Page 27 of Must Love Libraries and Libations (Moonshine Hollow #2)

PRIMROSE

F inally, the evening came to a close. The last of the lanterns had been extinguished, the final guest had departed with promises to visit the library more often, and even my parents had made their way home—though not before my mother managed to corner everyone we knew to tell them about “my daughter the businesswoman and the library guardian.” I’d lost count of how many times she’d said it, but the pride in her voice had made my heart warm each time.

With a satisfied sigh, I cast my cleanup spell across the grounds.

Tablecloths shook themselves free, then folded themselves for laundering, tables closed and stacked neatly, chairs arranged themselves in orderly rows, and the flower arrangements gently floated into organized bundles that Winifred could collect tomorrow.

The spell worked like a gentle breeze, sweeping away crumbs and straightening everything that had been lovingly disheveled by a night of celebration.

“Handy magic,” Erasmus said, appearing beside me as the last of the debris swirled away.

“One of my more practical skills. Though I have to admit, I’m rather fond of the glow enchantment I put on my dress,” I said, swirling the skirt.

He stepped closer, his golden eyes taking in the subtle shimmer that clung to the pink silk. “I noticed. You looked…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “Radiant doesn’t seem sufficient. Like pink starlight.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “I’ll take pink starlight.”

From inside the library came a series of contented chirps and trills as the bookwyrms settled in for the night. They’d eaten their weight in cupcakes and canapés and were now in what could only be described as party-induced bliss.

“Sounds like they overindulged,” I said with a laugh.

“Stevenson is going to have quite the stomachache tomorrow,” Erasmus replied, but there was fondness in his voice rather than exasperation. “Though I suspect he considers it worth it.”

The night air was warm around us, filled with the lingering scents of flowers and the faint sweetness of magical fireworks.

In the distance, I could hear the gentle sounds of Moonshine Hollow settling into sleep—doors closing, final conversations drifting on the breeze, the soft hoot of Sir Hootington from his perch in the bookstore.

“So,” I said, suddenly feeling shy despite everything that had passed between us. “What happens now?”

“Now, if you’re willing, I’d very much like to spend the evening with you. Just us.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “If you’ll have me.”

My heart stuttered. The weight of his words, the vulnerability in them, made my breath catch. This man, who had spent centuries alone, who guarded his privacy as fiercely as he guarded his books, was offering me everything.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He offered me his arm, and together we walked toward the library. The building seemed to sense our approach. The doors opened without being touched, enchanted candles flickered to life along the corridors, and even the air itself seemed to hum with welcome.

“The library likes you,” Erasmus observed as we passed through the main hall, where the Wyrmwood tree’s blossoms glowed softly in the darkness.

“The feeling is mutual,” I replied, running my fingers along the spines as we passed, the result of which evoked a giggle from the books.

We reached the familiar door to his study, and he opened it without hesitation. He was truly inviting me in, not I’d barged my way past his defenses, but because he wanted me there.

The room felt different from how it had during our previous encounters.

More welcoming, somehow. The warm glow of enchanted lamps cast everything in golden light, and I found myself noticing details I’d missed before in all the drama—a collection of smooth river stones on one shelf, a pressed flower between the pages of an open book, a small painting of the library as it had looked decades ago.

“You mentioned wine?” he said, moving to a cabinet I hadn’t noticed before.

I laughed. “Please. Although it’s a shame we didn’t grab those vintage bottles from the witch’s cellar. We could be the richest people in Moonshine Hollow.”

“I’ve had quite enough of Witch Eyreaway, thank you,” Erasmus replied as he poured us both cups. Our fingers brushed as I took it, and even that simple touch sent warmth racing up my arm.

“To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass.

“And to you, on your birthday.”

“Thank you, Primrose.”

We drank, and then he set his glass aside and moved closer. “Primrose,” he said, my name soft on his lips. “I want you to know something.”

“What is it?”

“Tonight has been special beyond compare. I…I am a new person because of you,” he said, then set his hand on my face, gently cupping it. “You are so special. And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in five hundred and eleven years of existence.”

My glass nearly slipped from my suddenly trembling fingers. “Erasmus…”

“I’m not just falling for you. I love you,” he said simply.

“I love your laugh and your determination and the way you see sparkle in everything, even grumpy gargoyles who don’t deserve it.

I love that you bought a house when you were angry at me, and I love that you never gave up on this party even when I was being impossible. ”

I set my wine aside. “I love you too,” I whispered. “I think I have since that first day when you were so magnificently rude that I wanted to both throttle you and kiss you senseless.”

“What’s stopping you now?” he asked, stepping even closer.

“Absolutely nothing,” I breathed, and then I was in his arms and kissing him like tomorrow would never come.

But this kiss was different from the others, deeper, more certain.

There was no hesitation, no fear of interruption, just the two of us finally free to explore what had been building between us for so long.

His hands found the small buttons at the back of my dress, and I could feel the question in his touch.

“Yes,” I said against his lips. “Please. Yes.”

