The school library had always been her escape. Cool, dimly lit, lined with wooden shelves and the musky scent of old pages. But lately, it wasn’t the books that kept drawing her back…

It was Aniket Sir—the school’s elusive librarian.

Late 30s. Wire-rimmed glasses. Always in neatly ironed shirts and quiet shoes. His voice barely rose above a whisper, but his eyes… they said everything.

He was a man of discipline. Of order. Of patience.And patience, Nandini had come to learn, was far more dangerous than raw hunger.

It started with glances. Then with the way he stood too close when helping her find a book. How his fingers would brush hers over paper—slow, firm, almost possessive.

That afternoon, the rain was hammering the roof, thunder muffled beneath layers of silence. She entered the library alone, the halls outside long emptied after school.

Aniket stood at the main desk, cataloging returned books.

“You’re late, Miss Nandini,” he said without looking up. “Your usual time is 4:15.”

“I was… distracted,” she replied, voice soft.

He finally looked up, eyes trailing down her saree, which clung slightly damp to her body. He tilted his head. “You shouldn't come here soaked. It’s bad for the books.”

“Maybe I’m here to be punished,” she whispered.

A flicker of something dark passed through his gaze.

Without a word, he walked around the desk and motioned to the back stacks—far from view, behind thick shelves where no sound traveled.

She followed.

When they reached the hidden aisle, he spoke without turning. “Put your hands on the shelf.”

Heart racing, she obeyed, gripping the wooden ledge.

Aniket stepped up behind her, pressing close but not touching. “You speak too loudly in here. You disturb the order.” His hand slid slowly up her thigh beneath her saree. “You need discipline.”

She gasped as his palm cupped her bare heat. She hadn’t worn panties.

“Of course you didn’t,” he muttered, then slid two fingers between her folds. “Dripping already. Typical of a disobedient girl.”

His fingers began to move—deep, curling, slow.

She bit her lip hard to hold in the moan. But when his other hand slid around to pinch her nipple through her blouse, she whimpered.

“You make noise again,” he said low in her ear, “and I’ll stop.”

It was agony.

His fingers teased her, built her up, then stopped. Again and again. She was trembling—every part of her begging to break the rules, to scream, to come.

Finally, he pulled her blouse open from behind, exposing her breast, then tugged her saree higher.

“Face the shelf. Stay quiet.”

She heard the sound of his zipper.

Then he slid into her—slowly, completely, inch by inch. The pressure made her eyes roll back. Her fingers dug into the shelf as he began to thrust, steady, deep, hitting that spot inside that made her see stars.

She tried to stay quiet. She really did.

But when he grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and whispered, “You’re mine in here,” she came hard—body writhing, breath catching, a low sob escaping her throat.

He didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it, holding her steady, hips slamming into her with quiet intensity until he finally groaned against her neck and came, shuddering inside her.

They stayed there, tangled in breath and sweat, pressed between rows of poetry and science textbooks.

Aniket finally stepped back, fixing his glasses. “You’ll return tomorrow?”

Nandini turned, flushed, panting, a wicked smile on her lips. “Only if you promise to keep punishing me.”

He smiled.

“There’s a reading bench in the back. Cushioned. Quiet. Perfect for... longer sessions.”

***