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He kisses you like he loves you. That is the bitter, brutal part of it that will keep you awake at night for weeks after this. He kisses you frenzied and deep but somehow gentle, his breath shivering and startled against your mouth as he pulls away to steady himself. It is dark in this section of the stacks, the fluorescent light a few rows over flickering with exhaustion, and his face is mostly in shadow but you can still read the awe and tension in his features. His eyes have long since shuddered closed, his brow furrowed. A calloused hand is tight at your thigh, bracing you against a shelf, and your fingers tangle in his hair and hold on for dear life. You dimly wonder in that lust-addled way if you will knock over the metal structure, if it otele gelen escort can even be knocked over, but his hips rock forward and dusty spines dig into your back and you groan and stop wondering about the shelves or the noise or the thirty pages due at the end of the week because his fingers are delving under the hem of the skirt rucked up around your waist and you want him to fuck you finally finally. It took seven weeks. Seven weeks of poorly concealed glances over the divider between your work spaces, seven weeks of increasingly intentional games of footsie under the table, seven weeks of chatting about these damn all-nighters am I right? He is in your major but somehow balgat escort you never met him before the Olin gods assigned you attached thesis desks and you became fixated on the hard slope of his broad shoulders as he dropped his backpack to the dirty carpet every night. Mark, he introduced himself at some point in February when you started writing and working here became a ritual. His handshake was firm and warm, his eyes clear as he leaned over the divider. By April a sooty layer of scruff overtook his previously clean-shaven jaw and you began to concoct stress-induced schemes of seduction between paragraphs. Hey can you help me reach this book I need from the top shelf I can’t quite elvankent escort get it and I- In the end it was him who invented some bullshit excuse about needing help carrying books from the far end of the stacks and you didn’t bother pointing out he had long since finished the research portion of his thesis. It wasn’t long before you were crushed up against his chest, his hand cupping your chin to find your lips in the half-light. It does not surprise you how quickly it escalates. What does surprise you is how tender his touch is as he drags your sleeve down your shoulder to press a kiss against your skin, not with hunger but with reverence. Your head falls back against the shelf and you are grateful to be pinned between him and the sturdy weight of Olin when your knees threaten to give out. He kisses you like he loves you and it scares you more than the possibility of getting caught. He buries his face in your neck, breathing hard as you fumble with the button of his jeans. The fabric gives under your shaking fingers and he hisses as you curve your hand around the hard length of him.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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