Chapter 8 #2
He lifts one brow to her in a silent question and she wants to roll her eyes at herself because she knows what her answer is, even though she’s the one that drew the line between them after that kiss .
. . that one absolute wrecking ball of a kiss that she hasn’t been able to wipe from her mind, no matter how hard she tries.
Every night it invades her dreams, the slow sweep of his tongue against hers, the way his hands mapped out every dip and rise of her body, how he took that legendary focus of his, the same intensity that she’s admired in his work, and centered it all on her.
She was the one to put on the brakes and now .
. . now she’s . . . very clearly ready to toss that aside and for what?
To help him burn off the excess adrenaline from his defense?
Actually, no, she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t even care that Miranda was very, very right.
She’s been on edge since that kiss and she can’t think of anything else that will sate that particular urge.
And she’d tried. Her own hands were inadequate, too small and soft, and her stupid vibrator too intense and unnatural in all its silicone glory to recreate the slow burning sensation he’d built in her with just the press of his mouth to hers and the touch of his hands over her clothes.
If this is how he wants to celebrate, who the hell is she to stop him, especially since it’s what she wants too.
Answering his unasked question with a slow smirk, she doesn’t waste another second, launching herself across the empty space between them, up into his arms. He catches her beneath her thighs as she wraps her legs around him.
She wishes she could pretend it’s just instinct, that she didn’t think about it before she took that leap, but that’s definitely not the case when she pulls back, just a few inches, and covers his mouth with hers in a bruising kiss.
He stumbles back against the sturdy bookshelf and slides a hand up to the back of her head, taking control.
Groaning into his mouth, she nips at his bottom lip, giving it a gentle tug as his hands slide up her thighs and over her ass.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to do this again?” he growls out.
“Changed my mind.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I am very, very sure.”
“Academic success is a turn-on for you?” he rasps as he trails kisses down the column of her throat.
“Are you surprised?”
He only answers by sucking even harder at the spot just under her jaw, making her jolt against him.
He nudges her backward with his hips and she lets him lead her until her back is pressed into the shelf behind her.
He lifts her onto the edge of one, knocking a few cases of wound-up film to the floor, but she can’t bring herself to care.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she tugs him in, with her heels at the small of his back, and revels in the feel of him rutting up against her.
“Seems like it’s a turn-on for you too,” she says, rolling her hips against his, pulling a rumbling moan from his throat. And suddenly that line they discarded just a few seconds ago speeds ahead of them, completely out of sight.
“ You’re a turn-on for me,” he mumbles. “So fucking sweet.”
“Please,” she begs, as his warm hand spans her rib cage, up and under her breast, and she arches into his touch.
“You want this, really?” he asks. “You just gotta tell me. Need to hear the words.”
“Touch me, please, Xavier.”
“Alright, don’t gotta beg,” he says, his thumb brushing over her, sending a bolt of lightning through her veins from the pads of his fingers down to her toes and back up again, settling low in her belly.
Leaning forward, she runs her tongue along the shell of his ear and then punishes him a little bit for that.
“Fuck, Bianca, is that how it is?” he says through a gasp.
“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” She challenges him with another twist of her hips, feeling just how into this he is. Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush of passing his defense or maybe, just maybe, he wants this as much as she does . . . wants her as much as she wants him.
“You sure?” he asks, glancing around. Despite their relative privacy, they are technically in public and it’s sweet of him to check in, but she’s way too far gone to stop now.
She’s been a student for most of her life, but she’s never, ever done anything like this before and the only person she wants to do it with is him.
“I’m sure,” she says, locking her eyes onto his so he knows she means it. Because even though it’s crossing that very blurry line she’s attempted to draw between them, she’s done denying herself, at least for now.
With one hand at her breast, his other moves up to the waist of her soft cotton skirt.
“You wanna stop, you just say so,” he murmurs as he tugs gently at the material, giving her plenty of time to protest when he bunches it into his hands and pulls it slowly upwards.
The back of his other hand brushes against the inside of her thigh and a wild shiver goes through her.
“Xavier,” she says, hating how desperate her voice sounds, but so turned on that she can’t muster up enough give a shit to be embarrassed. How is it this good? He’s barely touched her and she’s more worked up than she’s been . . . maybe ever.
“What do you want?”
“Your fingers.”
It’s incredibly annoying, how desperate he has her.
She wanted to be the one giving. It’s not like she planned it, but in the split second between when he raised that eyebrow and when she was leaping into his arms, it was the only thing her mind conjured.
Her on her knees, his dick a satisfying weight in her mouth, his hooded eyes looking down at her like she’s a fucking goddess.
Kind of like how he’s looking at her right now.
“Wanna touch you.”
“So touch me.”
His fingertips drift along the lace edge of her underwear, before dipping inside.
