6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Anastasia
I 've determined the library is the only place where my mind can finally settle.
Between classes and the whirlwind of whatever wild social activities Elijah drags Megan and me into, this place is my refuge.
A small sliver of peace in the chaos.
As stunning as the gothic architecture is, it’s a shame so few people seem to truly appreciate the space.
The library holds every book you could imagine, its classic literature section stacked with beautiful editions of some of the most iconic works.
I give myself a moment to unwind, knowing I’ll need it if I’m going to survive Elijah’s movie night later. That’s the only way I can make it through his endless movie marathons.
I’m still learning to balance the pull of my friendships with my natural need for solitude.
Curled up on the top level of the library with Animal Farm , I find a quiet nook near the window, nestled behind towering bookshelves in the farthest corner.
Outside, the sky churns with dark, heavy clouds, wrapping the campus in a dreary overcast.
The sound of rain tapping against the window feels like it’s washing away the weight in my chest, the tranquility of the setting sinking deep into my bones.
I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of the rain calm my racing thoughts.
Cole can’t hurt me.
Nothing from that night will ever come back.
I am okay.
I am.…
The sound of a book thudding to the floor breaks the silence and I jump, eyes locked on the old literature that tumbles from the shelf nearest to me. My breath catches as the culprit, Noah, rounds the corner, a few old, bound copies of George Orwell’s works in his hands.
Instantly, I feel the fragile peace I’d carefully built here shatter. His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, we’re both frozen, just as surprised to see each other as the other is to be found.
Great.
Now, this once safe space isn’t the retreat it used to be.
Slamming my book shut, I make a deliberate show of how irritated I am by his presence, the action sharp and pointed. My gaze flicks to the window, pretending the outside world has some kind of solace to offer, as I watch his reflection bend down to pick up the fallen book.
Please, just go away.
"Go away," I quietly plead.
But of course, he doesn’t listen.
"We don’t start Orwell until the end of the semester," Noah says, his voice attempting to bridge the silence, offering some kind of weak small talk.
Peering at the copy of Animal Farm resting in my lap, I barely register the sudden shift beside me. He grabs the book, and the action makes my pulse spike, a quick shot of irritation flaring in my chest.
"What-"
"Listen before you bite my head off," he cuts me off, his voice too calm, too smooth, as he nudges my legs aside to make room for himself on the window seat.
I don’t pull away as he sits down next to me, but the air between us crackles. Without asking, he sets my book on top of his growing stack at his feet, the soft thud of it adding an odd weight to the silence.
The dim, gray light filters through the blinds, and I can’t help but take in his profile. Sharp, defined, closer than I ever wanted him to be. His slightly curled, brown hair falls messily across his forehead. The clean, barely-there stubble that lines his jaw only makes it look sharper, more angular. And damn him, the way his clothes fit his frame, tight enough to hint at muscles hidden beneath that stiff teacher attire, makes my breath catch for a second longer than it should.
"Ana?"
His voice slices through my thoughts like a cold knife. I snap my gaze up, my heart fluttering in my chest, barely hiding the annoyance that has now completely washed over me.
"What did you say?" I force the words out, the edge to my tone sharper than I mean it to be.
"I said," he repeats, leaning in just enough for me to catch the glint of something unreadable in his eyes, "I think we started off on the wrong foot."
The words hang between us, suspended, and I feel the tension coil tighter in my chest. What does he want from me now? His attempt at civility feels too calculated, too practiced.
Genuinely curious, yet unwilling to let my guard down, I cross my arms, a defiant gesture meant to keep some distance.
"Is Mr. Ackerman trying to create a truce with me?" I ask, my voice thick with disbelief.
The corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk, and something, an unfamiliar, uneasy sensation, stirs deep in my stomach.
"I don’t know how many students would go out of their way to spend their free time reading, let alone reading classic literature," he says, his voice smooth and calculated. "Perhaps I jumped the gun on seeing you as a problem student."
I feel a smirk of my own tugging at the corners of my lips, and without thinking, I lean in just a fraction closer, closing the distance between us.
"You see me reading an old book and suddenly think I’m a good girl, Mr. Ackerman?" I hiss, the words coming out sharper than I intend, but it doesn’t matter.
His gaze hardens for a split second, and I catch a flicker of something, danger maybe, before he closes the space between us further, the heat of his body pressing against mine. His jaw tightens, and his curls brush my forehead as he leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
"Are you not a good girl, Anastasia?" His voice drops lower, and the question lingers, heavy with something I can’t name. A ripple of heat rushes through my body, pooling between my legs, and I immediately regret the way it makes my pulse quicken.
What the hell is he doing?
I force myself to focus, using the irritation rising in me as a shield.
"Does that line work on your other students?" I taunt, pressing my hand flat against his chest, pushing him back just enough that his back hits the windowsill with a soft thud.
"I'm sure you're used to women being on their knees for you by now, hanging on your every word." I reach for my book, the movement deliberate as I try to regain some control. "But I’m sorry to tell you, I am not-"
"Look at me while you say it," he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air.
I freeze, mid-motion, my hand hovering over the pages of the book.
"What?" I stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.
