Curled up in my dorm bed, my mind keeps wandering to things it shouldn't. Today, studying in the library, a guy sat across from me. When he turned a page, the tendons on the back of his hand shifted slightly, and I just... drifted off. I imagined his hand under the table wasn't turning pages, but slowly reaching over, pressing against the inside of my thigh through my jeans with that undeniable force, moving higher. And I'd have to stay quiet, pretending to be completely absorbed in my textbook, only I would know the mess I was under my skirt. That secret, almost-getting-caught tension in public excites me more than anything. I even wish he'd notice something's off, wish he'd see through my calm facade to the hunger underneath, and then... take me away from here, anywhere he could fuck me until I couldn't speak.