I cut off any more runaway thoughts before they had a chance to pull me with them, turning my attention back to the pile of tattered books in front of me. “Can you just fucking focus for one minute, Quincey…” I muttered to myself as I began to flip the pages. The words seemed to merge in on themselves in my distracted, and slightly fatigued fog. It was one of those days where I’d probably spent a good hour reading the same paragraph over and over whilst my train of thought worked to carry me off elsewhere.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome abord the Cross City Railway service to ‘A failed degree.’ Next stop, ‘pathetic school-girl crush.’ Please ensure you have all your belongings–and your sanity–with you when you disembark. Thank you for travelling with us.
The pattering of rain outside mingled with the murmur of students walking down the library corridor and the occasional flipping of book pages. I could hear a few computer science guys arguing about the use of tabs over spaces over by a number of other students that sat hunched over their laptops, ferociously clacking away at the keyboards, which only added to the orchestra of white noise.
As the day wore on, I could hear the rise and fall of voices as people filtered from the library until I sat in the quiet alcove alone. The little opening was lined with bookshelves packed with varying-sized textbooks, some with worn spines and others with bold lettering that never failed to draw my attention from the same paragraph I’d already re-read eighteen times over. If ithadn’t happened after try three, it wasn’t going to happen for me at all. I pinched the bridge of my nose and released all the tension from my body.
Abandoning any and all focus, I shifted my attention to the nearby window, opting to watch the people below as they went about their day. I smiled at a guy playing fetch with his dog on the quad–one that was deceptively fast despite his limited size–before my eyes found the tangled hands of a couple that were laughing to themselves about God knows what. In their happiness, I didn’t find the cynicism I’d come to rely so heavily on–a constant crutch for my lack of love life–but instead a twinge of longing I’d never really noticed before.
In classicmefashion, I retreated from that feeling, pushing it deep inside me for future Quincey to resolve later. Zoning out, I instead chose to watch two raindrops as they raced toward the bottom of the glass pane–a game I used to play in the car when my grandfather picked me up from school. I always silently rooted for the one on the right. Although there was no rhyme or reason to it, I usually came out victorious, but this time, it veered off to the side and into the one on the left before they descended to the bottom as one.
Despite the course I was taking and all the mysticism that came with it, I’d never been one for reading into things too much. But for some inexplicable reason, those two raindrops helped me understand my feelings more than anything else. Ever since Thallor had come into my life, I’d felt like I was veering off course. I felt like there was a magnetic pull between his soul and mine, and it felt like it was becoming increasingly more difficult to fight it. And the more I swerved off course, the more I found myself on a direct path toward him.
But if two raindrops can survive it…maybe so can I?
I sighed before shifting in my chair. Today’s study session seemed like a futile battle between myself and my mind. Onethat I was currently losing. I picked up my phone and checked my messages with Isaac for the hundredth time. I knew hoping was futile, but I’d still been checking my phone relentlessly. I’d messaged, called, and emailed, butnothing.Nothing seemed to break through the impenetrable wall he’d built between us. I hadn’t alluded to there being a problem between us to keep her from worrying, but I knew that he and Esme were fine; she hadn’t seen much of him, but in the basic sense of the world, they were very much still a couple. But this was the longest we had gone without speaking, and it was starting to wear away at me. He was my best friend and I was his–well, I wasmeantto be anyway.
Spawn of Satan: How’s the library?
Quincey: Finding it hard to focus
Quincey: I accidentally walked down a row at the back end of the sixth floor earlier and caught people fucking. Definitely saw a nipple and don’t think I’ve recovered since.
The Cedar Ridge campus library really wasn’t the place that students came to study. It was the older of the two Aldercrest libraries–it had that old, warm dark academia vibe that I loved–but lacked all the modern amenities that made the other library more popular. The Cedar Ridge library floors were dedicated to more specialised books for niche courses like mine, meaning for the most part the dusty aisles went untouched, unvisited and undisturbed.
Well, that was how it had been until someone had posted about the library on one of those weird r/kink forums online. The Cedar Ridge library–all too quickly, I might add–evolved from eerily quiet to a bucket-list visit for daring exhibitionists and voyeurs alike. Several 5* posts–whatever that meant–andthe library descended into a frenzy of sex fuelled energy that was only intensified by the notion of getting caught.
For the unfortunate couple I had stumbled upon earlier, the novelty of getting caught had likely worn off very quickly. There was nothing quite as sobering as getting caught with your skirt up and cock out by a sad-looking girl wearing a mechanic's shirt and flashing you a thumbs up. I had resisted the urge to yell an ‘Atta boy!’but only because I’d been feeling nice.
Spawn of Satan: I thought libraries were for reading…
Quincey: They are.
Quincey: Maybe there’s something in the book dust that really makes people horny?
Quincey: I’m pretty sure Esme and Isaac have done it here too.
I looked down at my phone screen. Typing. Backspace. Typing. Backspace.
Spawn of Satan: Have you?
Quincey: Have you forgotten who you are talking to? I don’t exactly scream sexy.
Spawn of Satan: You definitely do.
Spawn of Satan: But you’d sound better screaming my name.
And suddenly the library felt as though it were a thousand degrees. I felt like I’d been plunged into a vat of boiling water and was struggling to breathe. Slowly, the images of Thallor coiled around me, leaving my heart pulsing hard. Forget marathon training or a hit workout; all you really needed was a drop-dead gorgeous 6’5 demon to get the blood pumping.
I wasn’t one for lewd thoughts or pining over my own friends, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts as they assailed every part of me. Each and every fibre of my being. It had started innocently enough, images of him pushing me up against the bookshelf in front of me, whispering sinful, depraved things made for me and me alone. But the more I thought about it, the more my thoughts spiralled, descending into the same frenzied energy I’d been so high and mighty about only moments ago.
He wanted me to scream his name? But the thought of him rasping my name had me melting into a pool of liquid desire right there in my chair–and honestly? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. The more I struggled to rationalise why I’d tried to put a blocker on my feelings. I wanted his hands wrapped around my throat as he stared into my eyes. I wanted his teeth, sharp, inhuman, grazing against the skin of my neck. I wanted to hear his commands; I wanted him to bend me to his will and demand that I beg for everything that I knew he would give me.
The images devolved before I could stop them. Images of him biting my neck and licking away the pain in what could only be described as a delightful, euphoric experience before dropping to his knees pounded at the forefront of my mind. The way he’d hook his finger into the waistband of my jeans, dragging them down, my thong–one that was lace and sexy and not the embarrassing day of the week underwear I had on now–going with it.
His movements wouldn’t be slow or tantalising. There would be no room for question. No awkward moment left for hesitation. I could see it, the way he would smirk up at me because he knew how much he wrecked me. Because he knew how ready I’d be for him. Because, if I really thought about it, Ialwayswas.
And then his mouth would be on me before I could protest, devouring me as his tongue stroked against my clit beforeplunging two fingers deep inside me. I’d gasp and writhe but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t slow down until he knew I’d fall apart for him. And I would. Every time he demanded it of me, I would. Because he could. And because I wanted to. I wanted it fast and messy and I wanted it to be him.
