Uncertainly, Yorke Martin approached the red-signed shop, “SUMNER BOOKS.” Was his troubled mind really recovering? Dr Phillip, his psychiatrist, who had guided him through the two years of trauma, thought that the prospects were positive.
“Of course,” he had added, old eyes full of understanding, “the grief is something else. No guarantees there. Time may be the only sedative.”
His first approach to books since that awful time, and, only yesterday, Sunday, he had opened his laptop, cautiously typing his name, and staring at it for a few seconds, a stranger to himself. He typed out a brief paragraph. No real background, just a starting point. Was the urge to write returning?
Recovering physically, he had concentrated on his work at the small business consultancy he shared with his friend Carl, so understanding while Yorke’s slowly returned to normal life.
Now, he approached the bookshop window, wondering what was trending. Centrally, a display was dedicated to a new author. Yorke sighed. That might have been him –if only.
Inside the shop, made indistinct by the sheen of light, a male customer waited at a small counter in one corner, while a female assistant was on a low step stretching for a book on a higher shelf.
The assistant stepped down, turned to face the customer and the window. And Yorke!
Everything stood still. Crowds disappeared. Traffic noises hushed. Only the breathless sultry tones of his darling Cassie’s whisper filled his head, as he hastily backed away.
Momentarily out of control, he raced blindly through the Monday morning crowds. It couldn’t be Cassie. Was he going crazy? That brief image had so disturbed him, but the hair had been long. Not short and tightly curled, as Cassie’s.
By day’s end, Yorke, accepted that he had been mistaken. But he’d be back in the city centre on Wednesday, he’d make sure then.
On that particular Wednesday, Julie Sumner, opened her bookshop later than usual. Setting things up, she was recalling the thrill she’d given herself on the previous evening. Wildest yet. Passages in the book had once again drawn her fingers between her thighs.
In a jocular mood she might have said, “Practice makes perfect.”
No guilt, yet doubts still bothered her, given the changes that her body had succumbed to over recent months. Her old mind-set, forged by the rigid religious interpretations of her parents, had been shattered.
Julie was twenty-three-years-old, and a year earlier she had been bequeathed this small bookshop by her Uncle Dan, her father’s brother. From the age of sixteen and during her university breaks she had helped her uncle out. Everyone had applauded his marvellous gesture. Not her parents though. Her father was furious that she’d rejected the staid secretarial work he had arranged for her.
Eighteen months before he died, her Uncle had the rear of the shop renovated. Storage areas became a cosy sitting area with French windows, overlooking a neat garden with a kitchen to the right. A staircase led up to two bedrooms, and a bathroom.
Summer evenings, Julie could sit by the French windows and recall her Uncle’s foresight in leaving her the shop. He’d asked her about boyfriends, and hearing of her parent’s attitude to boys, he’d snorted. “Such religious zealots. I’ve heard their twisted beliefs.”
Then he had chuckled, “You must be an immaculate conception. Because I can’t imagine—” His head had shaken, “Your mother was even embarrassed about the bump you made in her belly. You must get yourself out of that house before you are totally warped by their thinking.”
Such an escape from the austere environment dominated by cries of ‘original sin’ when anything remotely connected with male/female relationships was mentioned. .
How could she have been so gullible? From the age of 13, Julie was warned to be beware of unpleasant sensations in her lower belly. These were signs that the devil was trying to take her soul.
The ‘fable’ that really cast doubts was that her periods were the devil’s warning of what could happen if she fell from the path of righteousness. Did every girl get that warning?
She was made to avoid any contact with boys who, they said, would be intent on doing ‘unclean’ things to her. Mixed sex parties were no-go areas.
After a girls’-only High School, she was found a place in a girls’-only religious academy where monitors reported any incidence of ‘lewd’ talk. From those stolid walls she emerged with a degree in languages and religion.
Her parents had warned her about living alone in a world “full of evil, cruelty and sex.” God, how would they react if they knew what thoughts and acts of self-stimulation that book had provoked in her?
That Wednesday was quiet, apart from two browsers. Julie’s first true customer came mid-morning. An elderly man, he asked about a detective novel on display in the window.
There was only that copy, and Julie leaned into the window space to retrieve it. As she straightened, she saw a man standing on the other side of the glass.
A hand momentarily clutched at her throat. In the same dark green jacket, was he the man who she briefly glimpsed on Monday?
Julie was particularly disturbed because, although his features were indistinct, there was no doubt that he wasn’t looking at books.
He was looking directly at her, and not only her face. His eyes travelled down over her blue dress. Was he what they called a stalker? And why should that as well as concerning her, bring on moistening below? Julie Sumner, you are a mess.
A quick smile on that shadowed face before the man was gone. Vanished into the crowd. But why had he been staring at her so intently? An inexplainable mix of worry and excitement stayed in her mind.
At first, Yorke had been quietly satisfied. Fortunately, the lady had been near the shop window enabling a closer look. He had been right about the hair length and this lady’s hair was tawny. Cassie’s had been jet black.
