The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1

by Croft, Pippa

  ‘You’ve driven me mad for two weeks.’ His voice resonates against my ribcage. As he looks up at me again, I catch my breath at the intensity of desire I see in his eyes. ‘Do you have to look like this?’

  ‘Like what?’

  He slides my mini over my legs to the top of my thigh-highs. ‘Like this. Sexy, maddening, so fuckable I’ve almost broken down your door every night since the ball.’

  I exhale sharply as he hitches my skirt higher over my butt. His palms rest on my hip bones then slowly, agonizingly, he slides my panties down over my hips to the tops of my thighs. I can’t hide how much I want him now and, more important, I don’t want to.

  Dropping my skirt, I push him back on to my bed and he pulls me down on top of him. Finesse has gone. We scrabble at each other’s clothes in our lust to get to each other’s bodies. A button pings off his shirt as I struggle to kick off my boots and panties. My bra’s gone too and when he kisses my nipples, I cry out. Above the heat and weight of his body, I’m aware of my nakedness and complete exposure to him.

  But I’m not going to stop.

  And he knows it from my moan of sheer ecstasy as he presses down on my clit with the pad of his thumb.

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  His gentle strokes on my swollen nub make me shiver and force whimpers of pleasure from my lips. My breathing is fast and shallow, but I don’t care any more. When he trails his fingers through the stick moistness of my pussy, I buck my hips. I’m already on the edge of coming, right here on top of him. I don’t have any doubts this time, or none I want to recognize now. I want Alexander inside me, filling me up.

  The leather of his belt is stiff as I free it from the buckle. My fingers struggle with the button fly of his jeans and his hand closes around mine.

  ‘Wait.’

  The single bed creaks as he climbs off it. Propping myself up on my elbows, I drink in the sight of him, stripping off his trousers and boxer shorts in front of my eyes.

  My body spasms with desire for him. He’s broad-shouldered and bare-chested and I realize it is the first time I have seen him without the barrier of clothes or uniform. His body has a restrained power, with its lean tight sinews and smooth skin stretched taut over muscles. He finds a condom from his wallet and sheathes himself while I imprint every detail on my mind, so I can recall the moment when I first saw him naked.

  There are tan lines on his neck and arms. Dark springy hair dusts the centre of his chest and arrows down to his navel and groin. Broad shoulders balance a narrow waist, and the hard guns and ridges of muscle on his stomach testify to the life he leads that he won’t tell me about. As does the puckering of white flesh, a thin angry line a couple of inches long, beneath his left shoulder blade.

  No need for words. We both know what we want and I straddle him as he lies back on my bed. His fingers tighten under my bottom and he guides me on to his shaft. As the tip nudges inside me, I cry out. I can feel his thighs grow rigid beneath me and his cock swells and hardens until he’s stretching me to the limit. I’m full of Alexander and it feels as if I’ve been waiting for this for ever. He slides in deeper until my bottom rests on his thighs and I moan as I take him all the way in.

  His eyes cloud with concern. ‘Is this OK?’

  ‘Amazing.’

  It’s all he needs. He pushes upwards, his cock nudging at the very core of me. I have to brace my hands on the bed, clutching at the cover. He thumbs my clitoris, sliding through the wetness.

  ‘Is that good? I want it to be good for you.’

  ‘It’s good … Believe me, it’s good.’ He carries on stroking me and I know I can’t take much more because the tell-tale pulse of my climax ripples out from my sex. My climax starts to fizz through my limbs as the outside world recedes.

  Springs creak, and the headboard bangs the wall as Alexander groans and lifts me off the bed with his hips. He has both hands around my thighs now, but I don’t need him to touch me any more. I’m on my way and nothing can stop me as he thrusts into me hard and fast. Our breathing is a ragged mess, sweat pours off us and the whole room feels as if it might collapse as we fuck each other like we’re fighting for our lives. The last thing I remember before his body goes rigid as iron is the intensity on his face. Then my own orgasm explodes through me, and feels as if it will go on for ever.

