Dark Blue: Study in Seduction, Book 1 (12 page)

23.59
.

There was only a minute to go as she played a game with herself and with Alex. A dangerous game, a thrilling game…

She jumped at a faint beep from her laptop.

The figures in the bottom right hand corner had changed.

00.00.

Her alarm clock was slow. It was already tomorrow.

Chapter Eleven

Each step was a mini cliff face as Carla dragged herself up to Alex’s room for her tutorial. The fear of the unknown had been replaced by the certainty that something would happen—something that would definitely take her out of her comfort zone.

She was prepared to be punished for handing in the essay late. Her panties were already damp in anticipation of what he might have in store for her, even while she quailed at the soreness and tears that might go with it. She’d endure it, if it meant that Alex Lemaitre finally revealed more of the man behind the mask and the strict tutor’s façade.

If he gave more of himself, finally, anything would be worth it.

“Hi, Carla.”

He filled the oak frame of the door in the black jeans and the black silk shirt he’d worn at the party, except this time the sleeves were rolled back, revealing lean, muscular forearms sprinkled with black hair. He was ready for work, and she was probably going to be the one he worked out on. Yet his smile and manners were warmer and more welcoming than she’d ever seen.

“Can I get you some wine?” he asked, closing the door behind her.

“Yes…thanks.”

“Red or white?”

“White if you have it, thanks.”

He nodded and pulled a bottle from the fridge and a corkscrew from the drawer of his desk.

“It’s nothing special, I’m afraid.” He handed over a glass.

The stem was cold between her fingers as she sipped and tasted. The wine was crisp and coolly delicious. “It’s lovely. I’m no connoisseur, though.”

“Just as well. It’s from our own vineyard.”

“Your vineyard?”

“Ours. My family’s in Provence. It’s not a great region for whites, as I’m sure you know. Rose and rouge are the staples, but we have a few acres of vines, and they produced this. My mother sends cases over to me.” It was the first time he’d mentioned his family to her, or any kind of life beyond St Cuthbert’s, though if she’d hoped he would elaborate, she was quickly disappointed.

“Shall we get to your essay?” he asked.

Carla decided to get the hard part over with. It gave her some semblance of control. “I’m sorry it was a bit late.”

He swished wine round his glass. “It was.”

“It was in your inbox when you woke up, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

He sipped his wine.

Carla took a great big glug of hers. “So, not really that late. There are degrees of lateness. Nothing’s ever black-and-white, is it?” she said.

“Except perhaps the difference between one minute to midnight and one minute past?” Alex smiled. “Let’s forget it was late, for now, and concentrate on the content of the essay, not the manner of its delivery.”

Forget? How could she forget his veiled threat? Yet it was too late to dwell on the issue. Alex began to rip apart her essay on the “Brontës’ Byronic Fantasies”. Thirty dizzying minutes later, he handed it back, the margins crammed with notes in small, tight writing. Her brain almost hurt from his questions, but she’d parried them all, defended her points and flung back a few questions of her own that had made him stroke his chin and hesitate. She realised he hadn’t shaved this time. His jawline was shadowed with stubble, just like the man in the mask…

Her wineglass was now empty. “So was it any good for exams?” she asked, wound up so tightly with tension, she didn’t care what she said.

“With a little more discipline in the thoughts, some bolstering of the evidence for a few points, then I think it is an essay that would earn you a good mark in Mods.”

“Oh.” She sank back in the chair.

He frowned. “You don’t seem too happy about that, but you should be. It was a highly competent essay.”

“Still…you didn’t
like
it?”

“I told you before, I’m not in this business to ‘like’ students’ work but to help them develop their own views, even if they’re the polar opposite to mine.”

“I see.” She didn’t. She didn’t want to see at all. The wine and the need to put her hand into the fire made her bold. Provoking him was delicious, thrilling, like marching up to the lair of a dragon and waiting to be scorched with his fiery breath. She sizzled inwardly in anticipation of the heat she feared and longed would follow.

“Alex, you do know I deliberately sent that essay after the deadline? I saw your e-mail and the asterisks. I could have sent it on time. I
chose
not to.”

He regarded her steadily. “I’d have been disappointed if you’d handed it in on time. Extremely disappointed.”

Oh fuck.
“And are you going to do anything about it?” she asked quietly.

“Oh yes.”

He got out of the chair, took her hand and said, almost regretfully, “Because you handed in your essay late, we’re going to do some extra work on the Donne we discussed in our tute. I could see you’re passionate about it. Wait there.”

He crossed to his bookcase, selected a slim volume and handed it to her. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Hell, she didn’t know exactly what she’d expected.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, running her fingers over the leather binding and the gold-tooled lettering.

“It’s two hundred years old and very rare. Not something I’d hand out in tutorials. Now, open it at the mark.”

A feather-light piece of paper was just visible among the leaves. Carla slipped her finger between the sheets and opened the page.

“Elegy 20: To His Mistress, Going to Bed”.

It was the poem they’d discussed earlier in their tutorial. She glanced up at him, questioning.

“Please read it out loud.”

She licked her lips and focused on the words, her senses swimming. What had he in store? Surely her punishment couldn’t simply be to read out a poem, although it was difficult enough to do that with him so close to her, so darkly gorgeous.

“
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy
,” she began. “
Until I labour, I in labour lie…
”

She continued, trying to keep her voice free from tremor as he circled her. She heard his steps behind her, and his fingers brushed her skin with the lightest of touches as he drew down the zip of her dress.

