Chapter 10: On the Edge

  The upper alcove of the library was nearly empty. A soft hum of silence filled the space—thick and heavy, broken only by the turning of pages or the low rustle of movement.

  Mira couldn’t focus.

  Not even pretend.

  Her pen dangled loosely in her fingers, notebook half-filled with scribbled lines that blurred the moment she blinked. Her thighs pressed together beneath the desk. Every shift, every breath, reminded her of how close she’d gotten st time—and how cruelly it had been taken away.

  Lena sat across from her, calm as ever, as if the storm inside Mira wasn’t visible on her face.

  But it was.

  Lena turned a page in Mira’s essay. “You haven’t written anything new.”

  Mira flinched. Her voice came out rough. “I’m trying.”

  Lena set the paper down with quiet precision. “You’re not.”

  A pause.

  Then—“Come here.”

  Mira stood so fast her chair scraped.

  Lena didn’t smile. Not visibly.

  But there was something sharp in her gaze as she guided Mira by the wrist, leading her between the tall shelves, into the narrow dark. Hidden. Pressed into quiet.

  The moment Lena’s hand touched the back of her neck, Mira exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all week.

  Lena didn’t speak right away.

  She stepped in close. Their bodies didn’t quite touch.

  And yet.

  Mira’s eyes fluttered shut. Her legs trembled.

  “I can feel it on you,” Lena whispered. “You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

  Mira whimpered. “Yes.”

  “Dripping,” Lena said, like a confirmation. “You’ve been holding it in like I told you.”

  She brushed a knuckle just beneath Mira’s waistband. Not inside. Not even under the fabric.

  Mira gasped, back arching toward her without thinking.

  “I hate you,” Mira whispered, voice cracking.

  “No,” Lena said softly. “You ache for me.”

  Mira didn’t deny it.

  Couldn’t.

  Her fingers clenched in the front of Lena’s shirt, shaking.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please touch me.”

  Lena tilted her head. “Say it better.”

  Mira’s breath hitched. Her face was red, lips trembling.

  “Please let me come,” she choked out. “I need it. I need you. Please—Lena—I’ll be good, I swear—just please—”

  Lena inhaled, sharply.

  That did something to her. Mira could feel it.

  For once, Lena didn’t hide the hunger that crossed her face. Her eyes darkened, jaw tight. The hand at Mira’s hip flexed, hard enough to bruise.

  “You really are falling apart for me,” Lena murmured. “Look at you.”

  Her mouth brushed over Mira’s neck—open-mouthed, breath warm, just shy of biting.

  “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

  “Yes,” Mira whispered, desperate. “Anything.”

  Lena groaned, low in her throat—barely audible.

  And then she gave in.

  Her hand slid down—firm, commanding—and pressed between Mira’s legs through her jeans, rubbing in slow, devastating circles. Mira’s knees buckled.

  “Quiet,” Lena murmured, lips against her ear. “You’ll get us caught.”

  Mira buried her face in Lena’s shoulder and bit back a sob.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Not nearly.

  Lena’s touch was too careful. Too precise. Not what Mira wanted.

  Mira whimpered against her colrbone. “More. Please—please—I’ll beg all night, I don’t care, I just—I need—”

  Lena’s mouth crashed into Mira’s—sudden, fierce, the kind of kiss that stole every ounce of control. Mira moaned, hands tangling in Lena’s hair, body arcing into the raw need pulsing through her.

  Lena’s fingers pressed harder, grinding into Mira’s soaked jeans with ruthless precision. Mira’s knees buckled; her breath came in ragged shudders against Lena’s colrbone.

  “Lena…” Mira gasped, voice trembling. “More—”

  Lena broke the kiss only long enough to hold Mira’s face, thumb brushing her bottom lip as though tasting her need.

  “Say you belong to me,” she demanded, voice fierce.

  “I—” Mira swallowed, heat flooding her cheeks. “I belong to you.” Her whisper cracked. “Please—don’t stop—”

  Lena’s jaw tightened. She crushed her mouth to Mira’s again, hands roaming—one at her hip, the other slipping beneath her waistband. There was no more teasing, only hungry devotion: fingers parting the denim, pressing straight to the ache, stroking with deliberate, devouring strokes.

  Mira cried out, head thrown back against the shelf. Her hands gripped Lena’s shoulders, nails digging in as she gave herself completely.

  “Shh,” Lena murmured against her throat, one hand covering Mira’s mouth to muffle the sound. The other never paused its rhythm, pushing Mira higher and higher.

  “Lena—I’m so close—” Mira sobbed, voice muffled.

  “Good girl,” Lena breathed. “Come for me.”

  With one final, relentless curl of her fingers, Mira shattered into trembling release. Her body convulsed against Lena’s, every nerve undone. She clung to Lena like a lifeline, tears wet on her cheeks, breath quaking.

  Lena held her upright, palm spyed across Mira’s back, stroking slow, grounding circles as Mira’s tremors faded. Then—at st—she eased her hand away and leaned her forehead to Mira’s.

  “You’re mine,” she whispered, voice thick. “All of you.”

  Mira’s arms wound around her, breathless. The hush of the stacks felt infinite around them, witness to the intimacy they’d cimed.