The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (18 page)

‘Good. I’m happy to know I can still surprise you. I hope it’s only the first of many surprises this evening.’ He pauses, then says, ‘I wanted to make up for that video, and the fact that it ruined my Valentine’s surprise, and to say thanks for all the support you’ve given me and Emma over the past few weeks. When I landed
outside your door at the start of term, you could have simply left me outside or refused to come to the funeral with me.’

‘I could,’ I reply, enjoying having him grovel – or as close as Alexander comes to grovelling …

‘I also wanted to make up for the fact I had to spend more time at Falconbury.’

‘I guess you were busy, but I think I can stand getting this trip by way of an apology.’

He shakes his head at my remark, but the smile is there. Seeing him like this – relaxed, enjoying himself and looking super sexy – reminds me of just why I fell for him in the first place. My skin tingles in anticipation of what might be to come.

The pilot announces that we can unfasten our belts and the engine note lowers a little.

‘Champagne?’ Alexander asks me.

‘I think I definitely need something.’

Alexander retrieves a bottle of Cristal from a fridge concealed behind a wood panel. He pours the straw-coloured liquid into two flutes and the froth almost spills over the rim.

‘To tonight.’

We chink glasses and I take a large gulp, bubbles bursting on my tongue. Butterflies stir my stomach, like on our first few dates, and yet I don’t know why.

Alexander sips his wine carefully. ‘Even if this is your first visit to Rome, you must have been on a private jet before.’

‘Oh, all the time.’ I shake my head. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not in the habit of travelling by private charter. My father uses them for business and my mother occasionally travels with him, but we’re not the Clintons. Not yet anyway.’ I smile. ‘Daddy has been on Air Force One, however.’

He lets out a low whistle. ‘Now, I have to admit I’m impressed.’

‘That makes a change. I thought Alexander Hunt wasn’t impressed by anything.’

He gives me a look that I fear may cause the airplane fuel to ignite. ‘I wouldn’t say that. When I saw you climb out of the Bentley, you took my breath away.’

‘No, I didn’t. Nobody does that to you.’ I blush but I am also incredibly turned on.

‘Yes, you did.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.

My God, he really means it – and the temperature in the cabin just went up another ten degrees. There is something in that glance that’s more than lust, an intensity that’s scrambled my brain. My cheeks heat up and I resort to a large gulp of champagne.

‘Oh, look, isn’t that the coast already?’

I twist around and press my face closer to the cabin window. Through a gap in the clouds, orange lights fringe the coast like beaded trim on a black cloth. On the other side of the Channel, the lights of the Continent beckon and we speculate on the towns and cities thousands of feet below.

‘How long is the flight?’

‘A couple of hours. I wonder what we can do to pass the time.’

‘Yes, I wonder …’ My body shimmers with desire under that intense gaze. I don’t really want to let him know the effect he’s having on me tonight, so I resort to my Cristal again.

‘Have I ever told you that you’re the sexiest girl on the planet?’

‘So I’ve been promoted from being merely the sexiest girl in the county? I think that was your last assessment of me.’

‘I’ve revised my opinion of late and I’m willing to promote you.’

‘If we weren’t twenty thousand feet up, I might have to hit you, Alexander Hunt.’

His response is to take my empty glass from me and slide his hand under the silk of my dress and up my shinbone. Every inch of skin tingles where his fingers rest on my knee.

‘The dress is beautiful,’ I say.

‘I hoped you’d like it. You looked amazing in the one you wore to the ball so I knew you liked the designer. I was a little worried that the shoes might not fit, even though I checked your collection thoroughly.’

‘I’ve noticed you seem to have some kind of shoe fetish.’

‘Is it a crime?’ he says, doing one of his terrible impressions of my East Coast accent.

‘No, but this … ah …’ I catch my breath as he
removes his hand from my knee and slips off one of my shoes. I point my toe as he holds my foot in his hand and lifts it up. Leaning down he kisses it, right in the centre. It’s intensely erotic, like being worshipped.

‘You were saying?’

