Page 49

CHAPTER 49

ARIELLA

6 months later…

The numbers were beginning to blur together on page 394. Probability distributions had started to look like abstract art. I'd been staring at the same problem for what felt like hours.

I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone—9:42 PM. The library would close in less than one hour and twenty minutes, and I was no closer to understanding conditional probability than when I'd sat down four hours ago.

"Just one more problem," I whispered, the sound of my voice echoing through the university library's third floor. I'd claimed this secluded desk behind the dusty linguistics section specifically because nobody ever came back here. Perfect for focusing or for talking to yourself like a crazy person when statistics broke your brain.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and refocused on the textbook.

"How did I know I'd find you here?"

My heart stuttered in my chest as I spun around. "Zaiden?"

"What are you—I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow." Zaiden left four days ago for an away game that I couldn't attend because of finals.

I was suddenly aware of my unwashed hair pulled into a messy bun, my old black Westbrook Predators dance team tank top, and the dark circles under my eyes.

"Got an earlier flight," he smirked. "I guess I missed you."

This had been the first time since everything went down that we'd been apart for this long. It was funny how Kacie's death tore us apart, only to bring us back together, and I could only think she had something to do with that.

"You 'guess' you missed me?" I raised an eyebrow, fighting the smile that threatened to break through my feigned indignation.

He took another step closer. Then another. Each footfall echoed in the empty library, matching the rhythm of my pulse. The air between us seemed to thick, making each breath more difficult than the last.

"Let me think about it," he said, close enough now that I could smell his cologne. His eyes dropped to my lips for a moment before meeting mine again. "Yeah, I definitely missed you."

I rose from my chair, narrowing the remaining distance between us. "Well," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I guess I missed you t?—"

The rest of my words dissolved as his mouth found mine. Four days of absence concentrated into a single point of contact.

I threw my arms around his neck, and his circled my waist as he lifted me off the ground, spinning us as my legs wrapped around him. He dropped my ass on the corner of the square library table.

The kiss told me exactly how much he'd missed me. It was so intense, so all-consuming, that I lost not just the ability to breathe but the ability to think.

My hand dove into his hair, pulling his mouth harder to mine as his tongue slipped past my parted lips. He groaned, and I swallowed it before ripping my lips from his, sucking in a harsh breath of air.

"I had a fantasy that started like this," he breathed, his thumb tracing my jawline. His hand slid to my throat, not tightening, just resting there, a promise of what might come.

I kept my eyes open, watching his pupils dilate. "Tell me about this fantasy."

His mouth hovered a whisper away from mine, not touching.

"It was right here." His voice dropped lower. "This desk."

A distant door clicked shut. We both stilled, listening.

Silence.

His gaze flicked to my statistics textbook, then back to me. "But you were wearing that tight blue skirt. The one with the?—"

"I know which one," I interrupted, heat climbing my neck. The memory flashed vivid and sharp: his hands pushing that skirt up against our bedroom door, the cool surface against my back, the warmth of him against my front.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that made my stomach drop. His lips brushed, not my mouth, but the sensitive spot below my ear. "And in my imagination," he whispered, his breath raising goosebumps down my neck, "you weren't nearly this patient."

I tilted my chin up, offering more of my neck while my fingers curled into fists to keep from grabbing him. "Maybe," I breathed, "your imagination doesn't know how much I enjoy making you wait."

He spread my legs wider, the movement showcasing his strength without hurting me.

The library's lights cast harsh shadows across his face as he settled between my thighs, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, and the slight sheen of sweat at his temples.

His free hand curled around my outer thigh, fingers splayed, possessive, as his lips traced a burning path down the side of my throat. Each point of contact was a separate flame.

"Tell me," I whispered, my head falling back to grant him better access, "what happens in this fantasy?"

The vibration of his groan against my collarbone sent shivers racing across my skin.

"That's the thing," he murmured. His hand trailed upward with tantalizing slowness, leaving heat in its wake as it disappeared under my skirt. The fabric rustled softly, the sound obscenely loud in the library's silence.

