Emily's Extra Credit: Part 2
The basement stacks of the humanities library smelled like old glue and misfiled fantasies.
Emily Morgan moved through them like she owned the oxygen.
She was dressed casually -- jeans that hugged without trying, a loose gray T-shirt tucked in just enough to imply the soft curve of her waist, and her hair pulled into a messy bun she'd perfected in front of the mirror for twelve minutes.
Her target was already waiting.
Julia Bennett, 22. Junior RA. Engaged. Pre-med. A churchgoer who wore purity rings in high school and still said "oh heavens" when she tripped.
And right now, Julia was crouched in the B-section, scanning titles with real, anxious focus.
"You're early," Emily said, stepping into the aisle like a shadow wrapped in confidence.
Julia startled. Turned. Smiled too wide. "I didn't expect you until--"
"You said you needed help cataloging post-Renaissance literature."
Emily tilted her head, voice syrupy. "Here I am. Willing. Able. Very... helpful."
Julia stood, clutching a clipboard like a shield.
"Thanks. It won't take long."
Emily stepped closer. "Oh, I hope not."
Julia froze.
Their eyes locked.
There was nothing platonic in Emily's expression.
It wasn't leering. It wasn't lewd.
It was patient. Knowing. Dangerous.
"You look flushed," Emily said. "Too warm down here?"
"It's--uh--just the lighting. I guess."
Emily leaned past her, reaching for a leather-bound copy of Othello -- her arm grazing Julia's chest just slightly. Deliberately.
"Do you know how often desire is masked as duty in these texts?" she asked softly.
Julia swallowed. "I--I'm engaged."
Emily paused. Smiled.
"I know."
She turned and pressed the book into Julia's hand. Slowly. Let their fingers brush.
"Do you love him?"
Julia hesitated.
"Yes," she whispered. "Of course I do."
Emily leaned in until her breath danced over Julia's ear.
"Then why are you shaking?"
Julia's knees almost buckled.
🖤 The Breakdown Begins
Emily took the clipboard from her trembling hand and set it aside.
Then she stepped closer -- close enough for their hips to touch, for her voice to drop to a purr.
"You could say no," she murmured. "Right now. I'd smile, leave, and let you marry your safe, straight boy without ever wondering what my mouth feels like."
Julia whimpered.
Emily smiled.
"But if you stay... if you don't stop me... I'll ruin you."
A long, loaded pause.
Julia didn't move.
So Emily kissed her.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Possessive. Full-mouthed. Skilled.
Julia gasped, and Emily took the chance to slip her tongue inside -- sliding her hands along Julia's waist, then gripping her hip as if she belonged there.
When Julia moaned -- really moaned -- it was like a confessional unraveling.
"Emily... oh my God..."
"Still want to stop me?" Emily asked, now kissing down her jaw, hands slipping under her shirt. Her fingers found warm skin. A fast-beating heart.
Julia's hand gripped her wrist.
But didn't pull away.
Emily dropped to her knees.
🖤 The Fall
Julia backed against the shelf.
Emily pulled down her leggings -- slow, reverent -- and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
"You smell like guilt," Emily whispered. "But you taste like curiosity."
Her tongue flicked out, just barely brushing Julia's folds.
Julia's body jolted.
"Emily, I can't--oh God--I can't--"
"You already are."
Emily licked again. Then deeper. Flattening her tongue, building the pressure -- slow at first, then circular, then sucking.
Julia sobbed.
Emily's hands gripped her thighs to keep her steady.
She alternated flicks with swirls, wet and deliberate -- each stroke an act of reprogramming. Each moan Julia gave up was another inch of resistance burned away.
"I shouldn't--I'm not--"
"Straight?" Emily murmured between strokes. "You're not anything right now. You're just mine."
And Julia broke.
Her knees gave out and she slid down the shelf, still gasping, her hands in Emily's hair, pulling her in.
Emily moaned into her -- a deep, possessive sound -- and pushed two fingers inside.
Julia screamed into her own elbow.
Her orgasm hit like a wave breaking inside her chest -- hips bucking, thighs clenching, mouth babbling nonsense and prayers. Her body convulsed, and Emily held her through it.
When she finally collapsed to the carpet, breathless and ruined, Emily kissed her one more time.
A soft one.
Almost tender.
🖤 Converted...
Julia lay back, eyes glassy, shirt rucked up, panties lost somewhere in nonfiction.
Emily stood, smoothed her shirt, and grabbed her book.
"Don't worry," she said. "He doesn't need to know."
She walked away.
Danielle waited outside the stairwell, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"You look smug."
"She'll never look at her wedding dress the same way again."
"You're playing with fire, Morgan."
Emily licked her bottom lip.
"Maybe."
A beat.
"But I never said I wanted to put it out."
🖤 The Professor
Professor Caroline Hale was elegance curated into a defensive shell.
Fresh PhD. Adjunct lecturer. Twenty-eight, with a fearsome intellect and a schedule laminated to the minute. Her office smelled like lavender and old paper, her cardigans were always perfectly pressed, and she graded with the kind of precision reserved for clinical surgery.
She wasn't cold.
She was controlled.
Emily Morgan found that utterly fascinating.
🖤 The Setup: Innocent Beginnings
Emily arrived precisely on time. Hair in a neat braid, a folder tucked under her arm. Her blouse -- crisp, white, one button too low -- was tucked into high-waisted black slacks. Polished. Subtle. Designed to haunt without being obvious.
Caroline looked up, mildly surprised. "Ms. Morgan. Come in."
Emily stepped into the room and shut the door gently behind her.
"You said to bring a revised draft," she said, offering a half-smile. "I revised... and added."
She placed the annotated paper on the desk. Caroline reached for it. Their fingers brushed.
Just enough.
Caroline pulled away as though touched by static.
"Let's take a look, then," she said quickly, eyes darting down to the pages.
Emily didn't sit.
She circled the desk slowly, her gaze drifting across bookshelves, spines, the soft curve of Caroline's neck where it met the collar of her blouse.
"You quoted correspondence between two Victorian women," Caroline said, trying to anchor herself in scholarship. "And suggested... masturbation?"
"I suggested orgasm," Emily said softly. "I didn't limit the method."
Caroline stiffened.
Emily stepped closer.
"Do you think women didn't crave each other back then, Professor?"
"It's... possible. But highly interpretive."
"Everything worth writing about is."
🖤 The Slow Burn
Caroline placed the paper down.
Her hands shook slightly.
Emily noticed.
"You seem tense."
"I'm fine."
"You could lie better."
A beat.
Emily stepped to the edge of the desk. Just close enough that Caroline would feel the heat of her body.
"I think about you," she said calmly. "When I read. When I write. Sometimes... when I'm alone."