It was reassuring also to see the blue eyes, Cassie‘s eyes had been brown. True, high cheekbones shaped her face and that was probably the similar feature that had led to his initial shock on Monday. Yorke has also noticed that there were similarities in the way her trim figure curved so delicately. In Cassie’s case it had been alluringly sexy, which had matched her outgoing character, her sensuality.
On the Thursday evening he sat with his laptop and began developing his story. But, even as he worked, he could not dispel his curiosity about that bookshop lady.
Only face-shape had misled him. He wondered about the voice, and the way she walked. Both sexually provocative in Cassie’s case. Did it really matter? Face it, Yorke Martin, wasn’t this unknown young lady, the first to attract you since Cassie?
Friday morning, he decided to visit the bookshop, to hear the voice and clear his head of all comparisons. Maybe purchase something, just to be friendly. The explosion and fire had destroyed all possessions including every book he had ever owned.
Mid-morning, Friday, Yorke came up to the window and saw her with a grey-haired lady inspecting one book after another. Very briefly, before he entered, she looked up, and he was surprised by the strange, worried look on her face. Why should that be?
Then, he was inside, and an old-fashioned bell tinkled above the door. Yorke had decided that his opening gambit would be about a book she couldn’t possibly have and develop it from there.
Unsmiling, the assistant gave what was probably her stock greeting, “Be with you in a moment, sir.” No sensuality in her voice, like Cassie. A quiet gentility about it went with her pretty face.
“No problem,” Yorke said, quietly. “Just browsing.”
To aid his intended opening gambit he looked down the works of fiction under ‘W’. With her wrapped purchase, the customer stopped at the door. “Your uncle would be pleased that he left you the shop, the way you’ve reorganised it, Julie.” She opened the door. The bell dinged. “Ah, and his door-bell. Sweet.”
“In memory,” the shop lady said smiling sadly. Yorke had learned she was called Julie, and she was the inherited owner.
Now, turning to him, her smile fell away, and the look was one of—worry. Why? Obviously, he must be misinterpreting. The face, younger than he’d originally thought, viewed him seriously.
Puzzled, he smiled and sought to make light conversation. “Does the ‘Sumner’ on the sign refer to your uncle?” Unsmiling, she was still pleasant to look at. “I overheard the lady—”
She broke in, still looking uneasy. “He was my father’s brother. So, it didn’t need to change.” More abruptly, “Is there any particular book you’re looking for?”
Wow, an attitude like that, lady, and you aren’t going to sell many books. For only a moment, having heard the voice, he thought of just walking out. Then, no, to hell, ask the question you know the answer to. Give her something to think about.
“Yes, might you have a copy of a book by Roy Wilder, ’Angel Fire’? Do you–?” Had she started trembling? Her face had certainly drained of any colour. “Is something wrong?”
Her eyes were wide on him. yet expressionless. Her mouth opened as though to say something, but it only enforced a look of shock. Her hand rested on a bookshelf
Yorke was sure she was about to faint. He reached out a hand
Julie Sumner was not about to faint. Confused, oh yes very confused. Disturbed, yes, she had been for a few weeks. But her thinking was dominated by this stranger’s request. Of all the books in the shop, even in the world, why should he ask for that one? The book that had exposed her long-buried libido.
The stranger regarded her with the greenest eyes Julie had ever encountered, and they were questioning her delayed response. This was definitely the man at the window on Wednesday, staring directly at her. Now here he was, near, almost too near. But definitely no stalker. Julie scolded herself for noting how handsome he was.
Confusion rattled around her brain. The book, plus this stranger with penetrating green eyes, and her recently discovered needs. Such confusion.
Three months ago, during her shop tidying, she’d found, a small, posted package that had never been opened. Typical, Julie had thought with a sad smile, noting the two-year-old postmark. The sender was a small local publisher, Wickley, whose premises, Julie recalled, had burned down, and were never replaced.
Four books were inside the package, with a goodwill slip. Three larger volumes were, a wild-life book, a book on European architecture, and something to do with science.
The fourth book, a much smaller issue, was clearly a fiction, a love story, going by the scantily clad lady on the cover. An amused Julie imagined her mother throwing that one directly into the bin.
But that book had fallen, open, to the floor as she gathered the others together. Bending to retrieve it, she read the writing at the top of the page, “her nipples hardened under the slow circling of his fingers, while their tongues slithered around each other. Cyrene knew what she wanted him to do next—”
Julie slammed the book shut. Not from disgust. A nerve had been touched. Such a small stimulus. Why was she breathing so heavily? She felt as though her whole psyche had been turned upside down. If mere written words could make her feel as she did at that moment, what more lay untapped?
Having known of erotic books that customers had spoken enthusiastically about, Julie had labelled the type of customer rather than the books they spoke of. So, that night and on frequent subsequent nights, she took that slim volume to bed with her.
A story of a highly sexed woman, leading her inexperienced lover into ways they could pleasure each other.
