Chapter 2: The Aftermath and a New Target
The smell of old books was supposed to be calming. It wasn’t. To Melissa, it smelled like dust and desperation. She’d been pretending to study for two hours, her eyes scrolling over the same paragraph on macroeconomic theory without absorbing a word. Her gaze kept drifting to the third-floor carrels, the secluded glass boxes overlooking the silent stacks.
He was there. She’d seen him go in.
Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. The memory of the rooftop played on a loop behind her eyes—the steam, the obscene slap of skin on skin, Chloe’s arched back, the raw, possessive way Divakar had held her. The phantom fullness between her own legs had become a constant, aching whisper.
Screw it.
She stood, her chair scraping softly. She shoved her notebook into her bag and walked, her steps quiet on the linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a sterile hum. She reached the carrel. Through the smudged glass, she saw him. Headphones on, laptop glowing, utterly absorbed. He looked effortless. Clean. Unmarked.
She slid the door open.
The sound made him glance up. He didn’t look surprised. He took the headphones off, one ear at a time. The silence in the small space was suddenly profound, thicker than the silence of the library.
“Melissa.” He said her name like a statement, not a question.
“We need to talk.” Her voice came out tighter than she intended.
“Do we?” He leaned back, his chair creaking. His eyes traveled over her—the tight gym tank top, the leggings that hugged every curve of her ass and thighs. His gaze was a physical touch. “About what?”
“You know about what.” She stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind her. The space was barely big enough for two. She could smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive, cutting through the papery smell. “The rooftop. With Chloe.”
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. It wasn’t friendly. It was predatory. “Ah. I thought I felt a draft. Were you providing surveillance?”
“Don’t be a dick.” She crossed her arms, which only pushed her breasts up. She saw his eyes drop for a fraction of a second. “She has a boyfriend. You can’t just… do that.”
“She seemed capable of making her own choices.” His voice was a low, infuriating rumble. “She didn’t say no. She screamed, but she didn’t say no.”
Melissa’s face heated. She remembered the scream, how it had been swallowed by the jets. How her own fingers had mimicked the rhythm of his thrusts. “It’s wrong.”
“Then why are you here?” He leaned forward, elbows on the cracked table. The move brought him closer. His confidence was a wall, immense and unshakable. “To scold me? To protect your friend’s virtue? You could have texted her. You could have told Jason. But you didn’t. You came here. To me.”
She had no rebuttal. The truth was a hard, cold stone in her gut.
He saw it. He always saw it. He stood up slowly. In the confined space, he seemed to tower over her, his presence sucking the air from the room. He took a single step, closing the remaining distance. She could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“You watched,” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near her ear. “Did you like what you saw?”
She couldn’t speak. She nodded, a tiny, shameful jerk of her chin.
“You want to know what it feels like.” It wasn’t a question.
Another nod. Her knees felt weak.
He cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His thumb stroked her lower lip. “Then earn it. Right here. Right now.”
Her breath hitched. Her mind screamed no, this is insane, someone could walk by. But her body was moving. Sinking. The rough industrial carpet bit into her knees under the desk. Her hands, trembling, went to his belt buckle. The metal was cool. Her fingers fumbled.
“Hurry up,” he said, his voice devoid of its earlier amusement. It was pure command.
She got the buckle open, the button, the zipper. She reached into the opening of his boxer briefs. Her hand closed around him. He was already hard, thick and heavy and impossibly hot against her palm. She pulled him out.
Seeing it up close, in the stark fluorescent light, stole the air from her lungs. It was a beast of a thing. Thick, veined, curving slightly upward, the head broad and dark. Nine inches of pure, daunting flesh. The memory of Chloe’s strained face made sense now. It also ignited a furious hunger in her.
She didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, opened her mouth, and took the head inside.
Salty. Musky. The taste of him flooded her senses. She swirled her tongue around the crown, hearing his sharp intake of breath above her. Encouraged, she pushed forward, taking more. Her jaw ached immediately. She used her hand to work the base, her mouth sucking on the upper half.
“Deeper,” he grunted, his hand coming to rest on the back of her head. Not pushing. Yet.
She tried. She relaxed her throat, letting him slide further back. The thick intrusion triggered her gag reflex. She pulled back, coughing, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening shaft.
“I said deeper.” His voice was iron.
She tried again, eyes watering, determined. This time, when she felt the reflex, she fought it, breathing through her nose. He slid into her throat. The feeling was intense, suffocating, submissive. Her eyes streamed. He held her there for a long moment, his pubic bone pressed against her nose, her throat stretched taut around him.
“Good girl,” he rasped. Then he began to move.
He set a brutal pace, fucking her face with short, controlled thrusts. Her world narrowed to the rhythm: the press at the back of her throat, the brief release, the slap of his balls against her chin. Gagging sounds filled the carrel, muffled by his flesh. Drool dripped from her chin onto her tank top. She was degrading, humiliated, and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. Her free hand snaked under her own leggings, finding her clit, which was swollen and throbbing. She rubbed frantic circles as she choked on him.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She forced her watering eyes up. He was looking down at her, his expression one of cool, clinical appraisal. Like she was a tool for his pleasure. The eye contact, the sheer dominance of it, sent a violent spasm through her core.
“You want this dick in your cunt, don’t you?” he said, his thrusts never slowing. “You watched me ruin your best friend and you got wet thinking about it. You’re a fucking slut.”
His words were a filthy catalyst. She moaned around his cock, the vibration making him hiss. Her fingers worked faster, the pressure building.
He sensed she was close. “Come. Come on my dick while you suck it.”
It was all she needed. The orgasm ripped through her, a silent, convulsive wave that locked her muscles and made her see white stars behind her eyelids. Her throat clenched rhythmically around him as she rode it out.
The contraction seemed to tip him over the edge. With a final, deep shove that buried his entire length down her throat, he held her there. A hot, bitter pulse hit the back of her throat. Then another. He came in long, drawn-out spurts, grunting softly above her. She had no choice but to swallow, the act feeling like the ultimate surrender.
When he finally pulled out, she collapsed back onto her heels, gasping, her lips bruised and slick. He tucked himself away, zipped up, and sat back down in his chair as if nothing had happened. He put his headphones back on.
After a moment, he glanced at her, still on the floor. He gestured to the door.
Dismissed.
Shame and exhilaration warred inside her, a toxic, thrilling cocktail. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, pushed herself up on shaky legs, and stumbled out of the carrel. She didn’t look back.
In the quiet of the stacks, she leaned against a shelf of ancient philosophy books, her body humming, her mind racing. It wasn’t over. It was a transaction. A down payment. And as the taste of him lingered on her tongue, she knew, with terrifying certainty, that she would pay whatever price he asked.