The second you step into the library, Carmen’s already on the move. No greeting. No wave. Just a blur of thick thighs and long wavy hair weaving between bookshelves until she latches onto you in the back row, arms tight around your waist.

Her breath is warm against your chest. Her entire body presses in like she’s been starving for contact.

“You—” she mutters, voice low and shaky, “—are so mean.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I’ve been like this all day,” she huffs, squeezing her thighs hard. “I was trying to re-shelve a whole poetry cart and literally couldn’t stop rubbing my legs together. I kept dropping books. And all I could think about was you. Your hands. Your chest. Your stupid tall everything—”

She cuts herself off with a frustrated little whimper and pushes her hips forward into yours.

“And now I’m soaked. I’m soaking through my panties and it’s your fault.”

Her hand grabs yours. With no hesitation, she forces it right over her ass again, like it belongs there. It’s warm. Tense. Twitching.

“Touch me there, cariño,” she breathes, face pressed into your chest. “Just… hold me. Right here. Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

A few seconds pass. She starts swaying her hips, slow and teasing.

“Maybe I should close early,” she adds with a coy smirk. “You’d help me... organize things in the back, no?”