The rain outside had softened to a gentle drizzle, casting a soothing rhythm over the manor. Inside the library, the warm, dim light and the scent of old books created a cozy sanctuary for Jonah and Guinevere.
Jonah watched Guinevere as she immersed herself in the pages of "Wuthering Heights," her fingers tracing the words with a delicate touch. Her black hair cut framed her face perfectly, her features illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside them.
A sudden flash of lightning lit up the room, momentarily highlighting the contours of Guinevere's face. Jonah felt his heart skip a beat. She looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, and he found himself unable to resist the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.
He was very sure he would suffer an explicitly sharp and painful slap right across his face. But he was quite confidant to not be kicked given they were handcuffed together. He had closed his eyes shut. Too afraid to look and gauge her reaction on his sudden and atrocious attempt of romance. But...
Guinevere didn't push him away. Neither she slapped him. Nor did she stop.
She responded, deepening the kiss with a fervor that took Jonah aback. She climbed onto his lap, she was fluid and graceful, her weight settling comfortably on top of him. Jonah's mind raced, his face flushing a deep shade of red as he realized how vulnerable and exposed he was in this moment. She wore nothing but one of Jonah's loose shirts, and her sudden proximity made his pulse quicken.
'She wearing nothing but that shirt,' his thoughts raced behind that beet red face. 'I can feel her skin on me.'
His breathe felt heavy as lump grew in his throat. A vicious and overwhelming desire took over him. His hand without the cuff slid from her back and lifted the shirt she was wearing. His hand traced it's way to her waist which held, strong and firm, and pulled her closer to himself, holding her in place.
She didn't resist a single second of that.
Their lips moved against each other with a hunger and desperation that neither had anticipated. Guinevere tugged on the handcuff that joined their wrists, using her free hand to grip the back of Jonah's neck. Her nails burrowed into his skin, leaving little crescent marks as a reminder of her presence.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the softness of her skin against his own.
They kissed with an intensity that left them both breathless, their lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but neither was willing to part their lips. It was as if they were trying to devour each other, to merge into one entity. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the two of them, lost in a sea of passion and desire.
Jonah's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He was thrilled and terrified, exhilarated and anxious. He had never experienced anything like this before, this all-consuming need for another person. Guinevere's lips were soft and demanding, her tongue exploring his mouth with a possessiveness that sent shivers down his spine. He could taste her, feel her, every sense heightened to an almost painful degree.
Guinevere's hands roamed over Jonah's back, her nails dragging across his skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips, a steady, frantic rhythm that matched her own. She reveled in the control she had over him, the way he responded to her every touch, every movement.
"Ha..ah," a little moan escaped Jonah as Guinevere reached her name written on his chest on her handy exploration. Guinevere softened her touch over the week old wounds that had started to become scars. She traced every curve and line of her own handiwork.
This sent goosebumps on his neck filled with her nail marks. He felt pain and the bitter pleasure all at the same time.
They kissed for what felt like an eternity, lost in their own world. The rain outside continued as the library filled with their voices.
Jonah's grip on Guinevere's waist tightened, anchoring her to him as their movements became more frenzied. He could feel the edges of his control slipping, the line between pleasure and pain blurring as her nails bit into his neck, drawing tiny droplets of blood.
When they finally pulled apart, both were gasping for breath, their chests heaving as they tried to steady themselves. Jonah's lips were swollen and red, a testament to the fervor of their kiss. He felt a trickle of blood from his nose, the result of the intensity of their exchange.
Guinevere's eyes were dark and intense, her gaze never leaving his.
"Your eyes..." Guinevere said, her voice a husky whisper. She looked at him with a mixture of desire and something darker, a glint of cruelty that made Jonah shiver.
"I could gouge them out if I liked you any less."
Her words sent a thrill through Jonah, a mix of fear and excitement that left him trembling. He wanted her to continue, to push him further, to test the limits of his endurance. But Guinevere simply returned to her book, settling back against his chest as if nothing had happened.
Jonah sat there, his mind reeling from the intensity of their just before activity. He could feel her weight against him, the warmth of her body a stark contrast to the cool air of the library. His chest served as her bookrest, the rise and fall of his breathing a steady rhythm beneath her.
Guinevere read with a calmness that belied the storm that had just passed between them. She seemed perfectly at ease, her fingers gently turning the pages as she absorbed the words of Emily Brontë.
Jonah couldn't help but feel a strange sense of contentment, despite the rawness of his emotions and the lingering ache in his neck from her nails.
And just as his nosebleed was drying out her felt something on his stomach. A wet and hot sensation of a liquid seeping in through his shirt. He was perplexed for a second then he gazed down. It was exactly where Guinevere was sitting.
She was wet.
Just the thought that he made her wet, made his drying blood flow even more ferociously from his nose and he gasped and held in his laugh, choking on the blood from his nose's backflow. It didn't kill him but left him a flushed red gasping mess with a perverted suppressed smile.
"Move again and I'll nail you to this fucking armchair," Guinevere said looking up with a face that was smeared with the blood sneezes from Jonah.
Jonah obeyed. Like a child listening to his teacher.
As he looked down at her, he marveled at the complexity of the woman in his arms. She was a paradox, a mixture of tenderness and brutality, of passion and detachment. He wanted to understand her, to uncover the layers that made up her intricate personality.
The rain outside continued to fall, a steady, soothing sound that filled the silence of the library. Jonah wrapped his arms around Guinevere, holding her close as she read. He rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a simple, intimate gesture, but it meant the world to him.
For a moment, everything felt right. The world outside could crumble, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of the library, they were safe. Jonah closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Guinevere's body against his, the warmth of her presence. He knew that their relationship was far from conventional, but in this moment, it was enough.
As Guinevere continued to read, Jonah felt his eyelids grow heavy. The steady rhythm of the rain, combined with the warmth and comfort of their embrace, lulled him into a state of drowsiness. He fought to stay awake, to savor every second of this rare moment of peace, but eventually, sleep claimed him.
In his dreams, he saw Guinevere as she was in that flash of lightning, her face illuminated with a beauty that took his breath away. He dreamed of their kiss, of the way her lips felt against his, of the taste of her mouth. It was a dream of passion and longing, of a connection that transcended the physical.
Guinevere looked at his face. He was sleeping like a baby. Her hands traced a line from his neck to his chins up to lips. They were red and glistening. Her marks still there. She rose as she let the book in her hands fall down. She touched his lips, squishing and twisting them into all sorts of expression.
Her black eyes glistened and she leaned in. She bit his lower lip and chewed on it as if it was some gum. Jonah didn't budge but moaned a little.
"Retard," she said in a cold voice. "This pile of mudge killed someone. Doesn't look like it."
Guinevere opened his shirt's buttons and looked at Jonah's chiseled ghostly pale body. Her fingers ran across every curve and nook of his trunk. Him humming and moaning slowly as he felt the sensations in his sleep.
Guinevere finally slapped him awake demanding dinner and to be taken to back to the room.