Chapter 13
HENRY
Late afternoon had already started to settle, dragging gold through the high windows and letting it fall in narrow, uneven strips across the library tables.
It found him first, catching on the line of his wrist where it rested against a page, threading through his hair and resting along the slope of his shoulders, circling him in something soft.
A private kind of illumination.
Mine.
He was folded into the table like he’d been there for hours. Books spread out in uneven stacks—open, half-closed, and abandoned mid-thought. His glasses balanced precariously on the bridge of his nose, riding too low to be used, but he read over them anyway.
Gray eyes moved too fast, then slowed, then stopped entirely when something snagged his attention.
A pen hovered between his teeth, and he bit down without realizing it.
The cords in his neck tightened, visible with the movement as he leaned closer to the page until the tip of his nose brushed the paper.
He inhaled.
Something hot took hold beneath my ribs.
God.
He didn’t belong in rooms like this. Not this unaware of what he did to the space around him.
To me.
Archibald disappeared when he focused. I’d seen it before. The rest of him fell away piece by piece until only the work remained.
The library seemed to breathe around it.
Shelves rose higher the further back you went, dark wood worn smooth at the edges, packed tight with texts no one bothered to touch anymore.
Real ones.
Bound in cloth and leather, titles pressed into their spines instead of printed across glossy covers.
Cool, dense air shifted through old vents, carrying the faint trace of paper and polish.
Students never ventured this far back.
They formed clusters around what was easy, laptops open and headphones in, living firmly in spaces where everything could be searched, skimmed, and closed without consequence.
This space required more than any of them had the patience for.
Not my Rabbit.
He chose a desk that was meant for someone who took up more space than he ever allowed himself. Unforgiving wood stretched past him on all sides, but he carved out a little corner, contained to the span of his arms.
The chair didn’t fit him properly either.
Too tall.
Too rigid.
His back curved forward to compensate, shoulders narrowing in, forcing him forward and drawn into the work whether he meant to be or not.
He never adjusted.
A thin line of irritation threaded through my bloodstream.
Because I knew.
I just knew he’d been doing shit like that his whole life—refusing to shift to make himself more comfortable.
I stayed in the doorway long enough to memorize the way his feet hovered just off the floor, absently swinging forward and back, softly tapping against the rung when it went too far.
It was long enough to feel something ugly and possessive settle in my throat.
I wanted him.
All of him.
Every inch. Every habit. Every quiet, unaware thing he offered up without defense.
I moved closer. The floor gave a quiet warning under my weight—just enough to pull his focus loose. His head lifted a second later, eyes catching on the movement before settling fully.
Recognition circled his wide eyes, and he grinned so big, his cheeks nearly touched his glasses. “Henry.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“Rabbit,” I rasped, gravel dragging through the name. “I always know where you are.”
Archie shook in his seat, like my words affected every fiber that lined his body.
Made me feel like a fucking king.
The edge of the table pressed against the back of my thighs as I leaned in, settling onto the corner like the space belonged to me just because he was in it.
I scanned the spread in front of him. “What are you working on?”
“Um—” His hand moved instinctively, flattening one of the pages like he could organize the mess fast enough to make it make sense. “I was supposed to be finishing a comparative analysis for Lit Theory. Structuralist vs. post-structuralist interpretations of narrative voice.”
“And how’s that going?”
“I got distracted.”
He nudged one of the books forward, dragging the tip of his pinky finger along a line of text. My name sat in the center of the page, in fucking italics, wedged between people who’d built their careers out of pain.
“Very fancy of you, Professor. Your work quoted amongst the greats.”
“Am I not one of the greats?”
“Oh, to me, you’re the greatest.” A slow, lopsided smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t kissed any of the others, so I suppose I’m biased.”
My hand shot outward, fingers closing around his jaw before I thought about it.
His skin gave under my grip, pulse quick beneath my fingertips.
“Kissed,” I repeated.
The word sat wrong in my mouth.
Sat wrong everywhere.
My gaze dropped to his lips—pink and bitten where he’d been worrying at them, the faint indent still there from the pen he’d been chewing on earlier.
That. Mouth.
It was mine.
An ugly heat crawled up the back of my neck.
“You better not have kissed anyone else,” I growled.
