Arousal

Vera & Luke

Year 1885. Beaver Dam, Wisconsin.

I adjust my bonnet and thick shawl and straighten my skirt, after I got off the hackney carriage. I give Henry a smile, thanking him and reminding myself to pay him by the end of the week. He touches his top hat in response before whipping the poor black horse and the coach is driven away.

In the early morning bustle of this autumn day, I see some people walking down the street. Meanwhile, I look up at the newly built public library in Beaver Dam. It was founded just last year. It has a so-called Richardsonian Romanesque style. It is a revival style that incorporates the 11th and 12th century Spanish, southern French and Italian characteristics. The arches are round, and the building has a recessed entrance, a blank stretch of walls and a cylindrical tower with conical caps embedded in its walling.

Before me, the waist-tall roses that serve as fences have wilted their leaves, and the flower garden just in front of the building is now like an empty, lifeless ground.

Before I can take a step through the small pathway toward the entrance of the building, I hear some shots ring in the air. I instinctively duck, gasping. Heart in throat. My eyes are wildly scanning the streets. People are running to somewhere they can hide.

I gather my thick, heavy skirt and run through the pathway toward the entrance of the public library, where I serve as a librarian. My hand is shaking while I try to insert the key I fished out from my purse.

“I got this!” A baritone voice, sounding urgent, gets my attention. Not only that. He also takes away the key from my shaking hand.

I turn round to face the owner of that voice. He is a tall and tanned man, wearing a hat, a scarf around his neck, a white shirt underneath his dark jacket, a pair black trousers and boots. He looks like he is in a hurry.

Perhaps he is already in his late twenties. His eyes are steely gray, with high cheekbones, prominent nose and mouth. He is rather a beautiful man, if I may add.

My mouth opens wide as he opens the door. He then shoves himself in and pulls me inside without a word, locking the door behind me in one smooth movement.

He then traps me between the huge door and his hard body. His hands and arms bar the either side of my face, by leaning. His pure male scent overwhelms me. My heart races wildly. In this bizarre moment, my body grows warm, the peaks of my breasts harden and my honey pot seems to moisten.

I blink. Then I slap his face.

“Don’t touch me!” I protest belatedly.

He gives me a smirk. But he slowly withdraws and backs away. All the while, his eyes are on my face and rake my body up and down. Nobody has ever looked at me this way before. It is like he is stripping me with only his eyes.

This is so weird—especially that my body just automatically responds to his nearness. When I really look at him this time around, I notice a gun slung around his hip.

“W-who are you?” I manage to ask at last, without moving where I stood.

He gives me a smug smile. His eyes roam around the library.

The shelves are arranged neatly on my left side. In front of me is a horizontal counter, where my desk and chair are behind it. On our right is where the tables and chairs that are especially for the patrons. It is the area where they can quietly read their favorite books. Further down the hallway is a bathroom, as well as a small kitchen and dining room. It is also where I fix my lunch and coffee or tea in the afternoons.

“I’m a patron,” he slowly answers.

I give him a suspicious look. “I’ve never seen you before, Mister.”

Yes, I would remember if he were.

He chuckles. “Are you… are you the famous librarian Miss Vera Mackenzie?” he asks.

Now this is downright creepy. Just who is he? How does he know my name? And why is he saying that I’m a famous librarian?

I have served this public library since six months ago. But I don’t recall myself being famous for that. Why would I be? I don’t socialize, I rarely go to the balls and my nose is always buried in a book. Literally or figuratively speaking, that is. I cannot simply read without my spectacles. On the other hand, he could be right. I am the only librarian around here in Beaver Dam.

“H-how do you know my name?”

He smiles. His even white teeth show up. Moreover, the way his lips lift up is too sexy for my liking. It is quite distracting right this very moment. Then his eyes are again raking me up and down.

“I thought you’re an old spinster,” he says instead.

My jaw drops. “I beg your pardon? I’m just twenty-three!” I scoff.

Well, I am quite offended!

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Every lady I knew married at eighteen or younger.”

I give him a shaky laugh. “Glad that you never knew me, sir!” I spare him a sharp look and march down toward my desk.

