The Attention

I had been cloistered in the reading room since dinner time, now it was approaching closing.

The room was my preferred one - the door was tucked away, on the third floor of the library, set into a wall between two sets of shelves. Impossible to spot unless you were looking for it. Quiet. Some students treated the library like a social hub, which could be distracting. This was one space where you were unlikely to be interrupted.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, and there were two sets of stacks running parallel to each of the end walls. During the day, light was provided by a single narrow floor to ceiling window on the wall opposite the door. At night two fluorescent strip lights dangled humming from the drop ceiling, their light barely sufficient to illuminate the space. In the centre of the room was a heavy old fashioned table, with four chairs lined up on each side of it. I always sat on the second chair in, facing the door, which was a wooden swing type with a brass strip across the middle, stained wood and a small oblong glass panel at eye level.

I glanced up as the girl entered, through the creaking door, then did something of a double take.

I'd first started noticing her around six weeks ago, and I felt that since then I had seen her more and more.

She kept materializing in places I wouldn't have expected, always looking slightly out of place, but never uncomfortable: at a wild drunken house party, standing quietly in the corner in a vintage silk dress. At a warehouse rave. Sitting at the side, pointedly not dancing, wearing something that looked suspiciously like a mink stole.

Always alone, always apparently unbothered by this, looking slightly out of place and time.

She was pretty. Beautiful even. Small and fine boned, with heavy dark blonde hair and a porcelain complexion. Intense grey-green eyes and always a slight frown on her brow, like she was pondering something problematic.

More than once she caught me looking. I always looked away first, embarrassed.

Tonight she was wearing a white oxford shirt and tan corduroy pants.

Again she saw me looking.

She disappeared into the stacks like a little ghost. I could hear her moving. A finger running along the spines of the books. Her footfall on the floor. I tried to go back to my reading, but it was no use. I was distracted now. I felt like I was being watched.

Minutes passed. Suddenly she reappeared at the far end of the stacks carrying a book. She looked straight at me and walked down the table. She paused and pulled out the chair directly opposite me, setting down the book and the leather satchel she was carrying on the table.

I glanced at the book she had picked off the shelves - the reading room was world history. She had selected a history of Tristan da Cunha. I assumed incorrectly she must be a geography student.

She flipped the book open and began to read.

Without looking up she spoke. "Are you aware this room has a reputation as being a hook-up spot?" My ears pricked up. "Just thought you should be aware. You use it a lot, and you wouldn't want people to form the wrong opinion." She glanced up at me with what looked like a hint of amusement. I didn't know what to say.

"I didn't want to introduce myself until I was sure you had noticed me."

I was still processing this as she continued.

"I'm Camilla."

"James"

"I know." She nodded imperceptibly.

"How do you..." I trailed off.

"I made a point of finding out." She paused thoughtfully. The little frown appeared on her brow. "Why DO you use this reading room? It's not because the books link to your dissertation topic. Unless you really are using the room as a hook-up spot. Not my thing, just so we are absolutely clear." She paused again as if digesting the whole tableau. "The entire exhibitionist paradigm does nothing for me. I'd rather not be caught. I prefer comfort. Privacy."

It was my turn to frown. I was going to ask how she knew my dissertation topic, but decided to save my breath. "No, I'm not using the room as a hook-up spot. I use it because it's quiet - it was quiet - so I can actually study."

She nodded as if filing this away. Just at this point the library tannoy crackled to life, informing us that the library would close in five minutes. She gathered her things. "Come on then. It would be gentlemanly to walk me home. It's on your way."

Outside the campus was in the grips of autumn. A strange warm wind blew dead leaves across the dry paving stones, the moon glowed dark orange.

I found myself walking this strange girl across campus, carrying a tote bag full of her books. She looked smaller when stood alongside me; petite and delicate. She was also even more strikingly beautiful than my initial assessment. She had an economy of movement, and a lack of animation in her face that made it all the more compelling when she did something or when her expression changed.

During the walk I found out that she was a freshman, studying English literature. That she had a fascination with remote islands (Tristan da Cunha was a favourite, as was Amsterdam Island). That she was the adoptive daughter of two academics. That she stayed rent free in a room in an extremely ancient university building, in exchange for performing some undefined caretaking duties.

And that she knew far more about me than she should. She let little nuggets slip. About my routine. About places I'd been where she had seen me but I hadn't seen her.

