It was past midnight in the university library, the kind of hour where the only people left were insomniacs and desperate students. I was neither. I was just wearing a silk robe over my pajamas because my apartment had lost heat, and the library was the only place still warm.
Elena found me in the stacks. She was in an oversized sweater that kept sliding off one shoulder, her hair messy from running her hands through it during a study session that had clearly gone wrong.
“That’s my book,” she said, reaching for the copy in my hand.
I held it up, just out of reach. “Come get it.”
She stepped closer. Reached up. And as she stretched, the belt of my robe—already loose, already reckless—came completely undone. The silk slipped off my shoulder, sliding down my arm, catching on my elbow but leaving my chest and collarbone fully exposed to the warm library air.
Elena froze. Her hand was still in the air, her eyes no longer on the book but on the bare skin I’d just accidentally revealed.
“Careful,” I whispered. “This robe has a mind of its own.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at my mouth like she’d been starving for weeks and I’d finally offered her a meal.
“You were staring at my mouth all night,” I said, setting the book down on the shelf behind me. “Do something about it.”
She did.
She leaned in and kissed me. Soft at first—hesitant, almost shy—then desperate when I made a sound and pulled her closer. Her hands found my waist, slipping under the open robe, and I felt her fingers tremble against my bare skin.
The robe fell completely open against the bookshelf. Elena didn’t stop. She pinned my wrists against the hardcover spines with one hand, her body pressing into mine, and she kissed me like she was trying to memorize every corner of my mouth.
“Tell me to stop,” she breathed against my lips.
I laughed. “You have my wrists pinned. I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.”
“Good,” she whispered. And then she dropped to her knees.
