Honestly? When Aaron told me we were going to the library, I thought he was joking.

In the passenger seat of his fuck-me red convertible with one hand on the wheel and the other on my bare thigh, I thought he was a fucking riot.

When we pulled up into a parking spot and he jogged around the car to open my door for me? I thought Aaron was the funniest guy on the entire planet.

But when he took me by the hand and led me down the sidewalk with the NYC Public Library looming just ahead?

Yeah, that's about when I started to realize he might actually be serious.

By the time we were inside, I kind of got the feeling that he wasn't kidding at all.

A library date. Holy fucking shit.

It's not that I don't like books, okay? Obviously, I am a total bimbo for books.

I've dug books out of the trash before. I'm well-versed with the preorder when my favorite author announces a saucy new title, and barring that, I'm not above throwing down with some other nerdy ho in a bookstore at midnight.

When momma needs to read, momma reads, dammit!

But here's the other thing: I'm pretty fucking hot. I'm not going to pretend like I'm not a complete babe in favor of that faux lack of confidence bullshit because, well, look at me, for fuck's sake. You don't tickle the fancy of a guy like Aaron without a little oomph.

As such, I've kind of gotten used to guys going the extra mile for me. If Aaron was any other guy, he would've pulled out all the stops tonight—fancy dinner, fancy drinks, fuck on a helipad beneath the moonlight, whatever. The works!

But obviously, shit hasn't always worked out for me with other guys. So while I'm a little taken aback that Aaron's idea of blowing me away is taking me to a public library, I'm more than willing to give it a shot.

Libraries have always felt comfortable to me, like second homes. This way, at least I don't have to worry about calling the waitress “Mom” when I'm trying to get a refill on my wine glass or (gasp!) using the oyster fork for the salad course. The shame!

It's after six in the evening now, and the crowd inside has thinned out. Apart from a few stressed-looking NYU students and some plucky librarians, it feels like we almost have the place entirely to ourselves.

"Darling," I say and fake swoon as Aaron pulls me into the stacks. "The public library! How decadent! You shouldn't have!"

"Oh, but darling," Aaron says, pulling out an obnoxiously rich-sounding accent that, strangely enough, almost suits him. "For you, anything."

"As long as it's public and totally free?" I tease.

Look, it's not like I'm not going to give him shit about this. He's too cute, this is too silly, and he's way too much fun to make fun of.

But my teasing has a price. Suddenly, Aaron grabs my wrist and presses me up against one of the bookshelves, holding my body there with his own weight.

"Admit it," he says, his lips mere inches from mine. "You're a book-loving slut, and you think this is ridiculously charming."

"Let's say I do." I bite my lip, focusing my gaze on his gorgeous mouth and considering how badly I want him to be kissing me with it right now. "What's in it for me?"

Slowly, Aaron looks down the aisle one way, and then the other. Confirming that the coast is clear, he takes my jaw in his hands and kisses me with the passion that only a man who finds romance among books can provide.

"Okay," I admit with a little laugh. "This is kind of hot."

"That must make you a bibliophile." He grabs my hand and resumes tugging me deeper into the rows and rows of books. "If you liked that, then you'll love this."

"I might," I coo after him.

His legs are so damn long, and he's moving with such purpose that I have to trot along on my kitten heels just to keep up. "What is it?"

"I'm buying you a book."

If I'd only been drinking that fancy wine Aaron brought me, I could have done a spit take. Alas, Cassie has probably crushed that bottle single-handedly by now, and instead I can only ponder whether this is too romantic to be real or too lame for words.

On one hand, I do love books. I really fucking love books. It's a thoughtful gesture, and it means that he's taken the time to pay attention to my interests. Major points.

On the other...

"Honey." I laugh. "You rich boys don't get out of your bathtubs full of money often enough. You don't buy books from libraries, dummy."

"Trust me, dummy." Aaron shoots a grin over his shoulder that's probably worth a bathtub full of money in its own right. "It's a first edition. Incredibly rare. And us rich boys with bathtubs full of money have connections."

