Gezza was burning his legs as he ran, feet cracking the sidewalk, gasping breaths in the sweet air in the morning.
"Shit, if Mike gets me, I'm doomed!" he believed, heart racing, and beating like a war drum.
"Get back here, you bastard!" Mike sounded off in his roar behind, and with the tread of his heavy feet came a storm.
Gezza looked back and the bulk of Mike was increasing, his sneer a blade in the sunshine.
"Shit his catching up—" He crashed into somebody, and fell on the ground with a grunt, the collision shocking his ribs, pain aching. Up he scrambled, his eyes stinging with dust, then he saw Mike stoodd for sometime before retreating, and his figure had growing smaller.
"Why's he backing off?" Gezza muttered with a mix of confusion and relief his chest heaving.
"You okay?" a great deep voice, as of a rock in the hurricane, shook. Gezza smiled and stared up at Riley, her muscled body towering and dog tags in the glare of the sun. Understandably he struck like concrete.
"Yes, I am all right", he said, and she took him with a yank and he rose. He shook dust off his jeans, the sound pleasing, and fiddled with his backpack, the heat of the Playbook seeming to be throbbing through his back.
"Mike is still bothering you", said Riley, with purple eyes and a smirk pulling her lips.
"Yeah", Gezza said, his cocky edge wobbling, paranoia biting.
"I can handle him", she said poping her knuckles. "A beat up session with me would fix him." Gezza grinned, swelling with confidence.
"Not why I called you. We are going to a library, come on. Gezza said pulling Riley towards the library way.
The doors of the heavy library swung open, the odor of long-lost manuscripts and lemon polish assailed Gezza like a fog, the sun was shining in at the high windows, and the dust particles rose like little ghosts.
Shelf after shelf was in silent darkness, the only thing heard was the turning of a page by someone, low as a murmur.
The sound of her boots was barely audible, thump-thump, thump, thump, as Riley passed Gezza between the aisles, her presence almost as a tank in the silent arena.
"Remind me why we're here again?" she muttered, looking about, her eyes like flint, that she should see a fight among the encyclopedias.
"Research", Gezza said almost to himself, and his eyes were flickering at a shelf marked Occult History, and the Playbook was warm against his back, nearly making him laugh.
"Research on what?" Riley spoke, low-pitched, inquisitive. Can't tell her--it might affect the book spell, Gezza thought, and he was forced to grin, his heart pounding with the secret. "Just... something old."
Time dragged and his fingers kept following the spines and his frustration rose as he stared at the bookshelf. "I do not know where to begin", he grumbled, pacing, Riley following him like a castle.
He found a book--The Cursed Book--bisected, title impressed in tarnished gold. This could be it, he thought, tugging it with a gentle scrape and dust flying in the air.
He was seated at a carrel, the chair creaking, turning pages, Riley bending over his shoulder, her breath as warm on his neck.
Gezza tried to read But the writing was thick, dull, and his eyes were rolling. "Argh, this isn't working", he grunted, and banged the book down with a thud, the noise crisp in the silence.
The sigh of Riley was low, a sigh of impatience.
Gezza sat back, eyes on the plaster of the ceiling, which was cracked, trying to think something, nauseatingly paranoid and bored. Damn I need help he taught
Then He dropped his eyes and beheld her--a girl carrying half a dozen or a dozen books, that white vest, and pink jacket, crisp, knee-length skirt swishing, as she walked. It was a decent stride, graceful, though the pervy part of Gezza was stuck, his jeans getting tighter, his erection throbbing with a hot ache. She looks smart so he imagined she might be perfect for his brains.
While he gazed on her Riley eyes fluttered to his swelling in his jeans, her fingernail clicking softly. Her hand went to his jeans, rubbing through the clothing and jolts ran along his spine.
Gezza gave a twitchy look at her, his shock piercing. "What?" in a low, nervous voice he hissed. Riley bent down and kissed his ear, with her sultry and warm lips.
"Does my presence incite you so much, Gezza?" Shit we are in a Library, he muttered, looking at those who were sitting bent over books, and whose pages rustled a little.
"Then hold your moans" she said, and unzipped his jeans, which made his length leap like a caged bird.
She pulled her hair in a tug, leaned closer, her hands hot but imbued with roughness, not as soft as Elena or Mia.
She is, she is, actually, doing this, Gezza thought, his breath hitching with pleasure.
She licked his tip, tongue rotating around, with pleasure going through him. He leapt down against the carrel, creaking wood, and Riley sucked him, loving his salty flavor, swallowing him, almost swallowing him.
Gezza clenched the table, his knuckles turning pale, struggling not to let a sound out, and the danger risk added to his excitement.
He pulled her lips away, groaning, and she giggled then dipped her hand into his jeans, pinching his balls between his boxers and sniffing his excited smell.
"I love your smell", she said, hungry, unbuttoning his jeans exposure him more.
"Someone will see, Riley", he hissed, terrified and lustful, yet she thrust her face into his trousers, tongue darting about his balls, rubbing his length her teeth scraped his balls.
"Careful", he gasped, the wet, leaky sounds seeming to ring in the silence.
She caught him by the length in both hands and rubbed quick and sticky, the slime dampening her palms, the noise becoming risky.
"Slow down", Gezza whispered, but she would have none of that, rubbing quicker.
"Wanna end this? Cum in my mouth now, she teased, wrapping him round her lips, deep swallowing him.
Gezza sat up in the chair, it creaked, the more dangerous it was the better, and his body trembled at the restrained groans.
The heat of the Playbook flared and spoke in a very low voice, Shes yours.
I didn't even lust over. Her. He replied to the playbook in his head.
You don't need to...
He sat up, the sun blazing upon the shelves, and stood still--the bookworm girl was approaching them, her books in a wobbling, her gaze upon him.
Shit, Riley, hurry, he thought in a panicked surge but Riley stroked harder, her lips as inexorable.
The pace of the girl was peep-show-deliberate, and her eyes were wondering, and it was clear she was coming in their direction.