I put down my purse and shawl, as well as my bonnet. But I shiver. It is cold inside. So I walk toward the fireplace to start the fire.

“You have brown eyes, dark brown hair, not so average-looking face… you don’t look bad. And I’m sure beneath those silly thick garments, you have a wonderful body.” He seems to be patronizing me. Although I blush with his words, I still give him a withering looking. Then I continue to put some logs.

“Here, let me help,” he offers.

He walks silently. I haven’t heard a step until he is already beside me, crouching. He starts the fire after arranging the logs. Then he glances at me.

“I’m going to need your help, Vera.”

My brows join together. I didn’t expect this from him. But I am half-distracted by the way he speaks my name. It is almost like a caress. And right now, the crackling sound of the logs licked by the fire is like an erotic music to my ears.

Oh, come on, Vera. Stop being distracted!

I cross my arms over my breasts. “And why would I do that? I don’t know you at all.” I realize that the shooting outside before I met this man seems to be so distant. I am not even peering outside to check what is happening now. Instead, I am here, standing and talking with this stranger with a gun on his hip.

“I need a book,” he slowly says. His eyes look distant now as he stared at the fire. It seems that there is something going on in his head, which I basically don’t know.

Before I could open my mouth to ask what book it is, I hear this banging on the door. My attention is diverted to it. But when I glance at him, he is nowhere to be found. The window on the other side of the furnace is already slightly open.

So that’s how he slips away silently.

I quickly take a peek outside but I cannot find him anymore. Outside is merely a line of trees and whatnot. The cool wind is gushing against my face. So, I close the window.

“Miss Mackenzie, are you there?” A voice calls out from the outside.

“A moment, please,” I say, walking toward the door. “Constable Iverson!” I am slightly surprised to see the bearded man with a lean body.

He has black hair and eyes, beaky nose, and cruel-looking mouth. He is wearing a uniform with buttons from the throat down, plus a hat. He tips it off to greet me. So do the other two behind him. One is stocky, the other is thin like a stick. Both have mustaches.

“Miss Mackenzie, why is the door locked?”

I quickly take a glance at the grandfather’s clock on the wall just behind my desk. “Oh, is it nine already?” I feign innocence.

He narrows his eyes, looking at me. He pushes past me and enters the building. The others follow suit.

I turn around to follow them as well.

“Are you alone, Miss Mackenzie?” he asks but his eyes are scanning the entire place.

“Yes, I am. As you well know, Constable Iverson after Mrs. Hart left the management of this public library to my care, I—”

He takes a paper out of his pocket and shakes it noisily. He steps toward me and asks, “Have you seen this man around here?” Meanwhile, his two companions check every nook and crook of the library, where a man could possibly hide.

I look at the composite sketch. My mind and heart are suddenly stricken by fear. But for what, I do not stop to reflect on it. Nonetheless, the man that I have talked to and the composite sketch are one, I know deep in my heart—instinctively—that he is no criminal.

“No, I don’t—I didn’t,” I deny.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

I tear my gaze away from the composite sketch. “Yes, Constable Iverson! But… who is he?”

He considers me for a moment. “An outlaw. He killed his own uncle and ran away like a coward!” he spits.

I slightly wince.

“Not a shadow of Luke Campbell, sir,” the thin one announces.

Constable Iverson sighs. He nods at me, tips off his hat and walks away. The other two also do the same.

My day at the library is just like any ordinary day. Just that I am constantly reminded by Luke Campbell’s sexy smile.

***

Just after six in the evening, it is already dark outside. I close the library. Henry is already waiting for me. But before I can step outside the building, someone grabs me and covers my mouth.

“Shh! It’s only me,” Luke’s voice says in a whisper. After a moment, he slowly lets go of me.

“You’re an outlaw!” I almost shout it in his face. He covers my mouth once again.

“I didn’t kill my uncle if that’s what they told you. I am here because I need your help, Vera. You’re the only person who can clear my name.”

“What are you talking about?”

He looks around. “Can we talk somewhere safe and private?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I have to go home. Mrs. Jenkins—my housekeeper—is going to get worried if I don’t get home on time.”

“Fine. I’ll follow you to your house.” Then he slips secretly before I could even protest. He disappears into the darkness.