Night after night she found herself eager to be in bed, finding new erotic images, and realising that she was having feelings, that her mother had warned, were signs of the devil. Freed from parental restrictions, her pleasures heightened as she became aware of how best to stimulate herself with her own fingers as she read. She placed stickers on certain pages which she found a real turn-on.
Touching, stroking around her clit became a special treat, extra special when she imagined them being the fingers of a man.
A slight sigh as she came back into the real world and saw the questioning green eyes of this stranger. She just had to ask, “Why would you want that book?” She knew she had stressed the ‘that’ and there would be repercussions.
Sure enough, his brow furrowed as he asked, “You know it?”
“Do you?” That should test him.
But he just shrugged and said, “I believe it’s out of print.”
Consequences forgotten, Julie simply blurted out, “I have a copy.” What was she doing? She couldn’t believe that she allowed the subsequent events to develop. Was it a mix of curiosity and need?.
His face showed what looked like excitement.
For Yorke it was more than just excitement. He just had to ask, “What price?”
Briefly, her face clouded, before she said flatly, “Sorry, not for sale.”
How could she have it? Why wouldn’t she sell? But before he could ask that, she had asked one of her own, “Why would you want it?”
Yorke shrugged, no point in the whole truth, “I just want to view one section.”
Julie frowned, she just couldn’t sort her muddled thoughts, but she nodded as she something stirred insides, as he said, “If I let you see it will that satisfy you?”
Yorke tried a smile, which was partly relief, “It surely will.”
Her nod was uncertain and only half believing, he thought, as she locked the shop door. Her look at him was still unreadable, “Follow me through the back. I’ll get the book.”
“I know you’re Julie. Call me Yorke.”
She was still unsmiling as she nodded and walked past him towards the rear. Was he about to see the book which had passed out of his life? In some dusty storeroom perhaps. Although cool, this young lady was being surprisingly generous.
Julie could not ignore the voice that screamed in her head, ‘What in God’s name is wrong with you? Couldn’t you just say you didn’t know about the book?”
But that book had already drawn her into hitherto unknown physical reactions. Could she ever imagine the moisture that passages in the book had provoked? And, oh yes, mother, those increasingly frequent little aches she had down there and her response to them meant that the devil had already taken her soul.
She heard his gasp behind her. “Wow, this is not what I expected.”
She looked back at him, tall and handsome in his dark green jacket. Feeling only slightly relaxed, she quickly explained her uncle’s action. Then, approaching the kitchen, she shocked herself once again by asking if he’d like a coffee. Madness, sheer madness.
His slightly surprised acceptance had her reaching into the kitchen to switch on the coffee-maker, as she said, “It won’t be long. Sit in the armchair. I’ll get the book.”
“May I look out at your garden?”
“Of course, the door isn’t latched.”
She hurried upstairs. The book was always on the bedside table. Julie hastily plucked away any obvious markers. Just what section did this stranger, called Yorke, want to view?
Yorke, trying to decipher her change of mood, took a quick look around the very tidy garden, before standing, incredibly excited at the foot of the stairs as she came down, and handed the green-backed book to him. His hand trembled as he took it.
Julie was surprised at how nervous he seemed. “I’ll get the coffee. Sugar?”
“White, no sugar, Thank you.”
Pouring the coffee, her thoughts returned to the chance she was taking. A stranger in her room reading a passage from a sexually provocative book. So, why was she feeling more relaxed? .
Picking up the two mugs she heard him sigh heavily. Returning to the sitting room, she was shocked to see him slumped forward, hands over his face, the book open on his lap. Placing the two mugs on a low table, she asked tentatively, “Is there something wrong?”
He sat back, dropped his hands from his face, but kept it averted as he replied, “Stupid of me. I thought—I believed —I could take it—”
As he struggled for words, Julie managed a hasty glance at the page that he had open. She read, “For my darling wife, Cassie, who gave—”. Then his hand moved, not deliberately, but the book closed. Leaving Julie confused. Had that been the actual page he had wanted? Maybe not. But he looked so distraught. How strange was it that, while fearing an attempted touch from him, her urge was to reach out a consoling hand? Instead her question sought expansion.
Yorke was bemused by the way things had turned out. He’d started with a low-key curiosity about this Julie and had witnessed her run a gamut of emotions. At first she had seemed inexplicably nervous of him, then cool, followed by her nervous reaction when he’d asked about the book.
Why had she looked so shaken? Her open admission of having a copy, had shocked him. But when she offered, rather uncertainly to let him see it, and offered coffee too, his whole perspective of her changed. He half-smiled in recalling that look that showed on her face as though shocked by her own offer.
Almost friendly when offering him coffee, he’d suddenly become aware of how cosy it might be to be friends. Then he had opened the book.
He should have known what effect reading the foreword pages again after two years would have. Had he wept? He didn’t think so. But it had been close. He wondered if Julie heard anything
He had noticed her hand reaching out consolingly. That was good of her So, he picked up the book, quickly opened it, at the correct page and held it up for Julie to read.
