“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you…c’mere, babe.”

I didn’t mean to listen, didn’t mean to hear the soft moan of the woman on the other side of the library stack. 

“Ryan. . . Ryan please. . . I’m working.”  The rustle of clothing drifted through the open shelf above my head and I straightened from my perch upon a library stool to peek.  The broad gap between books left by the unabridged edition of The Count of Monte Cristo put me at hip height, and I smothered a gasp as I watch a strong, longed fingered hand slide up a pale thigh, pushing thin purple wool above it.

“I can’t wait, Leese.  You’re driving me crazy.” 

The third floor of the University’s library had been silent all afternoon, making it the perfect place for me to concentrate.  Until now.  I knew I should leave but somehow couldn’t, riveted by the ragged breaths and the tantalizing view between the books.  It’s amazing how emotive the tilt of the hips can be.

He pulled her leg up and she ground against him though I was certain she did something more than that to draw such a ragged groan from his throat.  Her flesh yielded under the press of his fingers, the curve of her ass bared and spanned by the spread of his grip, the wet sounds of their lips meeting and delving flushing my skin.  I pressed my own thighs together, squeezing against the hot throbbing my illicit view spawned.

“Ah fuck,” he ground out, “you’re not wear panties?”  Her low, answering laugh betrayed her lack of innocence in their meeting, shadowed by the distinct separation of a zipper.  He gasped as his hips jerked against her, against the hand I couldn’t see, and lifted her suddenly.  He rocked his hips into her.  I could hear she was as wet as I felt.

“Ryan, please,” she whispered, voice hushed and taunt with need.  I licked my lips and closed my eyes as he turned, pinning her against the shelf above me. 

Wet slick sounds accompanied by low moans and the complaining creaks of the tall stack rained torture down on me.  I could smell them, their musky essences miggling and making my mouth water.  Furtively I searched the aisles for watchers, both real and electronic, before reaching to relieve the ache building between my thighs.

He thrust into her, pressing her hips against the wood, the wood against my shoulders, my fingers into me.  I kept pace with them, with him, as he fucked both of us.  I nearly bit through my lip as I came with them, sensation rippling through my body and curling my toes. 

In a daze I listened to them recover, soft kisses audible above the straightening of clothing.  His footsteps sounded suddenly loud.

“Wait, take the stairwell,” she whispered.  “You know how Carol is.”  His snort of derision agreed.

“Alright, alright.  Don’t forget dinner at my sister’s.”  She groaned softly, and his chuckle was muted.  “We won’t stay long, I promise.”

“Okay.  See you tonight.  I’ve gotta get back down to the desk.”  Her heels clicked mutely on the tile and his footsteps started the other way, scuffing on the carpet runner.  Carefully I pushed myself to my feet, shaking my skirt out about my legs and gathering my books together.  Suddenly the absence of the steady tread of his shoes penetrated my thoughts and I glanced down the length of the aisle. 

Professor Dorset quirked a knowing smile at me as he shrugged into his sportscoat and twitched the sleeves into place.  My face flooded with color and I froze.  His eyes dipped to the book I had left on the stool, the massive bulk I had pulled from the shelf to make it easier for me to sort through the other books there as I searched for a candidate for a paper.  “The Count of Monte Cristo.  I knew you were ambitious, Rebecca, but are you certain you can handle that?” 

His smile deepened and he winked at me, not waiting for my answer before making his way towards the back stairwell.  I sagged against the shelf, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. 


I waited a few minutes before making my way down to the main desk, Dumas’ book atop my stack.  The ground floor was deserted; the campus library far from the chosen place to be on a Friday evening; and I set my books down on the counter to dig out my student ID. 

“All set?”  I glanced up to nod at the librarian and barely repressed a gasp.  Lisa Dorset favored me with a friendly smile as she slid the books closer, one that froze slightly as she dropped her eyes to the title on top.  She cleared her throat softly as she took my card from me.  “That’s one of my husband’s favorite books,” she commented, her voice trembling slightly. 

“I know.  I’m not certain if I’m brave or stupid to be pondering using it for my midterm paper.  He’s not certain I can handle it.”  she returned my card and I slid it into my bag, watching her expression through my lashes.

“You’ve discussed it with him then?”

“Actually, we just saw each other on the third floor.”  A blush painted her cheeks and she licked her lips nervously.  Feeling bold and a touch dangerous, I met her eyes steadily, letting a slight smile tug at my lips. 

“Well, I’m sure you’re up to it,” she stammered, sliding my receipt and the books back to me. 

“Thank you, I hope so,” I answered, enjoying myself.  “Have a great weekend.” 

“You too.”  I turned away and her sigh of relief spurred me on.  “Oh, and hopefully you won’t get stuck at the dean’s house for too long this evening,” I quipped over my shoulder, fixing her parted lips, and widened eyes into my memory before pushing through the doors. 

I knew what my evening would hold, my favorite fantasy more vivid with the sounds and smells gifted to me by their whispers between the stacks.


© Scarlett Greyson


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