A male librarian wearing a rainbow pin on his lapel nods in recognition of Aaron as we approach a section labeled Rare Books. Aaron slips him a wad of cash almost as thick as, well, Aaron’s cock.

The librarian has to unlock a door for us to let us through. As I pass him, we share a look.

His says (with sincerity), Nice fucking catch, dude. You're going to want to blow him when you get home.

And mine says, Thanks, dude. But who says I'll wait until we get home?

The librarian and I share a shit-eating grin as Aaron continues to pull me along, pointing out names and titles as we go along.

"The Romances of Dumas," Aaron says, pointing to a gorgeous brown-and-gold hardcover.

I giggle because he's playing tour guide in a fucking library, but I'm nonetheless a little charmed.

"Count of Monte Cristo was too sad," I say with firm judgment. "He cared more about revenge than he did for love."

"Three Musketeers?" Aaron asks.

"Loved it. Beautiful book, first line to last."

"Ah. Anna Karenina." Aaron points to a stark-white copy painted with silver leaf. "Incredible novel. Or do you have issues with Leo as well?"

"Tolstoy?" I laugh, because Aaron is referring to famous Russian author Leo Tolstoy as though he was some kind of old friend. "I find all the Russian novelists a little dry. Too moralistic for my tastes."

Aaron looks over his shoulder at me, appalled, and I stick out my tongue in defiance.

"Anna was perfect," I conceded. "But Vronksy was a little too fond of his horse."

"Are there any writers you do like, Chloe?" Aaron laughs.

"Oh, I'm much more into the classics. You know, Stephanie Meyer, E.L. James, that sort of thing."

"Ah." Aaron chuckles. "Have I told you before that you have impeccable taste?"

"You have." I sigh, trying desperately to control my giggling. "But I'll never tire of hearing it!"

"Here," Aaron says, plucking a book off the shelf like he'd memorized its exact location. "I've had my eye on this for a while, but I thought maybe you would enjoy it more."

He passes it to me, and then I nearly really do swoon. It's a gorgeous blue hardcover, sturdy but definitely older than my grandparents are. It’s Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac.

"It's no Twilight," Aaron admits, "But I think you'll like it."

I wrinkle my nose as I steal a glance at him, grinning ear to ear.

"I've already read it," I tell him as I gingerly flip through the pages. "But never in the original French."

"It's the only way I have read it."

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. "Tell me again what you do for a living?"

"Impress beautiful women," Aaron shoots back with a grin. "Ah...'Oui, je veux être aimé moi-même, ou pas du tout!'"

I smile to myself as Aaron struggles to remember the quote in French. His accent, as it turns out, is fine as hell—much like the rest of him—even if he's being a shady little bitch about what he does for work.

"Mm," I moan, nodding my head as I try to spin a rough translation. "'I want to be loved for myself, or not at all.' Is that why you won't tell me where you work?"

Aaron only grins.

He's brilliant. He must be to know these books as well as I do. Admittedly, I've got a bad habit of dating beneath my IQ level, and I'm a little too impressed that he can be simultaneously this good-looking, this smart, this generous...

This good at making me want him...

"So you identify with Cyrano," I say, adding a little va va voom to my voice and fluttering my eyelashes. "That's interesting."

"Well, you know. He's infamous for having a giant nose…I'm infamous for having a giant…"

Both of our eyes drop to his crotch, where a thick outline is already forming in his pants.

"Nose?" I finish for him with a giggle.

Suddenly, for some reason, discussing literature isn't at the forefront of my mind anymore.

"Surely you didn't bring be into the most secluded part of the library just to talk books," I say, setting Cyrano back on the shelf and moving toward him.

"Admittedly, I may have had ulterior motives."

"Luckily, I like men with huge…noses," I say, backing him up against the bookshelf.

Aaron hisses as my lips press against his collarbone and my hand squeezes his cock through his pants.

"I thought you might."

"It's true." I smile against his chest before dropping to my knees. "In fact… ‘Il me faut un géant!’"

I need a giant.