Julie could tell how troubled the book had made him, now she saw the red rim at the corner of his eyes, as, mystified, she took the book from him.
Juliehad read the dedication when she’d first opened the book, now it had real meaning.
“For my darling wife, Cassie, who gave me all her love and so much more. Who also gave me the inspiration to write, especially this book. I will love you forever.”
Julie felt the emotion so strongly, there was a tightness in her chest. Yet there was still deep curiosity about the connection. She closed the book, but held it in her hand, as she looked down into Yorke’s expressionless face.
Yorke took in a deep breath, knowing explanation was inevitable and made the simple admission. ”Cassie was my wife. She died.” Those last two words were still cruel to state.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Julie said with genuine emotion before she had a quick glance at the front cover, bearing the name ‘Ray Wilder.’ “But—”
Yorke gave her an apologetic smile, as he nodded, “I worried about the book being too explicit under my own name. So—” He shrugged, but then glanced at his watch, “Oh, I’m due with a client in ten minutes.” He stood up. “Have to dash.”
Julie stood too. A strange sense of disappointment struck her, while deep heat lay in the pit of her stomach, as she led him through the shop.
Yorke was hoping that he had acted quickly enough to avoid an obvious question, but before they reached the door she suddenly asked, half turning, “How do you not have a copy of your own book?”
Yorke felt his body tense, but he managed to respond, “It’s a long sad story. I’m just coming out of the trauma of it.”
As she raised her hand to open the door, Julie was getting sensations that the devil could never explain. She’d talked with a handsome man, a new experience, but Julie sensed there was much more. But now, with her questions had she left herself open to a question he might ask. She hadn’t long to wait.
Yorke, short of time now, as her eyes looked up at his, decided to take that major step. Hesitantly, he said, “If you really want to hear my tale of woe, would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
Now, Julie could feel her heart really pounding. This man, who had written words that had brought her body to life, had set other vague possibilities churning in her head, was asking her out to dinner, “A date? I’ve never been on a date. I’d like that.”
A tremor deep down told her that the devil was well in control. A rather appealing possibility had occurred
Yorke laughed at her joke, “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. I’m so grateful you allowed me to see the book. Thank you.”
And he placed one hand on her shoulder, moved his head closer intending to give a grateful peck on her cheek. To his amazement, she almost leapt away from him, such an uncertain look on her troubled face.
“Oh, I’m sorry I—”
Julie hated herself. It had been there. Her chance to open out. All she could clumsily stammer now was, “You see—I’ve –I’ve never—”
Thinking he’d see a chance to lighten any embarrassment, he chuckled, ”I get it—sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”
“Really, never,” Julie sighed, and her plaintive look told a shocked Yorke that she was telling the truth. So not having had a date wasn’t a joke either. How could–?
Julie couldn’t stop herself from saying, “If that puts you off, I’ll understand.”
Yorke was sorry to see and hear the regret that overcame her, “Not at all,” he told her brightly. “We have explanations to share now. For instance, how do you have a well- thumbed copy of my book? I look forward to finding out.”
He decided against trying for another kiss, squeezed passed her, “Seven thirty.”
Julie resolved to make amends called after him, “And I have a favour to ask.”
A balmy Saturday evening and Yorke, found Julie, absolutely stunning in a pale green, silken dress, that hinted at a slight cleavage. A thin white shawl covered her shoulders.
Julie bought the green dress that day, delighting in knowing her parents would have disapproved her arms being bare right to the shoulders. She was struck by how casually elegant Yorke looked in navy jacket, light grey pants, and blue shirt.
They dined at Lamprini’s, up-market for Yorke normally, but Julie’s look of wonder pleased him. They each had a prawn cocktail and shared a wonderful boeuf bourguignon. They spoke little during the meal, only praising the meal, while exchanging an occasional glance or smile.
When the meal was cleared away, and Julie had expressed how much she had enjoyed it, coffee was poured.
“Confession time,” Yorke declared, hoping he could hold his events together without falling apart. Consequently, he said, “Ladies first.”
Julie surprised herself at how comfortable she was in rattling off the whole outline of her repressive existence with her parents.
Yorke listened with some amazement, before commenting, “Very religious, eh?”
Her own vehemence in responding surprised even Julie. “Religious? More bothered about the threat of the devil, than the love of God.”
Yorke sipped his coffee and said, “And that’s why you’ve never been kissed? Maybe we could do something about that.” She blushed, especially when his questioning moved onto why she had the book.
She hardly needed to think, before saying, “My favour is about that, but I’d rather hear your saga first.”
Yorke was determined to keep it short, “Absolute hell, crammed into two weeks,” he told her. “Starting with the joy of receiving the complimentary copy of my book.”
“Three days later we heard the news that the Wickley Publishing house had been completely gutted by fire.”
“Oh, I remember that,” Julie said. ”Lost everything. Went out of business, didn’t they?”
Yorke nodded. He took a deep breath, a sip of coffee, deliberately delaying, before telling her the horror of the very next day finding Cassie slumped ghostly white on the floor.