“Shit, boss, I get you like this?”
“You talk too much,” she protests, lifting her hips closer.
“Nah, I think you like it. I think the sound of my voice is enough to drive you fucking insane, B.”
But he doesn’t test the theory, and in seconds his fingers have her eyes slamming shut as he draws a high-pitched keening noise out of the back of her throat.
“C’mon, let go,” he urges her on, before latching his mouth to that spot on her neck, fingertips curling in and finding that perfect spot inside her. “Let go for me.”
And that fucker, he was right, his voice is the thing that sends her over the edge, her body shaking against his, white light exploding behind her eyes, his mouth pressed against her ear, whispering words she can barely understand, but then with another twist of his fingers, she’s gone again, the pleasure shooting through her body, so intense that teardrops stream from the corners of her eyes and her throat feels raw from chanting his name.
“More?” he asks softly.
“Can’t,” she manages to croak out. “Too much.”
“You sure?” he asks, his thumb stroking upward, and shock waves rock through her, but then she hisses at the contact and he pulls away instantly, almost stumbling back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t . . . don’t apologize for that. Jesus fucking Christ, Xavier.”
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding almost bashful, and when she finally opens her eyes, that’s how he looks, his head ducked down, a soft smile lifting one side of his mouth.
“C’mere,” she says, crooking a finger at him, and when he steps closer, she pulls him in by the tie, which is a way better look on him than should be allowed.
Sliding off the shelf, she backs him up into the one opposite. Dropping to her knees, he groans out something that sounds an awful lot like her name.
“You don’t have to,” he says, his hand falling to her hair as she’s reaching up with the band she keeps on her wrist to hold it back.
She pulls it up into a loose bun and he groans again.
She wants to let out a soft laugh. Does Xavier have a naughty librarian fantasy?
She’ll have to remember to ask him later.
“I want to,” she says simply, reassuring him, but she doesn’t admit just how long she’s wanted to.
Some things have to stay sacred, like how the very first time she saw him, slouched in a seat in the front row of their classroom, looking all the world like her every fantasy come to life, taking him apart with her mouth was exactly where her mind wandered.
“Fuck,” he says, throwing his head back against the wall as she reaches for his zipper. “Not gonna last ten seconds.”
He underestimated his own stamina, but not by much.
She barely has time to enjoy the feel of him, hot and hard and completely at her mercy, despite her being the one down on her knees, before he’s pulsing into her mouth, her name falling from his lips in a gravelly moan that nearly sets her off again too.
“That . . . that was . . .” he stutters as she gently tucks him back into the confines of his boxer briefs and stands, while he zips up his pants and refastens the button.
“It was,” she agrees softly, wiping at the corner of her mouth.
His hand comes up to cover hers, cupping her cheek, and when she looks up at him, the fire there nearly has her stumbling backward.
Holy shit.
He’s ducking his head, moving in to kiss her, where he’ll taste himself on her mouth, when voices echo out from the end of the row and footsteps, muffled by the carpet, start fast approaching.
They shift away from each other just in time to see two undergrad kids, a guy and a girl, stumble into their sanctuary, hand in hand, clearly in search of the same kind of privacy they just enjoyed.
“Oh sorry,” the girl says with a laugh.
“Yeah, uh, we’ll just . . . go somewhere else,” the guy chokes out, trying to keep a straight face.
“You don’t need any microfiche?” Bianca asks, with a simultaneously knowing and disapproving smile.
“Oh, uh, right, yeah,” the girl says, turning to the shelf and grabbing a box at random. “Here it is. Let’s go, Bobby.”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” he says, following her back out of the row, their laughter echoing out behind them as they escape.
When Bianca turns back to Xavier with a rueful grin, he’s not looking at her. He’s staring down at his feet, one hand rubbing at the back of his head. Is he nervous? She’s never seen him react like this before. In fact, for a long time, she was pretty sure he was incapable of being nervous.
Is that what he’s feeling right now?
Crap. That’s . . . that’s not good.
If that’s the case, they should probably talk about what just happened. Should probably sit down and have an adult conversation about how it can’t happen again, despite it being, you know, one of the best hookups of her life.
Instead, Xavier clears his throat and gestures behind him. “I’m just gonna head home, clean up, maybe . . . I don’t know . . . I’ll see you there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I have a few more hours on this shift, but I’ll be home before dinner. We should celebrate?”
“I don’t know, but that kind of felt like a celebration to me,” he says, but the humor falls flat.
“I’ll see you at home?” she tries again.
“Right. Yeah, see you at home.” He nods and strides out of the stacks like nothing happened.
A few moments later, she follows, head held high as she retreats back to the circulation desk and tries desperately to forget what just happened, to put it out of her mind and chalk it up to a simple release of tension and nothing more.
And for the first time since she stepped on this campus, she fails.