I can hardly breathe, let alone reply, as he balances my foot in his palm and runs his tongue from my ankle and over the blade of my foot, ending with a kiss on the top of my toe. ‘I was … going to ask … if checking out women’s closets was part of special forces training.’

‘No, but stealing passports is.’

Gently, he lowers my foot and starts to draw down the zip at the side of my dress. ‘We can’t do this up here,’ I say.

‘Can’t do what?’

‘Join the Mile High Club.’

‘Oh, we’re well over a mile high now. Probably four or five.’

He pulls down the zip and tugs the silk away from my chest. The bodice parts company with my skin and I catch my breath sharply at being bared.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, in between planting butterfly-soft kisses on my bare shoulder.

‘Nothing, other than it feels a little weird, knowing the pilot’s on the other side of the door. He must know what we’re doing.’

‘I’m sure he does but he’s hardly going to leave the controls to come back here and serve peanuts, is he?’

‘Alexander, you’ve never been on any airplane where they serve peanuts.’

He laughs. ‘True, but I’ve been on plenty where I’ve been shot at.’

‘Really?’

‘Many times, but I’m hoping the Romans are going to be happier to see us than most of the people on the receiving end of my visits. More importantly, I’d hate you to crease this beautiful dress.’

With both hands, he pulls the bustier completely down so that I’m topless. ‘Personally,’ he says, ‘I love the idea that I have you captive up here and I’m about to do filthy things to you.’

My throat dries and I am instantly creamy. ‘Just how filthy are we talking?’

‘Extremely filthy. You’d be shocked if I told you.’

‘Try me,’ I say breathily.

‘Well, I’d probably break you in gently with something mild like this.’ He dips his head and closes his mouth around my left nipple, which is hard as a pebble and red as a cherry. He sucks, gently at first but then harder. My head drifts back and I moan, unable to decide if the tingling in my nipples is pleasure or pain or a little of both. He stops, but only to transfer his mouth to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. His teeth graze the tip softly, drawing a squeal of delight and pain from me. When I look down, my nipples are deepest crimson, aching and ready to pop.

‘Shocked yet?’ he murmurs.

‘No.’

‘Good. Then I’ll move on to the next stage.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’ll show you in a moment but let’s get you out of this beautiful dress.’

He takes my hand in his and helps me to my feet, before tugging the side zip down the last few inches. The gown slithers over my hips and settles around my knees. So now I’m standing in the middle of a jet, with a three-thousand-dollar gown round my ankles and only an itsy-bitsy lacy thong to cover my modesty. Not, I might add, that I have any modesty left.

His eyes are molten with desire for me and he shakes his head and tuts. ‘Now
I’m
shocked. You look fucking incredible.’

‘The underwear isn’t too much, then? It’s La Perla. I was saving it for a special occasion.’

‘Too much? I love it. I especially love the lack of it.’

He sinks to his knees in front of me, running his palms up my calves and the backs of my thighs and resting them on the bare cheeks of my ass. He presses his face to my mound and pushes his tongue through the sliver of silk over my sex. I was wet already and now I’m soaked, as his tongue pushes the fabric between my lips. His fingers tighten on my butt cheeks and he pulls me against his face and inhales. ‘You smell incredible too.’

Even the roar of the Gulfstream’s engines can’t dull my whimper of delight when he pulls aside my thong
and slips his forefinger inside me. I moan, grasping his shoulders for support while he eases his finger deeper inside me. He hooks his fingers either side of the lace string and pulls it sharply over my hips and down my thighs. Just as I try to wiggle out of it, the plane drops.

‘Oh God!’ I make a grab for the back of a seat and half fall on to the flat bed. ‘Shouldn’t we be buckled up?’

‘Probably, but we’d better get on with this, just in case.’

He unbuttons his fly, strips off his tux trousers and black silk socks revealing a massive erection only restrained by a pair of brief black boxer shorts. He climbs on to the leather flat bed above me.

Something cold and hard touches my bare butt and I let out a squeak.

‘What?’ he says, pulling off his jacket.

