Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (15 page)

A lascivious smile takes shape. “I’m
very
motivated.” As if I’m a sack of feathers, he lifts me and, with my hands still
caressing his face, carries me into my bedroom.

The room is awash with sunlight and I’m
about to lose my nerve when he slams me down onto the side of the bed without
pleasantries or permission. Roughly he undoes my jeans and yanks down both my
jeans and my underwear in one swift pull. When I look at him, his eyes are wild
and fierce and I’m a little intimidated. Maybe I should have thought this
through.

He drags his belt off and pulls down his
jeans and boxers. To describe his cock as firm would be an understatement; it’s
rigid and bulging and ready to impale me.

What happened to foreplay?

But no, he’s over me in a second. His left
hand feels for moisture between my legs, while his right hand takes the condom
from his pocket and savagely tears the wrapper apart with his teeth.

I start to pant noisily. I’m breathless
and wanton, writhing on the sheets, edging back.

My God, he’s taking me at my word!

Before I can stop him, he’s manhandling
himself, finding my sex. I feel the tip of something firm against me, like
steel wrapped in velvet, but only for a second before he edges into me; gently
at first, allowing me to accommodate his size, and then in thrusting, jerking
movements until he is deep inside me. I cry out more from shock than
discomfort. My opening is tight and I can feel him pushing me to my limit: it’s
excruciating but what a glorious turn-on.

My mouth falls open and I reach for him
but he denies me his mouth, instead he positions his muscular arms left and
right of me to support himself. I want to feel his wet tongue, to conceal
myself in the shadows beneath his chin but there’s nowhere to hide: I am
exposed in the most intimate of ways.

We find each other with our eyes and
augment our connection. I place my hands on his arms and feel the hardness of
his biceps; inhale his virile scent and watch him work up a sweat. Even if I
wanted to, I couldn’t stop him now. But why would I want to?

He is lunging into me, but still holding
back. “You feel so tight Beth.”

The fact he uses my name ignites something
deep inside me: he’s not simply following an instruction, this is free-will
fucking and yet, he’s treating me like I have fragile stamped across my
forehead.

“Stop holding back Ayden. I said fuck me.”

He has my permission to let go, and let go
he does. I feel him dipping his hips to find more length;  his penetration is
starting to feel primitive and savage.

I’m desperate to come. “Please Ayden …” I
grab his hips and pull him into me, my nails digging into the fleshy part of
his buttocks; he winces and throws back his head in wild abandon.

Until now I have not known what it is to
ache for someone. To have this flawless man inside me, is more than I could
dare to wish for. To have him here, filling an emptiness inside me, chasing
away the loneliness, I would give him anything.

I’m arching my back and breathing in the
pheromone filled air between us: taking all of him. Every inch of my body is
tingling and boiling. This is what Ayden meant when he talked about being
possessed and taking possession. He’s locked deep inside my body: I am his and
he is mine.

“Fuck, Beth, you’re crushing me.”

I prolong his wondrous agony and pull in
my internal muscles tight.

“No!” He feels my every movement. “Stop,
it’s too much!”

I release him and allow him to push me
further. I suck him in deeper and deeper to the throbbing rhythm of  J Lo’s, ‘
On
the Floor ’
playing in the kitchen. This isn’t love making, it’s something
else, much more lustful and primal. I had asked for this, dear God I had
insisted on it. Whatever
it
is, I know I’ll want it over and over again.

“Come now Ayden, come now!”

“No.”

“Come …”

“No. I’ll come when
I’m
fucking
ready,” he snarls. With that he lifts my left leg and pushes into me so deeply,
I can feel his steaming body against my straining folds.

“Ayden!” I call out, allowing his passion
and my panic to race on to fever pitch. There is some discomfort but it’s
surpassed by my need to orgasm with him still inside me.

In a contorted voice he hisses, “Come on
Beth, let’s hear it …”

His words do something to me. I’m starting
to tremble, my breathing is frantic and I feel the heat of his flesh radiating
over me. I’m at my limit, about to explode.

With grinding passion, he calls out.
“You’re burning up inside … give it up for me.”

And I do. I jerk upwards and come so hard
I crush him with my ecstatic clinching. He watches me with a seething stare and,
with a final thrust that fills every centimetre, I watch him lose all self-control,
lose himself in me. He orgasms with a roaring release that shocks me. It rips
him apart and every pulsing thrust presses against me like a heartbeat.
Instinctively, I pull him to me, calming him with soft words.

When he raises himself he is drenched in
sweat and his body glistens with a moist second skin. Still breathless, he
tries to speak. “I’m ... I’m going to think very carefully about the way I
phrase this but ... you’re one hell of a fuck Beth.”

“And that’s you saying it nicely?” I grin
with mock indignation.

“It’s all I can manage.” Once he settles,
he turns to face me with a captivating stare. “That was our first time.”

As if I didn’t know. “Yes it was.” I smile
softly, concealing in that smile an intimate connection that will never be
broken.

We’re both naked from the waist down and
our faces are soaked with perspiration but, in the cold light of day, he’s
everything I have dreamt of, wished for, waited for.

“You’re so beautiful inside and out Beth
and I like being around you.” He pulls me to him and our foreheads touch.

“I like being around you too.” I stroke
his face, feeling the heat of his exertion searing my skin. “It’s all about you
and me, our two worlds
have
collided, and I was wrong.” I recall our
first conversation.

“You don’t think it will end in tears?” He
holds my hand to his face. He remembers too.

“I hope not.”

“Me too.” He brushes my lips with his
thumb, sealing in those words and follows through with a kiss. “I’ll run you a
bath, you’ll feel better after a soak.” He dashes off to the bathroom, pulling
off the condom on route.