He’s going to my house? At this hour? Now that is not too proper. A young lady like me—single at that—should not let a man in into her house. Or else, rumor mills have something to grind in their disgusting mouths!

However, I have decided to go on to my merry way. To my house.

I eat dinner with Mrs. Jenkins, then I send her to her quarters to retire for the night. Meaning that I am now all alone. Well, to meet the outlaw Mr. Campbell.

I get inside my room, wondering how he could slip into my house. Before I can even think some theories on my own, I hear this soft knock on my door.

“How do you know it’s my room?” I whisper while letting him in.

“A hunch. Anyway, can we talk now?” He quickly scans my room.

The big bed is in the center, the closet is on my left, the dresser is on my right and behind the wall is my private bathroom. There are two curtained windows on the either side of the bed. This room is once owned by my parents, who died five years ago in a train raid by some bandits. The culprits for their deaths have never been brought to justice.

“Have you eaten?”

He smiles sexily, looking at me.

I blink at him. “What?”

“Why do you care if I’ve eaten or not?”

I shrug my small shoulders. “I’m just being polite.” I sit down on the edge of my big, soft bed.

He chuckles softly, towering me. “I’ll eat after we talk. Okay?”

“Fine. So what about this book you’re talking about? Why are you asking me about it? Why do you need my help?”

“Before Uncle Sean took his last breath, he told me about finding this book. But before I can ask him what it is, of course he died! Right in my arms!” He rakes his fingers through his thick short hair. I just noticed he is not wearing his hat right now.

I stare at him. He is in grave turmoil and grief. I can clearly see it in his eyes. The urge to touch him, to console him is so strong that my hand lifts up on its own accord to hold his hand.

He is surprised by it. But he does not pull his hand back. Instead, he presses my hand. He then pulls me up and his other arm wraps around my waist. His face is so close to mine. Our eyes hold for a moment or two. Our breaths become ragged.

“Ever since I laid my eyes on you, I feel the urge to sweep you off your feet and kiss you mindless!” he whispers, his warm, minty breath fanning my face.

My throat goes dry.

His head lowers and I can’t think of anything else right now but him. My breasts are pressed against his ribcage and I can feel the delicious heat coming from his hard and muscled body. My n*****s are peaking.

I slightly moan when his lips claim mine in a gentle way at first. It is so damn good! I open my lips to give him easy access. He coaxes it wider and he enters his tongue. I meet it with excitement and curiosity. I have never been kissed before. This is my first.

His one hand that encircles my waist goes down to my buttocks, caressing them, pressing me to his hard erection. The other one lets go of my hand and gently holds my neck. It lowers down to my breast. He gently kneads it with his fingers and finds one peak, pinching it gently.

I gasp and moan with pleasure it sends throughout my entire body. I have never felt like this before. And my body craves for more.

My arms wind up around his neck. My fingers caress his nape and strong, wide shoulders. He lifts up my skirt, feeling my stockinged legs and thighs by running his hands up and down. Unsatisfied, he lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He groans as he continued to kiss me.

His finger slips in between my thighs. I am already so wet. I feel like I’m practically dripping. His finger slips in and out.

“You’re so tight!” he groans and lets out a seemingly incomprehensible profane word. He continues to explore my warm and moist honey pot.

I shiver with pleasure.

“Oh, I want you so bad, Vera!” he murmurs, his kisses trailing down to the side of my neck.

He puts me down the bed, looking at my face intently. I can see the burning passion in his smoky eyes. The steely gray becomes darker with desire.

“But I can’t. We can’t. Can we?” he tells me huskily, almost painfully.

I swallow to wet my dry throat. But my arms are still clinging to his neck.

“Do you know the title of the book you’re looking for?” I ask him instead, almost casually. I slowly let him go.

He retreats, massaging his nape. “I’ve secretly been searching for all the books he owned in these last few days. After his burial, I even went to see our family doctor to get some clue. But then, he has no idea. Then, I recalled that he has this old book he mentioned to me once—that he is going to donate it to the public library.”

I sit up almost jerkily. “Wait, are you talking about Mr. Sean Reynolds? He’s your uncle?”

I recall an elderly man in his sixties, with lean body, smiling eyes and face. A handsome, good man.

