Emma's Forbidden Cravings - Cheating Girlfriend Erotica - Part 3

The Westfield University Library was a cathedral of knowledge—Gothic architecture, vaulted ceilings, and rows upon rows of ancient oak shelves that stretched into shadowy eternity. On the third floor, in the dimly lit recesses of the humanities section where the dust motes danced in slanted afternoon light and the silence was broken only by the occasional cough or turning page, Emma Thompson was supposed to be studying for her Victorian Literature midterm.

Instead, she was thinking about sin.

She sat at a heavy wooden carrel, her textbook open to a chapter on Tennyson that she hadn't read a word of in forty minutes. Beside her, Jake was hunched over his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through a problem set for his finance class. He looked adorable when he was focused—nose slightly scrunched, pen tapping against his lower lip, dark hair falling across his forehead in that way that made her fingers itch to brush it back.

Three weeks ago, she would have done exactly that. She would have leaned over, kissed his temple, told him he was working too hard, suggested a coffee break. Three weeks ago, she was still the Emma Thompson everyone believed her to be—loyal, devoted, faithfully in love with her high school sweetheart.

But that was before Marcus Chen's office. Before Caleb Jennings in the Sigma Chi bathroom. Before she'd discovered the intoxicating, destructive high of being bad.

Now, as she watched Jake's innocent concentration, all Emma could think about was how she was going to betray him again. And again. And again.

Her phone buzzed silently in her pocket—a text from Marcus that she'd received an hour ago and still hadn't answered:

Marcus: Office. 8 PM. Don't be late.

She should have told him no. Should have deleted the message, blocked his number, thrown herself into her relationship with the kind of desperate intensity that might somehow atone for her sins. Instead, she'd typed back a single word—Yes—and spent the rest of the afternoon throbbing with anticipation.

But that was hours away. First, she had to survive this study session without giving in to the dark thoughts that had become her constant companions.

"Emma?" Jake's voice cut through her reverie, soft and concerned. "You okay? You've been staring at that same page forever."

Emma startled, forcing a smile. "Just tired. This Eliot is dense."

"Want to take a break?" Jake reached over, his hand warm and comforting on her knee. "We could grab coffee. Or just walk around for a bit. Stretch our legs?"

The innocent touch sent a spike of guilt through Emma's chest. Jake's hand on her knee felt like a brand, a reminder of everything she was destroying. She opened her mouth to agree, to suggest they leave this library and go somewhere public, somewhere safe, somewhere she couldn't get into trouble—

"Emma Thompson?"

The voice came from behind them, deep and familiar and absolutely devastating. Emma's blood turned to ice, then fire, her heart hammering against her ribs as she turned to face the speaker.

Derek Malone stood at the end of the aisle, six-foot-three of muscle and memory, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his green eyes burning with an intensity that hadn't dimmed in the two years since she'd last seen him. He looked older, harder—his jawline sharper, his dark hair shorter, his body more imposing under a fitted black sweater. But those eyes were the same. Those eyes had always seen too much.

"Derek," Emma breathed, the name tasting like old wounds and older desires.

Jake looked up, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition to something like territorial concern. "Hey, man. Derek, right? We met at that party freshman year."

Derek's gaze didn't leave Emma's face. "We did. How's it going, Jake?"

"Good. Studying for midterms." Jake's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Emma's knee. "You?"

"Graduate school applications." Derek finally looked at Jake, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Thought I'd come back to Westfield to use the library. Nostalgia, I guess. Memories of... old times."

The emphasis he placed on those last two words made Emma's stomach flip. Old times. The six months they'd spent together sophomore year of high school—six months of intense, all-consuming passion that had ended in flames when Emma caught him cheating with a senior. Six months of Derek's possessive jealousy, his demanding nature, his refusal to let her breathe without his permission.

Six months of the best sex she'd ever had until Marcus Chen bent her over his desk.

"I didn't know you were back in town," Emma said, her voice coming out steadier than she felt.