I pressed once at the hinge of his jaw, forcing his head just enough to the side that I could see him properly.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
He made a noise that made my eyes roll and slapped both hands on my thighs, fingers digging into the muscle.
“Henry.”
“Be careful what you say to me, Rabbit,” I murmured, toying with his bottom lip. “You don’t get to put images like that in my head and just walk away.”
Smooth eyelids fluttered once before closing fully, lips parting to chase the taste of my skin. He sucked my thumb into his mouth, humming.
“Who said I want to walk away?”
Goddamnit.
The soft give of his sweater turned under my hand, stretching just enough before dragging him from his seat.
Wood scraped hard across the floor, one leg catching before the whole thing tipped, the back slamming down with a crack that echoed up the shelves.
The sharp bite of his nails sinking into my forearms made my cock stir.
His spine met wood with a dull, solid thud. Books shifted loose behind him, echoing faintly through the row as I stepped in, crowding him there with nowhere to go.
Air pressed out of his lungs.
“Careful,” I said again, but it wasn’t a warning anymore.
It was a promise.
“No one else touches you.” I demanded.
His chest rose against mine, lips damp, his tongue dragging over the bite marks on his bottom lip as he nodded.
Not. Enough.
“Say it.”
The front of his sweater bunched hard in my fist, fabric pulling tight as I forced him higher against the shelves, wood knocking softly behind him.
“No one else touches me,” he breathed. “Just you.”
“Good boy.”
A full body shiver tore through him, pulling a small, helpless sound from his throat. His back arched without thinking, pressing into me, chasing me, one foot sliding up and hooking around my ankle to keep himself close.
A laugh rumbled in my throat. “You want in my arms, Rabbit?”
His nod came fast, so fierce he nearly knocked his head off the shelves behind him. “Please.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, mouth brushing his jaw as I spoke. “I know you do, baby.”
My other arm came around him then, pulling him off the shelves. The shift dragged his body flush against mine, his foot still hooked around my ankle, while the rest of him climbed my body, tearing at me until his legs were locked around my waist and his face was in my throat.
“Needy,” I said under my breath, but it wasn’t a reprimand.
Fuck no.
I liked him needy.
Another one of those sounds slipped out of him, and I lifted him a fraction higher. “Ask properly.”
“More kisses, please, Daddy.”
Everything in me went still.
The kind of still that locked down before something broke loose.
Satisfaction made my toes curl, the lust inside me roaring to life. I tugged at the stands of his hair, and his head fell back into my palm. I cradled it softly, staring down into his half-lidded eyes.
“Don’t say that and expect me to go easy on you.”
His legs tightened around my waist in response.
“Say it again.”
I heard him swallow and pulled back just enough to watch his throat move.
“Daddy,” he repeated, softer this time. Needier.
Fuck.
My head dropped forward, forehead knocking into his.
“Jesus Christ, Rabbit.”
Blood rushed behind my ears when he let out a grunt and pushed his hips into mine. I wedged my hand between us, fingers working the button on his slacks.
“Tell me yes, baby.”
“Fuck yes.”
Possession consumed me.
Pivoting, I carried him toward the table. One arm around his neck, I kept him locked against my chest while the other swept out across the surface.
Books went first.
The laptop followed—pushed just far enough to land safely out of the way, screen snapping shut with a dull clap.
I sucked at his earlobe, grinning at the little sounds that echoed in his throat before dropping him on the table with a heavy thud. Air punched out of him in a sharp rush as I followed, closing the distance before it could register.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I breathed, my gaze drinking in every detail of his flushed face, the way his chest rose and fell with every rapid breath. “Every inch of you.”
Slipping my knuckles beneath the hem of his sweater, I teased the skin just above his waistband before baring his skin inch by inch. Pleasure hummed between us, so fucking tangible I could taste it.
“Are you going to touch me or just stare?” He smarted off, and oh, I loved it.
“Baby, I’ll fucking stare at you as long as I damn well please. If I had my way, you would never be out of my sight. Ever.”
“Ohmygod.” Hips stuttering, he shoved them upward, grinding his covered cock against my inner thigh. “Why do I find that romantic? Normal people would run away.”
“As if I’d let you.”
It wasn’t a threat tossed out for effect. It rooted deeper than that—somewhere quiet and volatile that didn’t loosen its grip once it latched on.