Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (49 page)

“Centre yourself Beth.”

I’m trying ... I want to.

“Stay with me.”

My agitation is offset against his
unstoppable kisses; the combination of pressure and wetness eases my anxiety
and my body responds, rising to meet his.

“That’s it …”

The insatiable nature of his kiss is
nothing compared to the hum of his growing arousal; with my eyes covered, each
sound he makes is an aural expression of unparalleled adoration. Every muscle
in my body responds. Making the most of each, precious second he places his
knees, one at a time, between my thighs and spreads me.

“Do you love me Beth?” He asks, surely not
needing more assurances? Before I can answer, he asks another question through
clenched teeth, breath escaping his mouth in a hiss. “Do you want me Beth?”

I find the words from somewhere. “Yes …
yes.”

“Let me take care of you.” I feel his
hands pulling up my legs, inspecting what is his and I’m grateful for the blindfold: 
I am utterly exposed. His fingers pave the way and push into me, dipping into
my saturated opening.

“Yes, yes.” I call out abandoning any
bashful thoughts, simply rising and falling to the rhythm of his urgent
fingers. My swollen clitoris cries out for his thumb. “I need to come,” I
plead.  “Please don’t torture me.”

“I won’t. I’m going to lick you until you
beg me to stop.” His words are like flames to my core; they ignite my passion
and set my internal organs alight.

“Feel me.” I jerk to the sensation of his
tongue lapping against my clitoris. No amount of mental preparation could have
readied me for this moment. Every thought is centred around that sensorial
point of nerve endings. I’m losing all self-control, climbing to the sound of
his breathing, reaching the point where I can take no more.

“Stop,” I call out, pulling against my
restraints, writhing into his mouth. He pauses and before I can regain my
sanity, thrusts his hard cock into me in one long, forceful motion. I visualise
him, his arms lifting my thighs, his body wedged against mine and him living
inside me. It’s so fucking erotic. I don’t know which way to turn.

Through muffled groans he growls, “I want
to give you everything, Beth.” And I believe him. His movements become frantic,
as if he’s possessed by some primal need to fuck: hard, fast penetration,
pushing me to my limit.

“Come with me.” He leans over and snatches
off the blindfold.

I blink to accustom my eyes to the light. I‘m
shocked by what I see. His body is glistening with sweat, his hair is flat
against his forehead and, his once sparkling eyes are the colour of the charm
on my bracelet: dark, midnight blue.

“We’re going to do this together.” He
doubles his efforts, all the time binding me to him with his fierce eyes. I’m
watching him, watching me climax and it’s such a powerful turn-on I start to
pant, trying to hold off my orgasm, anticipating that monumental moment when
our two worlds collide in a riotous explosion of pure passion.

“Let it go, burn for me Beth,” he calls
out, making it impossible for me to contain my ecstasy. Responding to my
involuntary clenching he comes with a raucous yell, loud enough to raise the
dead, ejaculating what feels like hot lava into my core.

“Feel me Beth, it’s all for you!”

I throw back my head and gasp my way
through an earth-shattering explosion of pure pleasure, calling out his name, surrendering
my orgasm to him. “Ay-den!”

He fights to regain his composure and,
still inside, leans up and kisses me hard. I can taste the salt in his perspiration
and feel the heat coming off his skin: he’s totally wasted. 

Leaning over my head, he releases me from
the cord. It feels good to stretch my arms. His gaze rests on my wrists which
have been marked by the corded rope and I see he is unhappy about the tell-tale
signs of my struggle. Me, I’m too overcome with post coital bliss to care.

Flat and motionless, he lays beside me; I
turn onto my left side and take stock of him. He is absolutely knackered. All I
can do is grin.

He can barely turn his head to look at me,
and I receive a side-ways glance. “That’s a happy face,” he remarks, with every
ounce of stamina sucked from his body.

“I’m a happy person,” I announce proudly.
“You seem a little, what’s the word ... exhausted?”

He sends a wide stare in my direction and
silences me with it. “You don’t say.”

I lean over and kiss him softly, feeling
him raise his right arm to hold me close. “Thank you for taking care of me
Ayden.” I frame his left cheek with my hand.

“Thank you for letting me.” His lips rest
on my hair. “What time is it?” He asks, suddenly alert.

I glance at the bedside clock. “It’s
9.15.”

Straightaway, both hands are in his hair.
“Shit!” Pushing me off his chest he slides out of bed. “I told Jake to call me
at nine. I had no idea I’d be involved in a fucking marathon.”

With that he picks up his bathrobe and
stomps off into the study.

Oh dear!