"Surprise." Derek's smile was sharp, predatory. "Saw you from across the room. Thought I'd say hi." His eyes dropped to where Jake's hand still rested on her knee, and something dark flickered in his expression. "Didn't mean to interrupt your... study session."

"You're not interrupting," Jake said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "We were just talking about taking a break, actually."

"Perfect timing then." Derek's gaze locked with Emma's again, challenging, daring. "I was actually looking for the Milton section. Third floor, right? Near the back stacks?"

Emma's throat went dry. The back stacks. The isolated, dimly lit corner of the library where no one ever went, where the lights were always flickering, where the shelves were so tall they created private alcoves hidden from view.

"Yeah," she managed. "End of the aisle, turn left."

"Thanks." Derek held her gaze for one beat too long, his message clear as crystal. Follow me. "Good seeing you both. Don't study too hard."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the silence, and Emma felt the pull like a physical force—a magnetic attraction that had never truly faded, just been buried under years of good decisions and safer choices.

"Wow," Jake said, his voice tight. "Derek Malone. Haven't seen him since..."

"Since we started dating," Emma finished, her mind racing. "Yeah."

"He still looks at you the same way," Jake observed, his jaw tight. "Like you're something he lost and wants back."

Emma forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to her own ears. "Don't be ridiculous. That was high school. Ancient history."

"Is it?" Jake turned to face her fully, his expression serious. "Em, if you want to talk to him, catch up or whatever... I mean, I trust you. I just... I know how he treated you. I don't want you getting hurt."

The irony was so sharp it could have cut glass. Here was Jake, her perfect, trusting boyfriend, giving her permission to talk to her ex—the same ex who was currently waiting in the back stacks to do things to her that would leave marks—because he was worried about her getting hurt.

"I don't want to talk to him," Emma lied, the words tasting like ash. "I want to study. And then I want to get coffee with you. Just us."

Jake's face softened, his worry melting into that devoted smile that made Emma's chest ache. "Okay. Let's finish this chapter, then we'll get that coffee."

They returned to their books, but Emma couldn't focus. Her eyes kept drifting to the end of the aisle, to the shadows where Derek had disappeared. Her body was already responding to the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he'd claimed her with a ferocity that had terrified and thrilled her at sixteen.

She lasted twelve minutes.

"I need to use the bathroom," Emma whispered, gathering her bag. "And maybe get some water. Be right back?"

"Want me to come?" Jake asked, already starting to stand.

"No, stay. Finish your problem. I'll grab us both coffees on my way back." She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, hating herself for the deception. "Save my seat."

"I always do," Jake said, smiling up at her.

Emma walked away before she could change her mind, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She told herself she was just going to the bathroom. Just getting water. Just taking a walk to clear her head.

She told herself these lies all the way to the back stacks.

The third floor's rear section was a labyrinth of tall oak shelves, dusty and neglected, home to volumes that hadn't been checked out since the Reagan administration. The fluorescent lights back here were perpetually dim, casting long shadows that danced and swayed with every movement. It was quiet—so quiet that Emma could hear her own breathing, ragged and fast, as she turned the corner and found him waiting.

Derek leaned against a shelf labeled "17th Century Poetry," his arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the low light. He'd been waiting. He'd known she would come.

"Hello, Emma," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her chest. "I wasn't sure you'd have the guts."

"I shouldn't be here," Emma whispered, even as she took another step toward him.

"No," Derek agreed, pushing off the shelf and closing the distance between them with slow, predatory steps. "You should be back there with your perfect boyfriend, holding his hand and planning your perfect future. But you're not, are you? You're here. With me. Just like old times."

He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, something that triggered memories she'd spent years trying to forget.

"Why are you here, Derek?" Emma asked, her voice trembling. "Really?"