  The bedcover is soft under my skin. The air is chilly over my breasts yet my arm and shoulder are hot and sticky. The sharp scent of sweat and sex clings to the air. I don’t know how long I have been here, perhaps thirty seconds, perhaps a few minutes. I have no way of judging, but I know I am lying on my back, with Alexander’s naked body pressed against me.

  I turn my head and his face is inches from my hair, his eyes closed with faint shadows beneath. His breathing is rhythmic and steady. He’s still and silent now yet the image of his face as he came inside me so violently is etched on my mind. It was pain, need, anger, release. Who knows? I don’t think I ever saw that much intensity before. Have I done that to him? Was it release or triumph or aggression? I only have one other man to compare it to but Todd … deep down, I know there is no comparison and that does scare me and I don’t know why.

  The room is bathed in light of the darkest blue and I shiver as the unheated air licks at my sweat-sheened skin. The chimes of the clock filter through my window, muffled yet unmistakeable. There’s a real world out there, beyond this room, beyond the cloistered walls of this college. Beyond Oxford. Fighting wars, killing, a dirty, bloody business, and Alexander is at the very heart of it. In entering his world, even at the fringe, those things have edged their way into my world now.

  He opens his eyes. He isn’t smiling but he looks at peace. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asks me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘No regrets that you’ve screwed the enemy.’

  ‘You’re not my enemy.’

  He rolls over on to his stomach and levers himself up on his elbow. He touches my nose with his and whispers, ‘Thank God, we got that one clear.’

  He is naked, face down on my bed and I can’t take my eyes from his body. His toes hang over the end of my single bed, and his calves are bunched muscle beneath a smooth curve of skin. Above the taut hamstrings, his butt is just awesome, sculpted and firm with big powerful glutes.

  ‘What?’ he demands.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’

  ‘You’re checking out my arse, aren’t you?’

  I blush a little. ‘Is it a crime?’

  ‘No, but it’s … a little disconcerting.’

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to have finally disconcerted Alexander Hunt.’

  Chapter Ten

  Alexander washes in the vanity unit of my little closet and then dresses by the muted light of the bedside lamp. I am still naked, but he has pulled the cover over me to keep me warm and drawn the curtains to shut out the October evening. We could have stayed in bed all evening, but he’s told me he wants to take me out to dinner ‘to keep my strength up’, he says, and I think I may humour him. I watch him shrug his shorts and jeans on and pick his shirt up from the rug by my desk

  ‘Fuck.’

  I feel a frisson of triumph as we both notice the missing button. It’s halfway down the front of his shirt so he can’t leave it open or tuck it in his trousers.

  ‘Call it a war trophy,’ I say.

  ‘If you’re going to wreck my clothes like this every time we have sex, I’ll need to bring a spare supply with me.’

  That phrase ‘every time’ does exciting things to my body.

  Giving up on the shirt, he shrugs and swivels my office chair round to face me. It’s one thing being naked while we’re making love, quite another to display myself in front of him while he watches. He sits up straight in the chair, forearms resting on the arms, legs spread apart, and says, ‘Your turn.’

  Those eyes don’t leave me for a second as I push back the bed cover and rest my feet on the boards. The p
olished planks are cool and smooth beneath my soles. I lost my thigh-highs to him the second time we had sex and I spot them now, one draped over the waste bin, the other next to it.

  ‘Would you care to pass me my robe, please? It’s on the armchair.’

  He folds his arms. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I have to take a shower and get changed. I can’t go to a restaurant in the nude.’

  ‘Mmm. Perhaps not, but I’d like to see it.’

  I’m laughing, but I’m also fizzing and wet again. We will both die of hunger if one of us doesn’t get out of this room. ‘Maybe I can get my thigh-highs back, then?’

  He frowns then breaks out in a grin. ‘Ah, you mean these?’ He gets out of his chair and retrieves them from the floor. ‘Thigh-highs? That’s a much better description than hold-ups. I like it and you can wear these, with my blessing.’

  ‘Why, thank you, sir.’

  Once he’s back in my chair, he watches me as I roll the stockings up my legs.

  ‘Um. I need to put some fresh panties on before I go to the bathrooms.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because …’

  His blue eyes twinkle. ‘I’d rather you didn’t wear any at all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’d like you to come out to dinner without any knickers on.’

