The books were scattered around the living room floor, ten or more high in some places. Emily sat as the epicenter of them, her black-framed glasses resting low on the bridge of her nose. She had taken all of them from their shelves, intending to organize them. There were over a thousand of them, some hundreds of years old, that covered everything from Victorian romance to science manuals.
It was almost a monthly occurrence for her to do this rearranging, an obsession that was more about the sensual than the organizational. The feel of them excited her. She would smile obscenely as she slid the tips of her fingers over the covers, occasionally reading random passages, sampling them. The smell of them, although often old and dusty, crept over her like a lover's breath.
She took her skirt off this time to feel her legs touching both the books and the slick, hardwood floor. She received so much pleasure in just sitting and looking at them, the knowledge of great minds collected for her examination.
That is how James found her, half naked and molesting her books. He stood in the doorway a few moments, quietly, content to just watch her. She picked up a book and moved her fingers down the spine, casually, as if exploring her own body. She closed her eyes and inhaled.
Stepping over the chessboard of books, he sat down behind her and kissed her neck, which was already damp with excitement. He removed the clip holding her hair at the back of her head. Her hair tumbled down, hitting the top of her breasts over her sweater. She turned to look at him, the book still in an exploitive position in her hands.
"I didn't hear-"
He signalled for her to stay quiet. She did, laying the book down to lean back into him, draping her bare legs over a stack of books. He kissed her neck and slipped his hands under her sweater, running them over the soft, warm skin underneath. He pulled the sweater off, exposing her breasts to him. She moaned as he massaged the giving flesh. As he continued kissing her neck and face, he noticed her eyes were still on the books, and knew they were playing a part in her excitement.
Laying her down, her body spread over the books, a leather bound treatise on war supporting her head, he hooked his fingers into the top of her panties and slipped them down her hips, thighs and legs, pressing his mouth to the skin as it was exposed. The taste of oxidized paper clung to her skin.
He smiled when he saw her legs were still closed, knowing she loved it when he spread them himself, as if he was taking what he wanted. With a hand on each knee, he parted them easily, revealing a small triangle of hair. He ran his fingers over it, and then down the inside of her thighs.
