Climaxes

John's fingers worked Emily with ruthless precision, his thumb circling her cllit while two fingers crooked inside her, hitting that sweet spot that made her toes curl against the hardwood floor. Emily's breath came in ragged gasps as she rocked against his hand, her strokes on his cock growing erratic. "Oh god—I'm gonna—" Her warning dissolved into a strangled whimper as the first wave hit her, her entire body locking up like a live wire.

Her orgasm crashed through her with shocking intensity—muscles clamping down around John's fingers, thighs trembling violently, her free hand scrabbling at the edge of the table for purchase. A high-pitched whine escaped her throat as pleasure radiated outward in pulsing waves, her vision whiting out at the edges. Through the haze, she dimly registered the slick sounds of her own arousal coating John's fingers, the way his breathing turned ragged as he watched her fall apart.

The sight of her—blonde ponytail coming undone, lips swollen from being bitten, skirt rucked up around her waist—was too much. John's hips jerked upward involuntarily as his own climax ripped through him. "Christ, Emily—" he gritted out, his release spurting hot and thick over her fingers as she milked him through it, her strokes slowing but not stopping until he was shuddering and oversensitive.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their uneven breathing and the distant hum of the library's ventilation. Emily's hand fell away first, her fingers glistening with his release. She stared at them with dazed fascination before bringing them to her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to taste him experimentally. John made a choked noise at the sight, his spent cock twitching against his damp slacks.

The reality of what they'd done crashed over them both at once. Emily's cheeks flamed as she hastily smoothed her skirt down, her movements jerky with post-orgasm tremors. John fumbled for his discarded tie, using it to wipe the mess from her fingers with rough, hurried strokes before tossing it aside. The silence between them was deafening—broken only by the distant hum of the library's ventilation system and Emily's shaky exhales.

Emily's hands trembled as she tucked a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of awe and lingering arousal. She couldn't believe what had just happened—couldn't believe *she* had been the one to initiate it. The way John had looked at her when she came apart—dark eyes burning with hunger—sent another thrill down her spine. She bit her lip, watching as John adjusted his ruined slacks with stiff, awkward movements.

"Emily," John began, his voice hoarse, "we—"

"Shouldn't have done that?" she finished for him, her tone surprisingly steady despite the way her pulse still raced. She tilted her head, studying his flushed face. "But we did." A slow, secretive smile curled her lips. "And you *liked* it."

John's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against the armrests of his chair. "This can't happen again," he said, though the words lacked conviction.