The Research Project

He was staring at me again.

Of course, I wouldn't have noticed it if I weren't staring myself, but that's wholly beside the point. How on earth was I supposed to keep my mind on my Literature project when, 2 tables away, some Adonis kept sneaking glances at me from behind a thick book?

I had to concentrate. This project on the work of Thomas Hardy was 3/4 of my grade in my lit class, and I needed it for my major. The library was quickly becoming my second home, and I think I spent more time there than I did in my dorm room. I would come in after my last afternoon class, and stay through dinner. And always, always, there was that dark, silent man, 2 tables away, staring at me.

I had to go to the circulation desk to request they get a book on loan, and doing so forced me to pass his table. My heart pounded in my ears as a spark of electric nervousness weakened my knees for a moment.. On the way to the desk, I noticed the book he was staring at me from the top of was a volume of erotic poetry.

I returned to my seat, barely able to concentrate, thinking not about Hardy, but about this man before me.. He was reading sexy poetry, and staring at me. I felt slightly uncomfortable, as if I were on display. I only looked at him during the rare occasions he was not looking at me.. A rhythm began to develop with my glances, and I began to feel a bit more at ease with them, until the one time I looked up and met his gaze. The look in his eyes let me know it was no accident; we had been playing some sort of game of cat and mouse, and I had been caught. I nearly dropped my papers as I exited the library, far earlier than I had planned.

I decided not to come in again until late, hoping to miss the hours that this strangely sensuous, staring stranger would usually spend reading.. And looking at me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the library, and he was not to be seen.. Though perhaps the sigh was a little too pronounced, to mask a small, odd feeling of disappointment in the back of my head. Wasn't I avoiding this guy? If I weren't, I wouldn't have screwed up my schedule..

My schedule. I latched onto the disruption of my usual routine and pegged it as a cause to be irked, needing some sort of way to vent. Making matters worse, I went to the non-circulating books to pick up an old, worn copy of some of Hardy's selected poems with footnotes, just to find the book GONE. I couldn't believe it! My paper was nearly done and that was all I had left.. And some idiot had taken the book, which was non-circulating. In utter and righteous indignation, I marched back to the circulation desk. "Excuse me, but I'm writing a research paper on the work of Thomas Hardy, and I need a book that is non-circulating.. But it's not there."

The woman looked through her notes. "Yes, that book was taken not too long ago.. You can see if the person will share. I believe he went to a conference room to study.. Said something about it being quieter."

"Fine. Thank you." I stalked off at a curt clip, my mind focused wholly on telling this idiot off, and then doing my research in peace. I walked in the conference room, closed the door.

And there he was. Staring as usual, as if he had expected me. I looked at him in shock for a moment, and finally spoke. "Ummm.. Hi. You have a book I need."

He smiled, perfect white teeth framed by sensuous, smooth lips. "Oh, I know. Forgive me." He stood and, moving like a panther, brought the book to me, gently placing it in my hands without ever breaking eye contact. The pads of his fingers slipped softly across the insides of my wrists as he did so, and electricity shot through my veins.

I gulped. "Do you need the book?"

"Not as much as you, I'm sure. Though if you like, we could share.."

His voice was low, dark velvet, and his eyes stayed completely focused on mine. I felt as if I had no choice, as if I was not in control of my own reactions. "All right."

We sat at the conference table in the empty room, pouring over the pages. I could not pay attention; occasionally his knee would bump my leg, or his fingertips would brush my hand on seeming accident. I constantly shifted in my seat, becoming far too aroused for my own good. Finally, I pushed away from the table and looked at my watch.. It was nearly closing time for the library. "Well, I'm done." It was the first sentence spoken in an hour.

He smiled, gaze again meeting mine. "As am I."

I shifted in my seat. "Great.. I'll go put the book away." Before he could answer, the book was in my hands, and I was leaving the conference room with the same uneasy, semi-swiftness of someone who has to go to the bathroom badly but does not want others to know. I thought I heard the door close again, but I refused to turn around and see if he had followed.

Making my way through the long, tall bookshelves, I finally found the place where it went, high on the shelf. As I turned to put the book away, I saw him, perhaps only a foot away from me, leaning on the shelf, a slight smirk on his face, simply watching me. I did my best to ignore him. The shelf was tall, and I had to stand on tiptoe atop a small stepstool to reach, extending my arm completely.. My shirt raised slightly, exposing a slight amount of my abdomen.

He moved with the grace and power of a cat. In one fluid movement, his cool hand was on my soft, exposed torso, and to my utter surprise, he fastened his lips and teeth to my breast, through the fabric of my sweater. Instinctively, and to my mind's slight embarrassment, I pushed my breast forward, his teeth already slightly closed around my immediately hard nipple. He seemed surprised, but not completely. He caressed my abdomen with the palm of his hand gently, and on my leg I could feel him hard, pressed against me. Feeling somewhat brazen, or perhaps in a dazed state that such activity was going on, with me, in a LIBRARY of all places, my hand slipped to his cock, massaging it firmly above the layers of clothing.

