My back pressed against the shelves, and fortunately they were thick and sturdy.
“Fuck, Zara,” he growled. I dropped the Stephen King book as he picked me up, pressing my back against the shelf again. When I wrapped my legs around him, I could feel him growing hard, his erection digging into my lower belly. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, needing more, craving it, and his groan became primal. His hands went to my hair, clutching and tugging, and then he dropped his head to kiss my throat.
I gasped, never having felt such a shock to my body before. I’d had boyfriends in high school, but none of them were ever serious, and the furthest I’d gone with any of them was first base—a swift kiss and a hug—but not with Professor Grant. I wanted to give him everything. He was so practiced with his mouth and hands, so skilled and calculated.
He brought his mouth back up to mine and kissed me again. “Shit. What are we doing?” He breathed out heavily.
“I don’t know.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “We should stop.”
I could feel him about to pull away, so I wrapped my arms tighter around him. “I don’t want us to.”
Our eyes connected, and he sighed, gave me a weak smile, and placed a warm kiss on my lips that damn near made my toes curl. Then he picked me up right from the shelf and lowered me to my feet.
I whimpered, still aching for his touch, and he cupped the back of my head, grinning while lightly shaking his head. “I’m going to get into so much trouble with you, aren’t I?”
I bit back a smile. “Maybe.”
He kissed me once more then bent down to pick up the Stephen King book from the floor. “Come on,” he said, handing it to me. “Let’s head back and pack our things.”
I nodded and followed him back to our table. I wanted more—so much more—but I knew we couldn’t do more there. Still…he’d kissed me in the fucking library. My professor had kissed me, and he meant every ounce of it. My head was spinning, and I felt drunk with desire.
“You’ll do great on your essay,” he said when we reached the table.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Your writing is very fluid and clear. I enjoy reading your pieces when you send them in.”
I bit back a smile. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Ever since I was a little girl. I mean, now I want to be more of an editor. I don’t think writing is my thing, but I love playing with words, you know? Anyway, I used to write these fictional stories about my life and—” I laughed a little and shook my head while waving a dismissive hand. “Never mind. It’s silly.”
“No. Go on. Tell me.” I fixed my gaze on his, and that warm smile of his was on display again, his eyes gentle and eager for details.
“Well…I used to write stories about falling in love with famous guys in boy bands or with actors I really liked.” I huffed a laugh. “I was very dramatic about it, believe it or not.”
“I can believe it.” He chuckled, sliding papers into his bag.
“Do you think I’m dramatic?”
“I think you have a way of making your presence known.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just means you have a way of capturing someone’s attention, Coffee Shop Girl.” The corners of his lips quirked up, and I fought a smile.
“You are never going to let that go, huh?”
“Not ever.” He winked, and my knees practically became mush. “Let’s get out of here.”
I followed him out the main exit of the library. After he dropped the key in the box Mrs. Bale had told him to leave it in, we stepped outside and took the cement stairs all the way down to level ground.
“Is your dorm far from here?” he asked.
“No. Not too far.”
“Well, it’s late. I can’t have you walking alone at night. Shall I walk you there?”
“Sure.” I turned in the direction of my dorm, and he strolled by my side casually. Neither of us was in a rush—especially not me. I wondered if he was still thinking about that kiss. Hell, after that kiss, I wanted to bring him into my dorm room with me, but I quickly realized that outside of the library, we were back to reality. Out here, he was my professor and I was his student, and that was it.
My building came into view, and I felt instant dread crawl through me. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted this time with him to last forever, despite how simple it was.
“That you?” he asked as we crossed the lawn to get closer to the brick building. Tree branches hovered above us, the leaves and branches hanging so low we had to duck to get past some of them.