TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (54 page)

“Fuck me now,” she growls. “Fuck me hard and even if I say stop, don’t!”

I wince at the thought and hold back involuntary retching, swallowing back bile before it erupts

from my mouth.

Swiftly, he flips her onto her stomach, leaving her crossed, pinioned, her arms forming a wide kiss

above her head. He rips off her panties and pushes up her knees roughly until she is perfectly

positioned for penetration.

There is hesitation, a pause, a momentary lapse in concentration. Then …

He lunges into her, his body lurching forward and backwards, pulling her body tight against his

muscular torso. She is screaming. I’m whimpering. It’s painful to watch and torturous to endure, for

me and for her.

Make it to stop!

“I said, fuck me!” She yells, revelling in this primal act of callous copulation.

He thrusting continues at a pace; he’s slamming against her, growling with animalistic fervour, the

likes of which I have never heard. I pull back repulsed and then … something happens … I begin to

squirm on the sofa. I feel a trickle between my legs that I must clench to contain. I’m aroused.

Shocked at my reaction, I hit the space bar. Ayden is held in freeze frame. His glorious arse is there

before my eyes; muscles tightened giving the impression of a sculptured piece of polished bronze.

Even now, he’s beautiful.

With the slowest of movements, I hit the space bar with one thing in mind. To listen for sounds of

Ayden’s arousal; for that gasping, growling noise he makes when he comes. But there is none. It’s an

energetic, unsympathetic, loveless fuck that has her arching her back and moaning into the pillow,

while he pounds on towards ejaculation.

I spare myself that …

A trembling finger hits the space bar and I slam down the laptop lid, unwilling and unable to

process what I have just seen. After his revelation about Elise and his box of memories three nights

ago, I should be able to understand his motivation to do such a thing. And, anyway, it happened before

we met, didn’t it?

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would watch my husband fuck another woman; and so

brutally. That thought has left me feeling nauseous and confused. I need some quiet time to get my

head around it. If I can’t, then … then we must deal with the consequences.

With my vision clouded with tears, I trot back to the master bedroom, throw cold water over my

face to flush them out and away. I brush my teeth and slip between the sheets, my face tacky with

moisturiser. But I’m unable to settle for the presence of a single line from Pride and Prejudice echoing

in my mind.

“… handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain.”
It would seem so.

I close my eyes, only to find the whole video on replay. As hard as I try it’s there, irrefutable

evidence of Ayden’s sexual preference. Or was it?

In a moment of mental clarity, it occurs to me that it wasn’t a case of consenting adults engaging in

BDSM at all. Ayden is dominant, he like to run the show; he talks dirty, he’s patient, considerate …

That wasn’t the Ayden I know and I
know
him. What I just witnessed was something else …

This was about empowerment, her empowerment, not his. She gave the orders, she was in control. It

was not an act of cruelty as an outsider might deduce. It was driven by kindness and obligation. He

said himself he felt duty bound to give her things. This session verified the kindest and most intimate

of gifts: the gift of physical love.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and turn to twitch out the bedside lamp, stopping only to run my

fingers over the gold leaf on The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Unable to resist it, I

open the bookmarked page and find
Desire
. Here, alone in Ayden’s bed, I’m reminded why this poem

is so special to me …

Ayden knew who I was when he sent me this poem. He had discussed having found me with Jake

and was already contemplating marriage. Since that day he has been taking care of me, the way he did

when I was small and he was so happy to take the leading role in our fairy-tale; to rescue me from a

wicked witch and lift me down from the highest rung of my father’s ladders, in such a princely

fashion.

I see things clearly now.

That basement, or sanctuary of sorts, was the only place he could seek forgiveness by taking it upon

himself to do what had to be done. And that was to give Elise whatever she wanted; payment in kind.

In truth, I just witnessed a grown man seeking redemption for the sins of a ten year old boy. He paid

dearly for it.

My heart aches.

I turn out the lamp with a renewed sense of purpose. I whisper into the darkness, “Goodnight

Ayden, my Prince. I love you.”

Having consoled myself with the idea that Ayden’s merciless fuck was an act of penitence, I slept

soundly, losing half of Sunday to jetlag. Not until Sunday evening did I come to terms with what I had

witnessed. Learning about Ayden and his encounter with his dark past so graphically has had a

profound effect on me. Yet, I still can’t believe he left the SD card there for me to find. Maybe he did?

How could he find the words to explain what he did for Elise in his altruistic act of atonement?

This week has played itself out like a game of cards; every new hand has trumped the previous one.

Now, with everything to play for, we must call … state our intentions or fold. I have no intentions of

folding.

This is a time
for giving,
not taking; I have had everything lavished upon me. It’s time to give back.

I have to try and help save the man I love. If that means facing the powers that be head on ... so be it.

Thanks to Charlotte, I will have an immaculate navy blue skirt suit, courtesy of Emporio Armani, to

slip into; so beginning my Monday morning transformation from prim and proper Miss Parker to

fearless Mrs. Stone. I have arranged a meeting with the Board of ASMI for 10 a.m. and will be making

an appearance, to spell out exactly what I think they should be doing to release my husband from the

grip of MI5.

I plan on showering and dressing quickly. If I actually stop and think about what I’m doing, having

had a day to plan it, I may grind to a halt. Better to keep moving.

Charlotte jumps from her seat on seeing me approaching Ayden’s top floor office of the Stone

Building. I’ve not been here before and I’m glancing about me for clues.

“Mrs. Stone. Good morning. I have everything and everyone ready for you.” In a grand, sweeping

gesture she hands me my navy suit and tucks a file under her left arm. “Please, follow me.”

