Solving the initial problem

The air was thick with sweat and sex and silence.

Emily slowly lifted off Eli with a wet parting sound, her cunt clenching around nothing, still fluttering with aftershocks, his cum beginning to slide in a slow drip down the inside of her thigh. She stood shakily, legs slick and trembling, flushed from breast to brow.

Eli slumped back in the chair, dazed and breathless, cock softening against his thigh, jeans still open, hands barely gripping the armrests. His hoodie was wadded on the floor beside them—his only layer, no shirt underneath, chest bare and flushed.

Emily glanced down at her own state, then bent to pick up her skirt. She stepped into it with a soft rustle, dragged it up over her hips with no attempt at subtlety, and zipped it closed. Her panties lay crumpled beside the ripped halves of her blouse—both ruined.

She looked at the scraps of fabric, then over to the navy hoodie.
The only top between them.

“Well,” she said aloud, brushing hair back from her face, “we have a problem.”

Eli followed her gaze to the hoodie. Then down to his chest. Then back to her.

“Fuck.”

“I can’t walk out of here topless,” Emily said, flatly.

“I mean…” he started.

She gave him a look.

He cleared his throat.

She crouched and picked up the hoodie. It was warm in her hands, smelled like his skin, familiar. Her ruined blouse—ripped, streaked with sweat, two buttons still clinging uselessly to the torn fabric—lay in the trash pile. Useless.

“You should wear it,” Eli said. “Seriously.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just stared at it in her hands, then looked back at him.

He was shirtless. Still half-zipped. His chest blotched with sweat, lips swollen, hair tousled.

His eyes met hers.

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “You have to. I’ll be fine.”

She raised a brow. “You’ll be fine? In what, your chest?”

He looked down at himself. No shirt. No backup plan.

She picked up his shirt from earlier, which had been discarded in the heat of it. One glance and she saw the dried slick patch across the front, the wrinkled sweat-smudged folds.

Useless.

“Unless you want to explain this to the front desk librarian,” she said.

He covered his face with both hands.