Like the way he hurriedly stuffed her panties into his pocket.
To keep, before she could change her mind.
And the hand he slipped under her skirt, the second she stood up.
Gentle, but greedy all at the same time.
And his cock.
Fuck, his cock.
He wasn’t exactly trying to push that stiff shape against the side of her ass. But he wasn’t exactly not, either. Quite clearly, he wanted her to see and feel and know that she had done this to him at some point. She has made him hard—maybe when she handed him those panties. Maybe before, over some look she had no idea she had given him.Everythingwas possible, now.
Including him bending her over this desk in the library, in the middle of the day. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the squeak of a cart, the whisper of students trying to be quiet, the clatter of a book coming off the shelf. But it made no difference to him. He barely lowered his voice to tell her that she was wet. Words just blurted out of him, rough and ready.
“Fuck, baby, you’re always soooo wet,” he said. Then even sweeter: “Do I make you that way? Do I get you excited?”
As though he was a little unsure, too. He needed her to show him how much she wanted him, and when he touched her like this it wasn’t so hard. He slid two fingers in and theyescame out all on its own, half moaned and half sighed. More than that, in fact: she practically pushed back against him. Her back arched before she could stop it, her whole body flushing as she felt him ease them back and forth.
Slow, at first. Easy enough to take.
Then faster, and firmer, and not quite as straightforward as he had before. In their dorm rooms he had used stiff, straight fingers, but not this time. This time he crossed them, one over the other, until each slow push into her pussy made her want to cry out.
But then someone called for quiet in the distance, and she remembered.
They were in a library. He was fingering her pussy in a library.
Being quiet was of the utmost importance, no matter how good he made her feel. No matter how firmly he worked the thick knot of his knuckles right over that aching, tingling place, no matter how many rude things he panted at her as he worked her pussy, no matter how shocking it was when he finally got down on his knees. Shehadto keep her mouth closed.
And then she heard and felt him move, and it got just that little bit harder. He was actually doing it. He was lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. How was she supposed to be silent when that was happening? It sent a zing of pleasure through her the size of a lightning bolt. It made her knees crumple and turned her hands to claws—holding it in was impossible.
But she managed. She put her fist to her mouth, as tightly as she could stand.
And just in time. A second later his mouth was on her, and after that there was pretty much nothing she could do. She just had to stand there with her face pressed to the table, trembling, teeth deep in her fist, as he showed her just what a kiss felt like on her spread pussy. As he licked around the slowly working fingers he still had inside her, before easing them out so he could taste the place they had just been.
More than taste, really.
He sank his tongue right into her, lapping in a way she didn’t fully grasp until he made it explicit. “You like me fucking that pussy like this?” he said, and only then did it hit her.Fucking, he’s fucking me with his fingers,her mind babbled as her body went haywire. Those trembles suddenly doubled, until she was pretty much shaking the table. Some sounds leaked out, and they were not small ones.
They were practically groans of agony.
Someone was going to come and check just to make sure no one was being killed back here, and she couldn’t blame them. Itfeltlike he was murdering her. He kept switching back and forth between his fingers and his tongue, and when he licked it was never a faint little flick that barely made contact. Herubbedthe fucking thing over every fold and hollow, firm enough to make her go a little faint. And just when she was sure she couldn’t accept another ounce of pleasure…
He found her clit with the flat of his tongue, and lapped and licked and sucked until she could hardly stand it or believe it or process it. Of course she had known, on some level, that he had told the truth about going down on a girl. She had imagined someone licking her there often enough, while her own fingers strummed her clit. But even in her most lurid, intense imaginings, she couldn’t have predicted this. This was life changing. It made all previous pleasure seem like a faint dream of the real thing.
She had sleepwalked through sex before now, and here was the waking truth. A hot, sweet ache that unfurled low down in her belly, and spread and spread and spread through the rest of her until she barely cared if anyone heard. She had to tell him, at least, how good this felt. Only when she went to do it, something more like a sob came out. A sobbed, broken sort of thank-you.
Then ayesand anowand amore.
Oh god, she would have given anything for more. Nothing was ever going to be enough from here on out. She would never be able to look at him again and not want this pulsing, shivering pleasure. She was done for, doomed, destroyed, and he knew it.
She could tell by the way he teased her, tongue dancing around her clit until it felt as though that little nub was straining. On the verge of bursting. After a minute of this insane torture she pushed back against him—like some beast in heat—but that only made it worse. He sat back as soon as she did, a half laugh on his lips. Words spilling out of him that sent her even deeper into the red. “You want to come, huh? You want to do it all over my mouth? Ohhhh yeah, you do, you do, look how swollen your clit is. Look at how wet you are. You want to see how wet you are? Come here, baby, lick these fingers. Taste your sweet pussy for me.”
But the most horrendous part was: she did it.
When he offered her his fingers, slick with her honey, she twisted her body and opened her mouth to accept them gratefully. Even greedily, if she was being honest. The look on his face told her how she must have seemed as she did it—those low-lidded eyes rolling up as she sucked eagerly, lips parting to let out a soft moan. And when he spoke again his voice was hoarser, rougher.
“Is it where we are? Or is it me?” he asked, and she answered with the truth.