She watched me and listened to me talk with a fierce look of attention on her face, asking occasional questions. It was a level of conversational focus I was unused to. At one point I contradicted the details of my own story and she immediately challenged me on it. I had the feeling that she had some sort of expectation of me. It was daunting. I shouldn't have felt daunted - I barely knew this girl. It was also, in an odd way flattering. To have that quality of attention focussed on you in such an undivided manner.

She directed me to a strange whitewashed building that was built into one of the original walls built around the college from which the university had sprung. "My lodgings."

I walked her to the door.

She looked at me coolly. "I shan't invite you in this evening if you don't mind. But I will see you soon. Goodnight James." She took the tote bag from me and without a glance back unlocked the door to the building and disappeared up a flight of stairs.

I thought about my encounter with the strange girl a lot over the next few days. I should probably have been more concerned about some of the more disquieting elements. But truth be told I was slightly fascinated by her otherness. And I was outright intrigued to why she had apparently chosen me as the object of her attention.

Over the proceeding days I felt like I was being watched. I convinced myself that this was simply a psychological reaction to the knowledge that I had been watched previously. The campus was busy. The homecoming football game was coming up, as was Halloween. Drunken gaggles of students lurched from one party to another in the evenings. Clumps of mushrooms sprouted from the dead leaves at the foot of every tree.

I didn't see her for several days.

Then the following Wednesday I opened my curtains and looked out my window. I had slept in late. She was sitting on a bench facing the entrance to my residence reading a book, lost, apparently in a world of her own. She was wearing a rust coloured suede coat with a faux fur collar and a moss green knee length skirt. I watched her for a minute. She didn't glance up, but for some reason I felt that she had registered my presence. I dressed quickly and headed downstairs. I headed for the bench.

"Camilla."

As I approached she carefully closed the book and stood, smoothing her skirt daintily as she did.

"Good morning James."

"What are you doing here?"

"I hadn't seen you for several days - you haven't been in your usual spot in the library. I hope my comment about the hook-up spot didn't upset you, it was to a degree tongue in cheek."

I couldn't help but smile "No, I've just had a break for a couple of days."

She gave me an appraising look. "That's worryingly unspecific. Nonetheless, I was hoping for your company today, as you don't have any classes on a Wednesday."

She was correct, and again I was left questioning how she knew this.

I should have said no. It was an intrusion again. The girl was a walking red flag, but I'm unfortunately a sucker for a pretty face. "What did you have in mind?"

She indicated a large bag on the bench next to her which I hadn't noticed. "I was hoping you would join me for a walk in the forest by the river. I've made a picnic. Tuna and cheese sandwiches. Some nibbles. I baked a sponge cake. And fruit salad - no bananas." I was allergic to bananas. This had not come up in our previous brief conversation.

I nodded assent. "Let me go up and get changed into more appropriate clothes." She looked like she was about to follow me. "Wait here. I'll only be a few minutes."

When I returned she was seated with the book open again. "Lead the way."

She rose and handed me the picnic bag.

She clearly had the spot in mind from the outset. It was a clearing near the river bank, tucked away near a curve in the river. You were on the outskirts of a town but wouldn't know. No buildings in view, no bridges or paths overlooking you. As close to solitude as you could be in a built up area.

She laid an insulated picnic blanket down and proceeded to start laying out the food. I wandered over and peered at the river, brown and sluggish as it wound past us. I returned to the blanket and sat, maintaining a careful distance. "A regular haunt?"

She shook her head. "I have places I go. Just like you. When I want to be alone. To think."

A silence stretched. She picked up a sandwich and took a bite. "I picked correctly."

I frowned at this context-free statement. "What do you mean?"

"When I approached you. I was going to do it a few days before. But something told me the time wasn't right. And I'm glad that I followed that instinct."

"Because here we are...?"

"Indeed.

"What do you want from me Camilla?"

"Have a sandwich" she casually proffered the tuna sandwiches to me, before returning to the question. "Your attention. Completely. You already have mine. It only seems fair."

I nearly choked on the sandwich. "Whoah. That is a lot!"

She nodded mildly. "It may seem a little overwhelming. But you should understand. I don't give my attention easily. I didn't just wake up one morning and pick you. It was a carefully weighted decision. And now the decision is made I can't undo it. So regardless of your feelings, I'm afraid I can't simply withdraw my interest."

I stared at her. "You'll forgive me Camilla, but this sounds pretty heavy?"

