Page 23 of Speak

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in therestricted section, Miss Monroe?”

I take a step back from Professor Harrington, eyes widening when he takes a step forward, his arms grabbing me tighter, pulling me flush against him, but I try to wrestle out of his grasp. “Do you believe because your family’s last name is on the building you have unfettered access to the restricted section? You believe you’respecial, Miss Monroe?”

I gasp inaudibly, yanking my arms out of his strong hold and a glint of fire flashes in his eyes before they darken. I’m barely out of his grasp when I’m back against his chest. I put my hands on his waist, feeling the muscles in his abdomen, and try to break free again but his hold on me is too strong. He smells of crisp citrus, spice, and leather. His masculine scent alone intoxicates me. I try to look behind him, but it’s dark and we’re alone; even the usual sounds of the library are non-existent because it’s too early… and we’re the only ones here.

“Ah, no one to hear you now, is there,mute? Not even a squeak. Would you squeak for me?”

I tug myself backwards and a book falls behind me somewhere and I wince.

Please don’t let it bethatone.

“That could cost the universitythousands. But I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, does it, Miss Monroe? Mommy and Daddy can pay for it?” I resent that. I really do. “That could be a precious first edition, or even a very rare priceless grimoire, something we could never get back. You’ve been a very, very naughty girl, Miss Monroe. I believe it’s time we see the dean.” Maverick reaches for me again but I step out of the way and begin a quick, silent pace through the maze to get back to the discolored book-door.

Footsteps quicken behind me. I can feel him. His presence looming closer to me like a silent predator. Like that goddamn shadow I’ve been running from for half my life. The fear of him catching me and either taking me to Dean Whitmore or doing what he wants to do with me, here, in a secluded area where he knows I won’t scream both frightens and makes my nipples tighten even more. I haven’t felt this excited in a long time. I take a right, hoping to get closer to the wall but I come up to a dead end and when I head to the end to go left, he grabs me by the end of my ponytail, we tumble down on the soft carpet but I pull a fast move and straddle him.

His arms wrap around my waist, his face against my chest and I’m so ashamed of how wet I am, the heat of him against me is both maddening and comforting and the fact that his mouth, those perfect lips of his are so achingly close to my breasts is erotic to me. I struggle against his stronghold, and then… and then I feelit.He’s grown hard underneath me, the front of his slacks touching right where I need it, and so Imove. My sick mind is pleading for more just as my body is seeking more friction, more of him – my professor.

It’s wrong it’s wrongit’s wrong.

But it feels so right, so good - like a fire I’ve been dying to burn for. I’ve been ignited and I want to spread far and fast and consume everything and leave a path of my own self-destruction in my wake. More, more,more.

“Stop it, Raven.” He growls.

Except I can’t. It feels too fucking good. It feels dirty and forbidden and my brain short circuits on the warmth of his strong hands around me in an embrace that both soothes and sets me onfire and his breath against my cheek and I want whatever wrath he’d give me if it meant he’d be this close to me, touching me, growing hard beneath me, struggling with me and not against me like those fucking orderlies would because his restraints feel like fire and ice and I almost whimper at how good it feels to be touched.

My arms wrap around his head and through his silky dark hair that has dashes of grey, guiding him, silently pleading, praying he doesn’t reject me. Another something between a growl and purr escapes him as he reaches between us, and pulls my shirt open, my buttons popping off, my bra is being tugged down and my breasts spill free and soon I feel a slick, hot wetness over my skin. Sparks fly behind my eyelids when I realize he’s sucked almost the entirety of my tit into his mouth, bouncing my nipple on tongue, and I keep riding him.

I’m so aware of that feeling of being watched and for some reason, it heightens this feeling, likeI’mthe one that’s dangerous.

“Fuck, Raven. Fuck. Is this what you want? Hmm? You want me to suck your perfect nipples raw?” His husky voice, his leather and spice scent, even his harsh nibbles are intoxicating.

Yes, yes, yes. Please, God, yes.

I don’t answer, I just keep chasing my pleasure as his other hand pulls my thong to the side through my fishnets, tearing it off me, the slight burn hurts and yet feels so much better when he then grips my ass, pulling me open and I feel him against my aching clit. He grips my ass harder, his tongue roaming from one nipple to the other, licking, sucking, biting. Like he’s the hungriest man alive and I’ve offered myself on a silver platter.

I know my movements are obviously clumsy, and it’s like he knows I’m new at this because his firm grip on my hips is guiding me closer to the edge of this cliff I desperately want to jump off of. The carpet beneath my knees burns me, thighs quivering and sweat covers my brow even in the chill of the restricted section like a fever, a side effect of my deranged lust and it’s so wrong and raw and I feel crazy. I feel eyes on me like the ghosts in this library are watching, silently judging the soundless cries escaping me as my breath hitches while I ride this stranger, my professor.

Oh god, I belong back at Lorne Wood, under Doctor Archer's silver stare and care. Thinking of Doctor Archer makes my hips buck harder, so, so, so close but Maverick’s voice brings me back to him.

“Just a cliché brat doing things you aren’t supposed to, aren’t you, Raven? Look at you, filthy little rich girl dry humping your professor in the library.” His degrading words ring in my ear. They should piss me off. But the way he guides me, like he’s teaching me what we both like, makes my eyes roll back, shivers skating through my bones.

I’m sick I’m sick I’m so sick.

Professor Harrington licks up my neck, biting roughly and then, “There you go, little slut. Take it. Be a good girl. Come for me. Now, Raven. Come for your professor like the horny little slut you are.”

As if I was waiting for his permission in my lust-driven frenzy, I detonate with a silent cry, both holding him and pushing away rubbing myself against him until wave of euphoria is gone and I’m so sensitive. I stand on wobbly legs. I don’t bother to help him up.

“Raven.” His voice is low and stern and I love it and I hate it but I’m too strung out on the fading tresses of my orgasm to care about how my name on his lips was a command and how my entire body wanted to heed to if it only meant he’d touch me again.

Without a glance back, I turn and run back to the secret book-door and run up the flight of stairs, my knees burn from the carpet and the muscles in my thighs ache but I keep going, falling a few times, barely catching myself. When I reach the top step. I fix my shirt as best as I can, then my ponytail, grateful there’s a bathroom as you leave the library so I can fix myself a little better and throw my bookbag over my shoulder, crossing it over my body so it hides the missing buttons.

What is happening to me?

Once in the bathroom, I check my reflection, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. I’m going to have to change my shirt. I check my watch. Good. I have just enough time to go back to the dorms and change. I let out a shaky breath, ready to leave the library on nothing more than Bambi legs, book be damned.

Except I stay, crouched behind a bush until I see Maverick leave the building and I make my way back down to the place where Ialmost fucked my professor, and grab the weirdly textured book, shove it in my bag and run back to my dorm across campus, where I’m surprised to find a trio of very cute football players are waiting for me outside with cups of coffee in their hands.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Riordan asks, pointing at my shirt.

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