Romantic Temptations: pov larkin love

In the quiet library of pov larkin love, she perches on the mahogany table, skirt rucked up, panties dangling from one ankle. Ancient books surround her as she spreads wide and whispers “Shhh… just pov larkin love.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “pov larkin love, fuck, pov larkin love” while rubbing tight circles over her clit. Her free hand clutches a leather-bound volume like a lover. The danger makes her drip onto centuries-old wood. When she finally comes, she buries her face in the book and screams “pov larkin love” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “pov larkin love” rivers.