Page 57 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Do you want to try to take it again? Or save your retest in case you need it later,” I suggest.

Logan twists his paper so the words are facing him as he chews at his lip.

“I’m not really eager to take this one again. And I did pass.” His fingertips have started to roam along my wrist, his thumb grazing the inside of my arm. Every touch from him is electric. Distracting. Exactly what I need.

“You know,” I begin, looking up through my lashes. I check to see how engaged our neighbors are in their discussion, then shift my focus back to Logan, his hair a bit messy, eyes tired from a long night, wearing his dark blue hoodie and black joggers. He takes up so much space sometimes, and yet moves with this grace that lets him slip in and out of places without notice. Not that women don’t notice him everywhere he goes. He’s classically handsome, and his body is like dangling a steak in front of a bulldog.

“Yes, Rachel,” he says, jarring my attention out of my brief fantasy and back to my very possible present. His eyes have that streak to them, the slight squint that indicates he’s willing to be bad as long as it involves me. His smirk says so, too.

My stomach tightens and my core clenches at the thought of what I’m about to say. How I’ve gone from a girl who rarely leaves her room to one who wants to sample the full menu of library sexcapades is beyond me. But I’ve changed. And more than I want to study in another country, I want to know what is so special about having sex in the stacks of the Tiff Library.

“It’s a little loud in here. I was thinking maybe we could find another place to . . . study.” I suggest, putting a very obvious inflection on the word.

Logan slides his paper toward him and reaches down to slip it into his backpack. He zips his bag up and stands, reaching for my hand. I barely have time to shove my grad program letter into my satchel before Logan’s hand is woven through mine and he’s leading me to the stairwell in the back of the library.

He flings the door open and leans over to check the steps leading down to the basement and the ones that climb up five stories. Satisfied it’s quiet, he turns into me, chest to chest, walking me backward until my back is flat against the door.

“Do you want to study? Or do you want to know what it’s like to be fucked in the stacks, Rachel?”

My knees quake. I lift my chin and meet his stare.

“I don’t need to study. So I guess I want to get fucked.” I meet his filthy mouth with my own. His eyes flicker and his mouth crashes into mine a second later, his kiss rough and deep.

He breaks away after a few seconds and winds our hands together again, barking, “Come with me,” as he leads me up to the very top floor. We slip in the door and wind through several rows of shelves, most of them filled with texts in other languages and old reference books with layers of dust. There’s an entire section devoted to The Times and another for old reels of film. It’s like a time machine, an entire floor that’s the last vestige for some mediums. It’s the part of the library that’s rarely visited, but there are people on this floor. We passed at least four, all searching for some obscure text that can’t be found online.

Logan leads me down an aisle lined with classical studies, older copies of books like Crime and Punishment and The Iliad, and without warning, he turns me around, tossing his bag and mine to the floor, before he smothers me against the books’ spines. His mouth covers mine as he unfastens the snap and lowers the zipper on my jeans. His hand sinks into my panties and his finger is inside of me in a breath. I cry into his kiss, my center already pulsing from his touch. He must feel how close I am because he slows, slipping out of me and sliding his fingers along my wet skin.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you,” he says in a raspy, hushed tone, his lips brushing against my ear. His breath is hot and sends shivers along my neck.

“So much,” I confess.

Logan continues to tease me with one hand while he pulls his wallet from his pocket with the other. He takes out a condom and drops his wallet to the floor, holding the packet with his teeth. He pushes his joggers down and pulls out his hard cock, then lifts his chin and grunts lightly, I think asking me to take the condom and open it. I pull it from his teeth and tear the packet open, slipping the condom out and rolling it over his length. His cock is hot to the touch, and I swear it’s harder than it’s ever been.

“Turn around,” Logan commands, slipping his hand out from between my legs and guiding me to the right angle as I grip the shelf I’m now facing. He tugs my jeans and panties down, exposing my bare ass to the cold library air, and I gasp out loud. If anyone is remotely close to us, they’ll hear me. And the thrill of that turns me on even more.

“Arch your back,” he says at my ear, and I lower myself a little, giving him access. He plunges his fingers into me first, stretching me wide before grabbing his cock and guiding it to my entrance, sliding in slowly at first.

I cry out louder this time, but quickly cover my mouth with my hand as he sinks in, the angle so different—so incredible.

“You like this?” he asks.

“Uh uh,” I whimper, his hips rocking into me again.

“Tell me,” he says, and I flush with heat, my body beading with instant sweat and chills all at once.

“I like the way you fuck me,” I say, giving him the dirty words I know he wants. His skin slaps against my ass as he picks up speed, pumping into me faster, one hand snaking up my sweater and under my bra, the other rubbing my clit in the front.

Logan rolls my nipple, pinching hard as he pumps deep inside me, and my voice wavers as I crane my neck to look over my shoulder. All I can see is the hard line of his jaw and his full lips. He kisses the side of my mouth as I beg for him to go faster.

“Yes,” I plead, my orgasm building from every sensation. No part of me is left untouched. My breasts are tingling with ache, my clit is swollen, my pussy full with his width. His breath is ragged against my jaw, and I feel the need to come build even more between my legs.

“I’m so close, Logan. Please, I’m so close,” I beg, knowing he’s close too. His cock flexes inside me, and I arch my back in an attempt to take him deeper, to feel him hit my most sensitive spot inside, and as he grunts with his orgasm I feel my own peak. Logan lifts himself into me, clutching my body against his as he drives himself in, making sure I’m satisfied even after he’s done.

He waits until I’m done breathing hard, his cock pulsing inside of me as his hand works out every last second of ecstasy. Finally, he slips out of me, pulling off and tying the used condom and pulling his pants back up, making sure he has his wallet. He stands guard as I adjust my jeans and straighten my bra and sweater, then picks up my bag and tucks it over his shoulder along with his own backpack.

Just as quickly as we entered the fifth floor we disappear back down the stairs, neither of us saying a word. But before we walk out the stairwell door, Logan circles my wrist and urges me to wait with him just inside the door. Gone is the rough and hungry running back, and present is the sweet man who wants to make sure I’m all right.

“That was incredible,” I say, anticipating his need to hear that I wanted all of that. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip then kisses me softly.

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