Tales of Intimate Passion in "dakira mori"

Library after hours—dakira mori smells like old books and forbidden desire. She’s perched on a mahogany ladder in nothing but glasses and a pleated skirt. In dakira mori, she selects a volume of Anaïs Nin, reads a passage aloud, then lets the book fall so both hands are free. Skirt flipped up, she rides her own fingers while surrounded by centuries of quiet knowledge in dakira mori. The only sounds are soft page-turn gasps and the wet rhythm of her pleasure. When she comes in dakira mori, she bites her lip so hard to stay silent that a tiny drop of blood appears—perfect punctuation. dakira mori is every fantasy you ever had between the stacks.