Bad Boy Hero - Tanglewood Academy

Eventually, she leads us up a grand staircase to the second floor, where there’s a small private room nestled in what looks like a former library. The moment my eyes land on the bookshelves, my jaw drops.

I’ve never seen a collection like this. Floor to ceiling books, all leather bound and with that musty, incredible scent that older books take on over time.

The hostess notices my expression, and her smile widens, just a little. “Your server will be up soon with the first course,” she says. “In the meantime, enjoy.” She pulls the door to the study half shut behind her as she departs, leaving me to drool over all the books in private.

“It’s incredible,” I say, in a voice that’s closer to a moan than a whisper.

Keanen chuckles and moves up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “I thought you’d like it.” He brushes my hair aside and bends to press a single, searing kiss to the nape of my neck.

Heat floods my veins.

Still, I swallow hard, trying to remind myself we’re in public. “How did you know?” I reach out to trail a hand over the shelves, and he chuckles softly, his chest vibrating against my backside.

“Please. Like I haven’t caught you ogling the library on campus almost as much as you do me.”

My cheeks flush. I glance over my shoulder, our mouths inches apart. “Are you calling me a nerd, Mr. Kross?”

“If the librarian’s heart fits,” he replies. And then his mouth presses against mine, his tongue parting my lips to catch mine, claiming me, and the retort that was on my lips fades away.

He spins me in his arms until we’re face to face, then walks me backward until I bump up against the shelves. I catch the look in his eyes when he pulls back just far enough to catch his breath. Hot and searing. I know that look.

“We can’t,” I whisper, with a nervous glance at the doorway. “Not here.”

He grins, and arches a single eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“No, I’m simply stating the obvious.” I narrow my eyes, but he pretends not to notice. His hands slide up my arms to my shoulders. Then down. Following the arc of my curves. He always touches me so surely, as if he knows in advance exactly where I’m yearning for his hands to be.

Or his mouth, or…

His hand reaches the hem of my dress. Slides underneath. “Keanen,” I whisper, my gaze darting toward the door.

He just smirks. His hand creeps higher up my thigh, his palm white hot against the sensitive skin there. “I can’t help myself,” he murmurs, his mouth barely an inch from mine. “You look so fucking irresistible in that damn dress.”

His hand reaches the top of my thighs, follows the curve to slide between them. And then his eyes go wide. “Are you…?”

I grin, merciless. “There were panty lines, so… I opted to take them off.”

He traces his fingertips across my bare pussy, letting out a little groan in the back of his throat that drives me wild. “Fuck, Missy, are you trying to kill me?” he whispers. He presses his hips forward, grinding against me, and I can feel him, hard as a rock already and pressed tight against my thigh.

At the same time, his fingertips spread my pussy lips. He runs his index finger along my slit, and I can feel how slick it is, how wet I am.

“You are so damn dangerous, you know that,” he says softly.

I arch an eyebrow, my hips bucking against his, like they have a will of their own. “Please. You’re pretty—” My breath catches as he pushes his index finger inside my pussy, sudden and swift. I let out a slow exhale as I adjust to the thickness of his finger. Tense again as he curls it inside me and strokes gently, pushing in and out, in and out. “Pretty distracting yourself,” I manage to finish.

He chuckles, leaning back to watch me with hooded eyes. “I want to bend you right over this desk,” he murmurs. “Fuck you right here.”

“Keanen…”

A knock at the door makes me startle backward, away from Keanen, tugging my dress down into place as I go. He doesn’t even seem phased, just smirks at my reaction and turns to gesture the waiter inside. God, his finger is still wet from my juices.

The man is carrying two trays, the smell wafting from them incredible. “Your first course,” he explains, and then proceeds to list ingredients I’ve never even heard of, let alone tasted.

I settle onto the loveseat provided, next to a solid oak table that overlooks the yard outside, where more tables are dotted across the manor’s lush green lawns. The whole time, my heart hammers in my throat, thuds against my eardrums. I can’t believe we almost got caught fucking up here, in what looks like the sort of study a grand dame who owned a house like this would keep, from which she’d keep watch over her garden party outside.