Ivy and Wine

Author's Note: this story is posted to Literotica for the purpose of entertainment and feedback. I do not give content or trigger warnings, proceed at your own risk. Anything that has more than one chapter will be considered slow burn by this site's standards, but i usually post quickly.

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"Penny, darling! You have mail!" Damien sings out as he strides into the back room, arms laden with packages. I laugh as he drops the pile on my desk and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead.

"Thank you. I've been waiting for these orders for weeks!" Ripping open the first box, I start hauling out the books, sorting them into categories. Damien grins at me, and tugs playfully on my sweater.

"You are entirely too excited over-" he picks up the book closest to him and wrinkles his nose. "Oh bless it. Kanye West's manifesto? You really spent our budget on this?"

"We've been getting a lot of requests for it," I protest, snatching it out of his hand, which is hovering over the trash can. "I'm tired of having to order it from other libraries."

"Well, at least this is worth reading," he says, picking up another book. "Hot, sexy vampires, werewolves, zombies, and lots of orgies. Yummy."

"Uhm, I think it's more wereleopards now. And tigers. And rats." I feel heat rushing to my face as he widens his beautifully lined almond shaped eyes at me.

"Miss Penny!" He gasps, clutching his chest. "My sweet little innocent girl reading such filth!" He drops his hand from his heart and collapses back into his chair, giving me that cocky smirk that has half the teen girls and some of the boys swooning over him. "There's hope for you yet, girlfriend."

"Oh, shut up," I mutter. Not all of us can be gorgeous creatures of the night who ooze sexuality, after all. I don't really envy Damien his obviously expensive Goth wardrobe, or his charcoal Tesla, or his proudly owned status as a kept man- but on the mornings he stumbles in, heavy eyed and languid with the aftereffects of whatever he got into- or got into him- yeah, I hate him a little.

I finish unpacking the books in silence while Damien taps away at the computer, creating barcodes and spine tags for them, taping the dust covers into place and wrapping the hard covers in protective plastic sleeves. Brenda pokes her head in through the door, her frosted bangs quivering in annoyance.

"If you're done with these books, maybe one of you could come help me with the computer users. I don't know what they want."

Damien flips his bangs out of his eyes with a huff, and I hurry to soothe Brenda's ruffled feathers.

"I'll do it. Damien..."

He waves me off wordlessly, and I see Brenda's mouth twist in disgust. She hates Damien with a passion, but our small branch library's not exactly in the position to turn down someone who volunteers over thirty hours a week.

I help the frustrated homeschool mom with her curriculum download, and old Mr. Twindell find the magazine on fly fishing he's griping about. By the time I make it back to the circulation desk, Brenda's nowhere in sight and Damien is wheeling out the loaded shelving carts.

"The bitch went to lunch," he tells me in an undertone, before turning around with a megawatt smile to take a stack of children's books and a library card from the pretty brunette holding a toddler on her hip. He compliments the mother on her selection and flirts sweetly with the little girl, who gives him a shy giggle before popping her thumb in her mouth and burying her head against Mom's shoulder.

Watching him, I sigh. I wish, for probably the millionth time in the last few months, that I could bottle the confidence and charm that surrounds him like some exotic cologne. Just for a day, I'd love to be one of the beautiful people. Instead, I stifle a twinge of guilt and check out the newest Kathryn Ann Kingsley book from my indie author order and promise myself a nice Chinese takeout meal and a bottle of wine to go with it. Tomorrow's my day off, so I can indulge myself in the world of cruel, sexy faeries and fantasy lovers well past bedtime.

The day passes slowly, and by the time we lock up at five, all I want to do is take a shower and curl up with my book. I don't even feel like stopping by the grocery store for my anticipated bottle of Pinot Grigio. I'm debating calling an Uber instead of walking the two miles home when a familiar Tesla nudges up to the curb beside me.

"Hey, pretty lady, want a ride?"

I give my friend a tired smile, and shrug. "That sounds great, actually. I'm exhausted tonight for some reason."

Damien hops out and comes around to open my door for me, sliding me into the passenger seat and buckling me in like I'm a child incapable of taking care of myself. I swat his hands and he chuckles at me.

"What you need," he says as he settles behind the wheel. "Is a girl's night. Wine, food, and gossip. I'm taking you home with me."

"No, really, I'm good, Damien. I'm just going to go home and read a book. Maybe order a pizza."

"Hmm." His hand dips suddenly into my tote bag and comes up holding my choice of reading material. He glances at the cover and grins, tucking it back into my bag. I know I'm blushing again, and I drop my head back on the seat and stare up at the moon roof, waiting for the inevitable teasing.

Instead, he reaches over and takes my clenched fist, gently massaging it until I loosen my fingers and let him hold my hand. His eyes never leave the road, but he gives me a reassuring squeeze.

"Dave's cooking tonight. It's a huge deal when he makes dinner. Much better than pizza, I promise. And he always breaks out the good wine. At least let us feed you dinner, Henny-Penny."

Defeated by his sweetness, I laugh. Damien has occasionally mentioned his partner as "Big D"- now that I have a real name, I'm picturing an older accountant type, maybe in an Oxford button down with rolled up sleeves and an apron over his khakis, puttering around the kitchen and looking at the clock, waiting for his exotic looking lover to get home. Dave. It's such a nice, normal dad name.

"Fine. I guess my book can wait."