Derek's hand shot out, gripping her chin with a force that made her gasp. His touch was rough, demanding, nothing like Jake's gentle caresses. "I'm here because I saw your Instagram. Because I saw you with him, looking happy, looking perfect, and I knew it was a lie." His thumb pressed against her lower lip, parting it. "I know you, Emma. Better than he ever will. I know what you need. What you crave. And I know that pretty boy isn't giving it to you."

Emma tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding her in place. "You don't know anything about me anymore. That was years ago. I've changed."

"Have you?" Derek's other hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him, and Emma felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. "Then why are you wet right now? Why is your heart racing? Why are you looking at me like you want me to bend you over this shelf and fuck you until you can't remember his name?"

The words sent a jolt of heat straight to Emma's core. She should deny it. Should push him away, run back to Jake, tell Derek to go to hell.

Instead, she whispered, "Because I do."

Derek's smile was savage, triumphant. "That's my girl." His hand moved from her chin to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a claim of dominance that made Emma's knees weak. "You remember what I used to do to you? How I used to make you scream? How you used to beg for it?"

"Yes," Emma breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as his hand tightened slightly.

"You've been missing it, haven't you? Missing someone who knows how to handle you. Someone who isn't afraid to take what he wants." Derek's lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I saw the way you looked at me back there. Like you were starving. Like you wanted me to drag you back here and remind you who you belong to."

"I belong to Jake," Emma whispered, the protest weak even to her own ears.

Derek laughed, dark and dangerous. "No, you don't. You belong to whoever is fucking you properly. And from the look in your eyes, that hasn't been happening." His free hand dropped to her skirt, hiking it up with rough efficiency. "Let's see if I'm right."

"Derek, wait—" Emma gasped, but he was already touching her, his fingers finding the damp spot on her panties with unerring accuracy.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Soaked. Just like I thought." His fingers pushed the fabric aside, sliding through her wetness with obscene ease. "You're dripping, Emma. Is this what he does to you? Does he make you this desperate?"

"No," Emma admitted, her head falling back against the shelf as his fingers found her clit. "Never—he's never—"

"Never what?" Derek's fingers worked her with cruel precision, the same rhythm he remembered from years ago, the one that had always driven her wild. "Never makes you feel like this? Never touches you like you need to be touched? Never fucks you like you deserve to be fucked?"

"Never," Emma sobbed, her hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Derek, I can't—I need—"

"What do you need?" He crowded her against the shelf, his body pinning her in place, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault. "Tell me. Tell me what your perfect boyfriend won't give you."

"I need—" Emma's breath hitched as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision blur. "I need you to fuck me. Please, Derek, I need you inside me—"

"Louder," Derek commanded, his voice rough. "I want to hear you beg. I want everyone in this library to know what you are."

"Please," Emma whimpered, tears pricking her eyes as the pleasure built to unbearable heights. "Please fuck me, Derek. I need your cock. I need you to make me come. Please—"

Derek's hand withdrew suddenly, leaving her empty and aching. Emma cried out at the loss, but before she could protest, he was spinning her around, pressing her chest against the rough wood of the shelf. She heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans, the crinkle of a condom wrapper—thank God, at least one of them was thinking—and then his hands were on her hips, positioning her exactly where he wanted her.

"Look at you," Derek growled, his voice thick with desire. "Bent over like a whore in the library where anyone could walk by. Where your boyfriend is probably wondering where you are right now." He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his lips at her ear. "What would he think if he saw you like this? If he saw you begging for my cock?"

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, the image sending a fresh wave of arousal through her. "He can't—he can't see—"

"No," Derek agreed, his hand finding her hair and pulling her head back. "He can't see what you really are. What you need. But I see you, Emma. I've always seen you." He positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against her wetness. "And I'm going to give you exactly what you've been missing."

He drove into her with one brutal thrust that tore a scream from her throat—a scream she quickly muffled by biting down on her own arm. Derek was huge, thicker than she remembered, stretching her impossibly wide as he bottomed out inside her with a groan that seemed to come from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "Fuck, Emma, you're so fucking tight. So fucking perfect. This is what you needed, isn't it? This is what you've been craving."

