The library was silent save for the faint rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the old oak shelves. It was late, well past the usual closing hours, but Ethan had begged Mrs. Calder—Lydia, as she’d insisted he call her—for extra time to finish his research paper. She’d agreed, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she locked the front doors and dimmed the lights, leaving just the warm glow of a desk lamp to illuminate the back corner where they worked.
Ethan, a lanky sophomore with tousled brown hair and a nervous energy, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Lydia was in her late forties, her dark hair streaked with silver and pinned loosely atop her head, a few strands teasing the curve of her neck. Her glasses perched low on her nose, and the way her blouse clung to her softly rounded figure made his throat dry. She moved with a quiet confidence, reaching for a book on a high shelf, her skirt lifting just enough to reveal the edge of a stocking—a detail that sent a jolt through him.
“You’re not focusing,” she said, her voice low and husky, catching him staring. She didn’t turn fully, but her eyes flicked to him over the rim of her glasses, sharp and amused.
“I—sorry,” he stammered, shifting in his chair, his jeans suddenly too tight. “It’s just… hard to concentrate.”
Lydia set the book down and stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She leaned against the table, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something warm, like vanilla and spice. “Is it the research,” she asked, tilting her head, “or something else?”
His breath hitched. He could’ve lied, but the way she looked at him—steady, daring—pulled the truth out. “You,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
She didn’t flinch. Instead, her smile deepened, and she reached out, brushing a fingertip along the edge of his jaw. “Bold boy,” she murmured. “You think you can handle a woman like me?”
Ethan swallowed hard, heart pounding, but he met her gaze. “I’d try.”
Her laugh was soft, throaty, and it sent heat pooling low in his stomach. She slid onto the table in front of him, her skirt riding up slightly, revealing more of those sheer stockings. “Then come here,” she said, beckoning with a crooked finger.
He stood, hesitant at first, then closed the distance, his hands hovering uncertainly until she guided them to her hips. Her skin was warm through the fabric, and she sighed as his fingers tightened. She pulled him closer, her lips brushing his ear. “You’ve been watching me all semester,” she whispered. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Before he could answer, she kissed him—slowly at first, teasing, her lips soft and deliberate against his. He groaned into it, hands sliding up her back, feeling the curve of her spine as she pressed herself against him. The table creaked as she shifted, wrapping one leg around his waist, her stocking-clad thigh brushing his side.
Lydia’s hands roamed too, slipping under his shirt, her nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shiver. She broke the kiss, breath ragged, and smirked at his flushed face. “Quiet now,” she teased, nodding toward the empty library. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the books.”
He grinned, emboldened, and kissed her again, deeper this time, tasting the faint mint of her breath. His hands found the hem of her blouse, tugging it free, and she didn’t stop him—only arched into his touch as he explored the softness of her skin, the contrast of her cool fingers against his heat driving him wild.
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken promises, and as she guided his hand higher, her whisper against his lips sealed it: “Let’s see how much you can learn tonight.”
Ethan’s pulse thundered in his ears as Lydia’s whisper lingered, her breath hot against his lips. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back, and she kissed him again—harder this time, her tongue sweeping into his mouth with a hunger that made his knees weak. He pressed himself closer, the bulge in his jeans unmistakable against her thigh, and she hummed approvingly, shifting her hips to grind against him.
“Eager,” she purred, her voice a velvet tease as she nipped at his lower lip. Her hands slid down his chest, deftly unbuttoning his shirt, and when her palms met his bare skin, she dragged her nails lightly across his abdomen, drawing a shaky groan from him. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”
His hands, trembling with want, fumbled with her blouse, popping buttons free until it hung open, revealing a lace-trimmed bra that barely contained her full breasts. He stared for a moment, mesmerized by the swell of her curves, the faint flush creeping across her chest. She arched an eyebrow, smirking, and guided his hands to the clasp. “Don’t just look,” she said, voice low and commanding.
The bra fell away, and he cupped her, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. She gasped—a sharp, needy sound—and he bent to take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue as she clutched his shoulders, her nails digging in. “Yes,” she hissed, rocking against him, her skirt now bunched around her hips.
Lydia’s hands weren’t idle. She yanked at his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet library, and shoved his jeans down just enough to free him. Her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking slowly, deliberately, and he bucked into her grip, a low curse slipping out. “Fuck, Lydia—”
“Language,” she chided playfully, but her eyes gleamed with mischief as she tightened her hold, guiding him closer. She hooked her leg higher, pulling her panties aside with a flick of her fingers, and he felt the slick heat of her against him. “Now,” she breathed, “show me.”
He didn’t need more encouragement. With a shaky breath, he pushed into her, slow at first, savoring the tight, wet warmth that enveloped him. She moaned—a raw, unrestrained sound that echoed faintly off the shelves—and he thrust deeper, hands gripping her hips as the table rocked beneath them. Books slid to the floor with a muffled thud, but neither cared.
She met his rhythm, rolling her hips to take him fully, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she tossed them aside, silver-streaked hair spilling loose as she leaned back on her hands, giving him a view that nearly undid him. “Harder,” she demanded, voice rough, and he obliged, slamming into her with a force that made her cry out, her thighs trembling around him.
Sweat beaded on his brow, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he felt the pressure build, her walls clenching tighter with every thrust. She reached between them, fingers circling herself, and the sight—her head thrown back, lips parted, chasing her own release—pushed him to the edge.
“Lydia, I’m—” he started, but she cut him off with a fierce kiss, her free hand gripping his ass to pull him deeper still. “Together,” she gasped against his mouth, and as her body tensed, shuddering with a loud, broken moan, he lost it. He drove into her one last time, a white-hot surge exploding through him as he spilled inside her, their cries mingling in the still air.
They collapsed against the table, panting, her legs still wrapped around him as aftershocks rippled through them. She laughed softly, breathless, brushing a damp strand of hair from his face. “Good boy,” she murmured, smirking. “You’ve earned your extra credit.”
Ethan grinned, dazed and spent, the scattered books around them a testament to their reckless abandon. “Same time tomorrow?” he managed, and her sly nod promised more lessons to come.