Sex in the Stacks (2 page)

“Leave me alone,” Melanie whispered. She should have known her twin would hunt her down.

“You don’t mean that,” Simon said. His deft fingers unlocked a sparkle of sensation wholly new to her.
 

“Admit it, Melanie. Sometimes it feels so good to be bad,” Violet whispered, as if in encouragement, but Melanie wasn’t going to admit anything to Violet. She didn’t want to think or argue—only to feel.

She closed her eyes, willed Violet to leave, and abandoned herself to his…expertise.

Simon swung her around to face the bookshelf once more. The books were in a straight line, undisrupted, and she hoped her nemesis had gotten the hint and decided to make herself scarce.

 
Simon stroked her legs. He started with the sensitive skin behind her knee and skimmed his way up, under her skirt, tickling rough touches over her thighs. He hooked his finger into her panties and tugged until they slid down below her thighs. Anticipation weakened her knees. She leaned heavily against the shelf for support.
 

With one hand, he lifted her bound wrists. He didn’t release her. Instead, he smacked her hard on her bottom. She yelped with surprise, but he soothed the hot ache away with a gentle caress of his hands. He dropped to his knees behind her and slid his tongue across her smarting skin, over her curves and inside her crevices, until she couldn’t hold back the whimpers, the pleading, for less and for more.
 

She couldn’t think clearly at all. Not that she tried. Her eyes crossed with pleasure. She couldn’t read the titles on the spines just in front of her face. Not that it mattered.
 

“Melanie!” Violet snapped her fingers. It took great effort to lift her eyes and focus her gaze on the fingers sticking through the space where a fat book had been only seconds ago.

“You’re screaming like you’re a contestant on a game show,” Violet scolded. “More. Give me more! No too much. Too much. Oh, go lower. Go lower,” Violet mimicked. ”You have to stop. You’re taking this too far. You’re being reckless.”
 

Reckless!
Little Miss Irresponsible was going to lecture
her
about reckless behavior. Or about taking things too far. She would have laughed, but Simon’s next touch drove all rational thoughts from her head. Her world narrowed to the heat of him at her back, to the strangely exciting constriction of the belt at her wrists, and to the intense pressure building inside of her.
 

Still, Violet refused to do the decent thing and go away. “Be as naughty as you want. Invite Hunter and have a threesome down here for all I care. But don’t get caught.”

Simon lifted his head. Had he heard Violet?
 

Violet, for her part, didn’t seem to care at all about the scene she might be making. “What do you think will happen if someone else finds you? His reputation will recover. No problem. The old guys will probably clap him on the back for his conquest. But what about you?”

“Don’t move,” Simon said. He showed no sign that he’d heard Violet’s harangue, but he withdrew his hands and clever tongue before Melanie could ride the fantastic wave of pressure he’d created and find release.

She wanted him back, right where he had been, filling her, distracting her. Melanie squeezed her eyes shut and willed Violet to disappear, willed Simon to return, willed the flow of pleasure to continue uninterrupted.
 

“Oh fine,” her twin huffed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She heard the tear of a wrapper, and then Simon stood behind her. He spread her legs and positioned himself at her opening, her bound hands caught between them. He smoothed his hands over her belly and hips, over the cotton of her shirt and the pleats of her skirt. Then he fisted the wool of her skirt in his hands and gathered it until the garment bunched at her waist.

He dipped his hand between her legs. He pinched and rubbed, and she lifted on her toes and arched her back, riding the intense wave of ecstasy into a realm of pure sensation, of wicked touches and wild need.

He slipped inside her a mere fraction, and she rocked her hips, wanting more, needing more. He held her in place with the tight squeeze of his hands on her hips. “Not yet,” he said. “You have to beg first.”

In his hold, she couldn’t move the way she wanted. She had no leverage to take or give. He controlled her completely. “Please,” she moaned.

He gave her exactly what she wanted. He held nothing back. They graduated from heat and passion to all-out frenzy. The shelf in front of her rattled. His breath came faster and faster. His arms tightened on her.

