TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (19 page)

sake, I invented the concept. Right … Keep me in the loop, but this is your baby. Fine. Put it to bed and

keep it quiet, that’s all I’m saying.”
He’s laughing boyishly, making me smile into the soft duvet. The

mere sound of his voice, the timbre and cadence combined are a kind of charismatic cocktail that

causes my breath to quicken and my temperature to rise.

“And the MOD are arranging security? Fine. Make it happen … no, I’m at home, yes, she’s here.

Where else would she be?”
I seem to have made my way into his conversation with a troubled Jake

who is probably outraged at the thought of Ayden playing hooky again.

He enters his bedroom and ends the call abruptly.
“Got to go. Keep me posted.”

I sense his approach but play dead, I’m not sure why. I should be jumping to my feet, floating on air

thanks to the baby butterflies fluttering around my insides.

“Look who’s sleeping on my bed.” I’m curled up into a letter S and feel him over me. “Turn over,

let me take a look at your back. I know you’re not asleep.” His hand sweeps away my hair from my

neck and he nuzzles into my ear, tugging on my earlobe.

I roll onto my front, outstretching my arms into a voluntary wrist bound pose even though there are

no ropes to bind me. It feels instinctive, something I want to do, for him.

“If I’d known you were going to be prancing around the apartment in a strappy top and gym pants,

I’d have come home earlier.” He’s lifting up my camisole top and stroking my back. “It’s looking a

lot better.” His hands are around my waist and he’s sliding me towards him. I’m aware of his suit

pants against my calves and knowing how eager he is to get his hands on me, triggers my arousal.

“Yesterday your bruises were the colour of blue sapphires, today they’re more like colour changing

sapphire. By tomorrow you’ll be the colour of pink sapphires with a touch of yellow thrown in.” He

kisses my kaleidoscopic coloured skin and I inhale at the closeness of his breath, and the touch of his

fingertips.

I roll over. I’ve heard, smelt and felt enough. Now it’s time for the big reveal. As hard as I try, I

cannot conceal the pleasure I get from simply looking at this gorgeous man. I feel the skin softening

around my eyes and a sensuous smile forming. “You know a lot about sapphires.”

“I do.” He’s about to take his jacket off.

“Don’t!”

He freezes and shrugs it back on. “Why, I do believe the lady has a thing for men in suits.” He

mirrors my smile and stands self-assuredly upright, folding his arms.

“Oh, it’s not the suit,” I say smartly. “It’s who’s inside it.”

“Really? I’m pleased to hear it.” Now he’s teasing by rubbing his chin that way he does, between

his forefinger and thumb, screwing up his lips in a pouty smile. He’s adorable.

“Yes, always have. Remember the speech you gave to the pupils at my school about, what was it

now?” I pause to recall the exact title of his presentation. “Oh, yes, Career Opportunities in a Global

Environment. I watched you move around the stage …”

“I know, I felt your eyes on me.” He causes my breath to catch with his seductive ‘I gotcha smile.’

“Amongst other things, I was thinking how your suit fitted you like a glove and how it would feel to

squeeze myself into that glove …”

“And now you know.”

“Now I know.” The air shifts between us. What is he thinking?

He spots the open book of poetry above my head on the bed. “You’ve been in my office?”

Oh dear, is that bad?

“Yes. Is that okay?”

He whispers, “Sure.” and smiles, pulls up the material on his trousers and prepares to kneel down in

front of me. My heart flutters at the prospect of his tongue on me, in me. I feel my hands gripping the

duvet but, when he notices, I release them and flatten out the silken fabric. I want to look as if I have

some
self-control.

“You can go where you want. I want this to be your home. You know that.” He nods, towards the

open book. “Is that Coleridge?” I nod. “Did you find your poem?” He has his hands on my knees and

is squeezing them ever so gently, moving infinitesimally northwards.

I prop myself up on my elbows to meet him head on. “Yes, it was easy to find. You’d bookmarked

it.”

“Lie back and read it out, slowly.”

Now he’s asking the impossible.

I pick up the book and lie back with it covering my face and clear my throat even though I know I

will falter on every line. As I do so, I look around the book and watch Ayden unbuttoning his collar

and loosening his tie. What’s going on in that beautiful head of his?

“Don’t look at me, keep reading,” he instructs. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Effortlessly, he has taken the reins and is leading me round like a child. There I was, so sure of

myself and here I am hanging on his every word, obedient to a fault.

I read out the poem, inferring what I can from each line, silently interpreting every metaphor.

“Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;

His hands rest on my stomach, his thumbs circling my navel. I swallow hard.

It is the reflex of our earthly frame,

His fingers are outstretched and slipping under my flimsy camisole top, I cannot see him but I can

feel him caressing my breasts, moving towards nipples that are already starting to stiffen.

That takes its meaning from the nobler part,

He has my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and is squeezing and rolling them deftly but

gently to the slow rhyme of my words. I’m struggling to phrase the syllables and the word ‘part’

leaves my lips as an extended vowel. The T is lost in the overwhelming sensation of arousal and

desire.

And but translates the language of the heart.”

I end the final line with a breathless gasp of relief at having completed the task. I lower the book

and wait for my reward: a kiss perhaps, an embrace or … anything.

He takes one look into my expectant face and tips up his chin. “Find another one.”

What!

“Find another poem, I like to hear you read the poems out to me. No-one has ever done that.”

Tinged with that raw sense of eroticism, I detect something more; an intense closeness, an intimacy

yet to be explored. I lift the book off my chest and find another poem.