His fingers paused at the juncture where thigh met hip—close, so close, but not touching where I needed him.

Our gazes met, his mouth lingering over mine, our breaths mingling together. "I'm more of a show than a tell type of guy."

He continued his slow exploration.

"Your panties are soaked, baby." His voice dropped to a rough whisper and I sucked in a sharp breath as his knuckles brushed over the damp fabric, a ghost of pressure exactly where I needed it most.

I fought to keep my voice steady. "Was that part of your fantasy?"

His mouth dragged across my face, stopping at my ear. For several heartbeats, all I felt was his breath.

"In my fantasy?—"

His lips brushed against the shell of my ear, sending electricity racing over my body.

"—your pussy soaked my fingers."

His teeth captured my earlobe, tugging gently, making me gasp.

"My face." Those two words, spoken directly against my ear, sent a violent shudder through me. "My cock."

My heart thudded against my ribs, and warmth pooled between my thighs. Zaiden's fantasies were so much more vibrant than mine, but I couldn't say that I hadn't had a library fantasy once or twice with all the late nights I spent here while he was away.

His fingertips skimmed the edge of my panties, then withdrew. I made a small sound of protest.

"What was that?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to beg. This was our game, seeing who would break first. It was almost always me.

His fingers returned, hooking into the sides of the thin fabric.

But he didn't pull.

One second stretched into two. Into ten.

His eyes locked with mine, challenging. Waiting.

"Should I stop?" His expression remained serious, controlled, but the darkening of his eyes betrayed him.

My body screamed for release, for movement, for anything.

"No," I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. A victory.

"Then beg me." His voice dropped, the command gentle but unmistakable. His thumb traced small circles against my hip, so close to where I needed him, yet deliberately avoiding it. "Beg me to take off your panties. Beg me to fuck you right here, surrounded by all these books, where anyone could potentially walk by."

"Please," I whimpered, hating and loving how he reduced me to this state. "Please take off my panties."

I raised my hips slowly, a silent offering.

His eyes never left mine as he worked the fabric down. Every millimeter of retreat exposed another nerve ending to the cool library air.

First, past my hips, where he paused. The pad of his index finger traced the indentation the elastic had left on my skin. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.

Down my thighs, where goosebumps rippled in the wake of his touch.

Past my knees, which trembled not from cold but from restraint, from the effort of not grabbing him, pulling him, demanding more.

His movements were methodical. Worshipful. Torturous.

The lights seemed too bright, too revealing. Yet I couldn't look away from his face, from the raw hunger barely contained behind his careful motions.

When the panties reached my ankles, he removed them with excruciating slowness, maintaining eye contact as he folded them neatly and placed them in his pocket.

He stepped back just enough that we no longer touched.

The absence of contact left my skin burning.

"Now," he said. His gaze traveled over my body with such intensity that it felt as tangible as hands. A physical weight. A promise.

My mouth went dry.

"Beg," he whispered.

The library's silence pressed against us, a third presence in our forbidden corner.

The words caught in my throat, not from embarrassment but from the raw need behind them. From knowing once I said them, there would be no going back.

"Please—" My voice broke. I swallowed and tried again. "Please fuck me."

His expression remained unmoved, waiting for more.

"Fuck me hard," I continued, my voice growing stronger with desperation. "Right here on this table. Where anyone could see us."

His pupils dilated.

"Until I come," I finished. "Until I can't remember my own name. Until all I know is you."

The air between us seemed to thicken, making each breath an effort. My heart pounded so loudly that I was certain it echoed off the library walls.

His large hands wrapped around my waist, lingering for a long moment before slowly lifting my black tank top and sliding it over my stomach. He hooked a finger underneath the built-in bra, tugging it as he pulled it over my breasts, but he didn't remove it. Just in case we had to redress quickly.

He stepped back. His gaze raked over me, slow, hungry, as if I were his masterpiece.

"Let me see that pretty pussy."

My chest heaved. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

I slid back inch by inch, my pulse quickening with each movement. I pulled my feet up onto the wooden table, knees bent.

