Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  TouchStone

  for play

  by

  Sydney Jamesson

  Praise for TouchStone for play

  "To memorable days and unforgettable nights"

  I thoroughly enjoyed this book, it is beautifully descriptive and well written. I highlighted like crazy!!! I could picture every piece of the story in full glorious colour. The characters were brought to life instantly and with so many dimensions.

  The sex is HOT, descriptive, tasteful and beautifully erotic. With some erotic novels I have a tendency to 'skim' the sex scenes as they feel a little duplicated but this was never the case, their dialogue to each other was beautiful and I enjoyed every last bit! It does end with a cliff hanger and I am chomping at the bit to get to the next in the series TouchStone for giving.

  'This is the start of something special' 4 Stars

  Nikki. Bookaholics Blog

  First things first, I am not an erotic book reader. I like romance and beautiful love stories, but until TouchStone for play I have never ventured over to the side of erotic. With that being said, I completely fell in love with this story from beginning to end.

  Overall, I was bowled over by Sydney Jamesson’s book. I loved it so much, I got to the last page, flipped back and read it again in the same day. Don't read the other, more hyped books of this genre ... Read Sydney's, it's incredible! 5 Stars!

  ~Eryn LaPlant: author of Beneath the Wall

  Ayden Stone is a rich and powerful man who is a major player in England. He meets Elizabeth, a school teacher, when he comes to give a speech to the students. Elizabeth finds herself deeply attracted to Ayden, but is put off when he describes his hobbies as "travel, go to the theatre, to keep in shape and to fuck beautiful women.” There is another story within this book. Dan Rizler is a man obsessed with the one who got away. He stalks her and plots their reunion, without her knowledge, and we have a window into his thought process.

  There is a lot of sex in this book, with some light BDSM elements. It is interesting to watch Elizabeth explore her sexuality since she has not done so before. The ending leaves us hanging, waiting for the next instalment of the Story of Us books. 4 out of 5!

  ~Babu’s Bookshelf.

  I'm a romance/erotica reader but this was unexpected, unpredictable thus entertaining.

  Steamy, sexy, sensual, sultry, sizzling ... all incredible things!

  But what really stayed with me about the book was a concept or promise, which may sum up the whole book, the concept of a destiny, an intrinsic able and inexplicable connection between lives, a collision between worlds. Showing everyone, Ayden and Elizabeth, are possibly and probably connected beyond measure. This connection linked with a love that defies time and space, to me was all part of an amazing eye-popping story, heart-warming and challenging at once.

  5 stars because I recommend it, recommend you to have this book as a touchstone to an undoubtedly enjoyable read. 5Stars!

  ~ Miss. T. Choez

  First Published by S. J. Publishing, 2013

  Copyright © Sydney Jamesson, 2013

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters in this book

  have no existence outside the imagination of the author,

  and have no relations to anyone bearing the same name or

  names. Any resemblance to real persons, living or

  dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, places and

  incidents are used fictitiously or exist within the

  public domain.

  EBooks are not transferable. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied,

  scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or

  transmitted, in any form or by any means, without

  the prior written permission of the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the

  British National Bibliography (BNB)

  S. J. Publishing

  P.O. Box 796

  ENGLAND

  SK4 9DJ

  sjpublishing@virginmedia.com

  ISBN – 978-09575850-0-3

  To the people in my life who mean the most to me,

  I thank you for love and support:

  Barry, Jenna, Mum & Dad

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  What is love?

  Those who play with it, call it a game.

  Those who don’t have it, call it fantasy

  Those who find it, call it destiny.

  Touchstone:

  Noun: a basis for comparison: a reference point against which other things can be evaluated

  The Story of Us…

  When I was least expecting it, my wish found its way to a fateful star. Someone extraordinary succumbed to the gravitational pull: a mere mortal. That little piece of heaven was Ayden Stone.

  In that one, defining moment my life changed forever.

  My name is Elizabeth Parker, some would say I’m the luckiest woman you’ll ever meet, but today I may be inclined to disagree. The time is 4 o’clock in the afternoon and the rain continues to drizzle; it clings to the glass like tears and mirrors my mood. It’s been eight hours, 12 minutes since we’ve kissed and my lips are already starting to twitch.

  I’m sitting here at my desk rolling a red pen between my fingers gazing into space, trying to hold onto a single thought, wondering which set of exercise books to mark first. With time to squander, I surrender myself to vivid memories; blue-green eyes that undress me, a wicked mouth that promises the world and always delivers, and a recollection of this morning’s orgasm that has me squirming in my chair. How can I be expected to get anything done?

