About halfway down the corridor, Callum motioned her ahead of him down an aisle with a swing of his arm.
"It's sort of spooky up here," Zander remarked as she started scanning the shelves, looking for the book she'd come for. Not ghosts-and-goblins spooky or anything—just quiet and lonely, she supposed.
Callum laughed low in his throat. When she turned back to give him a glance, he was testing the shelf behind him, likely to make sure it was steady before leaning against it. "I guess it is, yeah."
"I don't know," she said, returning her attention to the shelves. "Maybe it's just the old books and all this quiet."
She hadn't meant to sound silly.
When he didn't say anything in response, she looked over her shoulder to find him leaning against the shelf he'd been testing before, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest.
"I don't mean to keep you," she said. "If you want to go, we can."
"I've got nowhere to be," he replied with a shrug. "But if you want me to leave, just say the word. I can go snoop around some other shelves."
"No, it's not that." It definitely wasn't that.
What guy looked that good leaning against an old library bookshelf?
Callum did, apparently, she thought to herself as she forced her attention back to the shelves in front of her.
Econ. That's what she was here for. Economics.
Yep.
Okay, what was that number again?
She put her mind back on track, then started the search in earnest. Unlike working at the table downstairs, however, keeping her mind on the task at hand was a lot easier said than done.
Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't deep diving into work, but just looking at the spines of books. Or maybe it was the way she could feel Callum's eyes on her.
She threw a glance over her shoulder, disguised as a glance at the shelves behind her, then glued her eyes back to the books in front of her again.
He'd looked away when she looked, but he'd definitely been watching her before that.
And knowing he was watching—wow, she was surprised by the degree to which that made her skin warm and her joints loosen. She heard him move and found herself turning to look at him again. He'd unhitched himself from where he'd been leaning and turned around like he was inspecting the spines of the books on the shelves he'd just been standing against, his long fingers hovering as he looked.
He sighed like he couldn't care less about what he was looking at.
She shouldn't do what she was thinking of doing.
But she was definitely going to.
Zander turned and gave a rudimentary look at the book spines he was studying. They were all economics papers, but much older than what she'd been looking at.
He glanced her way and did a double take, like he hadn't realized she'd sidled up beside him until then.
"Find anything good?" she asked, fighting a smirk while she did it and sliding a step closer so she could get a better look at the books in front of him.
Not just so she could stand closer to him.
"Not really," he replied, his voice low and distracted like the books were suddenly the least interesting thing in the entire place.
She knew the feeling.
She was no more than a step closer than she'd been a moment before, but she could feel the heat of his body as though the shelves had turned reflective. Though they were surrounded by old, musty books, the smell of Callum—that vanilla and leather combination—was suddenly the only thing she could smell.
God, his lips looked soft as they parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Time slowed.
She forced her eyes back up to meet his, only to get lost in the blue color of them, so bright in the dim aisle.
She was leaning toward him before she'd decided to do it, drawn to him like a magnet—and he met her there, halfway.
She didn't even have time to appreciate the way his lips were softer than she'd thought they would be. Instead, as soon as they pressed against hers, her mind went blank of everything but the tidal wave of desire that rushed over her head.
She gasped against his mouth—one final inhale before she was pulled under, giving herself over to the flush of heat and need.
Within a breath, his hand was firm on the side of her jaw and her arms were around him; his fingers were in her short hair, and her fingernails were biting into his back.
His lips tasted sweet, his tongue like spearmint when it licked into her.
He dragged his mouth to her jaw, onto her neck as his hands dove down her back, then under the hem of her shirt. In a stumbling rush, he pushed her back; the shelves were cold through her tee, then against her bare skin as the hem of her shirt inched upward.
She unwound her arms from under his, bringing her fingers to his hair as he pressed his lips to her collarbone before nipping at it with his teeth, the lick of subtle pain so sweet it made her back arch so her breasts pressed against his chest. He splayed his hands flat along her spine, pressing her closer in response.
She wanted to be closer. Closer than clothes would allow.
She dipped her chin to meet his mouth with hers as his hand followed the lines of her ribs, trailing along her skin until his thumbs grazed the underside of her breast.
Oh, god yes!
The moment he took her breast in his hand, the buzzing under her skin flared, rejoicing at the contact.
She wanted more.
She reached for the hem of his shirt at the same time he reached for the fly on her—
"Give me ten minutes and we can leave."
They froze. Her breath caught in her throat and Callum's lips pulled away by inches, his eyes wide on hers.
"That's fine. Should we stop by the grocery store on the way home?"
Jesus, really? It was Friday night, what the hell were people doing at the library? Zander thought bitingly.
Never mind that she and Callum were there. Making out.
She rolled her eyes and gave Callum an annoyed look—only to find his expression full of a very similar kind of aggravation.
"My place is a farther drive than yours, but I have a queen bed," he breathed.