‘Seat-belt buckle.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Ouch.’

Then he returns to my body, laying a trail of hot, wet kisses around my navel, and below it, over my pubic bone.

‘How appropriate, a landing strip …’ he says, glancing up at me from between my legs.

No matter that I’m naked with a hot man between my legs, this comment makes my cheeks burn. ‘Pure coincidence,’ I say, before my ability to speak is snatched away by the soft pressure of his thumb on my clit. His sensual assault is relentless; he thumbs me and circles the nub, varying the pressure, soft and firm, until I cry out, and my climax begins to take hold.

His erection brushes against the inside of my thigh, as he kisses his way back up my stomach and between my breasts, ending with a long, deep, wet kiss on my mouth that tastes of
me
.

Loving the weight of his body on me, I slip my hands down the back of his boxers, kneading his glutes in my fingers. I tug at the side of his shorts, pulling them over his behind so I can grind my bared pussy against his cock. He takes the hint and shifts his weight off me, pulling down his shorts. His cock springs out, thick and hard, and I close my fingers round it, loving the smooth feel of his skin and the weight of it in my hand.

‘Fuck, I love this.’ Alexander has ecstasy in his eyes when I slide the circle of my fingers up and down his length. When I tighten the circle, he groans in sheer pleasure and I feel all-powerful.

In a second, he’s on top of me again, pushing inside me. I claw at his back, clutching the thick cotton of his dress shirt. He drives into me, the pressure of him deep inside combining with the friction of his pelvis against my clit. It’s a frantic fuck, against the clock, as we both grapple for our climaxes. I think I feel the plane jink again but it’s too late to do anything because my body tenses in that taut-sinewed, high-tension way as my orgasm spirals through me.

When I open my eyes, Alexander is slumped on top of me, coming down from his own climax.

‘Oh!’ I grab him as the plane suddenly drops again and the pilot’s voice crackles into life.

‘Sorry for the bumpy ride; we should be out of it very soon but it may be a good idea to fasten your seat belts.’

‘How does he know we’re out of them?’ I say, in between gasps.

Alexander climbs off me, still naked except for his dress shirt. I manage to slide into my seat and fasten the belt, worried we’ll end up tossed around the cabin like bubbles in the champagne bottle.

Alexander buckles up next to me as the jet seems to hop across the sky. My fingers tighten around his in a death grip.

‘Not scared, are you?’

‘Of course not, but this
is
a little disconcerting.’

He gives a knowing smile. ‘We’re absolutely fine.’

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me this is nothing for someone used to abseiling from helicopter skids.’

He laughs. ‘Well …’

‘Look at us. Imagine if we did crash and by some miracle they found us both, buckled up next to each other like
this
.’

We stare at each other and burst out laughing. I’m completely naked; he has only his dress shirt on. He slips his arm around me and manages to kiss me, despite the plane bumping along.

‘Apologies again for the rough ride. I’ve re-routed to go around the storm so we should be fine from now on.’

‘I hope so!’ A few minutes later, we get the all clear,
so Alexander unbuckles his belt and rescues his boxer shorts from the carpet.

‘I’m staying where I am,’ I say while he dresses. ‘But I’d appreciate some help with my underwear.’

He retrieves my thong from the top of the cupboard containing the fridge. How the hell did it get there?

I hold out my hand but Alexander loops the thong over his finger and holds it up in front of my eyes.

‘Sorry, but I don’t put knickers back
on
.’

‘Give it back!’ I try to snatch the thong but he waggles it tantalizingly just out of reach. ‘You bastard!’

‘Shh. Our captain will hear you.’

‘I don’t care!’

‘If you want your knickers, you’ll have to come and get them.’

I undo my belt and stand up, just as the plane decides to have one last hurrah. The drop is tiny but it overbalances me and I tumble against Alexander. He catches me, of course, and I find myself pressed against his chest, with his arms around me.

‘Please, Alexander, may I have my underwear back?’ I ask sweetly.

‘With a very sexy and very naked girl in his arms, what do you expect a man to say to that?’