"Only if it is made that way." She smiled slightly. "And I think you might come to enjoy my attention."

I opened my mouth to say something; I'm not even sure what, but it was too late.

Camilla was already moving towards me, unhurried and unconcerned and crossed the small space between us on her knees, the picnic blanket and the dead leaves beneath rustling as she moved. She didn't say anything, just placed her right hand on my left cheek. She looked up at me. I hadn't noticed the coppery flecks in her eyes before.

She leant in and kissed me. It wasn't tentative. She kissed me with confidence. Certainty. Like this moment had been pre-ordained.

I should have pulled away, but as her hand snaked round to the back of my neck I found myself kissing back.

My hand went to her midriff. I could feel her slim waist through the thin blouse she was wearing. She gave a little squirm - the tiniest hint of her composure faltering.

She pulled back from the kiss, her hand still at the back of my head and gave a satisfied little half smile, her eyes lidded with pleasure. "That's what my attention feels like."

She leant back in and kissed me again. This time it was deeper, less controlled. Her other hand was on my chest. I let my own hand roam down her back and halt just above the curve of her buttocks.

When she finally broke the kiss I sighed. "I don't know what I am doing here."

She looked at me with an inscrutable expression. "You are doing exactly what I hoped you would." She smoothed the hair at the back of my neck gently. "I told you. I chose carefully." She leant in again.

I walked her home afterwards. Twilight was gathering early and the early evening was crisp. She slipped her hand into mine as we walked. I didn't pull away.

When we reached her lodgings she kissed me again, gently this time, as if she was resting having overcome some obstacle. "Goodnight James." She disappeared inside, turning to smile at me before ascending the stairs.

Later that week problems arose.

It was Halloween night and I had a rare social engagement. I was meeting Angie, an old undergraduate friend who was in town, for a meal. She had always been a bit of a gastronome, so I'd booked us a table for two in a new restaurant that had opened in town. It was gaining good reviews and enough buzz that a table was hard to come by. I thought she would be impressed.

However, when we arrived a scene ensued. The maitre'd couldn't find my reservation, in spite of my insistence that I had one. He checked surrounding days to make sure I hadn't booked in error - no luck. Eventually he checked the cancellations. "Ah here we are, the young lady called this afternoon and cancelled."

Angie looked at him blankly "I didn't even know we were coming here - how could I have cancelled...?" A queue had started to build behind us. It was turning into a scene. We left.

We ended up in the noisy pub next door, eating overpriced bar snacks while being jostled by drunks in fancy dress.

Angie shouted over the noise "Something else weird happened today... I think someone is messing with you..." She proffered her phone. A message from an unknown number. Telling her that I might not be in the right "frame of mind" for a big date, because I was "otherwise involved." The tone was bizarre. And had a tang of familiarity. Just as I was trying to explain it away as a prank, the crowd at the bar cleared for a second and I saw a reveller in a very peculiar costume, standing very still beside the bar.

It was a Victorian lace mourning dress. Not a typical cheap costume - this looked authentic, capped off with a widow's veil obscuring the figure's face. I only caught a glimpse, but could have sworn I saw a lock of dark blonde hair escaping the petite figure's veil. The crowd rearranged, and she was gone.

The next evening I found her serenely engrossed in a book about South Atlantic whaling in the reading room. I stood across the table from her. "Did you cancel my restaurant reservation last night?" I was still furious at the embarrassment.

She glanced up at me calmly "Good evening James."

Her mannered response irritated me. "Well? Did you?" I could feel my blood rising.

She sighed patiently "You sound like you've already decided I did it."

"That's not a denial."

She slowly closed the book and placed her hands on top of it. She looked me square in the eyes "No. It isn't."

I was flabbergasted. "You can't just do these things. I take it you messaged Angie too? You had no right. She's an old friend, that's all." I suddenly felt like I was the one having to explain myself.

She looked at me with infinite patience "I'm aware of that. But I really couldn't see any good coming from a night of reminisces."

I could feel my anger peaking. "You don't get to decide that!"

She stood and slowly rounded the table to stand in front of me. She was wearing a strange white sailors dress and brogues, with her hair pinned up. She looked both young and deadly serious.

"When I said I needed your complete attention I meant it." She gave a wry little shake of her head. "I don't share well."

While I was still digesting this she reached up and adjusted the collar of my shirt, an action so incongruous to the current situation it completely caught me off guard. When she was done she left her hand resting on my collarbone.