"Good," Zander whispered with relief racing through her veins. "My place is a wreck." And her bed certainly wasn't a queen.
Callum grinned. Then he turned, took her hand, and led the way back to his car.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Zander couldn't believe she was doing this—that didn't mean she had any intention of stopping.
She drew a slow, hard breath, her back arching as Callum's hands slipped up her thighs.
She drew her feet up, her toes sliding against the soft knit sheets on his bed as he prowled up her body, nothing but single-minded lust in his blue eyes. She ran her fingers along his scalp, through his soft hair, brushing it back, watching the way it fell across his face. Admiring the bow of his mouth, the flushed pink of his lips.
She relived the scene in the library in her mind. She could still feel where the cold shelf had pressed into her back as they'd kissed.
His fingers skated over her stomach, her ribs, before he palmed her breast, bringing her thoughts back into the here and now. Then he dipped his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth.
Her head fell back onto the pillow, and a gasp of a moan snaked up her throat. Her legs rubbed against one another, the middle of her begging for attention he had thus far neglected to give.
The way he rolled her nipple between his lips, grazing it with his tongue was driving her toward a precipice that was forever in the distance.
But she could play this game.
Taking his free hand in hers, she brought it to her mouth—and slipped one of his fingers between her lips.
She felt him gasp against her, but he didn't slow his tongue, his lips didn’t leave her breast. Wetness welled between her legs and she moaned with his finger in her mouth, her tongue dragging up and down, giving hi
m a preview of what she was capable of—assuming he'd give her the opportunity.
She stole a glance down at him and caught the way his eyes were rolling back.
It was like nobody else existed for him. From the minute they'd kissed, but especially from the minute they'd locked themselves in his room and undressed one another in a whirlwind of clothing, it was like she was the only person in the entire world.
Like she was a goddess, and he was honored to be worshiping her.
Pressure building between her legs again, his finger slipped from her mouth when her head kicked back; her body started rocking.
"Oh God, touch me," she heard herself moan. "Callum—"
Before she could say anything more, his mouth was crashing onto hers, kissing her hard and powerfully. Then he trailed kisses over her jaw, her neck, onto her shoulder as his hand slid down over her waist—then lower, to her hip—and lower...
Her legs opened beneath him, breath catching in her throat as his fingers trailed across her lower belly.
She cried out with the first brush of his fingers at the top of her cleft, a flush breaking over her.
She'd never been this amped up before—never so in-the-moment—so close to coming from one touch.
His fingers slid down between the slick folds of her sex, so wet she could feel the air against her as her legs spread wider, welcoming his touch.
When she opened her eyes, searching for his face, he was staring at her. His expression was serene—but his dilated pupils, the fine sheen of sweat on his glowing skin, his panting breath gave away just how turned on he was.
She reached up and brought his mouth down on hers.
At the same time, he slipped his fingers inside and brought his thumb to the top of her sex.
And she came. So fast it caught her by surprise, her vision went white behind her squeezed-shut lids. Building, the climax doubled on itself before crashing down and building again as her hips rocked against his hand. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against her mouth kept it going as much as the pressure of his fingers stroking her until she thought she might never breathe again—until she was left boneless, sinking into the bed as they kissed.
Damn, he was good at kissing.
It was with weak arms that she pressed her hands against his chest. He rose, and she followed, her lips still fused to his, until he was kneeling on the mattress and she was straddling him, the stiffness at his hips pressing against her. He unlocked their mouths and turned, reaching for his bedside table and coming back with a foil square.
"But your turn," she breathed, pressing gently against his chest again. He'd taken such good care of her—she wanted to show him how well she could treat him in return.
But he shook his head and kissed her gently, bringing his hands between them like he didn't want to wait.
She helped him roll the condom on, taking the opportunity to glide her fingers along the thick shaft of him both before and after the latex was in place. Then he pulled her close to him again with strong, sure hands, and his erection found her core without effort.
When Callum kissed her this time, it was slower, like he was reveling in every detail.
She relaxed her hips and he slid inside, stretching her until she rode a knife's edge between pleasure and pain as he groaned against her mouth.
The pace picked back up when he surged beneath her with his next breath, his hands squeezing hard on her ass—another delicious tension of subtle pain and blinding pleasure.
Her hands came to his chest, then to the sides of his neck. Finally, she found the best leverage with her arms braced against his shoulders and the side of her face pressed against the side of his. The sound of his hard breath in her ear became the rhythm she breathed to, moaned to as the pressure built again.
Between one surge of power and the next, he dipped his head low and brought a hand to her breast. The sensation of his warm, wet mouth on the tip was a match to kindling.
The pace picked up, their breath and her whining moans to match. She fisted his hair and pulled, bringing his face to hers again.
Jesus, he was beautiful.
Muscles tensed in a cascade up her body, and she watched through blurring vision as his eyes fell closed and his mouth fell open. She pressed her forehead to his and felt him tense beneath her.
