Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (45 page)

Next stop her bed. He pulls back the
duvet, revealing clean, white sheets. “Very nice,” he comments approving of the
simple bedding. His hand glides along the bottom sheet, it’s cold to the touch
but sensual nevertheless. With his eyes closed, he can picture her there, lying,
waiting for him and reaching out. Better still tied and gagged, squirming on
the sheet until it ripples beneath her like a wave of white foam. As he
pictures the scene, an upwelling of something hot and powerful overcomes him. He
cannot rid himself of it. In his mind’s eye there is not a shred of self-doubt:
he
will
have her.

For the time being, he settles for
masturbation. He drags her blouse from the rucksack and crushes it between his
fingers; with his other hand, he wrestles with his belt and his fly, eager to
act out his fantasy. Being careful not to put his feet on her bed, he lies
across it and manhandles himself until he climaxes with a guttural roar. His
semen is smeared across his jeans, over the sheets and has over-spilled onto
the carpet, so forceful was his release.

“Fuck me. You sure know how to show a guy
a good time.” He wipes himself off with the blouse. “That’s my girl.”

He arranges his clothes and flattens out the
bedding, taking care to smooth out the duvet. “Looks as good as new,” he
commends himself, smiling with self-gratification.

In the kitchen, he checks the contents of
her fridge. He tuts and nods his head. “Oh dear. What have we here?” He closes
it and continues his exploration of 53a.

He walks over to the French doors and
doesn’t bother to open them, he already has the key. Thinking ahead, he pulls
down the top bolt, just in case.

Before leaving, he sits himself down and
acquaints himself with the layout of the place. The sofa is the most
appropriate vantage point to take it all in. Feeling at home, he lifts out a
cigarette and lights up, taking great delight in his accomplishments.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun here Beth,
until we retire to your new home upstairs.” He crushes out the cigarette
between his fingertips and rubs the fallen ash into the carpet. Has a prolonged
look at the cosy space and pulls the front door shut behind him.

With a happy heart he tiptoes upstairs,
feeling like a real contender.

When
we arrive back at the Nijinsky Suite, I’m
thrilled to see flowers in the room. Two enormous bouquets overflowing with
pure white calla lilies and giant chincherinchee and philodendron leaves,
expertly tied with a phormium leaf to create an extravagant indulgence for the
senses. I look over to Ayden and mouth ‘
thank you’
and he mouths back
‘you’re
welcome’
and it’s enough. I feel tears forming and I’m not entirely sure
why. A moment alone, sitting on the bed and it hits me: it’s attention
overload. It’s so much more than I’m used to. We’ve come so far in such a short
time and yet it feels as if we’ve been together forever: you know when it feels
right, and this feels right. We’re at the stage where it’s almost too good to
be true and now all I can do is wait for the bubble to burst. Tonight, there’s
every possibility it may happen and that’s a very scary thought.

Ayden bounds into the bedroom looking like
a cat on a hot tin roof, all fired up about something. “Do you mind if I have a
quick shower before dinner, I’ve got some calls to make?”

“No, of course not you go straight ahead. I’ll
check my emails if that’s ok and upload the photographs?”

“Fine.” He disappears, unbuttoning his
shirt on route.

His laptop patiently waits in the study
for his return. Along the task bar is his email counter: he has sixty seven
emails waiting to be read, and something tells me at least fifty percent of
them are urgent. By dedicating so much of his time to me, he has put himself under
immeasurable pressure. I had no idea.

I check the thirty emails I have received
over three days and dismiss ninety five percent of them. Charlie gets an
update, I check my Twitter page and delete everything else. It takes five
minutes. My finger hovers over Ayden’s email counter, I really want to take a
look, but I think he’s out of the shower and I’m not about to be caught spying.

I occupy myself with the simple task of
transferring photographs from his iPhone and from my camera onto his laptop,
creating one long slideshow. I sit back and enjoy the visual memoir of our
romantic holiday in Rome. I’m surprised at what I see: a catalogue of images,
predominantly of me.

Some of the shots I remember, but most I
don’t. Ayden’s eyes had been on me the entire day, even at those times when I
was consumed with jealousy and more so when I was left alone with my thoughts.
Unselfconscious shots merge into playful poses, all lovingly framed in Rome’s
eternal light but, more importantly, what the photographs have captured is our
love; we are so undeniably into each other, of that there is no doubt.

