The library was silent except for the hum of the AC and her pencil tapping against the textbook. She'd rolled up her sleeves, revealing delicate wrists with a silver bracelet that jingled with every movement.
I was supposed to be solving equations, but the way her lip curled when I got an answer wrong made my throat dry. Her perfume - vanilla and something darker - wrapped around me as she leaned closer to point out a mistake. When her knee brushed mine under the table, I forgot how to breathe.
She snapped the textbook shut suddenly, her dark eyes locking onto mine.
"You're not focusing," she whispered, her voice like velvet. Before I could apologize, her fingers were tracing my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. The way she bit her lip while studying my reaction made my pulse race. "Let's try... another teaching method," she murmured, standing up and pulling me to my feet. The chair screeched against the floor as we moved toward the back shelves.
Between the stacks, her hands were suddenly everywhere - unbuttoning my jeans, pulling my shirt free. "Quiet," she breathed against my mouth as she pushed me against the philosophy section. The fear of getting caught only made it hotter when she straddled me right there on the floor. I could hear students passing by just feet away as she rocked against me, her nails digging into my shoulders.
Afterward, she straightened her skirt like nothing happened while I sat there dazed. "Better than algebra?" she teased, fixing my collar with those same fingers that had just been inside me. When she walked away, her hips swayed extra slow just for me. I could still smell her on my clothes when I finally stumbled back to my dorm.
Now whenever my sister brings her around, she 'accidentally' brushes against me in the kitchen. Last week, she left a note in my backpack: "Library. Thursday night. No books this time." The worst part? I've never been better at math.
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