7. Mike
Seven
Mike
I shouldn’t be here this late.
But I am.
Finishing up bullshit I could’ve left for the crew tomorrow.
Truth is, I didn’t sleep last night.
Not after what I heard.
Not after learning she’s untouched.
I jerked off twice with her name in my mouth and still woke up aching.
Now I’m in the back room of the library, trying to distract myself with drywall and paint.
It doesn’t work.
It never fucking works.
Then I hear the soft click of the front door.
Footsteps.
And I know.
I feel it in my chest before I even see her.
Shanay.
She rounds the corner, carrying a small tote bag and a tablet. Wearing a light-colored hoodie and black leggings that hug her ass like a second skin.
She stops when she sees me. Blinks. Swallows.
“Didn’t know you’d still be here,” she says, her voice too soft, too innocent, too fucking dangerous.
“Didn’t know you were coming back.”
She hesitates. “I left my notes for a grant application. Thought I’d grab them before locking up.”
I nod.
But I don’t move.
And neither does she.
Her eyes travel down my body.
Chest. Stomach. Arms.
Then linger.
“You, uh… always work shirtless after hours?” she asks, trying to joke. But her voice is breathier now.
Yeah, when my skin feels too fucking tight. My body, like it’s burning because I can’t stop thinking about you.
I take a step closer.
She doesn’t back up.
“You always walk in like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me?”
Her lips part. “I—I wasn’t—”
I’m in front of her in a second.
Close enough to feel her breath.
Close enough to see her pupils blow wide.
“You’ve been teasing me since the day I stepped inside this damn building,” I growl.
She shakes her head, lips parted. “I didn’t mean to.”
“That’s worse.”
My hand slides around her waist.
Not soft. Not tentative.
Like I already own her.
Because I do.
Her breath hitches when I tug her against me.
She feels everything.
Every inch of me, hard and thick and throbbing against her belly.
Her eyes flutter.
Her thighs press together.
She’s wet for me. I know it.
I lean in, mouth hovering near her ear.
Voice low. Dirty.
“You still untouched, baby?”
She gasps—barely audible. But still nods.
Fuck.
I fist the back of her hoodie and grind against her, slow and filthy, because I can’t not touch her now.
“You know what that does to me?” I whisper, voice shaking with how badly I want her. Inside her.
She moans—quiet, sweet and wrecked.
“Didn’t even know I had patience left in me,” I rasp. “But for you? I’ll go slow.”
My hand slips between her thighs. I cup her over her leggings, and fuck, she’s soaked through.
“You feel that?” I murmur.
She nods fast.
“You ever been touched here?”
“N-No,” she whispers.
“You want me to?”
A beat of silence.
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, desperate, shy and burning.
“Yes.”
And I lose it.
That one word undoes me.
I back her into the wall, slow and steady, like I’ve been waiting my whole fucking life to do it.
She doesn’t flinch.
She leans in.
And when I press my lips to hers, it’s not gentle.
It’s claiming.
She gasps against my mouth, soft and surprised, but melts instantly when I deepen the kiss—tongue sliding past her lips, hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
She tastes like honey.
And I swear I could live here.
She makes the sweetest little whimper when I slide one hand up under her hoodie. Warm, soft, untouched skin.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan. “You feel like heaven.”
She arches into me when my fingers find her bare waist, and that sound—needy and raw—has my cock straining so hard it hurts.
I drag my mouth down her neck, sucking gently at the spot under her ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She shakes her head, breathless. “Don’t stop.”
I drop to my knees.
Right there.
In the back room of a public library.
I don’t give a shit.
Because this is my girl.
My virgin.
My obsession.
And I’m gonna ruin her.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings, tug them down slow—watching her thighs, her panties, the soaked spot between them that makes my mouth water.
“Look at you,” I rasp. “So fucking ready for me.”
She gasps when I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
Another halfway up.
And when I finally nuzzle against her pussy, mouth warm over damp cotton, she moans like she’s never felt anything like it.
I mouth her through her panties until she’s shaking—hips rocking, hands in my hair, thighs squeezing around my head.
Then I slide the fabric aside and lick her for real.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Her whole body jolts.
“Mike—oh my God—”
I groan against her clit, lapping her up like a man starved, dragging two fingers along her slick entrance but not pushing in. Not yet.
“I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy until you come all over my tongue, Shanay,” I growl. “Then I’m gonna carry you home and take what’s mine.”
She cries out—high and wrecked.
And I don’t stop.