Only, Riley didn’t seem to think so.
“I’m not.” She trailed her hand down his chest to cup him through the fabric of his wool trousers.
Clark couldn’t help himself; he bucked into her palm.
“What are you—We can’t.” Because it wasn’t so much that he didn’t know what she was suggesting as it was that he found himself utterly scandalized.
The wooden floors underneath their feet were original to this very old, very important academic institution.
“Sure we can.” Riley undid the top button of his shirt and licked the exposed hollow of his throat.
“Someone could come in here,” he said helplessly.
The idea spiked his pulse, made his whole body overheat.
Riley still had her hand on his cock, her thumb circling the head through the rough fabric, barely-there pressure.
“Yeah.” She went to her knees in front of him, holding his gaze. “They could.”
Clark sagged against the bookshelf at his back as she pushed his shirt up to ghost her blunt fingernails over the hair below his navel. Goose bumps spread from the point of contact, making him shiver. She tugged down his zipper very slowly, as if waiting for him to stop her.
He didn’t.
Smirking like she knew exactly how hot the threat of discovery made him, Riley flicked open the button on his pants, wrapped her hand around his bare cock, and kissed the tip.
Clark had never—oh, god—never done anything like this. Never broken a rule—a law, he corrected with a heady jolt—certainly not on purpose.
Riley must have assumed as much, since she sat back on her heels, licked her perfect pink lips, and raised her eyebrows like it was Clark’s call whether or not she’d suck him off in the bloody rare books room.
“Please.” His hands went to her hair, threading through, gentle but sure, urging her forward. “God, Riley. Please.”
Her little smile in response was wicked. Wanton. Said she knew she was his bloody wet dream. On her knees. In a library.
Clark was so hard as she slid down his length, the tight, slick heat of her mouth almost too much already.
Even though Riley must have known he was in a bad way from the hectic pace of his breath, from the way his thighs tensed as he leaked against her lips—as always, she didn’t take it easy on him. There was no starting slow to warm him up. No, she went ahead and tongued the slit straightaway, squeezing around the base, setting a rhythm that had Clark biting his lip ruthlessly to keep from crying out.
He brushed his thumb across her round cheeks as they hollowed, working for him. The risk of this made everything more intimate. Their secret.
As the shuffling of footsteps and faint strains of conversation drifted in from the hallway through the gap between the wooden door and the floor, he tensed even further, balancing on a razor’s edge for control, pleasure and fear zinging up and down his spine in equal measure.
He wouldn’t last like this. No chance. And as much as he’d love to spill in her mouth, he needed to be inside her knowing it wasn’t for a ritual or some game between them.
Gently, he pulled Riley to her feet, kissing her, sucking his taste off her tongue before tucking his throbbing cock up under his waistband and walking her backward until her knees hit the table where they’d been studying.
He thought for a moment about making a grand sweeping gesture, knocking everything to the floor like in a movie, but he didn’t want to damage a piece of the collection—and their notes were really important—so he quickly, carefully, gathered all the materials in his arms and deposited them safely on a chair in the corner while Riley gazed at him, looking amused, looking—incredulously—charmed.
When the table was clear, she hopped up on it, spreading her legs, beckoning him between them. Clark went, got his hands underneath her shirt to rub the silky skin of her back before moving to caress her breasts over her bra.
Once again, the style didn’t seem engineered for much besides driving him mad, the cups cut so low they barely covered her nipples. Wanting a proper look, he peeled her top off.
Fucking hell.
She practically spilled out of the dark fabric. All he had to do was thumb at it to have her popping out into his hands.
Riley gasped when he tugged at her nipples. Gently at first and then, gradually, harder. She’d asked for it rough in his camper, but he didn’t know if that was more about the mounting animosity between them at the time, the way she didn’t want to want him.
He kept his eyes on hers, monitoring her response as she arched into his hands, hitched her legs around his waist, and ground against him.
After nuzzling at an almost faded bruise beneath her collarbone, Clark pressed his teeth over the mark, biting again, some primal part of him insistent, possessive.
Her breath hitched, nails sinking into his shoulder blades.
When he finally got a hand beneath her skirt, he closed his eyes and groaned, the questions of if she liked this, and how much, answered definitively.
Clark pulled her underwear off and shoved them in his pocket, while Riley hiked her skirt to her hips. He ran his fingers back and forth over her, smearing wetness up and over her clit in tight, quick circles until she clenched, quivered.
“Please.” Riley reached for his cock. “I can’t wait anymore.” She wasn’t trying to be quiet at all, like she didn’t care if someone heard them, as long as he kept touching her.
Despite how worked up she was, it took them a minute to get him fully seated. Once they did, Clark had to breathe through his nose, counting backward from ten, trying to get a hold of himself so he could make it good for her.
Displaying absolutely no sympathy for his struggle, Riley gripped his ass and tilted her hips up, taking him as deep as she could all at once.
He braced one hand beside her on the table for leverage, the other cradling the back of her skull, before bringing her mouth to his so he could kiss her as he started to thrust.
The table legs stuttered against the floor as they rocked together. A steady thump, thump, thump that went to his head, made him woozy.
“You’re so fucking sexy.” He took her bottom lip between his teeth until she whimpered. “I almost want someone to walk through that door right now, see you like this—clothes half undone, gorgeous tits bouncing, pussy so wet for me you’re gonna leave a mark on this desk.”
“Clark, Jesus.” Riley squeezed her thighs around his waist, locking her ankles behind back. “When we first met, I thought you were repressed.”
Laughter made his strokes stutter.
He brought two fingers to Riley’s lips, gently pushing inside so they rested on her velvet tongue.
“I was a lot of things before I met you.”
She sucked the way she’d taken his cock earlier—eager, her dark eyes heavy-lidded.
When he slipped his hand out of her mouth, trailed his fingers down her chin, her neck, they left the faintest trail. A straight line to where his hand came to rest at the base of her throat.
Riley’s eyes fell shut for a moment, her lips parting, before she placed her own palm over his and—locking their gazes, pressed gradually, shifting his grip until his hand was applying the barest pressure on either side of her throat.
Clark stilled his hips, holding inside of her, bracing everything in his body, trying not to spend.