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CHAPTER ONE
His fingersfumble impatiently at her bra clasp, grasping one breast in his hand. As soon as it becomes untied, he squeezes hard and smugly grins at her over-exaggerated gasp. He flicks his tongue over her other breast before quickly loosening his belt.
I sigh. No build-up, no foreplay, just quick and messy. What aboy.I roll my eyes.
He had to be the stereotypical college jock; big muscles, no brain, and an ego the size of my reading list.
I hear another exaggerated moan and look up from the shelf I’ve been sorting. She wouldn't win an Oscar for that acting, but she certainly deserves something for going along with his sloppy handwork.
I look over to see him slam into her, hard and punishing. Her moans become louder as if she's competing in a ‘fake-it-till-you-make-yourself-believe-it’competition.
Third place, bronze but semi-believable. Well, for Mr. Quarterback over there, it works, or at least for him chasing his own release, it does.
He quickens his pace as her moans reach a melodramatic crescendo. It feels more like I’m watching monkeys in the zoo dry hump each other.He places his hand on the book shelf behind him for leverage as he thrusts into her and grunts.
The shelves shake, and the clatter of books rings out in an echo around the area.
I don't mind a bit of casual fun. On the contrary, I’m all down for a good time when done properly—but nobody gets my beautiful books dirty or damaged.
And cum stains and books donotgo together.
I make my way over to them just as he lets out a final guttural grunt. I clear my throat, giving them my best typical librarian glare.The female student stiffens before quickly covering her breasts with her arms. They turn and then give me a questioning look.
Okay, so my 5'9 stature, deep red ombre hair, curves, and casual rock style aren't your normal librarian look. The runes and sigils that covered parts of my chest, neck, and arms probably didn’t help either, looking like tattoos.But what'snormalthese days?
My love for books was no joke, so who cared anyway.Not me.
I give them a bored look and gesture down toward the exit.
“Asexhilaratingas your performance was,” I dead-pan, “you’ll have to take this little show elsewhere.”
The girl shuffles in place, rearranging her clothes, while Mr. Quarterback slowly fixes his belt, trailing his eyes down my body.
“You'rethe librarian here? Maybe I need to read more.”
What a quip, haven't heard that one before.
I sigh, pointing again to the exit.
“I’m sure I could find you some great books to help with your stamina, so she can have arealorgasm.”
He looks at the girl, a smug look on his face that quickly falls when she becomes flustered and starts to make her way toward the stairs.He huffs and looks toward me. “I—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand and gesture to the exit for the final time with an exhausted look.
With a final flash of annoyance in his gaze, he repositions his varsity jacket and saunters toward the exit.
I loved being situated in Detroit, but being close to Hendridge College and having to deal with these snooty or jock students was a chore at times. Them wanting to live their little ‘fantasies’ wasn't common but not completely rare either. It was annoying, to say the least.
If they got so much as a sweaty finger print on one of my books, I would hunt them down and beat them with an encyclopedia—informativeandheavy.
Kids like that never appreciate the rows upon rows of vibrantly colored books or the dark mahogany shelves with their delicate ornate designs that hold them.
They don't see the beautiful high-arched ceiling or the intricate carvings laid into it. Nor the delicately designed gothic arched windows that reach toward the sky and sculpt these old walls.
No, they don't come for a thirst to learn or read, to immerse themselves in a story and consume it whole. To find comfort and solace in these warm and aged walls that hold history and knowledge.
I shake my head.Their loss.