With no more than a half-eaten chicken
carcass and a bloated cat for company, Dan flicks his way through this month’s
issue of Hussler magazine. Some men buy it for the pictures, others for the
articles. He buys it for both. Across his lap, a blond bombshell bares her
wares to the world and her nakedness causes sexual yearnings to stir in him.
For all her exhibitionism the girl in the photo is no match for
his
girl.
He will not allow a stranger to corrupt his mind, to steal his affections: he’s
saving himself for Beth Parker, no-one else. But, with his hands hardened and
fit for purpose, what to do?

He closes his eyes, abandons reality and
waits, waits for her to arrive, to take her place in the well-rehearsed scene.
When she makes her entrance, she floors him with a look of such magnitude his
pants moisten with pre-cum. Some may see terror in those sky blue eyes, he sees
only desire.

“Welcome home princess. It’s been a while,
but you’ve come back to me.” In his fevered brain, she twirls and dances over
to him, when really she’s turning away. On his command she stills and becomes a
statue, a Grecian beauty. Most people fear him, give him a wide berth, but not
her. She wants him, has to have him.

The leash around her neck keeps her to
heel, all it takes is a gentle tug and she tips forward, moves closer. The
chains around her ankle prevent her from falling and the tape across her mouth
makes words unnecessary.

With one enormous hand he cups her face
and squeezes until her features contract and tears form. “I’m going to teach
you a fucking lesson princess. One you won’t forget.”

The chair creaks and moans beneath him as
he leans into it, finding purchase for his heels, knowing what’s coming next.
The hard skin on his heeling palm feels alien against his pulsating cock; like
the hand of a stranger. Not the velvet touch he envisages, but more like that
of someone who has toiled, busied themselves with hard labour: a sex slave
maybe? He likes the sound of that.

The thought of having sex on-tap excites
him further; he has the means and the opportunity, why not? His arousal peeks.
Tiny beads of sweat gather on his forehead and across his lip. He picks up the
pace and the anticipation of sexual violence is enough to have him gasping and
clutching at the threadbare arm of the chair. He’s on fire. The scorching
sensation comes out of a delirious craving for a solitary person.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he
declares, believing it to be a statement of fact. He’s unaware of the savagery
of his self-abuse and pounds on and on until the image of her wilting body is
so intense he cannot contain himself. He comes hard into her yielding core,
still unable and unwilling to open his eyes. When he does, his sight is drawn
to his bruised and flaccid penis.

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing. Can’t
get enough of Danny boy eh? This time tomorrow you’ll be begging for more.”

M
y
own desire was to stay in bed, but I
reconsidered; this is our last day and I want to make the most of it. The
shower reinvigorates every part of by body, and alleviates the impact of the
welts forming on my wrists. I emerge pink and buffed and dress alone in the
bedroom, picking up my bathrobe off the carpet by the bed as I go. From it
falls the cord, the blindfold and a condom packet, unopened. I gather them up
and throw them in the drawer and select my travel outfit. A simple pair of pale
blue designer jeans, a white Calvin Klein T-shirt and a matching scarf to go
with my navy blazer.

When I step into the lounge, room service
are just leaving, having laid out our breakfast selection on the terrace. Ayden
is calmly giving a subordinate a series of instructions relating to some kind
of merger. It looks like I’ll be having breakfast alone today with only my
memories of the past three days for company. I can live with that.

Orange juice from a crystal glass tumbler
trickles down my throat, while I gaze out over the now familiar panorama,
feeling as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. This day feels
special somehow.

Hearing his footsteps I turn; he’s still
wearing his bathrobe, unshowered and decidedly unkempt. My mouth twitches as I
try to withhold an amused grin.

“Is everything ok?” I ask tentatively.

“It is now,” he answers rather abruptly,
shaking his head from side to side. “I can’t believe I lost track of time like
that, that never happens.”

Well, I’m sorry to have kept you.

I feel affronted. He grabs a croissant
with one hand and pours out a cup of coffee with the other. I say nothing and
pretend to be reading the newspaper, giving him time to reconsider his
thoughtless remark. Becoming aware of my silence, he puts down his coffee and
moves over to where I’m sitting. In the same way he did in the coffee shop, he
places his hands on the arms of the chair and leans into me. I lift my eyes to
his, waiting for his acknowledgment.

“Good morning.” His eyes are a kind of
sultry green colour, specks of brown and gold are flickering in his irises like
an early morning firework display. They hold my attention. Even though he’s
unshaven, with two days growth and looks as if he’s just rolled out of bed,
he’s still incredibly handsome.

“Good morning.” For all the wrong reasons
I feel a little bashful and self-conscious. This gorgeous man has seen me tied
up and entirely naked, and it’s that very thought that causes me to blush.