Julie aghast, could only begin, ”What–?”
“Doctors said brain aneurysm.”
Julie, groping for words, felt so hopeless in such situations. Almost adolescent. Not the only area she was adolescent in. “God, Yorke, how could you survive all of that?”
“I almost didn’t.”
The day after Cassie’s funeral, Yorke’s house was totally destroyed by a gas explosion. Mentioning that had Julie gasping, “Totally?”
Yorke nodded, “Explosion, fire—lost everything, including my book. I knew nothing about it. In a coma for three weeks. There was a suggestion that I attempted self-harm. I’d been careless, yes. But deliberate—no.”
“No wonder you needed therapy. It must have been terrible for you.”
“I’m trying to put it in the past and live a normal life, at last.”
Later, in the car outside the bookshop, he turned to her and said, “As part of living a normal life, you haven’t told me the favour you wanted.”
Julie, hearing of his tragedy, worried that she sound selfish. But she so wanted to hear his deep brown tones, softly speaking some of the passages, wondering what it might do to her. But she asked.
Yorke sat back. He had only briefly held the recovered book. Time enough to notice the well-thumbed and marked sections. Was there something more to this than she had admitted? It was rather flattering, and just a little exciting.
Yorke admitted that he hadn’t had that experience but would be glad to do it. . But when Julie suggested the following day he had to apologise. He drove north to see his mother most Sundays.
He was sorry to see the look of disappointment on the pretty face. But she quickly came up with an alternative and asked if he’d let her cook him a meal on the Monday night. She seemed so eager,
“Only if you can cook.” He laughed.
She was smiling as she leaned towards him. Was there an expectant gleam in her eyes? Without hesitating he pressed his lips to hers. No backing away. So soft, uncertain at first, then, lips slightly parted, she was responding warmly.
Julie was enraptured. Yes, this was like it should be. This was what she had imagined it would be. Her first real kiss and her whole body was craving so much more. This finger touched her bared shoulder triggering more tingling. It was intoxicating. She knew then exactly what she wanted and where. Could it happen with Yorke?.
That was the moment he broke the kiss, drew his head back to whisper, “Thank you. You all right?”
Disappointed, might have been a fitting word after she’d told him how much she’d enjoyed her first kiss. A few moments and he was out the car, opening her door, and as she wondered about asking him in, Yorke imparted one more, briefer kiss, and was gone, calling back, “Looking forward to Monday night.”
That kiss and its effect on her stayed with Julie right through Sunday and into Monday. Her body felt as though it had been tuned for something, tuned for something the book had told her about. Would her parents call what she was feeling ‘wanton’?
Yorke’s mind had remained on Julie, and her wish to hear him reading own book. Just what was she expecting from that? Her reaction to his kiss left the impression that she wanted more.
He almost smiled at the thought of his intimate relationships before Cassie came his way. Two one-night stands both of which had ended dismally. One of them, stating, “You’re a nice-looking guy, but you screw with all the power of an amoeba”
Cassie had changed all that, but, for the very first time his thoughts were on another lady. A virgin who had felt her libido invaded by his book. Did she expect him to?
Monday arrived. Julie closed the shop early to begin the preparation of the meal, chicken, in tomato and pepper sauce, with minted baby potatoes, which she had cooked for no one but herself before this evening.
The thought of his voice reading the words she would ask for, moistened her. Was she expecting anything more than his voice, speaking his words? She took a swift glance at a certain page, in which Cyrene, intent on an early seduction, undid the top buttons of her dress. A daring thought? Julie was wearing a button-up summer dress. A full-on experience, was that what she wanted?
7.30 pm on the dot. As he pressed the bell, Yorke was wondering why he should feel so unsure of himself. A meal cooked by a charming, pretty lady, what was there to be uncertain about?
Julie responded immediately to the sound of the doorbell. She was getting herself so worked up about the direction the evening might take. Stay cool, Julie.
Opening, the door, to a man! This was different. Yorke stood there, so cool, handsome in sports shirt, and slacks. He smiled and held out a bunch of flowers. Involuntarily Julie raised her face, hopefully. They had done it once. Would he?
Hell, Yorke was thinking she looked so delectable in that yellow button-up summer dress. God, there was immediately visible cleavage where the top buttons were undone. Accidental? Or deliberate? Surely not. Not from this virginal young lady. Yet she was holding up her face expectantly. For a repeat of Saturday’s kiss?
He leaned his face towards hers and their lips met in a gentle but firm unheated kiss. Five seconds at the most and their eyes held momentarily’
Julie took the offered bunch of flowers, “I love gerberas,” she said. “Such delicate colours.”
For the next little while it was all about eating. Julie apologised that there was no dining table. They sat, she on the sofa, Yorke on the easy chair, a small table in front of them.
Yorke was very aware of her watching him eat. She needn’t have worried. The meal was delicious, and he told her so.
Julie felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he genuinely enjoyed her cooking. Soon all was cleared away and they sat facing each other. Almost frightened of how far the second reason for him being there would take them. Her breathing, her moistening, warned her that, just maybe, her expectations were too high.