He stands still. “You knew him?”

“Of course! He’s…” I pause. “He was always at the library every Monday and Thursday. His favorite was the Atlas. But then… he never donated a book… or an old book, to be specific.” I knit my eyebrows, thinking back.

I realize that it must have been his uncle who told him my name.

I feel like I cut the last thread of his hope when I gazed up at him. He leans against the wall.

“He was my mother’s younger brother. Both my parents died when I was still very little and my uncle took me under his wing. I don’t have any reason whatsoever to kill him. I loved him. We loved each other like father and son. I know who’s behind his murder and that f*****g bastard blames it on me.”

“So, why don’t you tell the Sheriff about this?”

“I don’t have proof to put the f*****g bastard in jail! The book that my uncle said in his dying breath could be a hint… or something,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “I have to find it. That’s why I ask you for help, Vera. You might just have some idea, whatsoever it is, that can help me clear my name!”

“Alright. Let’s think clearly. Did your uncle have some kind of place where he could hide things even from you? Or, did he have a favorite place, thing… I don’t know… someone he could ask to hide that unknown old book?”

He looks like he is thinking so hard. Then he shakes his head.

“I’ll keep looking at the library. Maybe he left it there without my knowledge. I can’t promise you though that we’ll find it soon enough. And you, you can think of some way how to clear your name besides the old book.”

The next few days at work, I check every logbook to get a hint at all the books borrowed by Luke’s uncle. My eyes are strained from searching. I also start to check the shelves one by one if there is anything odd or anything misplaced, which could lead me to finding the old book that Luke has told me about.

Every night that Luke visits me, I feel awful. There is no good news that I could give him. On his side, he has started to gather some information and evidence of the real culprit of his uncle’s murder. It will not be easy for him. It is someone who is powerful enough to bribe Constable Iverson and the others—Mr. Jones.

I learn that Luke is currently being protected and hidden by his Sioux friends from the law. Like me, they believe that he is innocent.

“Although we don’t seem to have hope in finding it, we will not give up,” I try to comfort him despite of everything that’s happening to him.

He kneels down in front of me where I was seated, on my bed, just like when he first came to my home. He reaches to caress my face with the back of his fingers.

“Thank you for being here with me, trusting me… even though you do not know me well enough, Vera.”

I gently smile at him. “I have no idea why but somewhere deep in my heart and my soul, I feel that I can trust you, even with my life.” And I can even trust you with my heart in your hands. But I just refrain myself from telling him this. He might laugh at me or something. I cannot take it. It might devastate me. I cannot bear to think that he only needs me, wants me, because he has something to fight for. And that’s something I am afraid to face. What will happen after all this is over?

He holds my eyes for the longest time. I see his face coming closer to mine. And my heart kicks so hard against my chest that I can’t seem to breathe. I close my eyes and feel his lips caress mine.

I respond to that kiss, which became hotter and deeper. He tears my garment apart and feels my heated skin. He comes on top of me naked in a few seconds, with his incredibly huge phallus standing so proud. I reach out to caress its length, to feel its warmth and velvety skin. He groans, especially when I stroke it gently.

He nuzzles my neck and down the valley of my breasts. One hand reaches down to the centermost of my body. He rubs my clit gently, spreading it in a downward motion. His fingers then move in circular movement.

My toes curl, my body thrashes beneath him. He spreads my legs wider. Before I can guess what he’s going to do, he lowers his head and kisses my honey pot. His tongue runs up and down, teasing and licking the clit. I feel myself on edge as moments pass by.

I close my eyes tightly but I see different colors. My hands are caressing his head, pulling his hair.

I whimper.

I cry.

I groan.

Then I feel him stop, so I open my eyes. He shifts his position and kisses my lips almost savagely. I kiss him back. His hands caress my silky thighs and legs. He lifts them upward to rest on his shoulders. He plunges his phallus deep, in one sure motion.

I would have screamed if it weren’t for his fingers inside my mouth. He plunges again and again. One hand is stroking my clit.

This kind of pleasure is killing me!

I can’t stop moaning like a crazy woman.

“Don’t come yet. Hold it, Vera,” he whispers.

