by Pippa Croft
‘Nothing yet. I’ve peed on the stick and I’ve put it on the window ledge. I can’t bear to look … I think I’m going to be sick. You don’t think that’s a sign, do you?’
Only of a raging hangover and major stress, I think. ‘Sit down and take some deep breaths. You need to wait a couple of minutes.’
She lies back on the bed and closes her eyes while I check my watch, pacing the room like it’s me who’s waiting for the result. Instantly, I wish I hadn’t empathized with Emma because a baby is the last thing on my mind right now – I’ve not even begun my career – and yet it can happen. I know my parents didn’t plan me; in fact my mother had only just graduated from Sarah Lawrence and she’s quite upfront about the timing. ‘Condom fail, honey, just so you’re aware,’ she told me as soon as I started dating Todd, while telling me in the same breath that I was ‘the best thing that ever happened’ to her and Daddy. I winced when she mentioned it – wayyy too much information – but I think she was trying to be helpful. And yes, there would be ‘options’ if I did get pregnant, but the idea of having to take one of them isn’t the happiest thought.
Screwing up my courage on Emma’s behalf, I walk to the bed and touch her arm. ‘I think we could look now.’
Her eyes stay shut. ‘I can’t.’
‘You have to. Alexander could be back any time.’
She stares back at me and sits up. ‘Fuck.’
‘You don’t want him coming in here when you’ve just found out the result, do you? Whatever it is.’
‘I don’t want to be on my own!’
‘Then you have to check the test right now. You might be worrying for nothing.’
Muttering a string of ‘fuck’s, she marches into the bathroom. Seconds later, I hear a shriek and an ‘Oh my God!’
Now it’s me who closes my eyes, wondering how the hell I’m going to advise a pregnant and hysterical teenager on her life choices, but then she rushes out of the bathroom and launches herself at me.
‘It’s negative. I’m not pregnant!’
Once I can breathe again, I heave a huge sigh of relief. ‘Fantastic.’
‘I must have been late.’
‘You’ve had a really rough time; maybe it messed up your cycle – and worrying about being pregnant won’t have helped.’
‘Maybe. Oh, Lauren, I am so happy.’
She virtually dances around the room. I guess the hangover has worn off, so that’s one good thing.
‘That’s great. Emma … It’s really none of my business who you see or what you do, and it’s none of Alexander’s either, but I still don’t feel comfortable with lying to him.’
She stops jigging and frowns. ‘I don’t know what you mean. What lies have you told him?’
‘None … yet, but I have let him assume things that I know to be untrue, which is the same thing. When we dropped you off at Allegra’s house, he told me he was glad you were safe. Imagine how I felt, knowing you were spending the night with Henry.’
‘Of course I was safe. I was with Henry.’ She sighs dreamily.
I fear there is no hope of her dropping him yet but realize there’s no point in persuading her otherwise. ‘That’s up to you, but I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t have to be in this position.’
‘You mean don’t tell you any more about my private life?’ she says warily.
Oh shit, am I doing the right thing? Am I cutting off her only source of advice; am I leaving her with no one in the world to talk to? What kind of person does that make me?
‘If you need to talk, then I’m here, but try and look at things from my point of view.’
She hugs me again. ‘I’m sorry, I do appreciate you helping me and listening to all my dramas. It must be difficult being torn between me and my brother but he is so unreasonable.’
‘In some ways, maybe, but that’s because he does love you.’
She smiles. ‘I know that and I will try to be nicer to him from now on. I’m sorry I spoiled your trip to Rome, by the way. Bad timing.’
I give a weak smile. ‘The trip was almost over,’ I say, thinking back to Alexander’s words at the trattoria last night. ‘I really have to go now. I need to do some work.’
‘I won’t forget this, Lauren.’
I just smile again, knowing she probably will and wishing I hadn’t become a player in her drama.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘Emma? It’s Alex. Can I come in?’
Alex? He must really want to mollify her, but hearing his deep and serious voice has the opposite effect on her.
She mouths ‘help’ and throws up her hands in panic.
I spot the crumpled test packet and cellophane on the bed.
