She came up to him now, pushed him into the nearest bookcase, kissed him hungrily, her hands balling into fists on his chest. He always secretly wished they could go somewhere far away from this manor and find someplace private to spend their stolen time. The smell of his paints and the library always lingered in his memories of their couplings. He wanted to know what she smelled like without those elements tarnishing the memory. But she was on him now, her body lush and warm, molding itself to him, and every thought was wiped from his mind—he held her tight, his hands digging into her lower back.