"Yes," Emma sobbed, her body already adjusting to his size, her muscles clenching around him involuntarily. "Yes, don't stop, please don't stop—"

Derek didn't stop. He set a brutal pace, pulling out and slamming back into her with enough force to rattle the books on the shelves. The ancient volumes trembled with each impact, dust motes dancing in the slanted light, and Emma had to bite her arm harder to keep from screaming as he pounded into her with savage intensity.

"You're taking it so well," Derek groaned, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Such a good girl for me. Such a dirty little cheater. Does he know what you're doing right now? Does he know his perfect girlfriend is getting railed in the library where anyone could see?"

"No," Emma gasped, her head thrashing from side to side. "He doesn't—he can't—oh God, Derek, harder—"

"You want it harder?" Derek laughed, dark and dangerous. He reached around her, his hand finding her throat and squeezing—not enough to cut off air, just enough to assert his dominance, to remind her who was in control. "You want me to fuck you so hard he can hear it from across the library? Is that what you want, Emma? You want to go back to him with my cum dripping down your legs?"

The words should have disgusted her. Instead, they sent her spiraling toward the edge, her orgasm building with terrifying speed. "Yes," she choked out. "Yes, I want it, please, Derek, I'm so close—"

"Not yet," Derek growled, his hand tightening on her throat. "You don't come until I say you can. You don't get to enjoy this until I'm done using you."

He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur, and Emma cried out, her body trembling on the precipice of release. She could hear voices in the distance now—students talking, laughing, walking through the aisles just rows away from where she was being fucked by her ex-boyfriend while her current boyfriend waited unknowingly nearby. The risk of discovery sent electric shocks of arousal through her, making every sensation sharper, every thrust more intense.

"Please," she begged, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking with the effort of holding back her orgasm. "Please, Derek, I can't—I need to—"

"Now," he commanded, his free hand finding her clit and pinching hard. "Come for me now, Emma. Come on my cock like the filthy cheating slut you are."

The orgasm crashed over her with the force of a tsunami, her body convulsing around him as she bit down hard on her arm to muffle her screams. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her, obliterating every coherent thought, every lingering shred of guilt or hesitation. She was nothing but sensation, nothing but the tight coil of release unraveling inside her, nothing but Derek's cock filling her, claiming her, marking her as his once again.

"Fuck, that's it," Derek groaned, his rhythm faltering as her muscles milked him. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. I'm gonna—fuck, Emma, I'm gonna fill this condom thinking about how you begged for my cock. How you threw away your perfect little relationship just to feel me inside you again."

"Yes," Emma sobbed, her body still spasming with aftershocks. "Yes, please, cum for me, Derek, I want it, I need it—"

With a final, brutal thrust and a roar that he muffled against her neck, Derek came, his cock pulsing inside her as he emptied himself into the condom. He kept her pinned against the shelf, his hips jerking involuntarily as he rode out his orgasm, his breathing ragged against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—joined, panting, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and old books. Emma's legs were shaking, her body spent and marked and thoroughly used. She could feel Derek's heart hammering against her back, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

"Fuck," Derek breathed, his forehead resting against her shoulder. "That was... fuck, Emma. I forgot how incredible you feel."

Emma couldn't speak. Her throat was raw from holding back screams, her mind slowly returning to her body, reality creeping back in like cold water. She'd just let her ex-boyfriend fuck her in the library. She'd just cheated on Jake—again—while he waited just yards away, trusting her completely.

And she was already wondering when she could do it again.

Derek slowly pulled out of her, dealing with the condom and zipping his jeans. Emma stayed bent over the shelf for a moment longer, her body trembling, before she pushed herself up on shaking arms and smoothed her skirt down.

"Emma," Derek said, his voice softer now. She turned to face him, and saw something vulnerable in his expression—the same boy who'd loved her too hard, too possessively, back in high school. "I meant what I said. I know you. I know what you need. And I know you're not getting it from him."

