TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (26 page)

muscles and I clench against it, savouring the hot intrusion.

“Beth …”

I rise to meet his fiery eyes; overcome with arousal those familiar green flecks have been daubed

with darker shades of brown and blue.

“I live for this. You have no idea.”

I do …

In a languid in-out movement he takes pleasure in my surrender, echoing last night’s affirmation:

you belong to me.
I feel every inch of his steely erection as he begins to increase the tempo and the

gentle plunges build into slamming thrusts. I’m witnessing him
in
action,
in
me and what an almighty,

fucking turn-on it is. The intensity of it has us both gasping for air. He’s watching me, watching him

as he climaxes and I’m so worked-up I come again, losing myself, letting go. I ripple around him,

feeling the stretching and tightening of internal muscles and, together, we suck the air from the room

before collapsing onto the table like two spent cartridges.

He stands and eases from me, pulling off the condom and tossing it onto his discarded boxers. “See,

I was right. You were ready,” he gloats, grinning from ear to ear with masculine pride. “Ready to pay

my adoptive parents a visit?”

What!

“Of course. Are you?” I pant, realising only now why he was so anxious. What does he think they

will reveal about him?

He nods shyly, small boy again, in a way I’ve not witnessed before. “They won’t be what you

expect,” he states.

“Why? What am I expecting?” Even I don’t know the answer to that.

“People like me.”

What does that mean?

I frown in response. “Like you?”

“Yes.
They’re
good people.” There’s a trace of self-denigration in that comment and it pains me to

hear it. I lift myself up from the sweat covered table top. “
You’re
good people Ayden. Have you

considered that might have been one of the reasons they adopted you?”

With his hands around my waist, I slide from the table and stand before him, lifting my head up to

see the lines of uncertainty forming around his eyes. “Come on. Help me choose a dress. I want to

make a good impression.”

With infinite care, he brushes back my hair, placing a strand behind my ear. “No. You choose. Wear

what you want. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” I’m treated to an affectionate smile. “In the sex

department I like to be the one in charge but, out there, I want you to stay just as you are: smart and

funny and beautiful. You. I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks.”

For a full minute I say nothing. I simply breathe him in, every flawless inch of immaculate

masculinity, inside and out. I trace the outline of his heart-shaped lips with my finger. “You were very

enthusiastic just now. Like a man possessed …”

He arches a brow. “What can I say? I am a man possessed; possessed by you.” He snaps at my

finger, making me jump and sucks on it hard.

When he releases it, I slide it nail first into my mouth, tasting the salty wetness of my own arousal.

“You devoured me.”

“Like I said, you’re a juicy morsel and I’m very particular about what I eat.”

I give the table a passing glance. “Well, you chose the right place ...”

“And the right time.”

I smile innocently. “And the right time, but that’s not hard to do. You’re always in my thoughts

Ayden.”

“And you in mine Beth.” He kisses my forehead, avoiding lip gloss and blusher. “But now you need

to turn your thoughts to the subject of clothes.” He takes hold of my shoulders and turns me around

until I am facing the opposite direction.

I feel a gentle push and a slap on my left cheek. I call out in surprise. “Hey. By the way, I’m going

to wear a dress and not because you said so but because I’m too sensitive to wear anything else.”

He calls out behind me. “And I wonder why that is.”

Bastard!

I’m treated to a naked bow. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He smirks, licking his bottom lip, making a point. “You’ve got great legs baby, you shouldn’t hide

them in jeans, even if they are skin tight.”

All I can think to do is pout.

He picks up his boxers. “Don’t pout. You know what effect that has on me.”

I sashay off in the direction of my bedroom, a broad smile across my face. He’s impossible.

By two thirty we’re descending via the lift; one hand holding my overnight bag and the other

wrapped in Ayden’s powerful grip. We’re on route to the garage which, I’m reliably informed, is on

the ground floor, accessible through a door off the hallway.

“You look delightful,” he assures me, pulling up my hand and placing a noisy kiss on my knuckles.

“Sylvia will fall in love with you.”

Who?

“Who’s Sylvia?” I’ve not heard her mentioned before.

“She’s my adoptive mother,” he states, as if it’s perfectly natural to call her by her name.

I turn to face him, side on. “Then why don’t you call her
mother
?”

“I never have.”

“Then, I repeat, why have you never called her mother?”

Just as the lift stops he pauses and meets my curious eyes. “Because she’s not my mother.”

With that bombshell, I follow him into the garage. The fluorescent lights flicker and illuminate the

room and, forgetting what we’ve been discussing, I take a step back, speechless.

Like an excited adolescent he holds out his arms. “You like?”

What’s not to like?

There are four cars; the silver Rolls I recognise but the other three? I know very little about cars but

… even I’m smart enough to know these glimmering, aesthetically pleasing pieces of automobile art

are outrageously expensive.

“You’ve kept these well hidden,” I say, running my fingers across the bonnet of a silver something

or other. “What’s this little beauty?”

It’s a 2008 Bugatti Veyron Pur Sang, or thoroughbred. One of five and the only one with a light

interior.”

“The only one?” I feel myself grinning for some reason. He’s so adorable when he forgets himself.

He actually has a hobby. Who knew?

“It’s composed of polished aluminium and carbon fibre so it’s very light and fun to drive.”

“I bet,” I utter, circling it like a predator, my floral dress mirrored in the reflective surface. “And is

it worth much?” I enquire out of harmless curiosity.

“Around two mill, give or take a couple of thousand.”

I look up, suddenly alert. “So I could afford to buy it off you then?” I tease, remembering the

additional money I now have in my account, courtesy of ASMI for my website idea.

