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Behind the stacks, his hands clutched her waist. A book dropped as she leaned over the counter. His whisper rough in her ear: “You’ll finish before they see us.” Her nod was all the {permission|consent|answer] he needed.
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Backseat Confessions
The fogged panes veiled their sin from the sleeping town. Her thighs locked around his back as the seat complained beneath them. “Faster,” she begged, her nails digging his neck. The engine’s purr masked the silence between their curses.
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Library
The wooden stacks swallowed their harsh breaths as he leaned her against the study desk. Her nails scraped at hardcovers, their texts shifting with each jolt. A librarian’s footsteps made them still—but the steps retreated, and he growled, “Quiet, or we’re caught.”
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