Standing on the edge of a dark brown low-pile rug, I absorbed my fascination’s lair. His bed was dark, almost as black as the floor-to-ceiling shelving lining two of the walls. Inside them lived so many books it was not so much a bedroom but half a library. I swore I had a mini orgasm. My feet carried me across the rug, bypassing the monstrous four-poster bed with its luscious-looking inky black bedding to a set of glittering spines. I reached out to trail my finger over them, but a warm burst of air, coupled with the firm heat meeting my hip, stopped me.