As I read through the lines of rhyming couplets he explores my body, losing himself in the imagery

and my voice. I feel hot air brushing against my sodden crutch as he blows gently, sensuously. I’m

starting to ache for his touch; feeling so wanton I start to fidget on the duvet and rock into him. But

still he holds off.

I can’t read any more, I can barely think straight. “Jesus Ayden!” My voice is raspy and not my

own. “What is this? Some kind of endurance test?”

His mouth twitches. “Yes.”

“Well, I don’t want to endure any more of this foreplay, please …”

“… You’re very responsive Beth.” Now he’s skimming the top of my boy shorts with his thumbs.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I sound desperate.

“You need to have more self-control. I think we should spend some time working on that tonight,

don’t you?”

Is this a trick question?

“No and yes.”

He’s laughing. “That’s my girl. Always unequivocal.” To test me further, he lowers his head and

plants feather light kisses on my stomach and ribs. I take hold of his head and slide my fingers into his

hair. It curls naturally around my fingers and warms them with the heat from his scalp.

Between kisses he whispers. “I want to take care of my wife and for her to experience everything

and you won’t be able to do that if you can’t control what you’re feeling once we start to play for

real.” With shimmering eyes, he locks onto mine. “You’ll come too soon baby and be too tired to

carry on, and then you’ll miss out on all the good stuff I have planned for you.”

His face is so close, I want to drag his lips onto mine but, I suspect he can read that in my eyes.

That’s why he’s keeping at a safe distance. “You say play for real, you mean fantasy fucking?”

He nods and finds my pubic bone as he lowers his head, planting wet kisses onto my crutch through

my shorts.

Don’t stop, please …

“Yes … I said I’d give you the tour later, remember?” He continues to push his nose into my soft,

moist flesh, building my anticipation. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all fucking day.”

Something is preventing him from carrying on. Is it me? Does he think I’m still too fragile to take

whatever it is he wants to do to me?

“Then you’d better take your suit off …”

He lifts his head expectantly. “Seen enough?”

“No, but I think the suit’s served its purpose, now it’s over to you.” I smile and watch him roll his

tongue over his bottom lip.

He feels between my legs. “You’re very wet, so I’d have to concur: round one to Armani.”

Standing, he pulls his tie free and casts it to his right. I don’t bother to check where it lands. He

peels off his jacket and puts it on the back of the desk chair. From my vantage point I can enjoy the

show; I will never grow tired of watching this exquisite man undress. I feel like a woman who has

been starved of beauty for so long and, now I’m surrounded by it, I want to indulge myself. Observing

him removing his shirt and fiddling with the tiny double buttons on his cuffs is incidental, but a

pleasing accompaniment to the main event.

Not bothering to undo his pants, he undresses me with his eyes; with x-ray vision he traces my

nipples through the cotton material and settles his gaze on my boy shorts. There’s something about

them that holds some fascination for him. They’re not what I would consider sexy or provocative but,

considering the size of the bulging mass pressing up against his zip, I’d say that they are a girl’s best

friend right now.

“Tell me what you want Beth.” I look up into the midnight sky that is his eyes; the absence of

clouds or stars tells me he is struggling to contain a seething need to take me.

“I want you.”

“Specifically, how?”

Specifically …

“I don’t know – you decide.” This is a big step for me, saying the words, giving permission, without

being coaxed or charmed into submission.

He lifts a brow and addresses me with licentious intent. “You want me to take total control?”

God yes…

I nod and try to supress a naughty grin.

“And what of poor Elizabeth?”

“She can find her own boyfriend. I’ve got you.”

“This is true,” he says predictably, scratching at the four o’clock shadow forming on his chin. “Let

me think …”

While he’s thinking he’s pushing my legs slightly further apart with his knees. The anticipation is

killing me. What devilish scenario is he concocting?

“You know, I just want to take it all in. To take you in.”

I can’t conceal my disbelief. I’m practically dissolving with need and he wants to stand and ogle

me, minus a shirt and with the biggest hard on … please! “That’s all? No fantasy fucking? No tying

me up? No blindfolding me?

He’s finding my exasperation very amusing. “You have no idea.” Sitting down at my side, he rests

his hot palm on my stomach, slipping his little finger under the elastic of my shorts. I feel desire

flooding through me, pooling somewhere below my navel and bubbling between my legs. “You’re

lying on top of my bed with the body of an eighteen year old …” His hand climbs my body and over

my top, finding my swollen breasts and protruding nipples. “ … hot and hard, dressed as if you’ve just

come home from gym club. You’re as wet as fuck and you ask me about fantasy fucking?” Now he’s

shaking his head from side to side. In one graceful movement he’s over me, his knees either side of

my waist and both hands plonked either side of my head, keeping his weight off me.

“You’re it baby. Right here, right now”

I feel a grin forming. “I am?”

“Oh yeah.” He’s pushing his erection into the pit of my stomach and kissing me gently for the first

time since coming home and it’s a revelation. I’m groaning into his mouth and slipping my hands

under his so he is holding me in place, our fingers interlocking.

Instinctively I arch my body to press against him, swallowing up his groans with my gasps. “What

about self-control?” My words are no more than a garbled muttering of broken syllables

“Fuck self-control Beth. I want to hear you come.” With that single declaration he abandons my

lips for my neck and I feel his hard cock rubbing up against my shorts. The material is puckering and

pleating, folding into my clitoris.

As he nibbles my chin and kisses my neck, I feel the blood draining from my hands. He is holding

me, I’m unable to move; I am his for the taking.

“That’s it, rub up against me.”

“Ayden, your pants…”

“Forget the pants, feel the friction and come for me.”

“Ah!” He’s finding the swollen apex of my thighs and applying just the right amount of pressure to

generate a fire in my groin; it’s sparking, building …