He noticed her dress tighten across her breasts as she drew in a deep breath, before asking, “Are you in the mood to read your book?”
Yorke widened his eyes in mock surprise. “All of it?” And it was a delight to hear her almost girlish giggle. He picked it up from the chair arm, where it was ready and waiting. But he was guessing now that those top two unfastened buttons were not accidental. And that delighted him.
“I’ve put green stickers, in order to show the sections,” Julie told him. Why was her heart pounding? Here came the time she had been thinking of, wishing for. His voice, his words, her wild dampness.
Again, Yorke noted the well-thumbed pages, and wondered about the effect it might have had on her. Having had her ask for this reading, he had hoped, initially, that she wasn’t expecting him to be the one to end her repression. Now his thinking was slightly different.
Yorke opened the book, deliberately skipping the dedication page. His emotions were scrambled enough. For some time, this young lady had been forcing herself into his mind, into his bloodstream. Her choice of section was going to be so revealing.
The first green sticker on page three, a pair of faint pencil lines marked the beginning and end of the required section. Yorke recognised it immediately.
He glanced up at Julie’s seemingly anxious face, and asked, “You ready for this?”
Anxiety was the last thing Julie felt. She was eager to hear this starter, knowing what was to come later. She simply nodded.
“Right,” Yorke said, sitting forward with the book at chest level. Keeping his voice even, he began reading.
’At last they were alone together. Cyrene stood in front of him for only a moment, before sitting down beside him. Almost in the same motion, her gorgeous part-open mouth covered his, and her sweet tongue caressed over his.”
Yorke raised his eyes to see Julie leaning forward, lips parted, eyes intent on his face and the pink tip of her tongue touching her upper lip.
“You all right with that?” he asked, thinking how vulnerable she looked.
Julie’s head was spinning. What could Yorke read in her face? What he could never know was how wet she’d become. From only those early words? Did she dare ask to hear more? Did she dare tell him the deeper truth of what his words did to her? Or had he guessed?
His face was showing some concern but the memory of having already exchanged warm kisses with him lingered. The urge to know the physical consequences of mouths meeting with that deeper intent had captured her imagination when she first read the book. Hadn’t she marked that passage herself.
“I know we’ve kissed but would you show me how that feels –tongues and all?”
The expression on Yorke’s face made her worry that she’d gone too far. Horrified, she felt her hands trembling.
Her words bored their way into Yorke’s troubled brain. She was already the first female he had kissed at all in over two years. Now, here she was asking to know the sensation of a passionate kiss.
Julie was so attractive. It would be good to kiss her like that. But she was a virgin, with no experience except what she had read in his book. Could he really inflict himself upon such innocence?
Julie saw Yorke hesitate, and felt slightly ashamed that her own urges remained. Her mother’s voice screeched in her head, “The devil has you! The devil has you!”
She couldn’t hold back, “Oh, please Yorke. Please show me.”
For Yorke, this was crunch time. The passion he saw in Julie’s eyes had been produced only by his words, not his touch. Borne on a wave just short of guilt, he moved across the space, sat next to her, and put an arm around her shoulders. Her eager face looked up into his. Hell, she was lovely. A gift for any man. Very gently, he placed his lips over hers. Instantly, her tongue was prodding at his teeth. Yorke reared his head back, trying to suppress any laughter at her unsure precocity.
Julie’s wild hopes shrank. He had pulled away. Didn’t want her tongue. But now his fingers touched her chin to tilt her face up again. Those eyes were so genuine as they looked down into her face and asked, “You really want this?”
“Tell me it isn’t a sin,” she said huskily.
“Only your own heart can tell you that.”
A mixture of embarrassment and curiosity came over her as she replied, “Oh, yes, yes. I need to know. To find out.”
Yorke heard her sharp intake of breath as he placed his parted lips on hers. Julie was lost in the wonder of their tongues locking, and a tingling spreading from her cheek. to every corner of her body.
She was now even more determined to free her ‘libido’. That had been a new word when she’d read it in his book. Now there had to be more.
Julie gently whispered, “Would you read the next marked section?”
Sitting back from her, Yorke found the page, without difficulty, and gave it a hasty glance. Very quickly, given the content there, he had to ask himself whether Julie was wishing to provoke her own deflowering. How could he, fairly, have a part in that?
“Please read,” Julie asked. She too knew what this section contained, and that made her more sure, since the passionate kiss episode.
Yorke recalled that, rather like Julie and he at that moment, Cyrene and Jack were seated side by side on a sofa in her comfortable home.
“They clung together warmly. Cyrene had one of her hands caressing Jack’s thigh as lips and tongues meshed. Jack, still uncertain of how to proceed, had his left arm behind her head, while his right hand was tucked just below her left armpit, as her tongue sent wicked impulses around his cheeks, Cyrene deftly half turned her body so that his right hand was covering her breast.
