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I let out a sound of excitement as our mouths explored each other, our lips pressed against each other's and out tongues moving together, though I kept one eye on the walkway above in case anyone spotted us. "I've been here before, just looking at the music scores, and no one ever comes down here.""Except you? "And I'm already here."I wondered if he'd brought other women here, but soon let the thought go. I remembered something I'd seen on the Internet about women wanting to be manhandled and that they'd soon say if the man was being too rough.

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I felt myself getting damp between my thighs, partly at the way Mark himself made me feel, and partly at the possibility of us being disturbed. I figured I had nothing to lose except my own inhibitions, so I touched him through his trousers, running my fingers over the outline of his impressive bulge.

I guessed Mark felt it too, as I could clearly feel his erection through his trousers. He pulled away from me for a moment, looking down at it and then back at me. He let me rub my hand up and down the length of it, and I could feel the heat through his clothes.

He touched my breasts through my top, rubbing his fingers over my nipples.

They responded instantly, stiffening and poking into my bra, and I wanted to feel his hands on them, his mouth sucking then, his teeth nibbling them. I could see a chair over to our right, in the corner of the aisle.

He pressed himself against my palm, increasing the friction and making it strain even more inside his pants."Do you want me to take it out? I wanted to feel him in my hand, to control him and make him beg for me.

I was staring into his eyes, wondering what he might say."God yes," he said, still pressing himself against me.

He grinned and walked to the chair, positioning it so he would have his back to the main aisle and the walkway.

As he sat down I knelt down in front of him, with my back to the window.

" he said, looking around to see if I was with anyone. actually I don't know why I've got them." I laughed as I spoke, running my fingers across one of the book covers before looking up into his eyes. He reached out and picked up the books I'd been carrying. Not in an accusing way, just in a "let's be helpful to the librarian" way. My application to MI6 as their next spymaster general was clearly a waste of time."Yes, let's put them back," I said. He could have said anything to me then, suggested anything, and I'd probably have entertained it. Let's strip naked and run through the library, pulling books off the shelves. His grip was firm but also gentle, like he possessed the power to crush me if he wanted to but he didn't want to hurt me."Rebecca," I said. As we touched, skin on skin, I felt something stirring deep within. Mark led me by the hand, past rows of shelves that held many books. He took me to the far end of the floor, to a section filled with music scores and cassette tapes.

He seemed slightly disappointed."No, I'm here alone." I'd never felt so relieved to be on my own before. We maintained eye contact for just a moment too long for it to be just a friendly encounter. He laughed gently, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. His skin was completely smooth and unblemished, with not a scratch from shaving or any sign of stubble. His hands were large, and I noted his nails looked manicured. A kind of longing, for his hand to touch more than my hand. I glanced at a few signs as we walked briskly past but nothing really registered. The material here was laid out differently, lying down flat in piles rather than upright, making it much more difficult for anyone to see what we were up to from the adjoining aisle.

It was a simple armless one, with a plain blue seat and back covering, like the rest of the chairs I'd seen elsewhere in the library."Why don't you sit down and I'll help you out with this?


  1. Mit dem Plattencover in der Hand, gekleidet wie der Star und umgeben von den Postern mit den berühmten Posen, Show- oder Tanzdarbietungen wurde Rockkultur auf eine neue Art im Jugendlichenzimmer präsent. Seit dem hüpfenden Gesang von Elvis Presley auf That’s All Right, über die bewusst aufs Album genommenen Verspielfehler von Jimmy Page auf dem Album Led Zeppelin II, der rauen Amateurhaftigkeit der Sex Pistols bis zu den Kieksern und hohen Schreien von Michael Jackson ist es das Momentane, Körperliche, das Authentische und Individuelle, das im Zentrum steht, die Unwiederholbarkeit des Augenblicks, die die Grenzen zwischen Musiker und Musikhörer noch weiter verschwinden lässt.

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