TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (36 page)

passion, knowing my words are affecting him viscerally. He is wilting under my one handed embrace.

“In an impatient race to climax you lifted me off the bed and pushed into me so forcefully and so

deeply I thought you might tear me in two. But no. It was that one defining moment in our topsy-turvy

relationship when time stood still and …” I open my eyes, only to see his are closed. He’s there with

me.

“ … When, when our two worlds collided and exploded into a million shooting stars before

detonating on impact; creating a penetrating light that rippled and roared through me, until all that

remained was a white, hot ball of ecstasy.” I open my eyes and observe his lethargic awakening. “We

were both reborn that morning Ayden.”

His hand disappears under my black wig into the ringlets of blond hair underneath. “Yes, we were.

And now it’s up to us to make the most of this new beginning we have been given. Don’t you think?”

“I do.”

He smiles at my response. ”Right words. Wrong time, wrong place, Miss Parker.”

I’m sniggering and he is too.

I tug on the contents of my right hand. “But what of this spectacular hard on? It would be such a

shame to let it go to waste.” I inch closer and echo his words. “I want you to fuck me so desperately, I

will surely die if you don’t.”

He’s grinning. “Will you indeed?”

“Oh. I most certainly will …” I’m lowering his fly and pushing down his trousers, losing any shred

of shyness I may have once had.

“In that case.” He pushes me backwards onto our enormous bed, grabbing my wrists as I reach out

to him, slowing down my fall.

My black wig dislodges and he casts it aside and unclips my hair. “Welcome back. No cape, no

mask, no wig. You’re losing your superpowers one piece at a time Bat Girl. I think I may be able to

have my way with you without a struggle.”

I pull his mouth to mine. “I think so too.”

To begin with his kiss is soft, tentative. He’s making me wait, prolonging my sweet agony. I’m a

patient person. I can play for time too. “Don’t you want me to undress?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he mumbles.

“You said you didn’t like the outfit.”

He leans off a little. “Now that’s not true, is it? I said I didn’t approve of you wearing it for others

to ogle at. But now it’s for my eyes only, I think it’s only right I should enjoy it.”

“What about the boots?”

“They can definitely stay”.

“This top?”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Then it stays put.”

“What about my short leather skirt? Won’t that get in the way?”

“I can work around that.” He smirks playfully.

“So that just leaves the gym shorts.”

“Um ... as much as I do like those, they could be a problem. Maybe I
should
remove them?”

A chuckle rattles in my chest before leaving my mouth in a high pitched giggle. “You may need to

…”

His flat mouthed kiss tickles my lips. “I think you could be right.”

Following the line of my top with his nose, he descends my body like a cautious mountaineer,

paying attention to each new crevice and mound; over my stomach, around my hips, below my navel,

before delicately lifting my skirt between his forefinger and thumb.

I watch as an excitable Ayden transforms into a man overcome with sensuous thoughts; eyes

betraying his every desire; scorching breath exiting his lungs.

A warm hand rests against my sex and a single finger massages my throbbing opening through a

damp patch of cotton.

“You’re so moist Beth.”

Those words inflame my already smouldering core. “That’s the effect you have on me.”

“I know,” he says smugly. “Recollections can have that effect on a person.”

Yes, they can …

Two strong hands are reaching underneath me and removing my shorts. Over my cheeks they go;

down my thighs they roll and onto the floor they fall along with any hope I might have had of taking

the lead. With effortless authority he has me where he wants me; beneath him, flat on my back and

needy for his touch.

In a rough one handed pull, his jumper is tossed aside giving him the look of a man caught in a

wind tunnel. His hair is unruly, tempting me to run my fingers through it, to take a handful of it in the

violent throes of a knee buckling orgasm.

His shoes and trousers go the way of the jumper and there he stands Adonis like, hands on hips in

an uncharacteristically assertive stance. Feigning arrogance he tips up his chin and gives me a playful

smirk. “Stand up Bat Girl.”

I wriggle to the edge of the bed and stand before him, raising my eyes to meet his.

“Do you know what happens to super heroes when they lose their super powers?”

Happy to play along, I place my thumb nail to my mouth. “Do they get fucked?”

He roars with laugher and loses his balance. “There’s every chance of that, yes.” He grins. “But I

was thinking more about being overpowered, captured and hand cuffed.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Indeed. It just so happens I have the motivation and the means to do just that.”

I cock my head to one side, unable to conceal my enjoyment. “How very resourceful of you. Then I

must prepare myself to be … overwhelmed.”

“That would be wise.”

I watch as he lifts the six inch flap from the box on the wall by the door. I know what’s coming

next.

“Spider music?”

“Not today. Something else.”

The air fills with guitar music. At first I don’t recognise the intro, then it comes to me. It’s Snow

Patrol,
You’re All I Have.

Perfect.

“Put your hands together.”

I place my hands together in front of me, wrist to wrist and await my fate. I’m beginning to

tremble. An artificial layer of clammy skin is coating my body. This rubber outfit will have to be

peeled from my body like the skin off a grape.

From the bedside cabinet he lifts a set of metal handcuffs. With two easy clicks he encases my

wrists in bracelets of steel lined with rubber.

“Alright?” he asks, scrutinising my face for signs of anxiety, twisting them around, ensuring my

comfort.

“Yes,” I utter, transfixed by the sight of them and amazed at my own willingness to partake in this

sensual scenario.

“Come.”

The desk …

I turn and take confident strides over to the dark mahogany desk by the door. On it are a smattering

of items: pens, paper clips, a calculator and little more.

“Step to the side.”