“Squeeze me, Jack. Find my nipple, feel it rise.” And her hand drew his to the open neckline of her dress, as she skilfully undid another button. Jack found his hand smoothing over the incredible mound, the sensuous skin and the pebble hard nipple.”
God, Yorke found his cock had given a little twitch. At his own writing? Or memory? The rising in his groin became more pronounced when he raised his eyes from the page and saw what Julie was doing. He lowered the book defensively in case he was showing his obvious reaction.
Julie’s mind was in turmoil again. His voice, so deep, his words, so exciting had her moving her hand as it would when she read alone. Across her whole breast, and as she caught Yorke’s surprised look, her fingers at her neckline were about to slide inside. Yorke had written about sensuous skin. Oh, yes it surely was, and those green eyes were seeing her actions. He must see how her breasts were heaving with each quickening breath.
His book having turned her pure mind already, Yorke was considering the fairness of giving her what she clearly wanted. Without thinking any further, he placed one hand on the side of her face, as their lips came together with some heat and their tongues really learned how to dance together. He flicked the third button of her dress open before he slid his hand over a bared breast, small but delightfully smooth.
Julie was on the verge of something ecstatic under that caressing hand, and his searching tongue. So, something close to despair came with Yorke’s breaking away once more. Her whole body was ready to burst into flame. She was sure that she had been heading on some magical path. Now his handsome face was gazing into hers looking very serious, yet did she imagine the new warmth that showed there?
Recognising the strong desires that were rising inside him, and very conscious of the responsibility that might be his in taking Julie’s virginity, Yorke chose his words carefully as he warned her, “Julie. Julie. If we go on from here, we may pass the point of no return.”
Julie was thrilled by the way he used her name twice before saying what he did. It heightened the urgency of her own needs. “Oh, Yorke, pass it . Please pass it.” She could not withhold a gasp of rapturous pleasure as his finger found her nipples and both, instantly became harder.
Briefly, Yorke broke the kiss. “No bra?”
God, he’d stolen her breath, “Don’t need one,” she panted. “When I left home, I left confinement.” All aglow, she went on, “You’ve touched me, it’s like a fire on my skin. But that fire is spreading, moving downwards, deep down there where I feel the need to explode. A physical ache.”
Yorke chuckled at her frankness, and without even thinking, he lowered his face and took a nipple into his mouth, tickling it with his tongue. He felt Julie’s wild jerk felt her fingernails dig wildly into his back, as he began sucking on it. And her voice faked petulance as she gasped, “That wasn’t in what you just read. That’s page twenty-one.”
Reluctantly, Yorke raised his head and asked, “Want me to just read?”
“No. Please, do both.” Julie could not believe this was really her? All the years of denying, now here she was with a man touching her bare breast, so much more vital than her own hand. And now she was desperate for all the new experiences that would take her to a new world.
Half smiling, Yorke picked up the book and held it behind her head, so that he had to put his face close to hers as he read over her shoulder. “This all right?”
“Perfect. Only jump to page twenty-three,” she sighed, as he kissed her gently. To have his face so close as he poured his erotic words over her was beyond anything she could have imagined. And her hips and thighs were already twitching as she knew the section that was coming.
Finding the right page, Yorke said, “Okay.” And as one hand unbuttoned the rest of her dress, he began to read.
“Having unbuttoned Cyrene’s dress, Jack parted it so that she was naked all the way to blue frilled panties.”
Yorke looked at her cautiously, half-fearing that this might be too much for her.
His unbuttoning her dress had been surprising, but, given the sensations that were welling in her lower body where the devil had taken complete control, she was no longer in a frame of mind to stop him. All she said was, “Sorry, white cotton.”
“Very fetching,” Yorke told her kindly. He kissed her before moving his mouth back to her nipples, while his hand circled her belly gently.
Julie could almost have settled for the attention Yorke was giving her, but she knew that the next section would move them into where they should be. “Yorke, just read the next passage.”
Yorke, just a little disappointed not to go on, held up the book, and began reading. “Jack was totally absorbed in the wonders of Cyrene’s amazing body, so he was a little disappointed when she struggled to her feet, pulled her dress closed and hurried towards the stairs. “Give me five minutes.” She took his hand.
To Yorke’s disappointment, Julie pulled herself from where he was leaning over her. But she took his hand, and led him to the stairs, holding her dress closed. “Bring the book,” she reminded him. “We need comfort.”
Taken completely by surprise, Yorke could only follow, commenting, “Isn’t this deviating from the book?”
As they reached her bedroom, Julie was feeling elated that she had the nerve to adjust this part of the book. She turned to face Yorke, who put his arms around her under her open dress so that his hands stroked over her skin., and as she thrilled at his touch, she managed to gasp, “Not deviating, adapting.”
The room was pinkly feminine and Yorke’s breath shuddered in his throat as he lowered his face to her. Their bodies clung closely. Julie felt a newer, deeper hunger as their mouths met, lips searching over and around each other, while tongues met and wrestled like young puppies.
It was Yorke who asked, “Do we return to the book?” His hand was circling her belly and her breast even as he spoke.
