Books tucked beneath my arm, I stared down at the number the librarian had written down, for where I’d find the reference book checked out of every other campus library, forcing me to venture off campus. Not that the city’s public library was much of a hike. In fact, it sat just across Cass Avenue.

The Criminal Justice collection made up a small section on the second floor, nothing as extensive as the campus library, but when every other CJ major happened to be after the same books and articles, it was a miracle I found the one I’d been looking for.

I made my way down the aisle, until I reached the only copy of the book left on the shelf. Stacking it onto the ones already in hand, I shuffled toward the long desks set off from the aisles of books. A number of students sat scattered at various tables, but one in particular caught my eye.

Even with his back turned to me, hat spun around on his head and nose buried in the book in front of him, I recognized him from across the room. His size gave him almost a celebrity appearance, like catching a glimpse of a Lions, or Pistons, athlete out in the wild. He looked out of place at a public library, his face even more so, better suited for a billboard somewhere in New York.

I hugged my books and approached him slowly, looking over his shoulder to catch a peek of his reading.

“Interesting,” I said.

If I’d startled him, he certainly didn’t act like it, as he closed the book and swiveled around in his chair, in the same fluid movement as though he’d been expecting me.

“Techniques of Crime Scene Investigation? Is this what you do when you’re not climbing cranes?”

Lips kicked up to a half smile, his blue eyes stalked me as I rounded the table. “You’re definitely following me now.”

“So … should I be scared? You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I set my books down across from him and plopped into the empty seat, taking in the way he looked damn near edible, all sprawled out casual in his chair.

“I’m merely studying for our date. Hoping to impress you.”

“Ambitious, this one. If you really want to impress me, study these.” I pushed the stack of art books I’d gathered up from the opposite side of the library. Not that I needed to study. I just happened to like perusing the works.

He flipped the first book open on a woman slicing a blade across a man’s throat. “Wow. That’s macabre. Not much different from what I was reading.”

“Judith Beheading Holofernes. She saved her people by seducing and beheading the Assyrian general. This one was done by Caravaggio during the Baroque period. It’s one of a few versions. Not so macabre when you look at her through the eyes of a heroic woman, no?”

Leaning to the side, he stroked his chin—a distraction I found painfully sexy. “You think she was justified in killing him, then?”

“She embodies power. Taking back what was to be taken from her people.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

I scanned the room, noting the proximity of the other students, whose heads remained buried in their books. “I believe in killing when there’s purpose behind it,” I said, turning back to him. “Not for one’s own amusement.”

He slid the next hardcover out of the stack and opened it. “Erotic Illustration and Literature.”

The first image showed a woman lying naked, blindfolded, her panties pulled down to mid-thigh.

Ty cocked a brow and flipped to another page, where another woman lay on the floor with her legs spread, as if peering into a mirror while she touched herself.

Clearing my throat, I sat back, tapping my finger on the table as I watched him peruse the book with pointed interest. “Yarek Godfrey. I find the images inspiring.”

Yet another page revealed a woman twisted with pleasure, a dark figure hovering over her with its hand up her asshole.

“For art, or sex?” he asked with a roguish grin.

I let my gaze fall from his, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Art is sex for me.”

He dragged his attention up from the page. “Then, why study Criminal Justice?”

With a sigh, I shrugged. “I dreamed of going to CCS and Cranbrook Academy. Wouldn’t even feel like school, ya know? It’d be like … I don’t know. Amazing.”

“So, what happened? Why’d you end up here?”

“Life.”

“Life, or parents?” Tipping his head, he smirked, luring my eyes to the delicious curve of his neck, the perfect angles of his jaw I imagined sketching, veins popping out with his tension and exertion, my eyes feasting on every peak and shadow of his body. “Sera?”

I blinked out of my musings. “Parent. My mother passed away when I was about nine.” Rubbing my hands together brought forth a flash memory, of messy paint spatters and my small handprint stamped in blue across her face as she laughed. “She would’ve told me to go after my dream.”

“You must miss her a lot.”

“Everyday.” I offered a slight smile, focusing on his hands to keep from tearing up. Though his fingers were long, they were masculine and dotted with scars I imagined he’d acquired through his line of work.

