Chapter 4
Every moment of that brief exchange in Benedict's study turned over and over in my mind for a week. Calling him that still felt a bit scandalous. I had wanted to show him my interest, but it seemed I had not succeeded. We fell back into our regular rhythm of...well, nothing at all, really.
The class had not had another day of practical applications in the training ring, so my usual ogling of the Professor from my seat in his class had resumed.
Every now and then, though, I thought I caught him staring back.
It was nearing the halfway mark of the academic year, and I found myself frequenting the library more and more. It was the best place to focus on my studies, and I had several research papers to complete and examinations to prepare for.
One such night, I was at the small table I preferred particularly late.
The library was available for use at all hours, but I hadn't heard anyone else shuffling around near me for at least an hour.
The table I sat at was in a corner of the main floor, not too far from Benedict's study.
Calling him that still felt odd, even in my mind.
My preference for that spot had less to do with its proximity to his study—or so I told myself—and more to do with the fact that the table was obscured from the view of the rest of the library by several rows of stacks.
I sighed and took a sip of my now-cold tea, pulling my list of references out. There were a few books I still needed to locate and review before I assembled an outline for my next project.
I decided to pull A Comprehensive History of Necrotic Alchemy; it shouldn't be far from where my table was located. I rose from my chair, savoring the feel of my movement as I stretched my arms above my head.
I wrote the call number on a small bit of parchment—I would never remember it the moment I turned away—and began scanning the signs posted at the end of each row of shelves.
The number I was looking for was, blessedly, just a few rows away.
I walked down the long aisle, my eyes scanning the beautiful spines of the library's collection.
When I neared the end of the row, I realized I was coming up on the main path through this portion of the stacks. I heard footsteps approaching, and poked my head around the end of the row to see who was approaching. Best not to startle any dangerous necromancers around all the books.
A pulse of excitement struck me below my sternum as I took in the form of the man approaching. It was Professor Excidium.
Despite the late hour, he looked just as put-together as always. His silver hair perfectly in place, his necromancer's robes free of wrinkles, and his usual set of rings all still upon his strong fingers.
His gaze snapped to mine immediately.
"Iris, what a surprise to find you here at such a late hour." He slowed as he neared me, and suddenly I didn't know what to do with my hands or how language was meant to work.
"Professor! I could say the same of you. I'm preparing for one of my mid-year projects; sources to collect and all that," I said with an anxious chuckle.
"Of course! I do hope you are taking some time for yourself to relax, though."
I attempted to look up at him through my lashes; he stood nearly a foot taller than me.
"What sort of relaxation do you recommend, Professor?"
My attempt at flirting must have at least somewhat worked, because Benedict's polite smile fell ever so slightly, and his eyes on me grew heated.
"Something that brings you pleasure," he said simply.
My breath caught at his words, but I forced myself to hold his gaze, to let him see the way his words affected me.
He looked for a moment as if he would say more, but thought better of it.
"What tome are you searching for now, my dear?"
I knew he didn't mean anything by it, but when he called me that, my stomach did an odd little flip.
"It's a work on necrotic alchemy...should be," I turned to scan the shelf, "here." The book was several shelves above my head—high enough that, had I been alone, I would have gone to find one of the many small ladders and stools that the library had scattered throughout the stacks.
"Allow me."
Before I could register what was happening, Benedict stepped toward me, and I caught the scent of his birchwood cologne.
Then, he was there, reaching his lean, strong form over me to collect the book from the top shelf.
His closeness flustered me, and instead of stepping away, I turned so that my back pressed into the shelf and looked up at him.
His chest was a few mere inches from mine, and I was barely breathing.
He glanced down at me with his arm still outstretched, and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile. Old gods help me, I was such a mess. I could feel myself getting wet at his closeness. I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, claim me.
After what truly felt like an eternity, he pulled the book down and kept his eyes locked on mine as he handed it to me. I took it, cradling it in one arm, but he didn't step away.