The library's silence pressed against us, broken only by our breathing.

"Spread them wide for me, baby," he purred as his tongue swept out, wetting his lips. "I want to see all of you."

My heart pounded as I leaned back, using my hands behind me to hold myself up. Lifting my heels and pointing my toes, I slowly slid my feet apart until I was spread wide for him. His gaze zeroed in on my bare pussy, and an overwhelming feeling of both vulnerability and exhilaration surged through me. It was intoxicating like a drug, and I was riding a high. An addiction I couldn't break. I wanted more, and every time we did something like this, it only made me want to push the limits a little further.

Goosebumps raced across my exposed skin as the air conditioning whispered against places usually hidden. I shivered, not from cold.

"You are so fucking beautiful." The words came out strangled. His teeth dragged across his bottom lip, leaving it reddened. The metallic sound of his jeans button popping free seemed impossibly loud in the library silence. "Touch yourself." His pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared nearly black in the dim light.

Shifting my weight to one hand, I hesitated.

If anyone walked around that corner?—

My reputation. My position on the dance team. Everything I'd worked for.

Gone in an instant.

And yet?—

My pulse quickened at the thought. The risk. The possibility. The forbidden nature of it all.

I shouldn't want this.

But I did.

God help me, I did.

My body made the decision before my mind could, fingers sliding through slick flesh as my gaze locked on his face. I watched him watching me, the power between us shifting like a current.

Sinking two fingers inside myself, I let my head fall back, a moan escaping before I could catch it. The sound seemed to echo, and panic fluttered in my chest even as pleasure built.

"Rub your clit," The command rasped from his throat.

"Keep your eyes open. I want you to see exactly who's making you come."

The danger sharpened everything, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct, sensations multiplied.

I forced my heavy eyelids up, my gaze connecting with his as I withdrew my slick fingers. The movement drew his attention downward, his breathing visibly changing as he watched me find my clit.

I moved my fingers over myself, rubbing in tight little circles, fighting the instinct to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation.

The vulnerability of being watched, being studied, while touching myself made every nerve ending hypersensitive. Each circle of my fingers carried shockwaves through my system.

And then I saw him—fully.

Standing flush against the table, his hand wrapped around himself, stroking with controlled movements.

The sight of him, his restraint, his intensity, his absolute focus on me, sent a rush of heat flooding through my body.

I licked my lips, unable to help myself.

"I want—" The words caught. I swallowed and tried again. "I want you inside me."

He stepped closer, his hand never stopping its rhythmic motion. "Not yet."

The desk creaked beneath me as I shifted, impatient.

"When?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "When I decide you've earned it."

With my gaze hyper-focused on his hand, I moved my fingers over my clit, rubbing in a measured rhythm.

"Eyes on me, baby."

Each word was a command I couldn't disobey.

My gaze lifted, reconnecting with his.

The raw hunger I found there stole my breath.

This was Zaiden, the boy I'd known for years, the man who'd held me through the awful news of Kacie’s death, my antagonist turned lover, but in this moment, he was something else entirely. Something primal. Dangerous.

Mine.

I gasped, fingers faltering as he slipped two of his own inside me without warning. The sudden fullness made my back arch involuntarily.

"Don't stop. Find your rhythm and come all over my hand."

The crudeness of his words contrasted with the admiration in his expression, creating a conflict that heightened everything.

I realized that he needed this as much as I did. This wasn't just about a physical release; it was about reclaiming something we'd nearly lost, about proving we were still alive despite everything.

I added just the right amount of pressure as I continued to work my clit. He withdrew his fingers before thrusting them back inside me. He increased his speed, and I rubbed a little harder and faster.

The wet noises of him pumping into me seemed obscenely loud in the library's silence.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard, trying to contain the sounds building in my throat.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, curling his fingers inside me toward that spot that made coherent thought impossible.

"Someone will?—"

"Let me. Hear you." Each word was punctuated by a deeper thrust of his fingers.