Such is Ayden’s imposing beauty that he
elevates the attractiveness of those around him, me included, and that’s
something I hadn’t bargained for. He has taken me out of the darkness and has
shown me what life can be like out of the shadows and there’s no going back. I
copy all the photographs onto my pen drive for safe keeping and pop it into my
bag. These are treasured images I will want to view again and again.

The terrace beckons me and I wander out to
take my last breath of Rome’s early evening air. This time tomorrow I’ll be
back in my minuscule apartment sipping tea and loading a washing machine. Ayden
will be preparing for his trip to Hong Kong, taking my love with him.

He appears behind me, hair dripping down
my neck and Calvin Klein’s Obsession filling my nostrils: what a titillating
treat for the senses.

“Do you want to go and get ready, I have a
table booked for seven and you might want to wear something special?”

I need no further encouragement and turn
around to face him, tracing the grooves forming between his eyes with my
forefinger. “If you have work to do, I can call room service later and we can
eat here. I appreciate the time you’ve lavished on me, but life goes on for you
outside these four walls.” I glance around at the open space. “Metaphorically
speaking.”

He smiles and runs his hands through my
hair. “I’m good. Give me an hour or so and I’ll be all yours.” He kisses my
nose affectionately.

“It’s a date. Right here in sixty minutes.
Dry your hair though, I don’t want you catching a chill.” I head back inside
and blow him a kiss.

“Yes dear.”

He watches me leave and I swear I see the
smile fade from his lips with every lengthening stride. What is he keeping from
me? We’ve become so close but there are still so many secrets to be shared, not
all of them pleasant and perhaps, not all of them worthy of forgiveness.

I select music from my iPod by the bed as
a distraction. The familiar sound of Ellie Golding’s
Stary Eyes
fills
the room and I sing along, effortlessly. My favourite Alexander McQueen dove
grey gown draws my eye; it fits me beautifully and the oversized bow is a
stunning accent to the bustline. I lay it across the golden duvet and it rests
there like a dusting of snow on a rural landscape. I can’t wait to pour myself
into it.

Showering and attending to my body is a
lengthy process and, if I’m honest, I’m relishing spending time and money on
myself.

Seventy minutes later and I’m dressed to impress:
silver clutch and heels, simple platinum jewellery and I’m ready to face the
world. When I stand before the full-length mirror, I barely recognise myself. I
have been transformed into a vision of beauty, awoken from a great sleep, and
it’s all thanks to the man in the next room. He has liberated me and I am
forever indebted to him.

Straightening my dress and taking a deep
breath, I open the bedroom door and make the short dash over to the lounge. A
man in a waiter’s outfit moves across the corridor to my right and another
appears out of the lounge. “Hello?” Ayden is nowhere to be seen until, that is,
I walk out onto the terrace.

My mouth hits the floor.

The terrace has been turned into a
wonderland; flickering tea-lights scented with jasmine frame the entire area
and, centre stage is a table covered in a white table cloth, crystal wine
glasses and tall white candles. It’s picture perfect.

Ayden turns to face me and, as if the
whole romantic milieu wasn’t enough, he’s dressed in a black dinner suit,
complete with bow tie. He makes my chest hurt and I reach for it with my right
palm and try to take it all in. My tear filled eyes scan the area and I notice
the string quartet patiently waiting for their cue to start-up. Ayden clicks
his fingers and they begin. I cannot speak. I cannot move. I am awe struck.

“You look so beautiful Beth,” he states,
taking my hand and twirling me around so the tiny train wraps around my ankles.

My spell of silence is broken. “Wow! This
is amazing Ayden. I thought we were going out to dinner.” I brush his hand
against my cheek and feel the early evening breeze in my hair.

“Isn’t this more romantic?” He captures me
with a hopeful stare.

“Just a bit! How did you organise it in
such a short time?” I pick up my dress and take his arm.

“I spoke to the Manager this morning and
he sorted everything out. I did very little.” He pulls back my chair and I seat
myself.

“Don’t make light of it Ayden, this is a
grand gesture and I love it. Thank you.”

I slip his hand into mine across the table
for the second time today and reignite that spark of sensual longing between
us: this wonderful man moves me in so many ways. “Ayden, you look insanely
handsome.” I make no excuses for gushing.

“
Insanely
handsome, I like that.”
He gives me a broad smile and I reciprocate with a playful pout.

Before beginning the meal, Ayden ushers
over a tall, blonde haired gentleman of around 25 who is carrying an array of
cameras around his neck.

“This is Josh, I’ve flown him in to take a
couple of photographs.” Ayden reaches for my hand and I stand, unsure of
exactly what I’m supposed to do or where I supposed to stand.