With careful fingers, he began to undo the fastenings, pressing soft kisses to each inch of skin he revealed. When the dress pooled at my feet in a shimmer of pink magic, I reached for his jacket, eager to feel the warmth of his skin.

“Are you certain?” he asked, even as his hands traced the curves of my waist through my thin chemise.

Instead of answering with words, I tugged him toward the small sofa in the corner of his study, but he caught my hand.

“Not there,” he said softly. “If we’re doing this, I want to do it properly.” He led me through the door to his adjoining bedroom, where moonlight streamed through the windows. “I want to take my time with you.”

The careful way he said it sent heat spiraling through me, and I reached up to trace the strong line of his jaw. “Then take your time,” I whispered.

With infinite care, he lifted my chemise over my head, his golden eyes drinking in every inch of skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands skimming over my shoulders, down my arms. “So soft.”

When his mouth followed the path his hands had traced, pressing kisses to my throat, my collarbones, the swell of my breasts, I gasped. His forked tongue was a revelation, the dual sensation making me cry out.

“More,” I whispered, surprising myself with my boldness.

He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want, love.”

“You,” I said simply. “All of you. I want to see you, touch you…”

With shaking hands, I reached for his shirt, and this time he helped me, shrugging out of the fine fabric.

His chest was magnificent in the moonlight, all carved muscle and warm, stone-colored skin.

I traced the ridges of his abdomen with wondering fingers, marveling at the way he shuddered under my touch.

“Primrose,” he groaned, his hands growing bolder, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks until I was trembling with need.

I reached for the fastenings of his trousers, and he stilled. “Primrose…”

“I want this, Erasmus. I want you.”

When he was finally as bare as I was, I caught my breath. He was magnificent and intimidating in equal measure. My eyes widened as I took in his impressive length, and he noticed my reaction.

“We’ll go slowly,” he promised, his voice tender. “I would never hurt you.”

He laid me back on his bed, and then his mouth was on me again, trailing fire down my body. When he reached my thighs, I gasped and tangled my fingers in his dark hair.

“I love your taste,” he murmured against my skin. “Let me taste all of you.”

What followed was exquisite torture. His forked tongue worked magic as it glided across my clit. When I felt the tip of his tail join the symphony, penetrating me softly, I cried out.

He worked me through the waves of pleasure, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs as I slowly came back to myself. When he moved up to gather me in his arms, I could feel the hard length of him pressing against me.

“Now,” I whispered, still breathless. “Please, Erasmus. I need you.”

He positioned himself at my entrance, and we both held our breath at the contact. Even after what he’d done to prepare me, the stretch was intense as he slowly, carefully pressed inside. He was larger than I’d expected, and I had to breathe through the initial overwhelming fullness.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he whispered in my ear.

When I finally relaxed, when the stretch became pleasure instead of pressure, I rolled my hips experimentally. The groan that escaped him was purely animal.

“I’m ready,” I whispered.

What followed was tender, passionate, and earth-shattering.

He moved with careful control at first, but as I urged him on, my nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, his restraint began to fray.

His wings spread wide above us, blocking out everything but him and the incredible sensation of being completely filled, completely claimed.

He groaned against my neck, his movements becoming more urgent.

“You feel like coming home,” he whispered in my ear.

When my release crashed over me for the second time that night, I cried out his name so loudly I was certain the bookwyrms would wake. The feeling of me clenching around him sent him over the edge as well, and he buried his face in my neck as he found his own completion.

“Primrose,” he whispered, his voice strangled as he spasmed, filling me.

Breathing hard, he lay his head on my chest.

“I hear your heart,” he whispered.

“It beats for you.”

As we lay tangled together on his bed, his wing draped over us like a blanket, I traced lazy patterns on his skin and marveled at how right this felt.

“So,” I said eventually, when my breathing had returned to normal. “About this cottage I bought in a fit of anger…”

I felt his chest rumble with laughter. “Yes, about that. I believe you mentioned wanting to show it to me?”

“Well, it needs some work. A lot of work, actually. The roof leaks, the garden is overgrown, and I’m fairly certain there’s a family of mice living in the kitchen walls.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You say that now, but wait until you see the state of the shutters. And there are sprites and fairies.”

“I’ve dealt with bookwyrms for centuries, love. I think I can handle a few well-meaning sprites and fairies.”

Love. He’d called me love, and the word settled into my heart like it had always belonged there.

“There’s something else,” I said, suddenly nervous again.

“What’s that?”

“The cottage is not very big. If you’re going to live there too, which I very much hope you are, well, we might be on top of each other all the time.”

His arm tightened around me. “Primrose Windsong, I have spent the last five hundred years rattling around this library alone. The idea of being ‘on top of you’ all the time sounds like paradise.”

I blushed furiously, which only made him laugh again.

“Besides,” he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “I think it’s time this old gargoyle learned what it means to truly build a home with someone, not just guard one.”

“Are you sure? You’d be giving up all this space, your sanctuary…”

“My sanctuary isn’t a place, Primrose. It’s you.” He cupped my face in his large hands, thumb stroking across my cheek. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“And me with you… Always. You stubborn gargoyle.”

“I love you too.”