‘Emma? Are you OK?’ asks Alexander again.
Emma snatches it from me and bundles it under her duvet cover. ‘Er … hang on a minute. I was just getting dressed.’
‘I should have told him to go away!’ she hisses as we hear impatient footsteps outside the door.
‘Too late now.’
‘Emma, can you open the door, please?’
She flies to the door and pulls it wide open. ‘Sorry about that.’
Alexander’s face registers total confusion, firstly at spotting me and secondly because I suspect our smiles are way too wide. He must have headed straight up here from the stables because he’s still in dark-navy jodhpurs and riding boots.
‘Hello … Lauren …’
‘Lauren and I were just having a girly chat, weren’t we?’
‘We were. How was your ride?’ I ask as he looks at each of us, in turn. The chances of fooling Alexander are slim but thankfully I don’t think even he is telepathic.
‘It was good …’ he says, and I have to admit he does look more relaxed. His thick brown hair is ruffled from the wind, his face is spattered with mud and he looks super hot in the jodhpurs. Is that a wicked thing to think at a time like this?
‘I wanted to talk to you but I can come back later if you two are busy,’ he says, addressing Emma.
Hearing this, I decide there is no way I’m letting either of them off the hook this time. ‘No, we’re done here and I need to do some work.’
‘You don’t have to go.’ Emma throws a pleading glance at me.
‘I do. I really must. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Hope the Advil helped the headache.’
‘Thanks,’ she mutters.
‘I won’t be long,’ Alexander says to me.
‘It’s fine. Take all the time you want.’
I pick up my bag and leave before I end up playing umpire again, while also keeping my fingers crossed that peace might break out between them. When I don’t hear the sound of vases being smashed against the walls, I take it as a good sign and manage to settle down to an essay outline.
It’s a while before Alexander returns and my pulse flutters at the soft click of his bedroom door opening. For all I know, in her wild state of mind Emma might have decided to go all confessional. Maybe, I reason, that would be a good thing, as long as I’m not part of it.
‘Hello.’ He sits on the edge of the bed next to me and starts to pull off his boots. I notice a trail of dried mud from the door to the bed and wonder if Helen will have a fit, or if she’s used to the Hunts’ quirks by now. Muddy floor aside, he looks calmer and more at ease than I’ve seen him since Rome.
‘How did that go?’ I ask.
Once one boot is off, he tugs at the other one, so I can’t see his face for a few seconds. ‘I suppose it could have gone a lot worse. In fact, it was better than I’d hoped. I explained why I didn’t tell her about my father giving his blessing to her going to Saint Martins.’ He glances up at me. ‘I admitted that I’d been scared of upsetting her even more than she already was by talking about what happened the day he died. I know it was cowardly of me not to have told her sooner.’
‘I wouldn’t say cowardly.’
‘Maybe, but I misjudged her reaction. I thought she’d be devastated that my father di
dn’t live to tell her himself, but in hindsight I should have given her more credit. And I also admitted that I probably shouldn’t have been so hard on her this morning.’
‘How did she take it?’
Before replying, he stands his boots upright, next to each other, perfectly aligned. So it’s OK to leave a trail of mud but not to have his boots out of line. Finally he meets my eye. ‘She was upset that my father never told her himself but she seems to understand why I didn’t say anything sooner. Thanks for keeping her company earlier, and I’m sorry I walked out but I needed to take some time to calm down. What were you two talking about while I was out?’
‘This and that.’ At this statement I have visions of myself at the end of a pitchfork, like in Dante’s Inferno.
‘Did she say anything about why she got so pissed last night? I called the school when I got back from my ride and they said she’d seemed upset in her lessons last week. The housemistress thought it was delayed grief and tried to talk to her, but she didn’t want to say anything.’
Oh fuck, I can’t tell him an outright lie. ‘She didn’t say much about your father. Did she get into trouble at school last year?’
