FRIDA: CHAPTER 1

Dear lovely reader read the authors note first. Thank you. Happy reading.

Frida

It was quiet, she was in her sanctuary. Her anatomy books lay open, diagrams and notes sprawled across the table. She leaned in closer, frowning at the detailed illustration of the male reproductive system.

The library was almost empty, her favorite kind of quiet. With her anatomy textbook propped open, she decided a YouTube video might help her understand the topic better. Bad idea.

The moment she hit play, an overly enthusiastic narrator's voice boomed, "The male reproductive system is fascinating!" She scrambled to lower the volume, her heart pounding as the sound echoed through the silence.

She heard someone chuckle and her cheeks flushed red, someone had heard it much to her embarrassment. She wanted to melt into her chair and disappear.

She quickly plugged in her headphones, making sure this time there'd be no more unwelcome broadcasts. But just as she clicked back to the video, her erratic tapping to pause the earlier embarrassment had redirected her to the actual website linked below.

Her screen now filled with something far more explicit than diagrams and narrations. She froze, mortified, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as if touching it again might somehow make things worse.

No one could see her in this spot. It was the most secluded area in the library, tucked away behind rows of dusty books that no one bothered to read anymore. She didn't like attention and preferred places where less people would notice her and here was perfect.

Her spot.

She knew she shouldn't watch it, yet she couldn't help herself.

Curiosity tugged at her, stronger than her better judgment. With trembling fingers, she tapped the play button, her headphones snug in place.

The video resumed, and she leaned in closer, as if the act of watching made her part of some forbidden secret.

The narrator's voice droned on, accompanied by a series of detailed diagrams. But then it happened another clip, brief but unmistakable, flashed across the screen.

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning as she hit pause, but her gaze lingered for a moment longer than she cared to admit.

The guilt hit her instantly, a weight in her chest as heavy as the silence surrounding her. She glanced around, half expecting someone to step out from the shadows, but she was alone. Completely, undeniably alone.

She watched with a mix of fascination and disbelief. It was intense raw in a way she hadn't expected.

The female on the screen took control, her movements deliberate, commanding, yet occasionally giving way to moans and pants of undeniable pleasure.

The sound reverberated in her headphones, so close and intimate it made her pulse quicken.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, unable to look away.

A thousand thoughts flickered through her mind, questions she didn't dare voice even to herself.

It was strange, overwhelming, and yet... she couldn't stop. Her cheeks burned as she leaned closer, her breath shallow, caught somewhere between curiosity and something she couldn't quite name.

This heat, foreign and unrelenting, pooled in her jeans. An ache she didn't fully understand.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to stop the video.

Instead, she found herself wondering, her thoughts straying into unfamiliar territory.

Would anyone ever touch her like that? Would anyone ever want to make her moan the way the woman in the clip did, her pleasure so palpable it seemed to radiate through the screen?

The thought sent a shiver through her, equal parts curiosity and shame.

She had never been touched like that, never allowed herself to even imagine it, and yet now she couldn't stop.

The idea of someone, of anyone seeing her, wanting her, consuming her in the way the couple on the screen consumed each other was intoxicating. Dangerous.

She swallowed hard, pulling her gaze from the screen and forcing herself to breathe.

The library's stillness pressed in around her, a silent reminder of where she was. She shouldn't be thinking these things, shouldn't be feeling them. But it was too late now. The questions lingered, refusing to let her go.

How could she make herself come apart like that?

The question throbbed in her mind as her hips instinctively rocked.

Her fingers hesitated at the waistband of her jeans, trembling with indecision. She couldn't. The words echoed in her ears like a warning: You're a prude. Shame and desire warred within her, making her chest tighten.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the distance, jolting her out of her thoughts. Her heart raced as she panicked, slamming the video off and returning to her anatomy book. Her cheeks burned, the flush betraying her guilt.

She didn't know when exhaustion claimed her, her head resting on her folded arms. The bright light filtering through the library's curtains was what finally roused her.

"Get up, Miss Frida. Don't you have classes?" The librarian's familiar voice was gentle but firm, pulling her from her groggy state.

Frida blinked, stretching as she realized where she was. She quickly gathered her things, her cheeks still warm from her earlier misstep.

As she stacked her books, her eyes caught a small red sticky note on the desk she'd been working at. Her breath hitched as she read the words scrawled in bold handwriting:

"I can give you pleasure like that."

Her stomach dropped, and her hands shook as she crumpled the note, looking around frantically.

The library was quiet, the few patrons scattered and absorbed in their own work. But someone had seen her, and worse, someone knew.