We managed to get our clothes back on; after all, it wouldn’t have been great to greet the Italian customs officer naked. Once the formalities are over, Alexander helps me down the steps to where an Italian version of Brandon, in a sharp suit like a Mafia boss, stands by a Mercedes.

Italian Brandon – who turns out to be called Antonio – whisks us straight to the Teatro dell’Opera. Lights glitter in the river as we cross the Tiber, towards the city. As Alexander helps me out on to the sidewalk in front of the Teatro, and takes my arm, Rome makes an assault on all my senses at once. The night is milder than in Oxford, but it’s still cool and I tug my wrap tighter as we walk up the steps. Sirens blare and horns toot and tubs of spring flowers perfume the air. Couples in tuxes and full evening dress sashay along the red carpet to the foyer, diamonds glittering in the lamplight. I could claim that I’m not seduced by the glamour, but I’d be lying.

‘Wow, I had worried we might be a little overdressed,’ I say as we’re handed a programme.

‘It’s a Gala Night in aid of a charity,’ Alexander explains while the concierge shows us to our front-row
seats. ‘And we’ve only just started. Tomorrow, I have some surprises that will make an art historian orgasmic.’

‘Orgasmic, huh? I can’t wait.’

Four hours later, Alexander and I are sitting in an elegant restaurant tucked away in a corner of a piazza. A succession of waiters bring tiny mouthfuls of Italian delicacies from the tasting menu until I have to beg for mercy. Alexander confesses to knowing very little about ballet, but seems willing to listen to me telling him about the story and giving my opinion on the choreography and performances. He did take me to Covent Garden last term, when he’d come back from an op with his regiment. That was a surprise, but this trip is on another level. I’m still buzzing from the ballet, and the fact I’ve just had dinner in Rome, when Antonio finally delivers us to our hotel. It’s situated next to the Spanish Steps, and the white marble is lit softly by lamplight. There are still some couples around, walking hand in hand, even though it’s the small hours now. When I get out of the car, I hear the water in the fountain at the bottom of the steps tinkle softly.

Alexander takes my arm while Antonio hands the luggage to a uniformed bellboy. ‘I hope this is OK. It isn’t the grandest hotel in Rome but I think it’s the most beautiful, and it was a favourite of Picasso so I thought it was appropriate.’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ I breathe.

The faded stucco exterior of the boutique hotel
looks divine to me, and it occurs to me how much effort Alexander has put into arranging this trip.

We’re greeted by the concierge and shown to a suite on the top floor.

‘Would you like me to unpack your bags,
signore
?’

‘No, thanks. We’re fine.’

Taking the hint, the concierge leaves us alone. OK, I’ve stayed in some nice hotels with my parents but this is sensational. The decor and furnishings are contemporary yet perfectly in keeping with the hotel’s historic charm. There’s a king-size bed and a dressing room that leads to an opulent marble and mosaic bathroom, with a huge sunken tub.

‘This is the best part.’ Alexander opens the windows on to a private roof terrace, where dozens of tea lights are arranged on the deck and the tables, casting flickering shadows over the flower tubs. I cross to the rim of the balcony and lean on the wall, transfixed by the Roman skyline, the domes and the church towers, temples and tiled rooftops. The flowers fill my nose with scent.

‘Wow. Just
wow
.’

‘Is it what you expected from Rome?’

‘It’s beyond anything I ever imagined. I think I’m in love.’

I can’t see his face but his breath is warm on the back of my neck. ‘With Rome, of course …’

‘Of course.’

His answer is to slip his arm around me and to point out some of the cityscape twinkling ahead and below
us. ‘That’s the Villa Borghese and the Pincio. You might just be able to glimpse the Colosseum and the Palatine Hill, but we’ll get a better look tomorrow.’

‘What
have
you got planned for tomorrow?’

‘After we’ve checked out that bathtub? You’ll see.’

Of course, I’m aching to see the finest art treasures of Rome, but I’m afraid they aren’t foremost on my mind when his fingers rest lightly on the soft flesh of my shoulder. Maybe it’s his touch, maybe the cool night air, but goose bumps prickle my skin and I shiver.

