Ines sat on the soft velvet sofa in the corner of the library. Her legs were shaky, and her hands trembled as she lifted a glass of water to her lips.
She drank greedily. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was still radiating from her skin.
Finally… finally, we had sex, she thought to herself. The words sounded scandalous even in the privacy of her own mind.
She lowered the glass, pressing the cool crystal against her burning cheek. Her face was turning red again, a deep, flushed crimson that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with memory.
It was more intense than I imagined, she admitted, her mind replaying the friction, the weight of him, the sound of her own voice crying out. The books… they capture the romance. But they miss the raw, shaking reality of it. It was much more thrilling than I ever fantasized.
"Ines."
The sound of his voice, low and rough, pulled her from her reverie.
She looked down.