I move a little to my left and feel the hard edge against my thighs. I think I know what’s coming

and my heart flutters at the prospect of being laid out on it, across it

From my right side Ayden outstretches an arm and scrapes the meagre items off the desk and onto

the carpet in one smooth arc. There they lay like leftovers from an office party.

I sense Ayden’s naked body behind me, moving closer. I feel his hard twitching cock against my

left cheek and push into him, hearing the rubber skirt make a satisfying squeak as it moves against

him.

With two powerful hands, he takes hold of my thighs from behind and rolls his fingers ever closer

or my groin, teasing flesh and making me wait for that perfect touch.

“Fuck! You have me as hard as hell. I know what your body needs from me: it tells me in no

uncertain terms.” His fingers slip and slide between folds of moist skin and tantalize my senses with

gentle strokes. Helplessly I writhe into his hand and throw back my head.

“I’m listening baby.”

An involuntary “Ah” leaves my mouth as he penetrates me, pushing two fingers deep and smoothly

into the most private of places. With his other hand he’s lifting my skirt and pressing his steely cock

between my clenching cheeks, mounting a frontal and rear assault on my senses.

“Christ Ayden.”

“You’re fighting it Beth. Remember before, how it was in Rome? You have to let go baby. I won’t

hurt you.”

His words strike a chord. A sweet harmonious melody that has me swaying to the rhythm of this

intimate dance. But … I’m too tense to come; doing too much thinking, not enough enjoying.

A centimetre at a time I widen my stance and lean forward. His feet slot between mine and lock

me into position. With my legs splayed wide I lower myself onto the desk, supported by an open palm

against my chest.

The dark wooden surface is smooth and reflective. My breath coats it with a foggy sheen as I rest

my left cheek against it and pant as a broad hand discovers me from behind, snaking its way to my

sex.

“That’s it,” he assures. “Relax.”

Like the lid on a box of chocolates he folds back my skirt, leaving me exposed and visible,

squeezing the smooth skin as if handling a ripe peach, forcing me to respond with incoherent sounds

of approval.

“Fold out your arm Beth.” Encouraging me to do so, he outstretches his arms and leans over me,

lengthening my body until I feel the edge of the desk beneath my fingertips. It’s solid, reassuring,

something to grip onto as I prepare for his welcome invasion.

He rests his cheek against my shoulder blades, enjoying the sensation of rubber on his feverish skin.

I sense a confession coming. “Beth. I’ve wanted you like this forever. I’ll willingly give all I own to

have you in my life permanently. You have to know this …”

“I do Ayden, I do …”

“Then say yes.”

I hear the tearing of a condom wrapper and know my fate is sealed; my body is poised and

subjugated for his pleasure and my impending rapture.

As he dips his knees I inhale and hold that breath, as if diving into a bottomless pool of water.

“Say yes now!” With unstoppable force he enters me, long and hard, not stopping until we are

melded together.

His force of entry causes me to gasp and grip the edges of the desk as if holding on for dear life.

I’m moaning and arching my back, rocking into his two handed grip on my hips. As if on cue I voice

that one breathless word he longs to hear. “Yes …”

I can’t see him and have no need to; the sound of his arousal adds to my own as I picture him in his

wild unbroken state, giving himself to the moment, to me.

“You’re my life,” he gasps, picking up speed as the song builds to a roaring crescendo.

I cannot return his proclamation. Every breath is a fight for survival, every sound a frenzied cry of

supreme ecstasy as he circles inside me, stroking that illusive spot, luring me to the point of orgasm.

“Feel me Beth?” he urges. “Take me baby …”

And I do. My orgasm ripples its way through my body like a raging inferno. So intense is my

internal clenching, I steal his orgasm and milk him, forcing him to tear at my clothes with savage

snatches of rubber and skin.

“Holy fuck!” he snarls, jerking and trembling against my sweat covered cheeks. “Don’t fucking

move!”

As his orgasmic spasms ease, so do mine. I become aware of my surroundings. There is lamplight

and the scent of perspiration. My body is dripping with human secretions and I’m bone tired. If I place

down my head, I will surely fall asleep.

He pulls from my body gently, kisses each cheek and covers my derriere with my skirt. “Let me

help you up.”

As if lifting a small child, he places his hands under my arms and stands me upright. Through

fluttering eye-lids I see his handsome face, covered in a glossy lustre that makes him appear as if

carved out of wax.

Realising my exhaustive state, he slots his right arm beneath me and picks me up. “Let’s get you to

bed.”

There I lay besieged, Bat Girl stripped of her powers, lying on the bed of her very own super hero. I

feel the handcuffs being unfastened and discarded; I hear the sound of zips being pulled as my boots

are removed. A soft cover is being wrapped around my shoulders. I’m falling into a blissful sleep,

dreaming of a fantasy world inhabited by handsome heroes and …

I think I may be dreaming but I have the distinct feeling I’m alone. When I roll over I find a vacant

space. Ayden has gone walkabout again.

There is little light and I stumble into the bathroom, wriggle out of my outfit and slip on a

bathrobe. A toilet break and a splash of water on my face bring my senses to the fore. Where can he be

at 4 a.m. in the morning?

Realising I’m on the first floor, I turn right, down the corridor following a glimmer of lamplight

outside his study. He’s sitting on the floor cross-legged in his boxers with a small carton in front of

him; some of the contents are laid out into small mounds about his feet.

“Ayden?”

He’s lost in thought.

I touch his bare shoulder. “Ayden?”

“Beth.” He looks up, seeming a little startled.

“What are you doing?” I wrap my robe around me and join him cross legged on the carpet, unsure

whether I should touch anything.

“This is my box of memories,” he states, handing me a photograph.

I look closely. A proud boy of around eleven or so is holding up a watch to the camera. It makes me