‘You’re cold,’ he says simply.

‘I’m fine.’

Too late – he is already slipping off his tux jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. His arm is tighter around me now as we drink in the view. I can’t believe we’re here, and I feel shivery inside and out. How can I distrust him at a time like this? How can I not love being here with him and being part of this world? It’s not the money and the lavish gifts that impress me, it’s the way he’s planned this whole thing so carefully to make me happy. I
suppose
it could all be an elaborate apology to make up for the sex tape, but I genuinely don’t think that’s Alexander’s style.

I kiss him softly on the lips. ‘This is a wonderful surprise. I don’t know what to say …’

‘Then don’t say anything. There are other uses for your mouth.’

‘That’s outrageous.’

He folds me in his arms and looks so handsome in
the light from the flickering candles that my knees feel wobbly.

‘If I had my way,’ he says, ‘I would lock the door to this suite right now, forget the art and keep you here until you passed out from being shagged by me.’

‘How do you know you wouldn’t crumble first?’ I tease, tracing a line along his jaw with my finger.

‘That sounds like a challenge.’ The gleam in his eyes is wicked, and I realize again that issuing any kind of challenge to Alexander is quite literally asking for trouble.

‘I think we should go to bed,’ he murmurs. ‘We’ve got an early start and a lot of things to see and do.’

‘Of the orgasmic variety?’

‘Those start now. I believe you offered to put your tongue to good use earlier?’

‘No, I believe
you
made the suggestion first.’

In the end, both our mouths were put to very good use – or should that be very bad use? – and neither of us has had a great deal of sleep. Yet, he shows me no mercy and it’s not quite light outside when I wake to the sound of water splashing into the huge tub. I’m still rubbing sleep from my eyes when Alexander crosses to the bed, naked, and says, ‘We have an early start but first it’s bath time.’

I blink, taking in the sight of his naked torso and burgeoning erection. ‘But I’m not dirty, Alexander.’

He grins. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll soon put that right.’

The mosaic tub is set into a recessed platform in the centre of the bathroom. Alexander turns off the tap and the torrent is replaced by the gentle swish of bath oil being swirled into the water. The scent is divine – orange blossom, I think – and wisps of fragrant steam rise from the surface. With a naked and fully ripped Alexander standing by, I feel like some Roman goddess about to be bathed by her warrior slave.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asks.

I try to look innocent. ‘Nothing whatsoever.’

My slave steps into the bathtub first and sits down, and I get in after him, sinking down into the warm water, which laps at my breasts and licks my nipples. His chest is a solid wall behind my shoulder blades and his erection juts very satisfyingly against my butt cheeks.

‘You see, you
are
dirty, Lauren … filthy, in fact, and I’m going to have to clean you very thoroughly,’ he says.

When he picks up a bar of soap and starts to rub it gently over my damp skin, I am in no state to contradict him. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as he soaps my breasts and slides his fingers over my nipples. Tendrils of steam rise around us and the fragrance of the oil is intoxicating. The whole sensory experience is so hedonistic and sensual, I can’t help wriggling back against his cock, over-eager to be satisfied.

‘Good?’ he whispers, rubbing my chest with the soap bar.

‘Mmm.’

When I’ve been thoroughly laved, he puts the soap
bar back in the tray and dips his hand below the water, down between my thighs. He plays with me, gently teasing and stroking me. The warmth of the scented oil and the incredible sensation building in my core lulls me into a kind of erotic daze.

‘Bad, dirty girl,’ he murmurs. ‘You are in so much trouble.’

‘Am I?’

‘A bath won’t be enough to cleanse those filthy thoughts.’

‘You think …’

‘I
know
.’ Gently, he scoops his hands under my butt and lifts it up a little. I know what he wants and I wriggle back, feeling for the tip of his penis under me. Water splashes over the edge of the tub and I giggle, then cry out as he spears me on his cock in one fell swoop. It’s not the easiest position to make love in, but it’s wonderful trying. Our bodies are slippery slick with soap, and I’m writhing and wriggling against the mosaic base of the tub but the sheer wantonness of the whole experience is enough to drive me insane. He keeps up the pressure on my nub while I rock back and forth on his penis.