He plunges deeper as he leaned toward me, to kiss my mouth. His tongue traces my inner cheek and duels with my own.

Then he turns me on my side, when he paused for a moment. Then he enters my body once again. One hand is kneading my breast and the other is running up and down my thigh.

I can see the sweat beading on his forehead. His rhythm becomes faster. Harder. And I keep on moaning and moaning.

I can’t hold it any longer. His eyes seem to understand while looking at me. Then he caresses my lips. We both close our eyes and feel this moment of oneness until we both come together.

We lay side by side in the aftermath.

Today, there are only a few patrons around. I look at the shelves where I can find the Atlas section when I have had skimmed there yesterday.

There it is! It must be it!

My heart is jumping at the sight of it. It is just lying and hiding there all along! It is placed right in the narrow gap, in between the line of books and the wall. It is the last shelf that stands against the wall.

I look around before I reach out for it.

“Miss Mackenzie?”

I quickly push the old book down and pretend I didn’t hear anything while arranging the books. I then look at the lower level and grab a random book.

“Miss Mackenzie!”

I turn around to see Constable Iverson, together with those two men he was with the last time they were here.

“Yes?” I inquire with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m told that Mr. Reynolds who’s been murdered by his own nephew used to come here every week. Can you tell me anything about him or his nephew?” His eyes leave my face to look behind me.

“Like what, Constable Iverson?” I innocently ask him.

“I said, anything.”

“Are you questioning me as a suspect or a witness? How dare you, Constable Iverson! You cannot just come here at my workplace and ask me some silly question!” I poke his chest with my index finger.

He looks aghast at my outburst. He clears his throat as he shot his two men with a warning look.

“Neither, Miss Mackenzie. But I am merely asking if you knew or know anything,” he politely says.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I can’t even recall the man. He was not the only person I cater around here. I have other patrons to serve.” With that, I leave them behind.

I pray that they do not dare check the Atlas section. Or else, it would be the end of it.

I hear their footsteps coming after me. I feel relieved, at least.

“We’re sorry to bother you,” says Constable Iverson.

I follow them with my eyes as they exited the building. That is when I let out a sigh. I stand there waiting for the minutes to go by to make sure Constable Iverson and his men wouldn’t come back. When I am sure they are not coming back, I hurriedly walk back toward the Atlas section to get what I just found.

It is an old book, alright. It is titled “Harmonia Macrocosmica” by Andreas Cellarius. I recognize this as a 15th century book published by Johannes Janssonsius. I scan the pages, hoping for any hints. A wax-sealed brown envelope falls down the floor. I quickly retrieve it.

But as I slowly get up, I find a pair of familiar boots. My eyes travel upward and I see the smiling face of my lover. Luke.

I quickly pull him to hide him in a corner behind the shelf. What if Constable Iverson comes back?

“Hey, are we going to do it here?” he asks playfully.

I look around. His impish smile turns me on. He turns me around and lifts my skirt up. I cover my mouth with one hand as he drove himself into my body without foreplay. My other hand holding the sealed envelope is against the wall.

“I have good news,” he whispers in my ear, still thrusting in and out.

“What?” I whisper back. I try to keep from moaning loudly.

“The Sheriff is on my side. My Sioux friends and I found the gun Mr. Jones used to kill my uncle. In his library, actually. The bullet found in Uncle Sean’s body matches the gun.”

He throws his head back and he moans softly, spilling his come inside me.

We then right our garments quickly. His fingers trace my lips before kissing them.

“And I got this,” I grin at him sweetly, showing him the envelope.

He opens it quickly. There are documents inside like his uncle’s medical certificate that shows he was ill, his uncle’s Last Will and Testament that says he divided his land and properties to him and a close Sioux family and a letter telling Luke that Mr. Jones has falsified some public documents to own lands and properties around Beaver Dam. The old man has even narrated in the letter which ones and has attached documents as proofs. This is clearly the reason Mr. Jones killed Uncle Sean.

“Let’s show this to the Sheriff,” I suggest.

He embraces me tightly. “We’ll have a long, steamy talk after this. Okay?”

I look up and nod at him. My heart must be reflected in my eyes because I see the same mirrored in his own.

The end