  Regrettably, Ayden has spent the entire day with his mistress, but knowing that doesn’t stop him invading my consciousness; he’s my guilty pleasure, and a very distracting one at that.

  But when did our love affair begin? Was there a single moment when I knew, we knew that Fate was taking us by the hand and leading us towards our destiny? When the planets aligned and the stars came together to form a new constellation? I’m not sure, but what I do know is that Ayden Stone is my heaven on earth, my world. Through memorable days and unforgettable nights, he has been and will always be my saviour, my lover and my life.

  That’s all I know, so look and listen and let me tell you the story of us …

  1

  I can’t move. I can’t run. There’s the stench of stale beer on his breath; he’s licking my face, his hands are on me.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little thing? I’ve been watching you princess and I’ve got something for you …”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “If you’re good, then I won’t have to, will I?”

  He’s lifting my dress… God! No! “… Please don’t do this … please … please.”

  One of these frosty, October mornings I’m going to greet a new day with bright eyes; eyes that have not flickered and blinked their way through another restless night. Caffeinated and clothed, I’ll temper the noises in my head with distractions: breakfast news, the pages of a glossy magazine, an Aquarian prediction.

  ‘… prepare to meet a tall, dark stranger …’

  The prospect of that lifts my spirits, but that ‘lift’ is fleeting; like
hope and beauty it fades and I am, once more, grounded. Alone.

  Until that fateful l day, I’ll play solitaire with the cards I have been dealt and wish for the kind of flush that comes when two hearts come together.

  I wish …

  I’ve been on my own for too long. Too many night’s spent listening to music, reading romantic fiction, experiencing life second hand; characters have lined up to take me to places I’ll never visit without them, and I’ve been content to play chaperone while they have laughed and danced and fallen in love.

  For now, it seems my life comes down to the alignment of stars, the roll of a dice or a hand of cards. But, what do you do when your hand is shit? Your prospects are shit and it’s Monday. I hate Mondays. There’s only one thing I can do: stop feeling sorry for myself and get a grip, or this navel gazing will make me late for work.

  Work. A fifteen minute car journey to Harrow Hall Grammar School, one of the best schools in north London – or so it says on the prospectus. Stopping at the traffic lights, I take a quick look at myself in the mirror and smooth on some lip balm, tie back my faded blond hair and re-adjust my glasses: what the hell, I’ll do. I amuse myself with a sing-a-long to The Cure … Friday I’m in Love and my mood lifts a little.

  I arrive at the school gates at 8.20am, already the natives are restless; shirts in disarray, skirts the size of pelmets and me struggling with a bouquet of cream flowers and a large bottle of spring water, neither of which are for me. They’re for our honourable guest speaker who seems quite the diva: even MD’s have riders these days. I agreed to cover for Susan on her maternity leave and, although it’s a short term salary boost, offering careers advice to sixteen year old adolescents is hardly my forte.

  Thankfully, that job rests with Mr. Ayden Stone, a 32 year old media magnate; he has the unenviable task of introducing our students to ‘Career Opportunities in a Global Environment,’ – good luck with that Mr. Stone. Sounds very grand, but it will probably amount to a 20 minute power-point presentation and the handing out of some glossy leaflets which will end up on the locker room floor.

  By 9.25 am, everything is ready, or as ready as it will ever be. I’ve set up the laptop and the overhead projector, arranged the flowers, and provided a glass and his bottle of spring water … anything else? Oh yes, he’s insisted the students are silent during his presentation: if I couldn’t guarantee it, then he wouldn’t come, so I guaranteed it. I’ll deal with the fallout later. Someone from the office is going to bring him over and, once I’ve introduced him to the gathering, I’ll leave him to it. He’ll have an hour to enlighten and entertain or die an excruciatingly slow death.

  There is the sound of footsteps on the stairs, so I hold up my finger to the congregation indicating no-talking. I fight the urge to nibble my thumb nail but occupy myself by realigning my glasses and straightening my skirt. There’s a hushed silence. So far so good – welcome to the lion’s den Mr. Stone.

  The door opens and Margaret from the office limbos her way into the auditorium, carrying a box of what I assume are handouts. I’m not sure how to read her expression but, when the owner of the outstretched arm and the masculine hand appears, it hits me.

  He’s …

  I’m nailed to the spot by a vision. Before me is the recreation of a heavenly body, male beauty personified and deliciously wrapped like an expensive gift in navy blue.