The oxygen caught in my lungs, trapped. My vision tunneled, narrowing to only his face above me. The lights created a halo effect around his head, an angelic framework for the devil's own expression.

Stars sparked at the edges of my awareness as my pussy clamped down around him. The pressure building inside me reached a critical threshold, unbearable, unsustainable.

I fought it, trying to prolong the exquisite torture.

"Don't you dare hold back," he whispered, his voice threaded with both command and plea. "Give it to me. Now."

My control shattered like glass.

My stomach muscles contracted, and my spine bowed. A tremor started in my thighs, spreading outward like ripples in water, gaining force with each wave. The ceiling tiles above me blurred, sharpened, and then disappeared completely as something inside me fractured.

When my lungs finally remembered their purpose, his name tore from them, a sound so raw it barely resembled language, echoing off the book spines surrounding us.

He withdrew his fingers, holding them in front of his face, glistening with my orgasm. "I love the sounds you make when you're coming." He brushed his them over his mouth before sucking them between his lips and licking them clean. I swallowed hard, the action so erotically hot. "I love the way you taste."

He hooked his hands under my knees and jerked me to the end of the table.

His hand moved slowly up my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His palm curved around my throat, large enough to encircle it completely.

For one heartbeat, he simply held me there.

His thumb found my pulse point, pressing gently, measuring my reaction.

Finding it racing.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, satisfied at my body's reaction.

With careful pressure, he pulled me forward, an inescapable force I couldn't, didn't want to resist.

When our faces were inches apart, he paused again. His breath mingled with mine. His eyes challenged me to close the final distance.

I remained still, trapped in the exquisite tension of anticipation.

His mouth captured mine, not the gentle exploration of earlier, but something savage. Suffocating. Messy. His fingers tightened fractionally around my throat, just enough to remind me of their presence. Of his control.

Our tongues tangled together, and oxygen became more of a luxury than a necessity.

I tore my lips from his, head falling back as I gasped desperately for air.

His eyes devoured my reaction, pupils so dilated they eclipsed color entirely.

"Take my dick like a good girl." His hips snapped forward, filling me with one pleasurably painful thrust, making me hiss. He stilled for a moment, a very brief moment, letting me adjust before he started fucking me in quick, brutal strokes. Pleasure built, and I moaned louder than I wanted to.

It felt so good, I didn't want it to end. He withdrew and slammed back into me. Each time more powerful than the last until my legs were trembling.

I was already so close.

He leaned forward, his hands flattening on the table, pressing his forehead to mine, our labored breathing mingling in the space between us.

"Come on my cock, baby," he ordered, and those words sent me over the edge.

"Zaiden." His name escaped my lips, not a moan or a whisper but something rawer. More revealing. A confession disguised as ecstasy.

With one final, almost brutal thrust, he followed me, and a shudder ran through him.

Each creak of the building, each distant sound of footsteps on the stairs, had heightened every sensation. Danger and pleasure had intertwined until they became a single entity.

But in this moment of shared vulnerability, another element revealed itself: the truth we'd both been circling since Kacie's death.

We needed each other.

Not just physically.

In every way that mattered.

My body still pulsed with aftershocks, sensitive in ways I'd never experienced before, as if my skin had been replaced with something thinner, more receptive.

We stood breathless for a long moment, the library's silence settling around us. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted my clothes.

Zaiden slid his zipper up, his expression softening from intensity to something more vulnerable. "Are you hungry?" he smiled. "We could try that new twenty-four-hour diner before heading home."

"Yeah," I matched his smile, studying the familiar lines of his face. Four days had felt like forever. "I really missed you."

Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined saying them, not after the torment, the blame, the way Kacie's death had shattered everything. But now, watching him gather my scattered notes and textbook, I realized the truth of it. He was my safe place, somehow, still despite everything, or maybe because of it.

"Come on," he said, offering his hand. "Let's get out of here before they lock us in."

I laced my fingers through his, feeling the steady pulse in his wrist against mine as we walked away from the secluded desk that had witnessed both my academic struggles and our reunion. Tomorrow, I'd face probability distributions again. Tonight belonged to us.