Together they gasped and moaned their climax, holding tighter to the other with each wave until by the end of it, Zander wasn't sure anymore where she ended and he began.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cecily was in that warm, relaxed place between alert and asleep, where she felt at once weightless and heavy on her bed. She was peaceful and replete, tucked under the covers with Trey lying beside her. The only thing that would have made it better was if she were lying against him, or, better yet, on him.
"So am I the only person you can see?" she asked, tucking her arm beneath her pillow.
Her mom was working another graveyard shift, and Alyssa was out with her friends which meant Cecily and Trevor had spent the evening just being together. He'd watched her play video games—frequently offering his input even if he couldn’t hold the controller. They'd talked. Eventually, when the week worth of late nights spent with Trevor started to catch up with her and her eyes started to lose focus, he'd insisted she get into bed, saying he didn't want to be responsible for her sleep deprivation.
"I can see my family too," he replied. "I've been checking in on them some but..." he shook his head. "I'd rather be here."
There was an unspoken message there; Cecily could see it in the way his mahogany eyes skated away from hers.
She forced her own eyes to focus through the heaviness of them. "Is your mom taking it hard?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yeah. I try to do things to give her hope when I can, but when I manage it, I think it only makes her feel worse."
Cecily didn't know what to say for a breath. "That's really horrible. I'm sorry, Trey."
He shook his head again, adding a shrug this time. "She'll be alright eventually."
"Is heaven anything like the ideas they tried to shove down your throat at bible camp when you were a kid?" she asked.
Trey's chuckle was low as he shook his head slowly. "No. Thank goodness."
Trevor's family was very religious. Like, no-dating-without-a-chaperone level of religious. He'd thoroughly shaken the whole thing off by the time Cecily had started hanging out with him their sophomore year of college, but the stories from his younger years had been intense. Bible camp over the summer where they tried to scare kids with stories about the horrors of damnation and hellfire; being forced to write and re-write bible verses when he'd broken a rule. How he'd managed to rebel without being kicked out of the house before high school graduation was still something Cecily didn't quite understand. Then again, she'd never met any of his family—just like he'd never met any of hers—so what did she know? Unlike her, he hadn't even lived at home the entire time she'd known him.
"Do you sleep?" she asked, adjusting her pillow yet again.
His smile was slow and peaceful. "I don't think so," he said. "Time doesn't feel the same—it never feels like I need to."
When she pried her eyes open from what was supposed to have been a blink, she found him smiling, amused.
"You should sleep, though," he remarked, still grinning.
"I don't want to," she replied, her eyes sliding closed again though she tried like hell to fight it.
"Don't stay awake for me," he said. "I like watching you sleep. I always have."
God, he was perfect.
Cecily forced her eyes open so she could see him as she said goodnight—but he was gone.
Immediately awake, she sat up in the bed, throwing the blankets aside. The cold sizzling against her heated skin had her pulling the covers back over herself in her next breath.
Where the hell was the cold coming from?
And where the hell had Trevor gone?
A soft, hissing, rasp pulled her eyes across the room,
to a shadowed corner where she and Alyssa hung their scarves and hats on hooks that lined the wall.
"Trey?"
But he wasn't there.
Cecily peered into the corner while some instinct kept her glued to the bed, unwilling to investigate more closely.
Was that corner always so dark?
The lights were low in the room, but the darkness in that corner felt denser than any of the shadows cast by the small lamp at her bedside.
She sunk beneath the covers again, fighting a childhood instinct to pull them over her head and count to ten. That's how you scared away the boogieman, right? But no, her eyes stayed glued to the spot.
Which is how she saw the shadow take a breath.
Then loom forward.
Cecily's heart clawed its way into her throat. The shadow had mass—and shape. A human-like shape.
Instinct-fear taking over, she threw the covers back. The cold nearly stole her breath as she darted across the room. She hit the light switch by the door, turning on the main light in the room, but she didn't stop there. She dashed out of her room, slamming the door behind her, then down the short hallway into the living room, turning on lights as she went.
It was the middle of the night.
Alyssa had the car.
She was stuck in the apartment with something evil.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Callum stretched under the covers, images lingering in his mind's eyes, sounds in his dreamer’s ears and sensations running under his skin: hands and mouths, gasps, moans—and those perfect fucking breasts.
He awoke to the realization that his hand was on his naked cock, stiff and straining against the comforter. Releasing his grip, he stretched again, becoming more aware of the world around him with each breath. Namely, the smell of Zander in his bed and on his skin. Then the sound of her awake—and not in the bed with him.
He cracked open an eye. The lamp across the room was on, casting dim light and throwing shadows that bent against Zander's skin as she moved.
"What are you doing?" he asked as he rolled over to watch her. She was wearing nothing but her bra and panties—both simple and black. And sexy as hell.
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