The next page showed a man holding a woman, her head tipped back as he devoured her neck in a passionate kiss.

“This is my favorite.” I sat forward, resting my elbows on the table, and eyes glued to the page, I studied the way the couple melded into each other.

“What makes it your favorite?”

“The way she surrenders to him. She trusts him and loses herself to him. There’s so much passion and heat. Some people go their whole lives and never feel that. It’s beautiful.” I ran my finger over the page, tracing the curves where their bodies came together perfectly in the painting.

Ty captured my hand, weaving his fingers in mine, staring at me. I could feel his eyes watching me, felt the heat, the want rolling off of him in waves. We sat like that for another minute or so, and then it stopped. Like a switch had been flipped, he retracted his hand and closed the book, shoving it back in front of me. “I have to go.”

He stood up from the table and, without saying goodbye, spun away from me and strode off.

A paper wedged inside the book he’d been studying snagged my attention. I tugged out the page filled with scribbles I didn’t bother to read, holding it up in the air. “Ty! Wait!” Jumping up from my chair knocked it backward in a clamor that failed to make him stop.

I caught up with him just in time for him to spin around and pin me to the bookshelves behind me, crinkling the paper in my hands. A surging tide of desire rolled through my veins, stoking my pulse. For one brief moment, he stared at my lips, and the energy between us crackled. I waited for the boom. As though he were lightning, and I thunder, and the pause in between were our heartbeats counting down the seconds.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four …

Until, at last, he pressed his lips to mine, and I could swear the earth shook beneath my feet. It weakened my knees as he held my wrists pinned. Set me off balance and lit up my sky with an electric heat so intense, it stole my breath.

I tugged the collar of his shirt, drawing him closer, kissing him harder, ravenously. He tasted like warm cinnamon on my tongue, and his lips were soft, but imposing. Demanding my surrender. My body melted into his, the electricity burning me where I stood clutching him for stability.

He groaned against my lips, lodging his fingers into my hair, and his other hand slipped beneath my thigh, hoisting me up. Pinned against the criminal psychology books behind me, I fought for the breath he stole from my mouth.

His kiss wasn’t sweet, or reverent, but fervent and greedy. It felt forbidden, as if we shouldn’t, for a hundred different reasons—not a single one of which came to mind in that moment. I didn’t want the air that wrenched at my lungs, because doing so meant breaking the kiss, floating back down to earth, and I wanted to stay in that place forever. I realized then, in that moment, I’d never truly been kissed before, and those who had kissed me hadn’t known what the hell they were doing.

Ty had transcended me.

His lips broke from mine first, our foreheads still pressed together as we fought for the small bit of air between us. Fingers loosening their grip, he set me back down, his eyes riveted on my mouth. One more slant of his lips over mine told me he was still hungry, and the sharp bite of his tangled fingers nipping at my scalp, along with the slight tremble in his arm, confessed the extent of his appetite.

Something deep inside my bones told me if we weren’t within earshot of others, he’d have torn me apart and left me begging for more.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he whispered, sliding the ruined page of notes from my hand, and walked away.

He was bad for me, I knew that. He’d undoubtedly break my heart if ever I handed it over to him. But part of me wanted that fire, in spite of the burn. I wanted to know just how hot it could get before I’d be consumed in flames, because I had a feeling I’d never know that heat again. I’d never know passion so intense, the kind my mother always told me to find and hold onto.

As I watched him disappear around the corner, I had to remind myself to breathe again.

The urge to draw tingled my fingertips. I could see the dark lines on the page, the fast strokes capturing his chiseled jawline and those piercing eyes.

A buzz against my ass jerked me forward, and I lifted my phone to see Ty’s number popped up on my screen.

I’ll send you a dick pic tonight.

I smiled down at that, sucking my still swollen lip between my teeth.

ME: Don’t be pissed at me if you wake up to find it trending on social media tomorrow.

TY: I’m not sure you want all that attention.

ME: That impressive, is it?

TY: Keep your phone by your bed. I’ll let you be the judge.

ME: Or you can upload it yourself and spare me the trouble of getting blocked on Facebook.

The three dots told me he was writing back, but after a minute, they disappeared, and after three minutes with no text, I set my phone down on the table and returned to my studies.