Thankfully, Josh is a consummate
professional. He drags over a powerful light, tilts it in our direction and
positions us in such a way I know we’ll look perfect together. Sensing my
nervousness, Ayden, touches my waist with his fingers, making me smile broadly
and I gaze up at him. I must look like a love-sick teenager but, what the hell.
I’m deliriously happy and I don’t care who knows.

After twenty minutes, he leaves us to our
meal, we talk quietly until the waiter arrives with the first course and, even
then, I find it difficult to stop smiling. Being crazy happy can do that to a
person.

Our musicians leave at around 8.15 and the
plates and coffee cups are cleared by 8.30. We take our glasses of champagne
over to the sofa and sit back, gazing up at the heavens. The night sky has
descended and turned into a rich, midnight blue; sharp, little stars are
piercing the velvet clouds, twinkling above our head. Ayden has his bow tie
undone, resting around his collar and hanging seductively around his open
necked shirt: casually coiffed and composed in his dinner suit, he strikes a
princely pose. What more can I ask for?

“This has been a wonderful break Ayden, I
can’t remember ever being this happy.”

“It’s not over yet.” He knows something
but isn’t telling. The only clues I have are a knowing look and a coy smile.

“Oh no! What have you arranged, a meteor
shower, fireworks?”

“No but there’s an idea, let me write that
down.” He pretends to pat his jacket, as if looking for a pen and paper.

“Oh stop. You can’t top this, so don’t
even try.” I take hold of his left bicep and wrap both my arms around it.  “To
think I ever doubted you.” I begin to laugh at myself.

He’s intrigued. “Whatever do you mean?”

“When we met, you said you were, I quote ‘
a
Romantics man’
and I said
‘I doubt that.
’ Do you remember?”

“All I remember is wanting to take you in
my arms there and then. And you saying I didn’t win. That’s what
I
remember.” His tone is clipped but it’s merely for effect.

“That’s close enough,” I concede. “Anyway,
it’s been a trip of a lifetime and I want to make one last toast to memorable
days ...”

“… And unforgettable nights.”

Oh yes, especially those.

The thought of his hands on me, makes me
fizz all over. “Cheers.”

Our glasses touch and the sound of them
chinking echoes into the night. “Cheers.”

Ayden inhales deeply, for some reason his
chest feels a little tight and, even though his eyes are overflowing with green
gorgeousness, he’s preoccupied. I wonder why.

He gazes at the night sky and back down at
me. “You know Beth, of all the stars I have ever looked upon, you are by far
the brightest and the most precious.”

Wow!

“Listen to you! Waxing lyrical. We’ll make
a poet out of you yet,” I tease. “That’s a lovely thing to say.”

But there’s more. “I’ve not done my party
piece yet.”

 Allowing him to see the depth of my love
for him, I raise my head. Can he see it in my eyes?

“O first and fairest of the starry choir,
O loveliest 'mid the daughters of the night,
Must not the maid I love like thee inspire
Pure joy and calm Delight?”

I know this poem.
“Samuel Taylor
Coleridge?” He nods.

“It’s a much longer poem but that’s the
part I like the best, that’s the part that reminds me of you.”

I snuggle up even tighter. “Thank you,
it’s beautiful. You’re a romantic at heart Ayden. Don’t let anyone tell you
otherwise.”

Right here, right now, there’s no place I
would rather be. In a single heartbeat, I’d trade every night spent alone for
this. My destiny has been decided for me and I’ll willingly continue to follow
my fateful star wherever it leads me. I break the silence. “We packed a lot in
today, don’t you think?  I had fun.”

“Sure you did, once you calmed down and
started to enjoy yourself.”

I know where this is going. “I was calm,
for most of the day anyway.”

“Not when our delightful tour guide was
around you weren’t.” He’s tilting his head down, waiting for my response.

“Can you blame me? She thought she had you
in the bag?” Now I have his attention.

“Really? That’s interesting. What gave her
that impression?” He raises me off his chest, positioning my face directly in
front of his.

“You were giving her
the
look.”

He’s smiling boyishly. “What look?”

“The one you have perfected over the
years, the one you use on unsuspecting females when you want them to fall at
your feet. The one you use on me.”

He starts to laugh but it’s embarrassed
laughter. He’s been found out: his cover is blown. “And how do you feel when I
give you
the look?”

“Don’t be coy Ayden, you know.”
Affectionately, I push him away with my flat palm.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I do know.” He kisses my
forehead. “I do it on purpose with you, but no-one else. I only have eyes for
you baby. You know that.”