“You’ve been very demanding, Miss Parker,”
he admonishes. “So much so you made me miss my nine o’clock call.” A
feather-light kiss finds my lips. “If we had more time, I would carry you back
to bed and take those fifteen minutes back in kind.”

I say nothing. I’m too busy trying to
conceal my crimson cheeks.

“Is this what they call the silent
treatment?” he asks, playfully.

I raise my eyes to his and shake my head:
no.

He takes a step back. “I do believe you’re
blushing, I wonder why?”

Stifling a smile I look away to the left.

“My precious little genie is wishing she
could climb back into her bottle right now.”

I can’t help but laugh. “No, I’m not. I’m
never going back. I’m just ...”

“ ...  Shy about what we got up to.”

I nod, yes.

He tips up my chin with his right hand.
“Did I keep my promise? Did I take good care of you?”

“Yes, you did.” I smirk.

“And do you want to do it again?” His
smile is wickedly mischievous; his brows are lifted high for effect. He’s
simply irresistible.

“Yes please.” I whisper softly, pulling
his bed-head to mine. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always a pleasure and never a chore, Miss
Parker.” He ends the conversation with a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m going to
shower and make myself presentable for you. Can you bear to be away from me for
ten minutes?”

“It will be tortuous but I’ll soldier on
somehow,” I tease, pushing him away from me.

“That’s the spirit.” He tips his head back
gleefully, and I can hear him laughing as he leaves the terrace.
He’s
in
a good mood.

I use my time to check my texts and emails.
I reply to Charlie and renew my car insurance on line, and that takes all of
ten minutes.

Ayden appears on the terrace looking much
less dishevelled, still a little tired around the eyes but refreshed and clean
shaven. He kisses my hair before sitting down opposite me. “You smell good.”

“Thank you. So do you.” I pour out another
cup of coffee and place it down in front of him but, before I can pull my left
hand away, he gently takes hold of it and slots it between his right and left
palms.

“We don’t have much time Beth. I want to
finalise something.”

Oh? Why do I think this is going to be a
serious conversation? “About last night?”

“No. Something else.”

“Ok.” I lean further into the table,
giving him my full attention, keeping my eyes on his face, searching for clues.
I wait.

“Well ... I’ve been thinking about this
for a while and, you know ...”

Whatever it is he’s struggling to get it
out. Is he finishing with me? I can’t conceal my fear, my voice is a mournful
utterance. “Are we breaking up?”

He’s shocked at my question, and takes my
hand to his lips. “Dear God no! Why would you think that?”

“You ... you can’t get the words out and
you mentioned finalising something.”

“That’s because I’m an idiot and I’ve
fucked it up, said the wrong thing, phrased it all wrong.” He blows out an
impatient gust of air. “What I’m trying to say is ...” He reaches into his left
trouser pocket with his hand and lifts out a small blue box.

I can’t take my eyes of it, of him, of it.
He flips it open. I see what’s inside.

“Francis Elizabeth Parker will you marry
me?”

It’s embarrassing I know, but my mouth has
fallen open; I’m having to cover it with my free hand. I try to speak. This is
so unexpected.

“Beth?” He’s trying to coax me with a
stare but I can’t shake my eyes free of the platinum engagement ring. “Do you
plan on answering any time soon? Do you need time to think about it?”

“No.”

He’s taken aback. “No. You won’t marry me,
or no you don’t need time to think about it?”

I start to laugh. “I love you Ayden, but
this has got to be the least romantic proposal ever. What are you like?” I
stand, still leaving my left hand in his and slither onto his lap. “Yes I will
marry you and no I don’t need time to think about it.” My smile is so wide, my face
hurts: I’m beaming.

He reaches around me and removes the
stunning ring from the box. “Thank God for that. For a minute there, I thought
you were turning me down.” His relief is audible.

“Now why would you think that?” I ask,
taking his beautiful face in my hands. “You’re the man I adore.”

“Give me your hand.” I outstretch the
fingers of my left hand. “If you don’t like it, we can choose another, but it
matches your bracelet so I thought.”

I hold it up to the light. “It’s perfect.”
A constellation of sparkling, ice white diamonds frame an enormous sapphire the
colour of the night sky; cut into the shape of a heart. Exactly the same colour
as the charm on my platinum bracelet. It’s gloriously extravagant and must have
cost a fortune.

I shift my attention to him. “You didn’t
have to buy me this you ...” But, before I can finish the sentence, he grips my
head and pulls my mouth onto his, smothering out my words.

Between a passionate kiss he confesses.
“Yes I did. You’ve had my heart from day one.”