I walk swiftly behind her to the ladies’ washroom, attempting to keep up with her wide strides. I

have enough time to survey her nicely tailored, tweed suit and her sensible shoes, her neatly swept

back hair and manicured hands. She must be around fifty, give or take a couple of years; she’s a smart,

no frills professional.

We step into the undiscovered cavern that is the enormous washroom. Cream coloured marble

veined with navy blue streaks is reflected in the enormous, illuminated mirrors covering an entire

wall. It’s quite striking.

“The end cubicle is the largest for you to change into your suit,” she states, flicking open the file.

“You might want to have a read through this before you go into the boardroom.” She taps it with a

single digit.

Before I can about turn, she coughs nervously. “It may not be my place to say but I’m going to

anyway … Mr. Stone is a fine gentleman. I can state quite categorically that he has done nothing

untoward and I’m sure this misunderstanding will be cleared up quickly.” Satisfied with her

declaration, she turns away and straightens her skirt.

I take her arm. “Thank you Charlotte. I know Ayden is totally innocent of any wrong doing. I’m not

worried.” I move towards the cubicle. “And, by the way, thank you for all the organising you’ve been

doing for us this past month. I’m grateful to you.” I leave her with an amiable smile.

She beams. “It has been my pleasure Mrs. Stone. I’ve never seen Mr. Stone happier. Truly, I have

loved every minute of it.”

As I change, I hear her humming a cheerful tune. It makes me smile. Ayden has a loyal employee in

her. There may come a time when I have to test that loyalty.

When I step out of the cubicle, I am transformed. I have never power-dressed in my life before and

here I am a corporate counterfeit.

“You look stunning Mrs. Stone,” she gushes, taking my clothes from me and folding them into the

suit wrapper.

“It’s a great fit. How did you know my size?”

She looks very proud of herself. “I spoke with Celine.”

I nod my head. “Good thinking.” I take a deep breath and stroll over to the open folder of notes. “So

what do I need to know?”

When I enter the Boardroom, I role play a 21st century Amazonian clad in Armani and midnight

blue Louboutins, fashioning an expression that says, “Don’t fuck with me.” Every person in the room

stands as I make my way to the head of the table to Ayden’s spot.

“Please be seated.” I remain standing for effect, feeling the fixed stare of every pair of eyes in the

room lancing through me like knives through cream cheese. I stand my ground, remembering what

Ayden once said when quoting Machaivelli: “
It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot have

both.”
Right now I’ll take whatever I can get and, from their expressions, I believe fear to be my best

option.

“Good morning. My name is Elizabeth Stone. In Ayden’s absence I have been given Power of

Attorney to take care of his affairs in his absence. I trust you’re all okay with that?”

I’m not sure what’s worse; their disbelief or disdain. Only Jake looks on, clearly trying to supress a

smile. He is my only ally.

I turn to sit, realise how petite I will look once seated and decide to remain standing. “So … tell

me, what are you doing to get my husband out of the hands of the British Security Services and back

here with me?”

“Excuse me … who the hell are you again?” The overweight, balding gentleman to my right speaks

up. Very kindly, Charlotte has put name plates in front of each member and I see he is Stephen

Walters, Legal Counsel.

“Forgive me Stephen, but why are you here talking to me? Shouldn’t you be wherever Mr. Stone is,

arranging his immediate release?” I fold my arms and wait.

“Yes, of course.” He sniggers disrespectfully. “I have people to do that Mrs. Stone …”

“Well, I don’t see him here, do you? Maybe you should be out there chivvying
those
people along

or reassuring Mr. Stone that he will not have to endure another night away from me.”

A nervous cough signals his defeat and the sound of his chair moving backwards confirms it. He’s

marching from the table at a pace, receiving no more than a passing glance from the other occupants

as he leaves the room.

“And Stephen … update Charlotte on the hour with developments please.”

He lowers his head, makes a blustering sound like a dying steam engine and exits quietly, leaving

the room in silence.

For the next hour, I ask each person in turn what role they have in the company and what they are

doing to facilitate Ayden’s release. They’re informative and respectful. My years of teaching serve me

well. A classroom populated by pubescent boys is much more challenging.

Charlotte took notes throughout and handed me a photocopy, along with my clothes in a designer

shopping bag as I left, having arranged for Lester to meet me at the entrance near to the Stone

Building sign.

Lester opens the door for me as I approach. “Mrs. Stone.”

“Hello Lester. Do you know where Ayden is being held?” I ask, detaining him with a serious stare.

He considers his answer. “Yes. I do, Mrs. Stone.”

“Then let’s go.” I settle myself on the seat and wait for him to close the door, rewarding his honesty

with a smile.

He soon has the car moving, swerving left and right through London’s lunchtime traffic, heading

northeast. It’s stop-go all the way but he seems to know where we’re going, leaving me to think

through what I’m going to say when we arrive.

After a 20 minute journey, the car slows outside a monolithic, listed building. To call it imposing

would be an understatement: it’s more like the backdrop to an Alexandre Dumas novel. Along the road

the ivory stonework stretches out and up, overlooking the Thames.

“This is Thames House Mrs. Stone. MI5 have their offices here.” He steps from the car, leaving the

engine running and opens the door for me.

“At reception you should ask to see a Mr. Pendleton. He’ll be able to update you about Mr. Stone.”

“Thank you. I will.” I brush down my pencil skirt and pull down my jacket, feeling the need for a

power-suit more than ever.

“I can’t park here but if you call me when you’re ready to leave, I will come right here.” He points