There was no warning, no slow or gentle entry. Though my body had been yearning for a fuck prior, I would have likely said “No” if he had taken it...slower. I would have come to my senses. Perhaps. I began to sob, partly with the burn he had caused with the violent entry, partly because of the sudden sense of guilt. This didn’t seem to bother him. He had entered an inch or two with the first thrust, he now pulled out a little, flexed his hips and then rammed it in again. And again. And again he. As his eyes scanned their dusty spines, he spotted one that he recognized. It was the book that Isabelle had read aloud to him, the life and works of de Mercier, the warrior poet. Had she not said that this book was unique?Iden pulled it from the shelf, dropping it into his pack, pulling more from their shelves at random. He couldn’t carry them all, only enough to fill the remaining space in his bag, so he’d just have to hope that it would be enough. He couldn’t spend books, of course. He would. More

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