"Look at me while you tell me how you're not a woman willing to be on your knees for me."
I swallow, every part of me wanting to deflect, to push him away, but something in his gaze pulls me in. My eyes lock with his, and I see it then…the power, the control he exerts so effortlessly.
My breath catches in my throat as his gaze holds mine, and I can’t look away.
Alright, Mr. Ackerman.
Two can play this game.
"You say that as if you want me to be on my knees for you, Noah," I purr, the words slipping from my mouth like poison as I shift my weight, using my knee to steady myself. I lean in closer, the air between us thick with tension, my hands landing on the window behind him. I peer down at him, my gaze sharp, the malice evident in every inch of my posture. "Tell me-"
Before I can finish, he grabs the front of my shirt with a swift, unforgiving motion, yanking me down toward him. I lose my balance, but I catch myself by grabbing his shoulder, my nose barely grazing his as his free hand moves, gripping my thigh with brutal intensity.
My breath hitches, my heart racing so wildly it feels like it might tear through my chest.
"You want me to do something," he whispers, his voice low, dark, and teasing. His lips graze my earlobe with a feather-light touch, sending an electric shiver down my spine. The hot breath of his words against my skin ignites a wave of heat that pools between my legs, burning like a wildfire.
"You want to tempt me, Anastasia," he continues, his voice dropping lower, his fingers digging harder into my thigh, possessive and firm. "You want to see how far I’m willing to let this banter play out."
I can't stop the way my body reacts, the pull of his dominance sinking deeper, making every part of me tense with anticipation.
I can’t hold my position over him any longer. Regretfully, I let my weight shift, sinking into his lap. His hand lands on my thigh, holding me there as I straddle him. He tugs at the hem of my shirt, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, the fabric pulling tight, almost exposing my breasts. My breath hitches, and I stare at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding in my chest.
"You could be screaming right now," he presses, his voice low and dark, like a challenge. His hand leaves my shirt, tracing a slow path to the back of my neck, forcing me closer, a breath away from him. "You could yell for help. Let them know how your teacher has you straddling his lap, watching your lips tremble from the rush of adrenaline my touch gives you."
His body presses against mine, unmistakably hard. The fabric between us feels like a suffocating barrier, every inch of it a reminder of what’s happening, what should never happen. But I don’t move. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, my eager warmth feeling the yearning need between his legs.
No shame in his touch, no hesitation.
He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask permission.
I feel the thick, undeniable need between us, the way it presses against my core, igniting a pull I can’t explain.
What the hell am I doing?
This is wrong. I know it is. But I can't move. Can't stop.
"Is this what you wanted?" Seduction drips from my voice, each word slow, deliberate. "You wanted to feel my body? Wanted to feel me rock my hips?" I roll them slowly, feeling the full length of him pressing against me through the thin fabric of his pants.
Fuck.
He stifles a sound I can only assume is pleasure, his breath hitching in his throat. Then he leans in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my earlobe, teeth gently nipping, sending a shiver down my spine. His words are low and dangerous.
"Truthfully," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, "I want to know how wet you are right now, feeling my cock rub against that pretty pussy," he purrs. "You're just begging to be filled up and stretched out, aren't you, Anastasia ?"
His hand moves slowly, tracing the bottom of my shirt, the touch almost too much to bear. I’m ready to implode, to let the moment consume us.
But then, a sudden thud from the bookshelf freezes us both. Our eyes go wide.
I quickly pull away, stumbling back, my feet tripping over the pile of books at my feet. A rush of shame floods me, my underwear slick with the evidence of my own desire. I cross my legs, trying to soothe the aching need, but it does nothing to ease the yearning pulsing through me. I fumble with my clothes, desperately adjusting them.
From the corner of my eye, I see him rise from the windowsill, his hands tugging at his pants, desperately trying to hide the strain of his cock beneath the fabric.
His hand runs through his hair, and for the first time, the weight of regret settles in both of our expressions.
I feel the conflict swirling between us, every possible outcome running through my mind. The want, the need, they still burn inside me, and yet the guilt keeps creeping in.
I can't let this happen again.
We’re in a public library, and we both let it go this far.
"I-I've got to go," I whisper, grabbing my bag from the floor, the words barely escaping my throat.
I glance around the shelves, searching. No one. Whoever made that noise is long gone, disappeared into the shadows.
"Ana-"
"Don't," I cut him off, my voice sharp as a whip. "I don’t know what kind of powerplay you get off on, but I’m done entertaining it." I throw him a cold, icy gaze, every word laced with finality. "Consider this a one-time slip-up."
He stays silent, his jaw tightening as he tucks his hands into his pockets. I watch his eyes fall, and the anger spreads across his face, darkening his features.
"I'll see you in class, Ms. Burns."
His words hang in the air, heavy and thick. I don't wait for more. I turn, moving swiftly toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest, eager to escape. The library feels suffocating now, like a place I never want to set foot in again.
I leave as quickly as I can, already thinking about the hot water of a shower, needing to cleanse myself. The last thing I need is the sharp reminder of how much my body ached for his touch, that deep, unsettling yearning still burning between my legs.