‘Yes. Dad was called in a couple of times about her being involved in late-night parties, and once or twice I think she was rude to the staff. The only reason they’re willing to have her back in school is because of all the upheaval she’s been through, though the headmistress thinks she’d benefit from another week at home. But they’ve made it clear they want her to settle down to her A levels when she does get back. She’s so fucking bright, the problem is she doesn’t need to work as hard as some of the girls; it’s like it comes too easily to her.’
‘I guess it’s a very difficult time for her.’
He sighs. ‘Thanks for trying, anyway. I’m afraid I’ll have to have her to stay with us in Oxford for most of the week. I need to spend some time with her.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
He frowns. ‘Taking her to Oxford? I’ve no choice.’
I can see he thinks I don’t want Emma with us, which is the last thing on my mind. ‘I meant, is it a good idea to let her go to her friend’s house?’
‘I can’t keep her in the whole time. She could tell me to piss off now if she really wanted to. All I can do is my best. How many people have lost both their parents at her age and have a brother who’s never around?’ He rakes his hands through his hair.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ I reply, reminding myself that I can’t police Emma’s movements every minute of the day, even if I wanted to.
He pulls me to him suddenly and kisses me. He smells of exertion and earthiness, of clean sweat and cold, damp air, and this turns me on more than the two-hundred-dollar aftershave. ‘Look, Lauren, I know you’ve done far more than anyone could expect you to for Emma and you’re busy, but I am grateful.’
‘You really don’t have to be.’
‘I think I do. In fact, I owe you a special treat, but first I ought to shower.’ I should feel bad that he wants to ‘treat’ me for something I probably shouldn’t have done, but honestly? I’m too relieved that the conversation has moved on from Emma.
I lick the tip of my finger and dab at a speck of mud on his cheek. ‘Don’t bother on my account.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘I forgot you like me fresh from the field.’
Sparks fire at this reminder of when we had sex after he’d been hunting last year. I should hate myself for loving the whole red-coat thing, but I couldn’t wait to rip his clothes off then and I can’t now. I want to lose myself in wild passionate sex.
‘It’s only the jodhpurs …’ I say.
‘Oh, really? As long as they have the desired effect, that’s fine by me.’
‘Is this the kind of treat I’ve had before?’
‘Possibly, but with a twist.’
Very shortly afterwards, I’m lying on my back, minus my clothes, with Alexander between my legs. He makes slow circles with his tongue around the rim of my clit, first one way, then another, teasing me. Wow …
‘Good?’
‘Mmmmm.’
‘I’m going to make you come like this, however long it takes.’
‘Even if your tongue gets tired?’
‘I have plenty of stamina. Now, be quiet.’
He resumes the circling, then reverses it and then, God knows what he’s doing with his tongue, but I’m fisting the bedcover and trying not to knock him out while I’m bucking my hips. It goes on and on and every time I open my eyes, his dark head is between my legs, his hands keeping my thighs apart. Part of me wants to hold on, to defeat him and not to come …
‘Sometimes it’s good to lose,’ he says, a while later, as he unbuckles the strap of his watch. I’m lying face-up on the bed, my thigh muscles aching and wrung out.
‘Alexander, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
He bends down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. ‘Have it your way.’
‘Oh, I did.’
He lays his watch on the nightstand and I shuffle up the bed, watching his shirt tauten over his shoulder muscles while he unfastens his cuffs. He’s still wearing the soft check shirt he went riding in. He turns around and starts to unbutton it, slowly, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.
I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching him undress especially for me before. Usually he insists on stripping me or that I undress for him. The role reversal – him in a position of vulnerability, with me watching – is a massive turn-on that makes me feel powerful and in control.
The shirt is undone, his broad chest bared and the ripped abs I love are exposed. I want to run my tongue over the ridge of muscles and circle his nipples with my tongue but I know I have to stay where I am. Maybe he is in control, after all.
The shirt is off, tossed on to the bedroom chair. Socks next, and he stands up again, bare-footed and bare-chested on the carpet.
Cleanly, smoothly, he slides the zip of his jodhpurs down and pushes them down his thighs. His growing erection strains against the cotton of his black briefs. So what if I only came ten minutes ago? It’s not a crime to want to touch myself, is it? Or to want him inside me?