Emma looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Derek, I can't—this was a mistake. I have a boyfriend. A good one."

"Is he?" Derek stepped closer, his hand finding her chin and forcing her to look at him. "Or is he just safe? Comfortable? Emma, you were never meant for safe and comfortable. You were meant for passion. For fire. For someone who looks at you like you're the only thing that matters and treats you like you're his entire world."

"He does look at me like that," Emma whispered.

"But does he make you feel like this?" Derek's thumb traced her swollen lips. "Does he make you scream? Does he make you beg? Does he make you feel alive?"

Emma didn't answer. She couldn't. Because the truth was written all over her flushed face, her tangled hair, the marks his fingers had left on her hips.

"I didn't think so," Derek said softly. He pulled out his phone, typing something. Emma's phone buzzed in her pocket. "My number. Same as before. When you realize that pretty boy will never be enough... call me. I'll be waiting."

He pressed one last, brutal kiss to her lips—possessive, claiming, leaving no doubt that he considered her his—and then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the stacks, leaving Emma alone with her guilt and her arousal and the growing certainty that she was losing herself completely.

She checked her phone. Three texts from Jake:

Jake: Everything okay? You've been gone a while.

Jake: Getting worried. Do you need help finding something?

Jake: Emma?

Her hands shook as she typed back: Sorry, got lost in the stacks. On my way back now.

She walked to the bathroom on legs that felt like jelly, her body tender and marked and thoroughly used. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself—hair tangled beyond repair, lips swollen and bruised, a hickey blooming dark purple on her neck where Derek had sucked hard enough to leave a mark. She pulled her hair over her shoulder to hide it, but there was no hiding the glow in her cheeks, the darkness in her eyes, the absolute evidence of what she'd just done.

She splashed water on her face, fixed her makeup as best she could, and walked back to Jake on autopilot. Her mind was racing, her body thrumming with a dangerous cocktail of satisfaction and panic. She could still feel Derek inside her, still feel the stretch and burn of his cock, the bruising grip of his hands. Every step reminded her of her betrayal.

Jake looked up when she approached, his face lighting up with relief. "There you are! I was about to send a search party." His smile faded as he took in her appearance. "You okay? You look... flushed."

"Just warm," Emma lied, sliding into her seat. "The stacks are stuffy."

"Did you get the coffee?"

Emma's stomach dropped. She'd completely forgotten. "They were out of the good stuff. I figured we'd get some on the way home."

"Okay." Jake reached over, his hand finding hers, and Emma had to stop herself from flinching. "You sure you're okay? You seem... different."

Emma forced a smile, squeezing his hand. "Just tired. And stressed about midterms. I'm sorry if I'm being weird."

"You're not being weird," Jake assured her, though his eyes searched her face with concern. "But if you need to talk about anything... I'm here. You know that, right?"

"I know," Emma whispered, and she meant it. She knew Jake was there. She knew he loved her. She knew he would do anything for her.

And she knew she was destroying him.

They packed up their books and walked out of the library together, Jake's arm around her shoulders, his body warm and solid and completely unaware that his girlfriend had just been claimed by another man just yards away from where he sat studying. The autumn air was cool against Emma's overheated skin, but it did nothing to wash away the scent of Derek's cologne that seemed to cling to her clothes.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Jake humming softly under his breath, Emma's mind replaying every filthy moment in the stacks. She could feel Derek's marks on her body—the bruises on her hips, the hickey on her neck, the tenderness between her legs that would remind her of him for days.

"Emma," Jake said suddenly, stopping on the path and turning to face her. His expression was serious, searching. "Did something happen back there? With Derek?"

Emma's heart stopped. He knew. He had to know. There was no way she was hiding this well, no way her guilt wasn't written all over her face—

"No," she lied, the word smooth and practiced. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because..." Jake hesitated, his jaw tight. "Because I saw the way he looked at you. Like he wanted to drag you off somewhere. And because you've been different lately. Distant. Like you're somewhere else even when you're with me."