“Josie,” he groaned.

She inhaled sharply at the acute pain of this newest betrayal. Dust from the old books filled her nose.
 

Josie?
He was calling her Josie? Her friend’s name crashed over her nerves like a bucket of ice water. Simon had tied her, touched her, but he wanted her friend. He wanted Josie, not her. He had made her beg for the favors he wanted to give another woman.

“
Achoo, achoo, achoo
.” The sneezes erupted in loud succession, a blaring announcement to anyone in proximity that she was here in the shadowy dark of the stacks.

Her nose dripped. With her hands caught firmly behind her back, she couldn’t wipe away the snot. She tried to sniff it back but only sneezed again. Her eyes watered—from the dust she would say if Simon asked.

He didn’t ask. Aside from a brusque, “bless you,” he seemed oblivious to her drippy distress. He twisted and undulated inside her. Undoubtedly, such moves had turned plenty of women before her into begging pleasure-seekers. Maybe none of them had cared if his thoughts focused on someone else, so long as he tended to them.

Melanie cared. She sniffled some more and fought to hold back the rising tide of tears. “Simon, I need…”

“Yes, that’s right,” he said gruffly. “Tell me what you need.” His fingers pinched her through her blouse, and she involuntary gasped again, inhaling another dose of dust.
 

“I need…”

“Beg me for it,” he said as she sneezed again. “Tell me how much you want me to give it to you.”

Their game had lost its delight. She only wanted to wipe her nose, reclaim her dignity, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

“I need a tissue!”

“What?” He pulled away from her.

“A tissue. I need a tissue,” she said.
 

He spun her around. She sneezed again and spewed droplets in his direction.

“Oh.” He rubbed his hand over his face and shook the lingering wetness from his fingers. Obviously, this wasn’t the kind of request he had anticipated.

“I’m allergic to dust,” she said.
And you called me Josie.
Tears leaked down her cheeks. “You need to untie me.”

He frowned as if debating how to handle this unexpected mess.

At that moment, she heard the faint wheeze of the elevator doors opening. “You really think we’ll find them down here together?” a woman said. Melanie couldn’t place the woman’s voice, but it sounded familiar.

“Please, Simon. Someone’s coming,” she begged.

Instead of untying her hands, he yanked up his boxers and pants. “Stay calm. It’ll be okay.”

“I have it on good authority. There are certain places he likes for his liaisons. And certain things he likes to do,” a familiar male voice answered. Her colleague, Kevin.

“Like what?” the woman asked. When Kevin didn’t answer, she said, “Should I get my camera ready?”
 

The footsteps advanced quickly in their direction. Her heart started to pound. She pressed her legs together to keep her panties from sliding below the hem of her skirt.

“Shh,” Simon urged. His teeth flashed again in the dark, another smile. The devil was actually enjoying this, the risk of being caught. Maybe he even hoped he would be. After all, he was now fully clothed, while she was the one undone and bound, face wet and sticky. Quite a picture that would make.

“Please,” she begged, turning her hands to him. There was no thrill in this adventure for her, not anymore.

“Don’t let them catch you. Run!” Violet’s voice urged from the shadows.

Melanie didn’t know whether Simon would have untied her if she’d given him another second. She was no longer willing to trust him and take the risk.
 

“Run,” Violet warned again.
 

Hands still tied behind her, she dashed awkwardly down the row as her panties slipped and tangled at her knees. She ran away from the voices, away from Simon. She didn’t spare a glance back over her shoulder for him.

Her tears flowed fast and free. Running along the opposite wall of the basement from where she’d heard the voices, she doubled back to the elevator. She jabbed the button with her elbow.

As the doors opened, Violet pushed her inside. She took a shuddering breath, not quite of relief, as the doors slid closed. The elevator began to rise, and Violet hit the stop button.

“I should let you get to the main floor like this,” her twin said. “What do you think people will say when you stumble out of the elevator looking like a sex club escapee? How will you talk yourself out of this scrape, Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
 

“Me? Why would I want that? I tried to warn you.” Violet threw her hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of exasperation.
 