‘Tut tut. I obviously didn’t do a good enough job.’
I whip my hands from my between my legs. ‘You did but I want to do it again to check.’
‘Patience is a virtue.’
He shoves his hands down the sides of his briefs, pulls them down, taking his jodhpurs with them. Hell, I want to worship his penis, not that I would ever tell him. Not in a million years. I want to get on my knees right now and bury my face against the soft hair that surrounds it and take him in my mouth, feel the girth and taste him.
He picks up his shirt from the pad of the chair and tosses it on to the dressing stool. Then he lifts the chair and moves it to the centre of the rug so it’s facing me. I’m on fire with anticipation, and my ought-to-be-sated clit is a knot of nerves again.
What the hell is he going to do? Take me over it? Bend me over it?
My mind spirals into a cocktail of lust and panic.
Alexander crooks his finger. ‘Come here, Ms Cusack, and don’t look so scared.’
I laugh in his face. ‘Scared? Of you? Don’t be ridiculous.’
He pats the seat of the chair. ‘Then get yourself over here.’
He smiles in that way and I almost think of folding my arms and telling him to go screw himself, yet I won’t, because I want to taste what’s on offer, and he knows it. He sits down on the seat, his legs a little way apart, soles planted squarely on the rug. I notice his feet for some reason, like I never saw them before. They’re big, of course – he’s six foot three – and his toes are long with pale square nails. Then my gaze travels up his muscular calves to the powerful thighs and his erection, jutting out of the dark soft hair.
‘Lauren?’
His voice is softer now, and I think he realizes I’m genuinely hesitant, which makes me
even more determined to play it cool. If he could see inside me, he’d see mush, a mass of lust and wantonness. I scramble off the bed and stand in front of him. His thighs are closed now, his cock signposting where he wants me. Where I want to be.
‘Face the bed, away from me.’
So now I see. From behind, his fingers slide between my legs and gently part my lips, spreading my juices around my entrance, smoothing the way for him.
His voice is husky. ‘Sit down.’
I sit down, in a manner of speaking, because it’s more of a wiggle in which he nudges into me and I slide down on top of him.
‘Oh my.’
‘You feel amazing. You look amazing,’ he breathes, holding my waist and burying his face into my hair, his intake of breath long and languorous as he savours me. I give a little wiggle against his thighs, and feel the blunt tip of his shaft deep inside me. He palms my breast, capturing my nipple between his thumb and forefingers, rolling it gently, but in my super-sensitive state, the lightest pinch makes me wriggle and writhe in his lap.
‘Fuck, but this feels good.’
My eyes are shut, revelling in the heat of his palm over my breast. ‘Oh yes.’
‘You’ll need to touch yourself while I hold you.’
I reach between my legs and stroke myself. It’s only been a short time since I came but I’m still slick and ready to go again. His teeth graze my shoulder, softly, and I moan in pleasure. When I’m getting close, he holds on to my waist while I slide up and down, rocking in ecstasy. He groans. ‘Lauren, fuck, I can’t hold on much longer, if you do that. Are you close?’
My answer is to touch myself again until I feel my climax build and then focus begins to splinter and shatter. Alexander must sense me losing control and he starts to circle his hips and lift me up a little with each thrust. His grip is tight on my hips, the fingers dig into my flesh. Then his fingers are pressing down on mine, circling my clit, a surprise I didn’t expect that finally tips me over the edge. My orgasm stutters, fails, then rips through me. Alexander takes it as a signal to go for it, using the seat for leverage, lifting me up and down until his body stiffens and his eyes close in a shuddering climax.
The next morning, while I’m doing my make-up at the dressing table, Alexander emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips, though I have no idea why he feels the need for modesty when I got closely acquainted with every inch of him last night. In the end, I stayed overnight. I have a tute today, but not until the afternoon so I can still get back to Oxford in plenty of time. I’m glad I did stay because it would have been a shame to miss the sight that greets me now. He’s been for an early-morning run and his hair is still damp from the shower. Beads of water dot his torso and glisten on his pecs. The woody scent of Creed shower gel hangs around his lean, honed body.