"I'm furious at you."

She continued looking up at me "I know. You are allowed to be." Her hand slid up to the back of my neck. "Stay angry if you like."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me slowly and sensuously.

In spite of everything I kissed her back.

She broke the kiss eventually. "Come back to my room." She took my hand and led me out of the library.

When we reached her lodging she unlocked the door and led me up the winding stairs, which smelt of museum dust and old newspapers.

At the top of the stairs she unbolted the heavy wooden door.

Her room was astonishing. The unfinished stone walls were whitewashed, and the creaky wooden floors were likely the originals. The room was immaculate and meticulously decorated. There was a small stained glass window with a seat set into the sill. Her bed was small, but made up with military precision, with a deep green duvet set complimented by green and copper throw cushions. A mid-century modern armchair sat in the opposite corner, with a reading lamp craned over it and an orderly bookshelf beside it. Beside it was the door to the kitchen.

Camilla crossed the room and lit two candles on a long unfinished wooden shelf above the bed.

She turned and looked at me as if expecting some comment.

"It's very... tidy." It came out sounding like a question. It was quite unlike any 19 year old woman's bedroom I had ever seen.

She nodded "I don't like disorder. I find it unsettling. I prefer that everything has its place."

I looked at her unnerved "Including me?"

A hint of a smile flickered across her face. "Especially you." The candlelight flickered off her pale skin. "I've thought about exactly where you belong for some time now." She stepped in front of the bed.

"Are you still angry?"

I nodded mutely.

"Good." She unbuttoned the collar of her dress and lifted it over her head. "It's pleasing to know I elicit strong feelings." She stood between me and the bed wearing a simple unstructured white silk bra and matching high waisted panties. She looked in no way self conscious.

She looked at me and bit her lip.

Her hand strayed down into her panties.

"You have no idea how long I've been imagining this." She closed her eyes languidly. When she reopened them she stared straight in my eyes. "My little flower is so wet for you."

It was such a strange phrase that it threw me for a second. She spotted this.

"Get undressed." She commanded breathily.

I stripped down to my underpants and, not knowing what to do with them, held my clothes in a bundle.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, her hand moving inside her panties. She looked at me with exasperation. "Drop them." A little breath escaped her. "Stop being so awkward, come over here and have your way with me. Now." She slid her panties off, climbed on to the bed properly and laid back.

I dumped my clothes on the floor, crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. She had spread her legs wide. I knelt between them. Her pussy was beautiful, a shocking pink against her porcelain skin, with golden blonde pubic hair nearly trimmed into a little strip, and slightly matted with her own wetness. Her hand moved down again, but not to touch herself this time, instead reaching into my underpants, grabbing my rapidly growing erection and skillfully extracting it.

She stroked me in her hand a couple of times, looking up at me with a mixture of determination and arousal. "I would like to feel every inch of your manhood."

I let her pull me towards her, literally leading me by the cock. I shuffled forward. She rubbed the head of my erection against her wet opening. "You can touch me wherever you want. I've no objections to however you want to handle me."

She continued teasing herself with my cock. She looked up at me and nodded. "Now. Slowly. I want to feel the whole of you."

I slid my cock into her as slow as I could. She was wet and grippingly tight, and she felt in no way as fragile as she looked, in fact I was shocked by her strength as she gripped me between her hips. I slid in until I was completely buried in her. We both just lay there for a minute breathing.

She was the one who spoke. "I don't believe I've ever wanted something with such clarity before." She shifted and rocked below me, drawing me ever deeper. She repeated the motion. "I'm finding I quite like it like this. Now. Do not hold back." She made a more vigorous movement which I reciprocated. She repeated it, as did I. It slowly built into a rhythm. She was quiet. Her facial expression remained serious. She didn't attempt to kiss me. She just held eye contact with me, her arms wrapped around my neck, her movements drawing me deeper in and harder against her.

I could feel her body tensing, her wetness increasing, just as I am sure she could feel the approach of my orgasm as it tightened my muscles and sinews. She gave a little gasp. "You may finish inside me. I've decided I would like that." It was matter of fact. Not dirty talk. Just factual.

I felt my orgasm approaching. "Oh God. I'm going to come."

She held my gaze throughout, the only hint of her losing herself, her mouth forming into a little o at the point of my release.

