Love in London by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Twelve

Oz

We step into a private room that’s marked with a printed-out sign indicating that we should wait here for the tour guides, and find it deserted. I’m surprised it’s not overflowing with people – when Gabby said ‘tour’, I was imagining twenty or so prospective students, probably accompanied by their overbearing and fretting parents.

Which would not be good for me, standing next to Gabby, but here we are. I’d rather be mistaken for her dad than not get to spend time with her at all.

But here we are, and the room is empty. It looks like not much has changed except the posters on the noticeboard since I was a student here myself. It’s little more than a waiting room, there’s a small table scattered with leaflets and a couple of padded benches around the sides of the room where people can wait. There are no windows, which is a little disconcerting. It’s giving the impression that the college is badly in need of an update.

Which I’m sure won’t last, because we’re going on from here to tour all the new, modern additions the campus has seen over the last two decades. Still. Maybe I should have a word with the alumni association about sprucing things up a bit.

We take a seat on one of the benches, right beside each other. I half expect Gabby to move away slightly, but she doesn’t. She just stays where she is like she’s comfortable.

She might be the only one, because having her so close that I can feel the heat of her body is already beginning to drive me insane, and it’s only been thirty seconds.

“So, I guess we wait here,” I say, a little uncertain. I think I get away with it. It must sound like I’m not sure about the process here, just like I’m not sure I can handle sitting this close to her for very long.

“Was it like this when you came here?” Gabby asks, frowning slightly. Then she flushes a little and shakes her head. “Don’t answer that. It was too long ago. It might not even be the same year after year, let alone…”

“Decade after decade?” I suggest drily.

She makes a slight coughing noise as if to dispel the awkwardness. “Something like that,” she says. “Not in a bad way, you know. Just…”

“In a factual way?” I suggest, looking into her face. She turns to look at me as well, our faces inches apart. So close that, again, I expect her to move away.

But she doesn’t.

There’s a little catch in her breath, her eyes falling down from meeting mine to my lips, to the place where our legs almost touch, then back again. I watch her gaze and find my own traveling to her mouth when her tongue darts across her lips.

For a long moment, it seems as though we’re suspended there, in time, exchanging glances. Her eyes to my eyes. Her eyes to my lips. My eyes to her lips. Then back again.

There’s no mistaking it, now. The magnetism. The desire. The pull that both of us feel. This is it.

I was wrong to assume she doesn’t see me the way I see her. I can feel that now. The desire. It emanates from her like heat, pheromones that make me dizzy. And I’m not going to let it go to waste.

I bend my head just a little, only a little, and our lips meet the way our eyes have, soft at first, barely a collision.

And that’s when it really begins.

The first taste of her is like the first shot of an addictive drug, so strong I know I’m never getting out of its clutches. I put my hand up to her jawline, cupped her face, holding her close to me as I deepened the kiss. I feel like a starving man given my first taste of sweet fruit. I’m hungry now, so hungry I can’t hold back. Within what feels like just the barest moment, my tongue flicks across her lips and she opens for me, allowing me inside.

It feels like the deeper I get, the more I taste of her, the more I want. I’m insatiable for her, pressing my body over hers as I hold her desperately, needing her to be closer still. I feel her hand snaking into my hair at the back of my head like she’s hanging onto me for dear life, an anchor to keep her from slipping away.

She utters a breathy gasp into my mouth and it’s all I can do not to rip her clothes off then and there. I find my other hand gripping onto her hip, steadying both her and myself, caressing her curves. The bench we’re sitting on is too narrow, won’t allow me to get close enough to her, to hold her against me the way I want to.

I push her down gently, never breaking the aching and hungry contact between our mouths, the only sounds I can hear are our pants for breath each time we break for a single moment. I lay her back against the seat cradling her head above it, her body stretched out below me. I can’t help myself. My hand roams down the length of her body and back up again, moving from her hip to her ribs to the side of her breast, glorying in the feel of her skin through the thin fabric

She moans under me, her hips coming up to meet mine like it’s a natural fact, a foregone conclusion. I know she feels it too, this animal drive that’s pushing us together. It’s inevitable now. The only question that remains is how long the dance will last before we become one.

Any concerns about where we are have disappeared if I even had them in the first place. I only want to lose myself in her, to bury myself deep inside her pussy and claim her. I will have her, no matter what it takes. I rear my head back, breaking the contact with her mouth only so that I can kiss her neck, to feel her moans vibrating under my tongue as I mark her, to feel her arch against me even further. I move my head lower, nuzzling over her collarbone, my hands traveling ahead of me to cup her breasts, to marvel at their size and shape and the way they seem to fit my grasp perfectly–

“Wait,” she gasps breathlessly, bringing me to an abrupt stop. “Wait, Oz.”

I stop and look up at her, no longer moving. I don’t even take my hands away from where they are. I remain pressed over her, ready to resume if it should turn out that she only has a minor objection that we can resolve together.

If she wants me to stop, there’s no way I’ll go on, even given how badly I want her. But if it’s something else…

“You should know, first,” she says, and despite the glazed look of passion and pleasure and lust in her eyes, I know she’s serious. Her cheeks are flushed, and not just from what we were doing. It’s something she has to say, something she doesn’t want to. My heart leaps and stutters in my chest.

“I’m… I’m a virgin.”

I stare at her for a second, just a second, preparing my response. I don’t move, don’t even blink, because there isn’t enough time.

There isn’t enough time before the door of the waiting room opens abruptly, and someone comes in, talking loudly as they do so.