I could only imagine what sort of picture we would have presented for the unsuspecting. In the back of my mind, I could see it: some tired, unsuspecting college student turning the corner, hoping to find his final salvation on a five-source paper and be done with it, bored to tears, and then.. Seeing some raven-tressed co-ed on a stepstool, purring as she massaged the groin of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, who suckled her breast in a manner far from childlike.

Poor kid. He'd either end up in therapy, or have a really interesting inspiration for his sociology paper.

He stopped his ministrations on my breast, slipped his hand from my abdomen, and looked me in the eyes as he had so many times, only this time he did not bother to disguise his lust. Neither, I am sure, did I. Without saying a word, he lead me to the conference room again.. There was still a scattering of students studying, and I knew that there must be a dark, moist spot on the breast of my sweater from his mouth. By this time, I did not care.

I entered, and he closed the door, smiling a very sexy, seductive smile.. Suddenly, I blushed, feeling so self-conscious, as if again on display just for him. "Tell me, do you like Thomas Hardy?" His voice was painted with amusement, and I was utterly surprised.

"Well.. Yes."

He smiled. "Tell me why. While you strip."

I blinked at him, looking at him questioningly. What a weird request! But he simply smiled at me, and I longed to please him. I slipped off my sweater over my head, sure that the action made my black hair a mess as it usually did, revealing a pale lace bra, the contours of my erect nipples quite visible. "Well, he's.. talented.." I slipped my hands back to undo the catch on my bra, shivering from being so exposed, and from anticipation. "..And passionate.." I knew my face was flushed as I slipped off my pants, revealing high-cut, matching panties. He smiled at me and began walking toward me, infinitely slowly, but with purpose, a slow-burning smile licking his lips.

As he approached me, he removed his T-shirt in one fluid movement, tossing it to the floor, eyes never leaving mine, feet never stopping. "So you like talented and passionate. Good." He put a hand roughly on my breast and kissed me, his tongue forcing itself into my mouth with no prelude, his weight pushing me back on the table. I slid myself up slightly, so that the bulk of our figures were indeed on the table, and he straddled me, knees to each side, pinning my hands.

This was a far cry from satin sheets and saxophone music; this was animalistic lust and a primal, tribal beat of a drum. His teeth scraped my shoulders and neck, and I purred softly, arching my back, longing desperately to move my hands. I managed to sit up enough to gently but firmly sink my teeth into his shoulder, but he pushed me back down. It was still a game, and he was winning.

Finally, he leaned back on his haunches to undo his belt and unzip his khakis, and I had my opportunity as my hands slipped free while he slipped his pants and boxers off. I doubt he knew what hit him as my fingernails dug into the small of his back and I sat up, licking his chest, nibbling the skin between my teeth, scraping my teeth along his collarbone, sucking a small, round nipple into my mouth. He let out a low groan, and I knew I was on the right track. I dragged my fingernails forcibly back up his spine and licked from the base of his throat, over his Adam's apple to his chin, taking it in my mouth, sucking lightly.

He leaned forward again, and again I was on my back. He repositioned himself, knees moving from the outside of my legs to the inside, forcing them apart.. Though they did not take much coaxing. With a noise that, had I not known better, I would have thought a growl, he was completely inside of me in one fluid movement. I squeezed myself around him, and he began to pump intensely, relentlessly driving himself into me. I writhed beneath him, gasping for air, moaning in unbelievable pleasure.

It was primal, heathen, instinct-driven fucking, in the middle of a modern-world suppository of knowledge. And for some reason, that made it all the more incredible.

I could feel cool beads of sweat forming on his back.. A world of sound surrounded us; the sticky slap of moist skin on moist skin, moans blending into sighs, gasps punctuating the endless, ever-increasing rhythm of our bodies.. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him onward, and reaching up, tangling my fingers in his dark hair, pulling his head back to hungrily possess his neck with my mouth, sucking the tender skin.. I could only hold on for a short time as the tempo increased, his thrusts becoming more frantic, our voices in an erotic crescendo, my hips instinctively moving to meet his.. Digging my fingernails into his back, I could hear a low groan beginning in the depths of him, and his muscles tighten perceptibly.. I was dizzy, near the edge, but knew he was about to explode within me. With his final thrust, I tightened my legs around him, dug my fingernails in, and squeezed the walls of my pussy around him. With a load groan, he came, and the utter intensity of it drove me over the edge, moaning in a low alto as my orgasm washed over me in waves.

He collapsed on me for a bit, and then rolled off, wiping sweat from his brow, looking at the ceiling, much as I was doing myself.

We heard a polite throat clearing, and both of us jolted upright. The woman from the circulation desk was standing there, obviously shocked. She maintained a neutral quality in her voice amazingly well. "It is asked that you remain quiet in the library, as other people are trying to read." She looked at us again oddly, and left. The man, whose name I did not yet know, looked at me, and we both started laughing hysterically.

Neither of us got kicked out of school, though we did get our library privileges revoked for the rest of the year. Which is all right.. There are, after all, more libraries off campus.. That have bigger conference tables.

Author's comment: I don't know what sort of reaction this will get.. I wrote it for a dear young man who adores the idea of libraries. I'm sure he's not the only one.. Or at least, I hope not.