“You could,” he chuckles. “But it’s not for sale.” He’s shaking his head and moving over to car

number two.

“I think I recognise this one,” I say, looking at the ice white rear bumper. “It’s a Ferrari, isn’t it? I

recognise the badge.

“Yes. It’s a 1962 Ferrari 330 GTO, not to be confused with the 250. There were only three of this

model made. See, you can tell by the hump on the bonnet.”

I turn to see the ‘hump’ and give it a nod of approval. It really is very beautiful. “It’s very

streamlined.”

“That’s because originally they were designed as racing cars, but they’re mostly collectors’ items

now. And over here, is my favourite.” In an excited dash, he scoots over to a soft top sports car in

midnight blue. What else?

“It’s a Porsche Boxster 981 convertible, 3.4 litre, six cylinder engine with TDK transmission, 0 - 60

in less than five seconds, six speed manual gear box …”

“Whoa! Slow down there, Sterling Moss, I get the picture. It’s your pride and joy?”

He tips his head to one side. “After you, yes.”

I blow him a kiss. “So, which one are you going to drive? I assume you’re driving?”

He taps his chin that way he does when he’s thinking through his options. “I don’t mind. You

decide.” He folds his arms and leans back on the wall, awaiting my decision.

I make a meal out of it, looking left and right and back again as if I’m a spectator at Wimbledon,

even though I know exactly which one I’m going to choose. It’s a forgone conclusion. “I like the

Porsche best.”

His face beams. “Good choice Miss Parker. I’ll get the keys.” He disappears to the far end of the

garage and unlocks a combination safe; from it he fishes out the keys, easily recognisable by the

Porsche key ring.

“Where can I put my bag?” I ask, lifting it to show him its dimensions.

“Your bag? What do you need that for? We’ll only be gone a couple of hours.” He’s pressing

something and opening the car door for me to climb inside.

“I’m going back to my apartment later and I’ll need my toiletries and make-up and straighteners,

you know … to get ready for Charlie’s party?”

Maybe I should have mentioned this earlier?

“No I don’t know. What do you have to go back there for? Aren’t you comfortable here?”

“Of course I’m comfortable here but I haven’t been back to my apartment for three days and I’ll

have mail and food rotting in the fridge. That kind of thing.”

“I can have Lester pick up your mail for you and dispose of the contents of your fridge if that’s

what’s bothering you.” Why is he standing there looking down at me like I’m a disobedient child?

“Do we have to talk about it now?” I reach for my seatbelt, hoping this small gesture will end the

conversation. Thankfully, it does and he slams the door and walks around the car.

He squeezes into the low level bucket seat but before starting up, turns to me. “After what’s

happened I want to keep you safe. So, listen to me. This is what’s going to happen. We’ll spend the

day together and you can play the inquisitor and come to your own conclusions about me. Then I’ll

take you to your apartment, check it out, show you how to use that fucking alarm and after that, I’ll

leave you to get ready for Charlie’s party. Then Lester will pick you up, take you there, door to door.

You can call him when you’re ready to leave and he’ll collect you and bring you here. How does that

sound?” He’s totally serious.

“Like a military operation.” I take a deep breath. “I know why you’re doing this and I appreciate it,

but please don’t worry about me.” I squeeze his hand and place it on the gear stick. “Now, are you

going to show me what this little box of tricks can do?”

Gleefully, he raises his brows. “If you insist.” The garage door opens and the engine roars into life

like a caged animal seeing sunlight for the first time; rampant and hungry for the taste of tarmac.

“Wow! I feel like I’m sitting on a moving vibrator, it’s humming,” I say innocently.

He begins to laugh softly. “As usual, you’re the mistress of the understatement.” Before

accelerating, he flashes me a fun-loving smile that lights up his face; his eyes are reflective in the

afternoon sunlight. He’s so happy and knowing that makes me happy too. “Ready to see what this baby

can do?”

“Only if you promise to be as adept with this as you are with the other vibrators you’ve

manhandled.” I smile sweetly.

“Can’t guarantee that baby, but I’ll see what I can do.” With complete self-assurance, he pulls out

slowly into the road and joins the traffic. I settle into my seat, feeling more like a woman on a mission

to Mars in my high-tech, cockpit style seat than a girl on her way to meet her boyfriend’s parents or,

should I say, adoptive parents?

The 65 mile journey from Belgravia to Brighton is made all the more pleasurable because of the

music. We have the soundtrack to our love affair on random selection and each song resonates with a

romantic reminder of how far we have come. They’re all there; from the sadness of our post book

launch break-up and the heartfelt songs that told of unspoken love, to the late-night lullabies keeping

our love alive and closing the miles between us with their promises. The sexy scenes in Rome are

evoked by the music and I wonder how Ayden is managing to keep his hands on the wheel and his eyes

on the road.

“My spider song.” I place my hand over his on the gear stick and he folds his thumb over my little

finger, letting me know he has the same recollection without the need for words. I shift our focus to

the here and now. Paul McCartney’s Blackbird takes flight as the road opens up and we leave the

urban landscape behind.

He asked me earlier what I’d been doing all morning and I had forgotten to mention a surprising

encounter. “Guess who I met this morning?”

Using the button on the steering wheel he silences the music. He’s become very attentive. “Who?”

“Bernice.”

“Ah. Did she come to clean?”

“Clean. Clean what?”

“The lounge, the kitchen … whatever it is that needs cleaning.”

“I didn’t know she took care of your house.” And there I was thinking
I
had news. “No. I went for a

swim and she came out of the steam room wearing a towel. I didn’t know what to think.”

I do believe his mouth is twitching. “That must have been quite a surprise for you?”

“It was. I was skinny dipping!”