Emma's throat tightened. This was it. The moment she could confess everything, throw herself on his mercy, beg for forgiveness and swear never to do it again.

Instead, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered, the words hollow even to her own ears. "I'm just stressed. Midterms, graduation, the future... it's overwhelming. But I'm here. I promise. I'm yours."

Jake's arms came around her, warm and safe and completely undeserving of the deception she was wrapping him in. "Okay," he murmured against her hair. "Okay. I believe you. I just... I love you, Emma. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," Emma promised, the lie tasting like copper and candy, like blood and sweetness mixed together. "You'll never lose me."

They stood there on the path, holding each other as the sun began to set and the library loomed behind them, filled with shadows and secrets and the ghost of what Emma had just done. Jake believed her. He always believed her. That was the problem.

When they finally pulled apart, Jake smiled down at her, his expression tender and devoted. "Let's go home," he said. "I'll make you tea. And we can watch that movie you've been wanting to see. Just us. No stress, no studying, no... interruptions."

"That sounds perfect," Emma said, and she meant it. She wanted to be that girl—the one who could be satisfied with tea and movies and gentle love. The one who didn't crave danger and darkness and the rough hands of men who weren't her boyfriend.

But as they walked back to the dorm, her phone buzzed in her pocket—a text from Marcus that she'd been ignoring for hours:

Marcus: I know you're with him. But you're thinking about me. About what I'm going to do to you tonight. About how I'm going to punish you for making me wait. 8 PM. Don't be late.

Emma read the message twice, her body already responding to the promise in his words. She had two hours before she had to be in his office. Two hours to pretend to be the perfect girlfriend, to drink tea and watch movies and act like her world hadn't just been rocked by two different men in one day.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and took Jake's hand, letting him lead her home.

The guilt was there, heavy and suffocating, mixing with the arousal that still hummed through her veins. She was a monster. She was destroying the best thing that had ever happened to her. She was addicted to the high, to the rush, to the feeling of being wanted with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

And she couldn't stop.

As they reached the dorm, Jake turned to her, his eyes soft with love and trust. "I meant what I said earlier, Em. Whatever you need... I'm here. Always."

"I know," Emma whispered, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. "And I love you for it."

The words were true. She did love him. She loved his kindness, his patience, his unwavering devotion to her. She loved the future they were supposed to have together.

But love, she was learning, wasn't enough. Love didn't stop the hunger. Love didn't satisfy the craving for something darker, something rougher, something that made her feel alive in a way Jake's gentle touch never could.

As they climbed the stairs to their room, Emma's phone buzzed again—this time from Derek:

Derek: I can still feel you. Still taste you. Call me when you're ready to admit you belong with someone who knows how to handle you. I'll be waiting.

Emma deleted the message without responding, but she didn't block the number. She told herself it was because she wanted to be able to prove him wrong, to show him that she was happy, that she'd moved on, that she didn't need his brand of passion anymore.

But as she settled onto the couch next to Jake, his arm around her shoulders, his heartbeat steady and calm beside her, Emma knew the truth.

She was keeping Derek's number for the same reason she was keeping Marcus's. For the same reason she couldn't seem to stop sabotaging her own happiness.

Because she was addicted. Because she was broken. Because she was terrified of what she would do next.

The movie started, some romantic comedy that Jake had picked because he thought it would cheer her up. Emma laughed at the right parts, leaned into Jake's embrace, played the part of the perfect girlfriend with a skill that terrified her.

But her mind was elsewhere. On the library stacks. On Derek's rough hands. On Marcus's office waiting for her in two hours.

On the next betrayal, and the next, and the next, stretching out before her like a road paved with good intentions and leading straight to hell.

The addiction had her completely now. And Emma Thompson, perfect girlfriend and secret sinner, was finally beginning to understand that there was no going back.

Only forward. Only deeper. Only more.