Marie Dubois stood behind the study carrel, her pile of books wobbling, her eyes flicking between the flushed face of Gezza and the profile of Riley as he turned his back.
Gezza had cummed in time, and the Playbook was scalding in his pack like a smart.
The tongue of Riley flicked back to the edge of her tongue, and she licks a drop of his cum, the wet tongue barely heard, her lips shining.
Gezza groaned, his heart deepening, the chair springing underfoot, the sweat streaming on his forehead.
"Everything okay?"
In a soft, inquiring voice, Marie moved her books rustling Marie asked, her pink jacket skimming over her white vest.
Gezza gave a shaky laugh, but it was almost involuntary and his heart still was racing with pleasure and terror.
"Nothing, just..."
He stood still wiping his brow, the gesture smearing sweat, his jeans being hastily unzipped.
"Don't worry."
Marie lifted her head, and her eyes were somewhat narrow, and a faint smile passed on her lips.
Sure, she said, in a light but inquisitive tone, the sunlight playing through the tall windows of the library, streaking golden lines over her long skirt.
Gezza made a nod, with a grimace which he barely managed, as he saw his ID badge glitter--Library Secretary.
She was ideal, he thought, and his pervy side was aroused, the warmth of the Playbook humming in approval.
"You want me to look something up? I stand at the desk," said Marie, smiling as she turned to walk away, the swish of her skirt a soft rustle as books were held to her bar.
The chair grated upon the floor, Gezza scrambled to his feet and shuffled after him.
Riley took his hand, and she gripped it, her purple eyes clear.
"Where you going?" she said, with low voice, and a little bit of jealousy in her voice.
"Gonna ask her something. Be at the desk," said Gezza, shucking himself off, and his self-confidence rushed by, the Playbook balancing him back.
He followed Marie, his footsteps making no noise on the smooth surface, the silence of the library interrupted by the sound of turning pages over in the distance and the low hum of the fluorescent lamps.
"Um, excuse me, miss," he called, meaning it in a low voice, which caught her up at the desk.
She swiveled, her books dropped banging on the counter, her pink jacket sliding off her shoulders, leaving the white vest.
"Name's Marie Dubois," she said, and smiled and gleamed with the eyes of a scholar with a curious mind.
Gezza smiled, and his mind was speeding--had she known about the book, she could not have so readily given her name.
"Gerald Thompson, but drop the Gezza," he thought, leaning on the desk, and the wood cooled under his palms.
"Oh, well, handsome," Marie said in a teasing tone, fingers tickling her ID badge.
Gezza found himself surprised.
"What?"
"Your nickname--Gezza. In Hungarian it means handsome or little prince," she said, purring, with a cunning sparkle in her eyes.
"Oh, cool, never knew," said Gezza with a scratch at the neck, and a nervous laugh.
"And it is normally spelled with a single e and acute accent, but that is all," she added with a bigger smile.
"Well, the man that named me was old, old-school, all right. Rebranded it Gezza, not Geezer," he said, smiling cockily, the warmth of the Playbook making him more attractive, her eyes shinning with its pretence.
"So, what do you need?" Marie leaned forward, creaking on the desk, and her jacket lay over a chair.
"Help finding a book," said Gezza, his voice easy, but desperate, paranoia eating--gotta be careful.
"Oh, something about... cults, or magic."
The term was moronic, his magic heartbeat, the Playbook throbbing like a pulse.
Marie grimaced, clicking her fingers on the counter, a little click-click.
"Fantasy novels? We don't really..."
"No, no, actual history," Gezza interpolated, and drew nearer, his voice lowering.
"Perhaps a suggestion of a book of magic. Best I can say without spill."
They came to the desk, the books of Marie falling with a thump against it, she undressing herself with a rustling noise, the material piling up on the chair.
"I don't know," she said, thoughtful, scanning his eyes, curious but cold.
"Nothing like that ever heard of."
The sentences fell upon her, what the library was quiet and dust motes whirling in the sunlight, the hum of the Playbook a pathetic and sarcastic murmur in the pack of Gezza.
The lemon-polish odour of the library turned sour at a gulp Gezza swallowed.
"Argh, how am I to say this without sounding crazy?" he muttered, voice cracking.
The fingers of Marie tap-tap-tapped the desk,--three, stop, three--a neurotic metronome.
"Ever heard of a man that had a hundred wives who overthrew kingdoms?"
Marie didn't blink.
"King Solomon. 700 wives, 300 concubines--a thousand in all. No toppling."
Gezza rubbed his jaw, playboking, the Playbook banging warm against his spine.
"Nah, different dude. Had magic book which helped him."
The tapping stopped dead.
Eyes that flicked up--disgust and anger and storm clouds were almost unintelligible, in Marie.
"Hawthorn," she said, the name a sword. "And his army of women."
Gezza's grin faltered.
"Yeah, you know him--"
"How do you know him?"
Her voice was ice on steel.
"That's not common knowledge."
The fluorescent lights vibrated more. Dust motes froze mid-air.
Marie bent over, sharp mint.
"You're one of them, aren't you?"
"What? Noo am not part of them."
They both paused and held eye contact.
"Who? Exactly."
Marie's voice sliced the hush, low and venomous.
"Those pervs who dig up the book just to force their will on women—they don't give a damn about history. Just ugly, fucked-up pervs."
She paused, pushed her glasses up with a sharp click, the lenses flashing library light like twin blades.
"Pardon my language."
Gezza's grin shattered.
The words pierced his chest, hot and precise, air leaking from his lungs in a slow hiss.
Ugly. Fucked-up. Perv.
Exactly what he was.
The Playbook burned against his spine—thump-thump-thump—mocking his heartbeat.
Marie's eyes narrowed, dissecting him.
"You're not here for history, are you?"
The overhead fluorescents flickered once, shadows lunging across her face.
Gezza couldn't speak.