I slumped on top of her in the aftermath and kissed her cheek and chin. She was quiet. After a few minutes she quietly said "Excuse me," clambered out from under me and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She returned a few minutes later, climbed into the bed and shifted me so she could get under the sheets. I nuzzled into her. She rolled away from me so my face was pressed against her upper back. "You can stay if you would like." She said it without expectation or warmth.

I made a contented little sound of affirmation and drifted towards sleep.

I've no idea when I woke. It was the sensation that had hauled me from the pit of sleep. It was pitch dark. As my eyes adapted I saw Camilla's pale form, completely nude, kneeling astride me, gently stroking my cock with one hand and rolling my balls in the other. "Good. You are awake. I mean to have you again."

In a blissful state of half-sleep I watched as she released her grip on my balls and straightened, still holding my cock, before lowering herself inexorably onto me. She sighed. "Oh my." She didn't wait for any encouragement. She started riding me with an energy and enthusiasm that I had not anticipated. Her breasts, which were both pert and considerably larger than I anticipated, pushed out as she planted her hands on my chest, throwing her hair back. She ground and rode rhythmically for several minutes, her movements eventually becoming less rhythmic and coordinated as her climax washed over her. A little whimper escaped her. Her pace slowed, but she continued grinding her pelvis against me, slowly increasing her pace until within a few minutes she was riding me again, this time much harder than previously, her pelvis thumping against me as she used my cock to make herself come again. She planted her hands either side of my face, her breasts dangling tantalizingly over my mouth as she panted through the last of it. At length she spoke. My full length was still inside her. "You haven't reached completion yet." It was a statement rather than a question. She raised herself off me, sighing as she did. In the dark I watched her ghostly figure crouch next to my groin. I realised she had left a little wet puddle just above my pubis.

She took my still slick cock in both her hands, her left hand gripping the base and her right jerking me off firmly but gently. I'm usually not a huge fan of handjobs, but this was expertly executed. She watched me almost curiously as I quickly became increasingly aroused. I felt an orgasm approaching. She made no concessions and continued jerking me until I came all over my own stomach and groin. Without a word she climbed off the bed and returned with a handful of tissues, with which she cleaned me gently and carefully. She flushed them down the toilet before returning to bed, again turning her back into me and falling asleep.

I was woken again what felt like a short time later. Camilla was standing over the bed in a silk robe. "Get up."

I looked at her incredulously. "What time is it?"

"5.30am. You are interfering with my morning routine."

"What?!"

She put her hands on her hips. "You need to leave now. I mean it."

I bumbled out of bed and started struggling into the bundle of clothes I had deposited at the foot of the bed the previous night. "Sorry have I done something to annoy you?"

She cast her eyes skywards. "Don't be juvenile." She didn't elaborate.

I gathered myself and patted my pockets down to make sure I had my phone, keys and wallet. I wasn't sure what to do or say. As I made for the door she called after me. "James."

I stopped, my hand at the door handle.

"I will see you later." With that she turned and started stripping the bed clothes off.

Things shifted a little after that night. We were intimate again twice more. Both times we met in the evening at the library, and she asked me, ordered me really, to come home with her.

About three weeks later though there was another incident. This one truly unsettling.

Winter had arrived on the campus, dry and cold, with a sky that matched the colour of the university's granite spires.

My dissertation supervisor, Professor Marise Guerin, was the sort of woman many men find intimidating; accomplished, serious and with a communication style that was direct, bordering on blunt. We had built a good working relationship thus far, and she had been full of praise for my work, so her feedback on the latest chapter of my dissertation was unexpected.

She savaged it. I sat across the desk from her in her office, lit by strange little windows high in the wall, while she completely dismantled nearly a month's worth of work. I'm not used to academic criticism, so it really bit; she wasn't unkind, but her feedback was laser focussed and extremely pointed. She closed the meeting suggesting that if my next draft of the chapter wasn't a significant improvement I would need to seriously reconsider my course of study.

I was in low spirits when Camilla found me in the library that evening. Not having anyone else to tell, I blurted the whole story out to her. She nodded sympathetically. She held my hand across the table. She told me I had a "brilliant mind". She did all the things that the perfect girlfriend would. Later she took me back to her apartment, made me a huge dinner and then tucked me into her bed. As she lay with her back to me in the bed I expressed my gratitude. She sat up and gave me an annoyed face.

"You're mine. That means I look after you." She lay back down without another word and went to sleep.