“What does the next marked page say?” Julie asked, hardly able to speak under his touch.
Yorke released her to read, “Jack slid her robe off her shoulder and his fingers plated a concerto over her breasts.”
“We’ve passed that,” she said, almost proud of that achievement.
“Not quite,” Yorke responded, giving her a gentle smile as his finger stroked over the bared curve of her shoulders, causing her loose dress to fall to the floor. She was naked apart from those brief white cotton panties
Julie, amazed at her own precociousness was guided back to sit on the softness of the bed, as Yorke removed his shirt and pants. It occurred to him that Julie had probably never seen an erect penis.
Julie had never seen any penis. To see Yorke’s, bouncing near her face like some massive springboard, filled her with some apprehension. Surely too big for her tightness, juicy as it had become.
Yorke allowed her to ogle his hardness, longing to have her touch it. That would happen, but at her pace. He lay alongside her, thigh against thigh, his hardness so demanding. But gentility and patience were the order of the moment.
Kissing her ever more deeply, he caressed the wondrous curves of her body. His fingers traced and trailed over and around each nipple, his mouth followed.
Julie was realising that this was more than the rapture she had imagined. She had given herself what she thought was an orgasm. What Yorke was doing now suggested there was so much more. His finger traced sensuously, cautiously onto the level plain of her belly, circling there, then pushing her panties down. His finger stroked through her tawny bush, like some uncertain explorer on the verge of a great discovery.
Julie tried desperately to hold back the whimpers, gasps, and gurgles at the pleasure of his lascivious movements, and she knew that her thighs had parted, preparing for his discovery of her wetness.
Yorke moved his middle finger into Julie’s groove thinking to find a trace of moisture there. God, she was soaking, so ready for his throbbing cock. It was so easy to find her clit, rising like a blossom stamen eager for the sun. His fingers rolled gently around it, but Julie’s hips jerked as though electrocuted, and he heard her quickening breath.
Yorke‘s middle finger was suddenly in that precious wetness of a tunnel. Julie’s secret unsullied place. He could tell there was no obtrusive hymen. He’d love to kiss there. Maybe later, but she was close to taking it. As she gasped, “Yorke, I’ve never touched you.”
Guiltily, Julie had been lost in the wonder of his attentions. Her hand was moving down over his belly to reach, to touch his tumescent cock. “Oh!” she said, her fingers drifting down the shaft, before searching the veins, the eager tip. “It feels too big. So hard.”
As her fingers closed around it, and she whispered, “Am I doing it right?” Yorke feared he might disappoint her. So long, so much pressure of late. Now that pressure was ready to burst with the slightest friction. Fearing he would fail her, he stroked the wet walls just around her entry. Opening her. Preparing her.
Julie was lost in some kind of blissful state. Somewhere she had never been, somewhere she was going to be driven beyond. Yorke’s fingers worked on her. They were so near the ultimate, and with it came her first uneasiness. Would it hurt? Yorke’s implement had felt so big and hard in her hand. Could she take it? Yes, oh, yes, she wanted it, needed it, craved it.
“Please, Yorke,” she gasped, her breath quickening, her hand smoothing along his hardness. “Can we do it? I want–“
She didn’t complete what she wanted, as Yorke removed his fingers from inside her and gently parting her thighs, rolled onto her, and guided her hand, holding his rampant cock to her opening, where he urged her to release it.
“I’ll be careful,” he said gently, and saw her biting her lower lip, her eyes almost closed. Insertion at her moist opening was easy. Only the rising pressure from his scrotum was a threat. But Julie and her pleasure was as precious to him as anything else in his life. Was he going to be good for her?
His swollen cock came to that tight spot. It felt like Julie’s inner walls were clenching in on him. Without further thought, he gave the needed extra short thrust, and heard Julie yelp, but he was through.
Julie thrilled at Yorke’s first entry into her. A man was inside her. His hardness was pushing against the narrowing of her passage. Tight, so tight. The suddenness of his bursting past it hurt her and she squealed. But then he was pushing deep inside her, filling her, immense, and it was pure rapture.
Yorke was congratulating himself that he was still intact, but he knew it was close as he made a third thrust and he felt Julie’s hips rise up to accept him and she was whimpering, not a pained whimper, shocked maybe, delighted hopefully. Just as well as his overloaded sack surrendered spurt after spurt into Julie as he made one final deep thrust and she moaned gently.
Julie was wondering if there could be anything better. She had journeyed, but she had no idea where. Some kind of sweet spirit swept through her body.
Julie sat up over Yorke, “Was I any good?”
Caressing her sweated cheek, Yorke kissed her, “You were perfect. I didn’t hurt you, did I?””
“Just a slight pain,” she admitted. “But it was lovely having you inside me. Heavens, it was like a red-hot poker filling me. Huge. Is it always that good?”
“Are you saying it can be even better than that?”
Yorke laughed, hope in his heart, “It’ll take years. We’re only up to page twenty-seven.”
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The right of edgiver83 to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design, and Patents Act 1988