Ex Libris: Confessions Of A Common Reader Novels & Stories

She glanced up at me over her half-moon spectacles as I placed the stack of books down with a heavy thud. She ran her gnarled fingers over the worn covers, muttering to herself as she examined each book. She then glared at me with amused curiosity and warily from behind her spectacles as I approached the front desk, "Do you have plans of reading all the books in here, Ms. Fridays?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her tone. Her question hung in the air as I considered my answer carefully. The truth was far more complex than the simple joy of reading. These books held secrets, knowledge that others wished to keep hidden. And I sought to uncover those mysteries, even if it meant arousing the

“Silly, I’ll return your share of your fortune to you once I’ve gotten all of Elena’s assets.” “Aaron, you’re my hero! “But you can’t fall in love with her. She looks quite similar to me. I’m worried…” Aaron snorted. “I always brought you to my bedroom that I share with her, asked you to put on her nightgown, and made love to you on the bed I share with her. Do you know why?” “Why?” “Because I hope when I’m with her, I can pretend that she’s you. It feels less miserable that way.”

"I told you before, you can use those bottles of Rejoice. This one's a gift from a friend—I hadn't even planned on opening it..." "Joyce, are you afraid I might break it...?" Scarlett lowered her eyes, her voice small and muffled. "I know, I'm just a poor girl from the countryside. I've never used anything nice, so I understand if you're worried..." "No, I—" "Ugh, it's just Revista shampoo. What's the big deal?" Lily Becker's voice cut through mine, her words dismissive. "Scarlett, go ahead and use mine—the one in a black bottle."

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So while he stands behind me watching me, which both intimidates and excites me, I take each book out, one by one, pulling them from the bookcase, some wonderful editions of Jane Austen, Dickens, Ovid, Homer, Kundera and then 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and, finally, Lolita. As I put Lolita on the top pile, I let out a sigh. I feel Paul slowly approach from behind me.

“WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE LODGE.” I didn’t open them. Not until I was home. Showered. Alone. Back in the armor of city lights and sharp suits. Then I did what I always do. I poured a glass of red. Opened my laptop. And braced for the mess. But I wasn’t prepared for this. Title: “Locked In: A True Story of Lust in the Storm” By: Jax Hart I blinked. Then clicked. The bastard had published a preview. A whole fucking chapter. On his newsletter. To over two million subscribers.

Turning the cover for me to see he said, “So this is your favorite book, huh?” Wondering what had him looking so sly I focused my eyes on the cover and I immediately felt a rush of heat flare through my body. The cover had a picture of the naked anatomy of a man and woman embracing each other sensually and the title read, ‘100 ways to spice up your life.' “If this is what you were here searching for in the library then I don’t think I have any problem,” he laughed patronizingly, and flicking through the pages he stopped at one and reading the words on it he continued, “Try being intimate in random or unfamiliar places-”

Maybe this was a side he’d kept hidden from her, a side that only came out when he was alone? The bookshelf too, was full of clues to Jacob’s secret. The Story of O . Billionaire Blackmail . Fifty Shades of Grey . Delta of Venus . Books by the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher Masoch. The Marketplace . Every book Emily selected was erotica. She wished she’d found this stash years ago. How exciting would those evenings alone have been then?

“Now, tell me what felt real. What needs to be filthier?” He sat, hyper-aware of the heat radiating from her bare leg pressed against his jeans. The screenplay document glowed on her laptop screen between them. For the next hour, they dove in. Elowen read his latest pages aloud, her velvet voice turning his words into something alive and dangerous. She lingered on the explicit passages—the ones where the writer finally claimed the actress against a rain-slicked balcony, fingers digging into her hips as she gasped his name.

I tried to see a liar, a conspirator, the most sophisticated weapon ever aimed at me. All I saw was Alexandra. The librarian. The woman who loved books and quiet and the idea of a porch swing. The pain was a physical weight, crushing my lungs. "Liam?" Her smile faded. She closed the book. "What is it? What's wrong?" I couldn't speak. I held out the tablet, the screen facing her. Her eyes dropped to it. She read. Her face went through the same journey mine had-confusion, disbelief, denial. Then horror. Pure, unadulterated horror that drained every drop of color from her skin.