At my meeting with Professor Guerin the following week she was distracted. There had been a kind of domestic drama. Someone had let down all four of the tyres on her car during the night. They hadn't just let the tyres down; they had pushed dried lentils into the valve, meaning the tyres couldn't be reinflated, and would all have to be replaced. I frowned at this story but didn't want to make the leap my brain was nudging me towards in the background.

Two days later an email arrived summoning me to her office. On her desk was a draft of my latest chapter. I feared another academic dismantling, but the look of worry on the professor's face suggested something else.

She pushed the printed piece across the desk to me. "Skim through this quickly."

Three quarters of the way through I saw it. A new paragraph. Formatted perfectly to fit with the rest of the text. It concluded: "Professor Guerin's ongoing interest in my personal life exceeds what I understand to be appropriate. I wish to raise this in writing should anything happen to either of us."

I sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"I didn't write this!"

She looked at me sadly. "I believe you. And it certainly wasn't in the draft that we reviewed last week. Someone has accessed my office. Nothing else is out of place. Just this."

I felt the colour drain from my face. She went on. "That's not all. Someone has been outside my house. At least twice this week I've seen them, standing in the little park across the road at night. I know that sounds paranoid, but it feels like they are watching..." She looked thoroughly perturbed. "James - is there something I need to know?"

I've never been angrier.

Camilla wasn't in the library that evening. I headed straight for her lodgings. The front door was unlocked. I took the stairs two at a time and banged on the door. Her voice came back light and unconcerned. "Enter."

I opened the door. Camilla was lying sprawled on the bed, which was now adorned in simple white cotton sheets.

She was wearing an ivory silk gown, which was lying open, revealing a moss green underwear set, also in silk, with white lace trimmings, and nude stockings. A string of pearls hung round her neck.

"Good. You are here."

"Did you break into Professor Guerin's office?"

She rolled over languorously. "Good evening to you too James."

"Did you?!"

"I wanted her to understand the situation clearly. And sometimes actions speak louder than words."

I looked at her aghast. "Camilla - she's terrified. She thinks someone is going to harm her."

Camilla scoffed "Don't be ridiculous. I would never do anything like that. I only wanted her to treat you fairly." She paused and something almost like embarrassment briefly flitted across her face. "And to stop looking at you the way she does."

I lost my cool at this point. "Jesus Christ Camilla. What are you talking about? What way she looks at me? You are completely imagining this." I stopped for a breath. I realised I had raised my voice "This isn't how normal people act."

She rolled on to her back and stretched languidly. "I've never claimed to behave like other people. I would have thought you would have realised this by now."

"I can't deal with this anymore Camilla."

She sat up slowly, unconcerned, and let the robe fall from her shoulders. She ran a hand across her collarbone sensually.

"Camilla..."

"I'm listening, continue" she unclipped the front fastener on her bra, and opened it, again letting it fall from her shoulders. She ran her hands up the alabaster skin of her torso, cupping her breasts once, her nipples erect.

"This can't go on..."

She rose from the bed and turned her back to me, then without ceremony she slid her panties off before kneeling on the bed. She turned and looked over her shoulder at me, her face a mixture of arousal and irritation. "I see. Are you quite finished?" The coldness of her response chilled me, even as I felt myself growing hard.

She reached down and placed her hands on her ass, parting her cheeks slightly. "I want you to bugger me James. I would like you to be very intentional. There is lubricant on my night stand."

I watched stunned as she strayed a finger down and circled her anus with it.

I knew I shouldn't. I should leave. Probably report her to someone. But the image of this beautiful girl bent over, looking back at me expectantly was too much.

I undressed at speed and moved to the bed. I started to gently touch her tight ring. She looked up at me in annoyance. "You don't need to touch me like I'm a china doll. I've fully prepared myself. Take me. Now."

I dropped some lube on myself and on her hole, and pushed against it. I slipped in with more ease than I expected. But the squeeze was crushingly tight. I started to move slowly. She pushed herself up on all fours and pushed back against me. I thrust into her harder. As always she was near silent, but I could see goosebumps rise on her skin.

I started to build a rhythm. My senses were frayed. The incredible tightness, fuelling my arousal, the plane of her back stretching out in front of me, the herbal scent of the candles that burnt above the bed mingling with her shampoo. I didn't feel fully in control.

She arched her back and sat up, keeping her behind where it was but leaning her head back into my chest. Her left hand reached up and around and tangled in my hair. "What were you going to say earlier?" she breathed in my ear.