“Read,” he ordered.

“
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime, Tells me from you that now ’tis your bed time…
”

The lights flickered briefly. She wavered.

“Wait…” said Alex.

His voice had a new timbre, hewn from the rough earth, as he took the open book from her and nodded, a wordless order to slip the straps from her shoulders. The fabric slithered over her breasts, and she pushed it down her hips until it lay in a silken puddle at her feet.

Alex handed the book back to her. “Continue.”

“
Your gown’s going off such beauteous state reveals, As when from flowery meads th’hills shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet and show…
Oh!”

He popped the front fastening on her new bra and slipped the straps from her shoulders, releasing her breasts and exposing her aching nipples to his scrutiny. He tossed the bra onto his chair, stood back and blew out a breath.

“I agree with Donne. Your gown’s going off does indeed reveal a beauteous state,” he said, running the edge of his thumbnail over her nipple, which puckered at his touch. “At the risk of a cliché, these remind me of ripe berries, and I want to taste them, but we haven’t quite finished yet.” He handed back the book of verse, then hooked his fingers in the sides of her thong and slowly pulled it down over her thighs to her feet. She closed her eyes, rocking slightly on her heels, and the book trembled in her hand. “Open your legs,” he commanded.

She shuffled her feet apart, imprisoned by the lacy shackle of her thong.

He pointed to the page. “Now read these lines.”

“
License my roving hands…
”

“Slowly, Carla. I want to hear each word.”

“
License my roving hands and let them go…
Oh…”

She fought to focus on the words as he dragged the back of his hand over her bottom, his knuckles caressing her bared skin.

“
Behind, before…
”

He ran his finger slowly down the cleft between her cheeks and lingered at the entrance of her most secret place. She hitched a breath, unable to cope with her reaction to the strange intrusion and what it might mean. She hadn’t… Stephen hadn’t…

Alex’s breath was warm on her neck as he stood behind her. Her whole body tensed in anticipation of what might come next, at his finger poised between her cheeks. If she said the next words, he would…

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“
Above, between…
”

“Well done,” he whispered, transferring his fingers to her clit. “Don’t think you’ll get away with it next time. Now, read on.” His words were a command. She had no choice but to obey him and obey him now.

“
Below,
”
she murmured.

He fingered her clit, taking the nub between his fingers. Her thighs trembled, and the book wobbled in her outstretched hand as he stoked her orgasm. She held her breath and closed her eyes, knowing she would come with one more word. Her pussy rippled as strong waves of stinging sensation rolled through her body. His fingers slipped inside her again and again, and the book fell from her fingers, thudding onto the boards as she collapsed in his arms.

Breathing heavily, she looked up into his eyes, and he shook his head. “What am I going to do with you? That’s a very valuable book you just dropped.”

The strangled sound was her unable to formulate any response, so he spoke the words for her. “
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be.
”

His mouth moved down on hers in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like the first water a woman had ever had after coming out of a desert. She didn’t need the book anymore. All she wanted to know was would he make good on what she considered to be Donne’s most important lines?
To teach thee, I am naked first: why then…

“This isn’t fair, Alex,” she said as he held her tightly. “You should be naked. In fact, you should have been naked first, and there isn’t even any certainty whether Donne’s mistress was unclothed or he is only imagining it.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Life is unfair.”

“Why can’t you be naked? I want to see you too.”

“What you want isn’t at issue here. It’s what I decide you need, and right now, it’s this.”

Before she knew what was happening, he’d sat in his chair and tipped her expertly over his lap. She was so far forward that her elbows were almost touching the carpet, and she was going to overbalance and fall, but that was the least of her worries. His erection was an iron ridge against her stomach, and she wanted to grind her pelvis against his jeaned thighs, wetting them with her juices. She wanted to come right this instant, but not like this. She wanted him inside her, to clench him tightly like a leather glove around a finger.

Alex had other ideas.

She felt something smooth and hard rest on her bottom. She recognised its coolness, polish and weight but didn’t want to accept why it was there. A frisson of fear filled her veins. She might have known the poetry reading had not been sufficient to wipe out the late essay, that there would be a sharper price to pay. She tried to push herself up. “Alex! What is that?”

“Shh.”

She wriggled to try to see what he held, when his arm tightened across her back, and there was a loud smack. The six swats of the clothes brush rained down so fast, she barely had time to breathe, let alone cry out, and in seconds, it was all over. Tears prickled on her eyelashes, and she squeezed them back. The spanking had stung, but it had been very quick, and she hadn’t had to ask him to stop. Her bottom sizzled as the blood quickened in her skin, but she’d survived, and here came the compensation: the twin kisses, right in the centre of each cheek.

“You can get up now. It’s over.” His voice came from a warm, shallow sea, caressing her body and pummelled emotions. He helped her upright and settled her on his lap, his jeans wet from her arousal.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for? Handing in the essay late?”

“No. I did that on purpose.”

“Oh, I see.” He glanced at his damp Levi’s. “Don’t apologise for this. It’s beautiful, and I love making you wet. The wetter the better, in fact,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”

His finger brushed her lashes.

“They’re not tears,” she lied.

“Maybe only tiny ones. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

She shook her head defiantly as her bottom sizzled. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“I must be slipping,” he said, and she was almost sure he was joking. The moment circled them, waiting for what came next.