  My hesitation makes him smile. ‘It’s not a crime, Lauren, and only you and I will know about it.’

  He pushes himself out of the chair. ‘You can wear a top, if you must, but only because I don’t want the rest of the male population seeing your incredible breasts.’

  ‘You are outrageous.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate to be predictable. And there’s something else. I want you to wear this.’

  He picks up his jacket from the floor and reaches into an inside pocket in the silk lining. Light glimmers as he pulls out the Cartier necklace I rejected. He holds it up and the diamonds sparkle in the lamplight.

  ‘You kept it.’ My voice is quiet.

  He comes over to me, kisses the back of my neck. I am still naked except for the black thigh-highs and in the mirror above the washbasin, I see a girl with flushed cheeks and tangled blonde hair whose eyes shine with sex and happiness.

  ‘You look like a Parisian courtesan,’ he whispers. ‘Will you accept the necklace now?’

  ‘It’s beautiful …’

  ‘I know that. I spent an hour choosing it myself.’

  ‘I’d love to accept it, not because it cost a lot of money but because you want me to have it. I can’t believe you didn’t return it to the store after I sent the courier away. Most men would have given up.’

  His smile is slight and knowing. I should be annoyed at his nerve yet I’m only excited.

  ‘Vincit qui patitur’ he says quietly before kissing my neck.

  ‘What’s that? The family motto?’

  ‘Of course.’ His hands are on my breastbone, draping the necklace round my neck where the diamonds shimmer with a rosy fire.

  ‘Oh, of course. And what does that mean? “Live long and prosper”?’

  He shoots me such a look. ‘You’re laughing at me, Lauren.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare … but what does it mean?’

  ‘He conquers who endures.’ His mouth quirks in a smile as he fastens the clasp on the necklace. It lies perfectly across my décolletage as if it were made especially for me.

  ‘Wow. That’s one hell of a motto to live up to, but thank you for the necklace. You must know how much I love it.’ I turn round, resting my hands on his waist.

  ‘I hoped you would. Thank you for accepting it and, please, never think that I’m trying to buy you again.’ He trails a finger down my spine, resting his palm over one butt cheek.

  ‘I’ll try not to.’ Standing on tiptoes, I kiss him.

  ‘Much as it pains me to say this, you’d better get dressed or we may well be found by your scout in three weeks’ time, dead of starvation.’

  ‘But with smiles on our faces?’

  He gives my bottom a sharp slap.

  ‘Ow. That’s outrageous and sexist!’

  ‘It is, but I don’t give a toss. Now get dressed, please, before I do something genuinely outrageous.’

  In the end, I decide on a sapphire-blue silky top I bought last season but haven’t had the chance to wear yet, teamed with my favourite black mini. It’s a bit of a risk when I’m also going sans panties, but what the hell. While I’ve freshened up, brushed out my bed-head hair and applied a little mascara and gloss, Alexander has evidently made a few phone calls because a silver Bentley Continental with tinted windows is waiting for us on the street outside the Lodge.

  ‘Is this your car?’

  Alexander smiles. ‘Not mine, strictly speaking, but I do have the use of it. Now, please get in before I cancel dinner and take you straight back to bed.’

  Twenty minutes later, the driver, who needs no direction, opens the doors for us outside a manor house deep in the Oxfordshire countryside. Its honeyed stone facade seems vaguely familiar to me though I’ve never been here before. Alexander takes my hand and we walk up the gravelled path to the front door, then I see the name: Le Manoir.

  ‘I’ve seen this place before, on TV. It’s owned by a French chef.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you know him.’

  ‘Not personally, no.’

  The door opens and a hostess greets us. ‘Good evening, Mr Hunt, sir. Miss Cusack.’

  He flashes her a smile that has her virtually melting on to the flagstones. ‘Hello, Sarah.’

  ‘So you don’t know Monsieur Blanc but you know the place well enough to get a table at an hour’s notice,’ I murmur as Sarah leads us into the restaurant. Alexander squeezes my hand and whispers back.

