly, overestimating his calluses, pretending they were rougher, hungrier. She jerked her hand back. No, didn’t help. Never helped. Store-bought substitutions never scratched that itch. She needed hands, mouth, and weight. Needed it raw. Needed…
Him. The thought hissed through her, shameful and electric.
The parking lot lights flickered on outside, casting long shadows across the shelves as Lena tidied up. Down the street, the bar’s neon sign buzzed to life—men would be stumbling out soon, warm-bellied from beer and loneliness.
She could cross the street. Pick one—any broad shoulders, any flash of teeth in the dark. Let them fuck her against a dumpster where no one could see her face.
Her nails dug into the doorframe.
It wouldn’t be the same.
Street meat couldn’t satisfy this gnawing hunger.
The stack of books in her arms wobbled as she turned —
And froze.
He leaned against the shelves in the fiction section, arms crossed, watching her. Snow dusted the shoulders of his denim jacket.
Lena’s pulse jackknifed.
“Miss me?” His voice was rougher than she remembered.
She gripped the books tighter. “You’re not supposed to be in here after closing.”
Walter pushed off the shelf, boots heavy on the linoleum. “Didn’t stop you last time.”
The air between them crackled. He was closer now, close enough she caught the scent of whiskey and cold leather. His knuckles brushed her hip, just a graze, but it sent heat licking up her spine.
She sucked in a breath. “What do you want?”
His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. “Open.”
Not a request.
Lena’s knees weakened. The books hit the floor with a thud.
Walter grabbed her chin and tilted her face up. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, forcing it down. “Come on, sweetheart. Show me what that mouth can do.”
Her breath hitched. His gaze burned into her, dark and unflinching.
Slowly, she sank to her knees.
The zipper of his jeans was loud in the empty library.
Walter’s cock sprang free, already half-hard, thick and veined in her face. The musky scent of him—untamed, male—flooded her senses. Lena’s lips parted automatically, tongue darting out to wet them.
She barely had time to brace before his fingers tightened in her hair, angling her head back. “Open wider.”
The command scraped across her nerves. She obeyed, jaw slackening, breath shallow through her nose.
He didn’t ease her into it. One thrust buried him deep, the head of his cock nudging the back of her throat. Her eyes watered instantly, lashes fluttering as she gagged, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
Walter groaned, hips jerking forward another inch. “Fuck yeah. Just like that.”
Lena’s fingers scrabbled at his thighs, nails digging into denim as she fought to steady herself. Saliva dripped down her chin, slicking the length of him as he pulled back only to shove in again, rougher this time.
“Uh-uh.” He tugged her hair, forcing her gaze up. “Hands behind your back.”
A whimper escaped her, high and desperate, but she obeyed, wrists pressing into the small of her back.
“Good girl.” His voice turned gruff, almost reverent, even as he fucked her mouth without mercy. The thrusts came harder now, erratic, his breathing ragged above her. “Always knew you could take it.”
Lena pulled back, strings of saliva glistening between her lips and the slick head of his cock. Her hazel eyes locked onto his—dark, unblinking—as she released him with a slow, deliberate pop.
Walter’s chest heaved. His grip on her hair faltered, just for a second.
She didn’t look away. Held his gaze like she was the one in control now, her tongue dragging a wet stripe along the underside of his length, teasing the thick vein there. His thighs tensed. A grunt, rough and involuntary, rumbled from his chest.
Lena peered up through fogged lenses as Walter groaned, “Fuck. Those glasses, saltin’ sweet…”
“Jesus!” His fingers flexed in her hair, but he didn’t push. Didn’t force. Just watched, breath ragged, as she took her time.
Lower. Her nose brushed coarse hair, the scent of musk and salt flooding her senses. One hand steadied herself against his thigh while the other curled around the base, squeezing just enough to make him twitch. Her tongue dragged over his balls—wet, slow—before her lips sealed around one, suckling gently.
Walter’s groan was raw. “Fuck, Lena!”
She hummed against him, the vibration drawing another choked noise from his throat.
Back up, her mouth traced the thick length, kitten licks and open-mouthed kisses, every inch slick with her spit. Her tongue swirled around the head, catching the bitter pre-cum beading there before she took him deep again, hollowing her cheeks.
His hips jerked. “Gonna…”
She didn’t let him pull away. Her grip tightened at the root, keeping him in place as her lips sealed tight, working him with slow, wet sucks.
His fingers twisted in her hair. “Fucking hell…”
The first pulse hit the back of her throat. Hot. Thick. She swallowed instinctively, eyes watering as the next spurt followed, flooding her mouth. She kept sucking, kept milking him, until his grip went slack and his thighs trembled.
Only then did she pull back, lips glossy, throat working as she swallowed. A slow, deliberate lick across her bottom lip caught the last drop.
Walter sagged against the shelf, breathless, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Christ.”
Lena rose on shaky legs, knees protesting as she stood. Her palms slapped against the shelf on either side of Walter’s head, trapping him between fiction paperbacks. She kissed him hard, teeth clacking, tasting her own spit and the bitterness lingering in her mouth. He grabbed her hips, fingers digging in, but she pulled back, breath hot against his ear.
“Never let me wait for you again.” The words vibrated in her throat, low and feral.
She turned before he could respond, her wet panties tickling her as she walked toward the front desk. Her ears strained for the jingle of the bell—the scrape of boots on tile—the pause where he might have said something. But the door just clicked shut behind him.
Seconds later, a heavy thud followed. Wood creaking. Metal rattling as the door bounced back open an inch.
Lena froze.
Silence.
