Probably because his hand was on her breasts as he said it.
More than on them, in truth. He touched them as though he couldn’t get enough. He fondled them, squeezing and exploring so thoroughly it kind of knocked her sideways. It underlined all the things he’d said, about the steps and the pencil and the pool. It made them unavoidably obviousthough even if it hadn’t there were other signs.
Like the way he hurriedly stuffed her panties into his pocket.
To keep, before she could change her mind.
And the hand he slipped under her skirt, the second she stood up.
Gentle, but greedy all at the same time.
And his cock.
Fuck, his cock.
He wasn’t exactly trying to push that stiff shape against the side of her ass. But he wasn’t exactly not, either. Quite clearly, he wanted her to see and feel and know that she had done this to him at some point. She has made him hardmaybe when she handed him those panties. Maybe before, over some look she had no idea she had given him. Everything was possible, now.
Including him bending her over this desk in the library, in the middle of the day. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the squeak of a cart, the whisper of students trying to be quiet, the clatter of a book coming off the shelf. But it made no difference to him. He barely lowered his voice to tell her that she was wet. Words just blurted out of him, rough and ready.
“Fuck, baby, you’re always soooo wet,” he said. Then even sweeter: “Do I make you that way? Do I get you excited?”
As though he was a little unsure, too. He needed her to show him how much she wanted him, and when he touched her like this it wasn’t so hard. He slid two fingers in and the yes came out all on its own, half moaned and half sighed. More than that, in fact: she practically pushed back against him. Her back arched before she could stop it, her whole body flushing as she felt him ease them back and forth.
Slow, at first. Easy enough to take.
Then faster, and firmer, and not quite as straightforward as he had before. In their dorm rooms he had used stiff, straight fingers, but not this time. This time he crossed them, one over the other, until each slow push into her pussy made her want to cry out.
But then someone called for quiet in the distance, and she remembered.
They were in a library. He was fingering her pussy in a library.
Being quiet was of the utmost importance, no matter how good he made her feel. No matter how firmly he worked the thick knot of his knuckles right over that aching, tingling place, no matter how many rude things he panted at her as he worked her pussy, no matter how shocking it was when he finally got down on his knees. She had to keep her mouth closed.
And then she heard and felt him move, and it got just that little bit harder. He was actually doing it. He was lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. How was she supposed to be silent when that was happening? It sent a zing of pleasure through her the size of a lightning bolt. It made her knees crumple and turned her hands to clawsholding it in was impossible.
But she managed. She put her fist to her mouth, as tightly as she could stand.
And just in time. A second later his mouth was on her, and after that there was pretty much nothing she could do. She just had to stand there with her face pressed to the table, trembling, teeth deep in her fist, as he showed her just what a kiss felt like on her spread pussy. As he licked around the slowly working fingers he still had inside her, before easing them out so he could taste the place they had just been.
More than taste, really.
He sank his tongue right into her, lapping in a way she didn’t fully grasp until he made it explicit. “You like me fucking that pussy like this?” he said, and only then did it hit her. Fucking, he’s fucking me with his fingers, her mind babbled as her body went haywire. Those trembles suddenly doubled, until she was pretty much shaking the table. Some sounds leaked out, and they were not small ones.
They were practically groans of agony.
Someone was going to come and check just to make sure no one was being killed back here, and she couldn’t blame them. It felt like he was murdering her. He kept switching back and forth between his fingers and his tongue, and when he licked it was never a faint little flick that barely made contact. He rubbed the fucking thing over every fold and hollow, firm enough to make her go a little faint. And just when she was sure she couldn’t accept another ounce of pleasure…
He found her clit with the flat of his tongue, and lapped and licked and sucked until she could hardly stand it or believe it or process it. Of course she had known, on some level, that he had told the truth about going down on a girl. She had imagined someone licking her there often enough, while her own fingers strummed her clit. But even in her most lurid, intense imaginings, she couldn’t have predicted this. This was life changing. It made all previous pleasure seem like a faint dream of the real thing.