I realized this was, perhaps, as much of a signal as I would get. I supposed it wasn't every day Professor Excidium was starting some dalliance with a student (though, for all I knew, it might be every day for him), so he might be waiting for me to express my interest more explicitly.
I raised my other hand to rest it on his chest, the crisp fabric of his shirt warm under my hand.
I felt his lungs fill and I let my eyes drop to his lips.
I could see hints of his skeletal form peeking through; usually it seemed only a trick of the light, but this close I could tell it was real.
The strangeness only heightened his beauty.
His jaw was cut so elegantly, and a perfect cupid's bow adorned his lips.
"Professor, I…" I trailed off.
"Benedict, please," he answered gently.
"Benedict, would you…like to kiss me?" He paused a moment, as if he was letting my words sink in.
"Yes, Iris, I would like to kiss you very much, indeed."
I thought my heart would beat straight out of my chest. He leaned toward me, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my head as our lips met.
The kiss was tentative at first, and Benedict's other hand cupped my cheek tenderly.
I wanted more, though; my whole body was alight with sensations.
I brushed my tongue against his lips in question, and I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips when he opened for me and met me stroke for stroke.
He pressed closer to me, then, and I felt his hard length pressing into the softness of my stomach. He truly wanted me too.
Without breaking the kiss, I slid the book I still held onto the edge of the shelf behind me. With both hands now free, I ran one down the length of his torso and brushed lightly against where his cock strained.
He gasped, pulling back slightly, and the look on his face was a combination of raw lust and surprise.
"Iris, you must forgive me, I've gotten quite carried away. I've never…you must know I do not make a habit of…accosting my students." His brows tilted together slightly in an expression of guilt.
I crooked my finger at him to come closer, and he leaned down to offer me his ear.
I whispered, "I've wanted you since the day we met, Professor."
Whether voluntary or not, his hips pressed a bit closer at my words, and he turned to study my face.
"I never thought someone as vibrant as you with your whole life before you would be interested in me," Benedict said, barely above a whisper.
"Well, not my whole life…" I said with a smirk. "I'm thirty years old, I know what I want—and I want you."
"I'd be a fool not to give you everything you want, Iris," he said, leaning in to claim my lips again. This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His hands roamed my body, his fingers pressing into my hips before he nudged my legs apart with his knee.
I moaned as the top of his thigh pressed into my clit. I was wearing my usual black leggings, and the thin fabric did nothing but add to the friction of his leg against me as his foot found purchase on one of the lower shelves behind me.
"Take your pleasure, Iris; let me watch you come undone," he whispered in my ear, his hands urging my hips into motion against him.
I didn't hesitate; I began to grind myself against his leg, the pressure firm and consistent and all-consuming.
I wasn't inexperienced; I knew what made me feel good, and I wasn't shy about it.
Being here with him so unexpectedly, all my filthy fantasies from the past months inches away from coming true—I knew it wouldn't take long for me to find my release.
Through the haze of my pleasure, I realized that Benedict was no longer leaning in to kiss me.
Instead he stood upright, his hands still firmly on my hips, and he watched me.
Studied me so intensely that his gaze burned my skin.
He watched my face, the flush coloring the tops of my breasts where they were fully on display in my favorite bodice; but, more than anything else, he studied the place my cunt rubbed against his leg and the movement of my hips.
It was like he was memorizing exactly what I liked. I hoped he was.
"Gods, Iris, you don't know how many times I've imagined this," he whispered, and it was my undoing.
I ground my clit into him once, twice, and that tingling wave of pleasure crested at the small of my back, my muscles clamping down, pulsing through my orgasm.
I had always been rather quiet while I finished—holding my breath heightened the experience for me.
I was silent now, too, but Benedict studied my face as I came.
My breathing was ragged, and Benedict slowly untangled our legs. I immediately noticed a small damp patch on his fine, dark gray trousers.
He smiled at me, looking rather pleased, and I smiled right back.
"I shall bid you a goodnight, Iris."
Before I could answer, he turned to go.