  ‘I called in a favour.’

  There’s an ice bucket on a stand next to our table, which overlooks the moonlit gardens. Alexander pulls back my seat for me and I descend elegantly on to the chair. There’s only the mini between me and the leather seat, and that makes me feel a dangerous combination of vulnerable and wanton.

  Magically, a waiter appears. ‘Shall I serve the champagne, sir?’ he asks.

  Alexander nods while the waiter extracts the bottle from the ice bucket.

  ‘Is your seat comfortable?’ His hand rests on my knee beneath the white tablecloth. I squirm a little, my bottom slipping against the chair. His fingers climb a little higher while the waiter’s back is turned.

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ I have that feeling, when you’re itching to say something intimate and/or inappropriate to your dinner companion, but you’re perched on your chair, trying to pretend you’re as demure as a nun.

  His hand creeps higher to the top of my thigh-highs as the cork pops gently from the bottle. The waiter hovers beside us, holding the bottle wrapped in a white napkin. I lick my lips.

  ‘Would you like to taste it, sir?’ the waiter asks.

  ‘Taste it? Of course I do, unless Lauren wants to taste it for me. Do you want to taste it, Lauren?’

  I smile demurely. ‘Oh, I always want to taste it, Alexander.’ Oh my, can you get arrested for coming in the middle of a Michelin-starred restaurant?

  Taking the flute, I raise it to my lips. Alexander’s hand is gone now and he’s sitting opposite me, his expression as innocent as a baby. Bubbles burst against my palate, tickling my tongue. It’s Dom Perignon and is every bit as divine as I’d expected; however I may not have noticed if my glass had held rocket fuel because my brain is full of the image of Alexander’s dark head between my legs, tasting me.

  ‘That’s fine,’ I say, putting down my flute.

  The waiter tops our glasses up and Alexander nods. ‘Thank you, we’ll look after ourselves from now on.’

  ‘I don’t know how you dare do that,’ I say after the waiter has gone, the imprint of Alexander’s fingertips still burning into my skin. ‘What if he’d noticed?’

  He shrugs. ‘He didn’t.’

&
nbsp; He sips his Dom but I’m left toying with the stem of my glass, mind working overtime. I’m here with Alexander at last, we’ve had sex and we’re hopefully going to have a whole lot more. All the turmoil of the past two weeks has led to me giving in to him in the end. His face is briefly anxious and he reaches out and touches my arm.

  ‘Still no regrets?’

  I shake my head firmly. The shiver that runs through me at the thought of his hands on my body gives me my answer. ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I hope you don’t mind me calling the car. I wanted to take you somewhere special for our first proper date together.’

  ‘Of course not. It’s totally gorgeous here.’

  ‘I like it too, not that I get the chance to come here very often.’ This makes me wonder who else he has brought here, and Immy’s Valentina comment springs to mind, but I push it away. It’s over between Alexander and his ex. Immy told me and, more important, so has Alexander. Maybe he’s had meals here with his father or friends. Maybe his mother brought him here, though he was so young when she died that I somehow doubt it. There are so many questions I want to ask about his family and his past, let alone his present, yet everything is so new between us.

  He opens a menu and hands it to me. ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Mmm, ravenous.’

  After we’ve made our choices from the menu and the waiter has left us alone again, Alexander says. ‘So, now we’ve had sex, I suppose we’d better get to know each other a little better.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m surprised you need to ask me. You already seemed to know who I was at the pub. Incidentally, I still don’t approve of you breaking that guy’s nose. How did they not press charges?’

  ‘Firstly, you’ll be pleased to know it wasn’t broken, only extremely painful for a day or so. Secondly, they’re lucky the bar staff didn’t call the porters or they might have been sent down. I hear they’ve already been in trouble for harassing women at their own colleges. One more strike and they’ll be out.’

  ‘And you? What if you’d been reported to college?’

  He shrugs. ‘I can’t say I’m quaking in my boots at the thought of being hauled before the Master.’

  That figures. I have to agree the Master would hardly hold much terror for a guy who’s – allegedly – in special forces. ‘So you wouldn’t care if you got sent down?’ I tease him.