I’m tucked deep in the back corner of the university library, hidden between two tall shelves of dusty philosophy books. It’s late afternoon, the place almost empty, golden sunlight slanting through the high windows. I thought I’d be safe here, but I was wrong.
My short sundress is already bunched up around my hips. My panties are pulled to the side. Two of my fingers are buried inside my soaked pussy, pumping slowly while my other hand rubs tight circles on my clit. I’m trying to be quiet — I really am — but every time I hit that perfect spot a soft, breathy moan slips out. Then another. Louder. My breathing is getting ragged, the wet sounds of my fingers moving in and out barely muffled by the books.
I’m so close already, thighs trembling, when I hear heavy, confident footsteps coming down the aisle.
My eyes snap open. He rounds the corner and stops. The librarian. Tall, easily 6’3”, dark hair neatly styled but with that one rebellious strand falling over his forehead. Sharp green eyes that widen slightly behind his glasses as they take in the sight of me: legs spread, dress up, fingers still knuckle-deep in my pussy, face flushed with embarrassment and arousal.
He doesn’t look away. His jaw tightens, and those green eyes darken with heat.
“Miss,” he says, voice low and smooth but carrying that unmistakable authority, “you’re disturbing the library.”
I freeze, heart hammering, but I don’t pull my fingers out. I can’t. I’m too worked up. A tiny, needy whimper escapes me instead.
He steps closer, towering over me, close enough that I catch the clean, masculine scent of his cologne mixed with old books. His gaze drops to where my fingers are still slowly moving, then back up to my face.
“You couldn’t wait until you got home?” he murmurs. There’s no real anger in his tone — just heat and a calm control. “Or did you want someone to catch you?”
I bite my lip, cheeks burning, but my pussy clenches hard around my fingers at his words. He notices.
He reaches out and gently but firmly takes my wrist, pulling my hand away from myself. I whine at the loss, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he lifts my glistening fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, green eyes locked on mine the whole time. The feeling of his warm tongue makes my knees weak.
“You taste even better than you sound,” he says quietly, voice rougher now. “But you still need to be quiet.”
He steps in closer, pressing me back against the shelves with his body. One large hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, while the other braces beside my head. He’s not rough, not forceful, just assertive, sure of himself, and God, I’m so into it.
“Spread your legs a little more for me,” he instructs softly.
I obey instantly, parting my thighs. His fingers replace mine, longer, thicker, more skilled. He pushes two inside me slowly, curling them perfectly against my G-spot while his thumb finds my clit. I moan louder than I should. He leans in, mouth brushing my ear.
“Shhh,” he whispers, but there’s a smirk in his voice. “Unless you want me to give you something to keep that pretty mouth occupied.”
His free hand cups my breast through the thin dress, thumb brushing over my hard nipple. He pinches it lightly, rolling it between his fingers while he fingers me deeper, steadier, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet library. My hips rock against his hand on their own. I’m panting, biting my lip to stay quiet, but little whimpers keep escaping.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, those striking green eyes intense. “You’re dripping down my hand, sweetheart. You like being caught like this?”
I nod frantically, whispering, “Yes… please…”
He smiles, slow, predatory, gorgeous. Then he sinks to his knees right there on the carpet, hooks one of my legs over his broad shoulder, and replaces his fingers with his mouth. His tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate, then latches onto my clit and sucks. I slap a hand over my own mouth to muffle the moan that rips out of me.
He eats me like he’s savoring every second, long licks, tight suction, two fingers back inside me fucking me in rhythm with his tongue. My other hand fists in his dark hair, hips grinding against his face. The shelves creak softly behind me as I tremble.
When I’m right on the edge, shaking, he stands up again, towering over me. I hear the quiet sound of his belt and zipper. His cock is thick, hard, flushed dark at the tip. He strokes it once, then lifts me slightly, pinning me against the shelves.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he murmurs.
I do. He pushes inside me in one smooth, controlled thrust, stretching me open so perfectly I gasp. He groans low in his throat, forehead pressed to mine.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes. Then he starts moving — deep, steady strokes that rock me against the books. One hand covers my mouth again, the other grips my ass, holding me exactly where he wants me. He fucks me right there in the corner, bold and confident, green eyes never leaving mine.
“Cum for me, quiet little troublemaker,” he whispers against my ear, picking up speed. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock.”
I shatter hard, moaning into his palm, body shaking, pussy pulsing around him as the orgasm crashes through me. He keeps thrusting through it, then buries himself deep and cums with a quiet, rough groan, filling me with hot, thick spurts.
He stays inside me for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. Then he kisses me, slow, deep, possessive, before gently setting me back on my feet. Cum trickles down my inner thigh as he tucks himself away and straightens my dress for me with surprisingly tender hands.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear one last time.
“Next time you need to study… come find me. I’ll make sure the back office is free… and that you stay very, very quiet.”
Then he winks — those green eyes sparkling — and walks away like nothing happened, leaving me flushed, dripping, and already aching for more.