‘Fuck, that is so good. You are so good …’

His voice is full of wonder, just like a slave worshipping me. I know I feel like a goddess, lying in the tub. If he knew what I was thinking, what I want him to do to me … what I want to do to him after this. My orgasm ripples through me, in wave after wave, and the tighten
ing of my muscles is his cue to let go and thrust up and into me until he comes himself with a groan of agonized release.

Our early-morning ‘bath’ meant we had to pass on the hotel’s breakfast, and instead we snatched pastries and cappuccinos standing at the bar with the real Romans at a tiny cafe. As for the Colosseum and the ruins of the Forum, they will have to wait for another visit because Antonio whisked us to the Pantheon to see Raphael’s tomb and then to the Villa Borghese to view Bernini’s sculptures and the Caravaggios and Titians.

Now, eight hours later, I have run out of superlatives. I have indeed experienced more cultural orgasms than one Art History student can handle in a day. After a panini on the hoof, we moved on to St Peter’s and the Vatican, where a feast of incredible art treasures was laid out in front of me. I’d heard the collection was astonishing, but to see in the flesh the pieces I’ve read about and studied blows my mind. We walk through gallery after gallery, marvelling at Renaissance paintings, Roman mosaics, Flemish tapestries, and Greek and Egyptian sculptures.

We stop in front of a huge marble torso of Hercules by Belvedere that has caught Alexander’s eye.

‘You do know that this is meant to be the most perfect six-pack in the world,’ I say.

Alexander looks doubtful. ‘Really? Are you quite sure of that?’

‘Well, maybe I need to make a further comparison later.’

‘I highly recommend it,’ he says, his arm shifting below my spine.

I lean up and whisper in his ear, ‘Are you sure you should have your hand on my butt in the Vatican? We must be breaking some laws.’

Finally, we reach the Sistine Chapel itself, and when we walk inside, I can’t even speak.

We sit together on a bench at the fringe of the chapel, gazing upwards at Michelangelo’s frescoes. There are scores of people around us, all doing the same, and I guess it’s incredibly ‘touristy’ but I don’t care.

When I get my voice back, Alexander listens patiently as I tell him the story of each of the panels.

‘I’m not boring you, am I?’ I ask, suddenly conscious that I’ve been babbling for the past few hours.

He laughs. ‘Lauren, the one thing you could never do is bore me. Though I can’t claim to have your knowledge and enthusiasm for art, I do appreciate beautiful things.’

I glance at him. ‘But do you enjoy collecting them?’

‘If you mean do I see you as some kind of acquisition, then you couldn’t be further from the truth.’ He looks down at his watch. ‘I’m afraid we need to go if we’re to have dinner before we fly home. I booked a table at a trattoria in the Trastevere.’

I shift my focus back to the magnificent ceiling. ‘Do we have to leave now?’

‘I’d love to stay another night, but I need to get back to Oxford. I’ve
got
to spend some time preparing for my next tutorial. The Real World awaits, unfortunately.’ A momentary trace of bitterness tinges his voice, but it’s soon gone and he kisses me, a deep, hot kiss that sucks away thoughts and words. It goes on and on and on and finally, when he breaks contact and leaves my mouth tingling with the aftershock, I realize that right now I could forgive him almost anything.

Antonio is waiting at the edge of St Peter’s Square and drives us into the Trastevere district, where Alexander leads the way through the maze of cobbled streets lined by medieval houses. With the metal braziers burning on the covered terrace, it’s just warm enough to eat our pizza outside the little trattoria on the Piazza di San Callisto. The restaurant and the food are nothing fancy, but the aromas wafting from the doorway make my mouth water. Actually, I think I like it even more than the elegant restaurant we visited last night and after a day wandering the galleries, I could eat a horse.