I couldn't speak, I was so overwhelmed.

A little smile played on her lips "I thought so." It was said with satisfaction, not cruelty. "You are mine. You have been for a while now whether you knew it or not. And I won't share you with anyone. Ever."

For some reason her words served to arouse me further. I could feel an orgasm building. "Fuck Camilla... I am going to come..."

She dropped back to all fours, not breaking her rhythm. "Then do it. Anywhere you like. I am yours completely."

I pulled out and came on her ass. I slumped back on my haunches as I watched my come trickle down her ass cheeks, and into the cleft.

She turned to me and smiled. Then leant in and gently kissed me. "I'm glad that's all settled then. Can you fetch me some tissues from the bathroom please?"

As I walked home at 5.30am, having been ejected so as not to interfere with Camilla's mysterious morning routine, the bitter wind that whipped me matched the cold hollow feeling in my gut.

She had taken advantage of me. Again. I felt weak and foolish, that all it took was the promise of sex and I would back down from whatever stand I was trying to take. I was conscious also of a vague feeling of unease, intimidation almost. What would happen if I put my foot down? The fact was that under it all I was drawn to her. And that was something that I couldn't fully account for. But I realised that I needed to reflect and decide what to do.

What I ended up doing was the textbook coward's approach. I hid. I went home for a long weekend. Stayed with my parents. Ate their food, sat up late watching horror movies and pro wrestling. Life felt simple - it was like visiting a theme park. But at the back of my mind was the question of how I dealt with Camilla.

When I arrived back on campus the following week I continued to procrastinate. I dodged her. I stayed away from the library. I kept the curtains drawn in my room. I lived out of computer labs and canteens of other departments she wouldn't look in - the agricultural college, the medical school. I figured maybe this would work. A few days distance might distract her. Her attention might alight elsewhere. I also toyed with the nuclear option - tell someone everything. My friends wouldn't believe me. I feared for my academic future if I told Professor Guerin or another member of the faculty. I felt guilty for the things Camilla had done. Like I had somehow encouraged her.

In reality I managed two weeks of this.

I was sitting in a quiet corner of the law library at a big desk adjacent to one of the high sash windows when a shadow passed over the textbook I was scrutinizing. I knew exactly who it was. I didn't look up, but could sense her pulling herself up onto the deep windowsill and curling her legs up.

Eventually I glanced up. She had her nose in a book. She looked beautiful; the low winter sun through the window made her hair look golden, and the highlights in her eyes seemed to glow. She was dressed like she had been the first time we spoke, white oxford shirt, tan three quarter length corduroys.

She didn't look up from the book. "Fascinating. Do you know what stranded whalers did when abandoned on Kerguelen Island in the 19th century?" I didn't react. "They found the perfect source of food and heat." I ignored her still. "Penguins. They rendered them whole." I winced at this grotesque image. She continued. "They have a layer of subcutaneous fat that took an age to melt down, so the fires kept burning for a long time. And the meat that was left, while disgusting in flavour, was the perfect high protein food those poor souls needed to survive. Can you imagine?"

I looked up at her now.

She looked down at me angelically. "You've been avoiding me James. I don't know what you are thinking."

I went to speak, but she kept going. "You know I'll simply keep finding you. This isn't some silly game you can win." She hopped off the window sill and walked away. "Are you coming?"

Without even thinking I closed my book and followed her.

Her room, when we arrived, was immaculate as always. She took her shoes off and sat down on the bed. She patted the bed next to her. For want of anything else to do I sat with a sigh. "I don't know what to do about any of this."

She smiled softly. "You don't need to do anything. I'm here to make the decisions so you don't have to worry my sweet."

She had never used a term of endearment before when talking to me. I looked at her. "Camilla, you have sabotaged my relationship with one of my oldest friends. I think my academic supervisor is actively avoiding me, you have scared her so badly."

She gave me a patient look and took my hand. "I told you what I was like when we first met. If we are going to be together you have to accept me as a whole. Anything else would be cruel."

"So what now?"

She smiled again. "Reconcile yourself to the facts. Stop pretending there is some version of this where you walk away. I will look after you. You will let me. And you will come to cherish that. The same way I cherish you."

Outside the afternoon was being subsumed by the gloaming.

I stayed. In truth some part of me always knew that I would.

She started unbuttoning her blouse. "Now relax. You're not going anywhere. We have forever..."