“Oh Ayden, that’s such a romantic thing to
say.” I take another look at my engagement ring and a thought occurs to me. “Do
you realise what you’ve given me: it’s a heart of stone, it’s your heart.” I
feel tears welling, making it impossible to focus on my future husband. I wrap
my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “I love you Ayden.”

“I love you more Beth, and I can’t imagine
my life without you.”

I make him a solemn promise. “You won’t have
to. I will always love you.”

Ayden spends the next twenty minutes
consuming two portions of scrambled eggs and bacon: the night and early morning
exertions have given him a ravenous appetite. I’m happy to read him the headlines
and to listen to him relay details about the Hong Kong merger. His enthusiasm
is contagious, even his body language conveys a heighten awareness of all
things corporate; he’s gesticulating, raising his voice, making declarations
about profit margins and productivity. With every new revelation, I feel him
slipping away, leaving me for his mistress: A.S. Media International.

I’ve been spoilt, demanded his attention
like a petulant child; but now, for all his wealth and position, spending whole
days and nights together has become a luxury even he can ill afford. With the
deal done and our engagement ‘finalised,’ we’re about to return home. I have
the love of a wonderful man who wants to give me everything and I have the ring
to prove it so ... why then, do I feel like his latest acquisition.

He’s instructed, the hotel staff to pack
our cases and I’m keeping out of the way, but what if they find the blindfold
and the cord and the condoms? Shit! And my toys! I’m mortified at the thought.

When I return to the bedroom, they are all
but done; clothes folded beautifully, shoes bagged. I make my move. “Thank you
for your help, I’ll take it from here.”

“Very well Miss Parker. Please call
reception when you are ready to have your cases collected.” The forty something
housekeeper, straightens her uniform and exits the room, leaving me to pack our
private possessions and toiletries.

It’s a five minute job. I take a long,
lingering look at the king-sized bed and memories of the night before converge
on the golden duvet, jostle for first place and cause a surge of sexual bliss
to radiate around my body. I leave the room, wearing a sensual smile, betraying
the kind of guilty pleasures which some might consider improper. What do they
say, as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual?

I go in search of Ayden, to organise our
day. I don’t have to search very far: he’s still in the study with his
mistress. And I thought I was demanding. For once he isn’t on the phone, he’s
sitting comfortably in his chair, arms folded, attention focused on the screen
of his laptop.

I reposition myself, trying to get a
glimpse of what it is that has him so transfixed. The music I added to the
slideshow is turned low, but he can hear it perfectly. Katy Perry sings
Teenage
Dream
and it’s light-hearted enough to make him smile, particularly when
it’s teamed up with the photo where I’m standing beside a sign pointing out the
Trevi Fountain but still focused on my Sat Nav.

Happy days.

Images of the day roll by one after
another: so many smiles, so many close-ups and too many of me. I’ve never
looked more alive, he’s never looked more handsome.

His finger hits the space bar and I’m
curious, why?  It’s the one of us together at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, obligingly
taken by a random tourists. I make a mental note to take a closer look when I
have some time to myself. What has he seen?

I cough and approach him from behind, just
as the music is fading and hang my arms over his shoulders from back to front.
My senses are intensified in response to a powerful cocktail of pheromones and
Obsession, how apt. The photographs have triggered a visceral response in him
and his arousal is clearly visible even from where I’m standing.

“Come here, my teenage dream.” He smiles,
hooking me into him with his left arm. “Look at you in your skin tight jeans.”
He grins, eying me from head to toe, using the lyrics from the song to ensnare
me.

“
You’re
in a very good mood,” I
remark, arranging his hair and avoiding his eyes.

“I’m always in a good mood, when you’re
around. Can’t you tell?” He lowers my right hand from his hair, kisses my palm
and rests it on his crutch. “I’ve only been looking at photographs and I’m hard
for you. Imagine how I feel when you’re naked and beneath me.”

“I don’t have to imagine Ayden, I just
have to remember.” I pull back a knowing smile and continue to fiddle with his
hair.

“And what a memory,” he answers, eyelids
heavy and lustful: he doesn’t hold back.

This is where our relationship started,
physical attraction, sexual magnetism. But I sense his need to talk or share a
secret that will begin with playful banter and end with I love you. If he’s
been half as moved as I was to see the slide show then, I suspect he needs to
talk about that. I’m sitting comfortably across his lap, ready to listen.

Each word draws me closer and makes me
want him more, so profound is the sexual chemistry between us. His right hand
is stroking my back and his left hand is caressing my hair with so much
gentleness I’m beginning to feel the world fading into nothingness: he has me
spellbound.