Melanie started to cry in earnest. She had made a mess of everything, and now her years of hard work were going to be nothing, to mean nothing.
 

“Stop it,” Violet ordered. “Don’t be such a victim.” Violet tugged on the belt and untied here. “Here.” Violet
 
pressed the belt into her hands. “Pull yourself together. You weren’t caught and you’re going to walk out of here, head held high, as if nothing happened.”
 

She nodded mutely. With trembling fingers, she pulled up her panties, reclasped her bra, and buttoned her blouse. She smoothed her hair but her ponytail was gone, and so was her sweater. She looked more like her twin than she cared to admit, the difference between them less prominent, and also less favorable than it had been only a few hours ago, when she’d been the one with a real career and a clear direction, when she’d been the sensible one and not the slutty one.

“He called me Josie,” she said.

Violet snorted. “What did you expect? Hearts and flowers? Don’t tell me you were pretending he loved you while you played your little bondage game.” Violet sighed heavily. “You did, didn’t you? I can see it in your face. Make sure you learn this lesson, and learn it well. This wasn’t about you or even Josie. It was all about him. About him thumbing his nose at the rules and conventions with a hot, young thing. He was probably hoping to get caught, just to test his own invincibility.”

The words rang true, and she admitted to herself that Violet had recently come through with more than one accurate and keen insight into her life, no matter how unwelcome. Her face heated with shame. The sympathy in Violet’s eyes only deepened the painful sensation.

She had been wrong about Fillmore. Wrong about Simon. Wrong about herself. Was she wrong about Violet, too? Was Violet the better twin?

She fought the temptation to give in to tears, not for Simon, but for her pitiful self.

“Stop,” Violet urged, as if reading her thoughts.
 

Melanie bit her lip and nodded. She swiped away her tears one last time and then hit the button to start the elevator again. She was going to take Violet’s advice and walk through the library lobby as if nothing untoward had happened; business as usual.

For a few minutes, she had been undone and broken. She didn’t have to stay that way. No one had to know.

When the elevator doors slid open, she marched, spine straight, toward the exit, where the guards checked bags for stolen books. She glanced behind her back, but Violet, as usual, had disappeared.

Kevin burst from the stairwell and barreled into her. “Aha!” he cried.

She shrugged off his touch. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Where’s Simon?” he demanded.

“How would I know?” she snapped.

Kevin scanned her as if searching with a magnifying glass for clues about her activities. She resisted the temptation to check her wrists for marks or to tug on her sleeves to cover them. No way would she reveal to Kevin that she and Simon had gotten kinky in the stacks or that he had almost caught them.

It never happened.

“You’ve seen him. Haven’t you?” An accusation, not a question.

“Actually, Kevin, I haven’t,” she lied.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” The snap in her voice surprised her. She never snapped at anyone. She prided herself on being pleasant.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he observed.

“Because I was. Happy?” No use denying it. She expected her eyes were red and puffy. What she didn’t expect was how much she sounded like her combative twin.
 

She softened her tone. “I don’t want you to tell anyone,” she confided, “but I went into the stacks to be alone. Fillmore and I just broke up, and it’s been really hard on me.”

Maybe leaving Fillmore had been a huge mistake. For all his faults—and she could now see that there were many, not least of all his childish, vindictive streak that had made him try to shame her in front of her colleagues after she’d moved out—at least he had grounded her. She hadn’t strayed into wildness, not once the whole year they were together. With him, she had settled comfortably into an appealing persona—the sweet, pleasingly dull and dorkily eccentric college professor.

That woman wasn’t plagued by forbidden fantasies about her student or her boss, and she certainly would never lower herself to act on them.

But you weren’t completely happy.

She wasn’t happy now either. She didn’t have to fake the tears, fresh and eager to breach the dam of self-possession.

Kevin shifted uncomfortably and then opened his skinny arms to her. She caught the remorseful furrow of his brow just before he embraced her.