Realising I’m only partially clothed I
wriggle myself off the bed. It isn’t until I stand, the after effects hit me.

Ouch!

My legs are wobbly and my head is fuzzy, I
may need to sit down for a minute.

***

After a quick soak, I feel much better.
When I join Ayden in the lounge, he’s still busy working on
my
laptop
and is consulting his iPhone at regular intervals. I pour out two glasses of
Rioja and hand him one but whatever it is that is holding his attention is far
more important than the wine.

“This will only take a couple of minutes,”
he says, maintaining his focus on the screen. “Then I’m all yours.”

The promise of that keeps me still and
silent for a while.

“Ok.” He slams down the laptop lid. “I’m
done.” He’s taking a long, lingering look at my face, I assume for any signs of
discomfort or pain. I offer a cheerful smile and he seems relieved. “What are
we celebrating?”

“I don’t know. You decide.”
Where to
start?

He’s happy to oblige. “Alright ... to you,
Beth.” He reaches out to touch glasses.

“Me?” Why me?

“It has to be you Beth.” Our glasses
touch. “Apart from the sex which, incidentally, was blind-blowing, I have to
say I’ve never met a more charming and alluring woman than you. Thank you for
inviting me into your home.” He pulls me to him. “How are you feeling?”

Better for hearing that …

“Good, a little sore but good.” I kiss his
hair and stroke his head with my free hand, even up close he’s a sight to
behold.

“Let’s go and spend some money.” He
reaches over to the small leather wallet and wafts it in front of my nose.
“This seems to have found its way into my overnight bag.”

I try to walk away but he keeps hold of my
hand.  “I have money Ayden, I don’t need yours,” I say, sounding insulted.

“I know, and I can guess why you gave it
back.” He lowers his chin and observes me through long eyelashes. “It’s not
payment for anything: It’s a gift.” He places the visa card in my hand and
folds my fingers around it. “I have lots of money too but, what’s the point of
having it if I can’t share it. I want to share it with you and this is a start.
Please take it.”

“But ...”

“Stop with the but’s: it’s a fucking gift.
Not a gift for fucking.” He gives me a grim look. “You’ll make me very unhappy
if you don’t.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy Ayden, but
don’t do this again, not without asking me. Ok?”

“Yes Miss Parker.” He stands and twists me
around, holding onto my hand. “Let’s get you ready for Rome. The pin’s your
date of birth.”

Of course it is.

Dan woke to a crisp, icy morning fired up by the
prospect of carrying out some under-cover work. He has been parked up on
Grosvenor Crescent, opposite Stone Heath since 0800hrs with no more than a
flask of tea, two cold pasties and an empty bottle to piss in. He’s carried out
surveillance work before. It’s another of his ‘skills.’ The heater is blasting
out hot air and the radio is blarting out rock music. Suspicious locals and
early morning dog walkers are drawn to the vehicle: it looks out of place at
the upmarket address. No self-respecting resident would be seen dead driving an
ancient, silver BMW?

Feeling in the mood for gadgets, Dan snaps a couple of
photos; zooms in on the alarm box and the windows checking for locks. The
impressive, three storey property is not that pretty to look at but, he knows,
it’s worth around three mill, maybe more: three floors, two garages and a roof
top terrace. “Very nice,” he remarks to no-one in particular. “You’ve done
alright for yourself Stone.”

He swaps the camera for a Dictaphone, anticipating he
won’t be able to scribble down notes
and
drive at the same time. After a
quick test, he clears his throat and begins his report on the job he’s decided
to call. ‘Operation Snatch Back.’ He thinks it has a punchy ring to it.

“
It’s 1045hrs Saturday 20
^th
October.
Operation Snatch Back is underway.  Carrying out surveillance at Grosvenor
Crescent, permanent address of Mr. Ayden Stone
.” He glances up and down the
road.
“There’s limited access from the south and multiple entry points via
ground floor garages and doors, front and rear …”

As his mouth forms another word, a silver Rolls Royce
edges out of the right hand garage and forces his lips into a sneer. He reaches
for his binoculars and confirms the registration number ASMED1A.

“It’s 1045hrs. The vehicle in question is exiting the
premises and heading in a northerly direction. In pursuit, maintaining maximum
distance to avoid detection.”
  The
key clicks in the ignition and his car splutters into life. “We’re on.”

From his ‘maximum’ distance he is unable to see who is
in the car; he makes an educated guess that the chauffeur is driving and that
Stone is either in the back, or about to be picked up. He knows where from, and
that sneer becomes a grin that stretches from ear to ear at the prospect of an
early Christmas present. He thrums the steering wheel excitedly; it’s been a
while since he was on the receiving end of good tidings.

The driver takes the North Circular Road and heads out
of the city in the direction of Kinsbury. Five roundabouts later, Dan turns off
at the Pinner exit: he’s clocked 17 miles before he ends up in Harrow. The
silver Rolls pulls up outside a three story block of tidy apartments. The
chauffeur gets out. He waits.

To Dan’s utter delight, it’s the same attractive
couple he saw leaving the theatre on Wednesday night: he’s hit the jackpot.
They’re hand in hand; she’s glowing, just like he knew she would and he’s
smiling as if he’s just cracked a joke.
“Note for records, the address is 53
Elm Gardens, Harrow. Three story building with double security to front.  Will
double back to check possibility of rear entry.

It’s decision time: does he follow the Rolls or stay
and focus on target address? He has nothing to gain by following them. Now he
knows where they both live, he can pay them a visit any time.

“Time check: 1125hrs, target address secured.
Remaining on site to assess security arrangements and entry points.”
With a predatory instinct, he watches the silver
vehicle disappear out of sight with its three passengers. It’s time for a
drive-by.