  Wow!

  My eyes appraise him like a lift making its way from the lobby to the roof and I extend my hand, manners, yes manners I remember those.

  Ping! I just reached the penthouse …

  "Miss Parker?" He presents a heart stopping smile that makes its way to an ocean of sea green eyes, causing the skin around them to ripple slightly. It renders me temporarily senseless; for in those eyes I catch sight of a memory, something forgotten, a wish maybe? He’s reaching out for my hand and I’m offering it instinctively; as we touch, I feel a kind of tingle that reaches down from my little finger to somewhere below my waistline and I forget to pull away.

  "Mr. Stone, hello. Thank you for coming. Our students have been looking forward to your visit," I gush, hoping my welcome will disguise my nervousness; but we’re not moving, we’re standing, I’m still holding onto his hand, or is he holding onto mine?

  “Please make your way to the stage. I have everything ready for you."

  With a confidence born of wealth and achievement he descends, leaving a trail of Christian Dior or something just as evocative in his wake. I resist the temptation to lift up my head to get a whiff of sheer opulence and totter behind him as he strides fearlessly onto the stage.

  "Good morning everyone. Thank you for waiting so patiently, I’m Ayden Stone and I run a company which you may have heard of, called ‘A.S. Media International.’ He’s claims the stage, talks with confidence and, with ease, pours out a glass of spring water; he’s even admiring the flowers, caressing the petals with his forefinger and thumb. I’m happy to watch.

  There’s a snigger from the back row and, with a nod of his head and a weighty pause, silence is restored. "You need to listen carefully, because what you’ll hear today may be a turning point for you or, at the very least, think of it as an hour out of the classroom."

  There’s that smile again. If I’m not mistaken, I think every female in the room is starting to swoon and that includes Margaret who is still perched by the doorway, holding what must now be a weighty parcel. I usher her down and she stomps her way to the front, places the box by the stage and leaves.

  Mr. Stone doesn’t miss a beat. I’m impressed, and so is his audience: he’s a gifted speaker. From the moment the first word leaves his mouth, he has their attention and gets right down to business by introducing his ‘Pay Back Programme.’ He spares them the customary rags to riches tale, assures them there are opportunities out there for the taking and, from their expressions, they believe him. That has a lot to do with the subject matter but even more to do with him being the kind of man who exudes power: he’s become the centre of attention without even trying.

  Half an hour in, I sit down and feel comfortable enough to take off my metaphoric teacher-in-charge hat: he has them eating out of his hand.

  I steal a moment to take stock of him; he’s very well-manicured, from head to toe, but not so much that the rough edges have been filed away. Everything about him reeks of money and expensive taste; from the top of his raven black, just got out bed hair rippling around his ears and licking at the edge of his collar like … I swallow noisily and become aware of a quickening pulse.

  Moving on … his middle section isn’t too bad either: his navy blue suit fits his lean frame like a glove and I wonder what it would be like to squeeze myself inside that glove. I tug at my skirt and glance round, grateful my thoughts are my own. If ever a man personified male perfection: it’s Mr. Ayden Stone.

  Susan had arranged the event months ago and I never thought to check him out beforehand but, I’m checking him out now and what a feast for the eyes this man is, moving unselfconsciously around the stage. Right on cue, he draws his presentation to a close by answering questions which reflect some degree of intelligence and genuine interest.

  I make my way to the stage. "So everyone, I’m sure you’d like to show your appreciation for Mr. Stone ..." There’s spontaneous applause, and I think he’s quite taken by it; he attempts a theatrical bow and the students start filing out of the auditorium, some stopping to shake his hand.

  "Well, that went well, Mr. Stone," I say with a polite smile, straightening my skirt and pulling down my blouse, feeling self-conscious. "You’ve done this before."

  "Yes, a couple times," he answers, smiling in a way which might have a younger woman in a quiver.

  "Can I get you anything, a coffee or some water maybe, or do you have places to go and people to see?" My weak attempt at humour forces a half smile, so I extend my hand to direct him off the stage.

  "No, no places, no people. I’m all yours Miss Parker."

  What a
strange thing to say ...

  Strange or not, that declaration is causing my body temperature to rise ever so slightly. I’m grateful I have my back to him; my sixth sense tells me he’s checking out my derriere. I only wish I was wearing something more flattering.

  "Great, then let’s get something to drink." In one graceful movement he’s at my side, making me feel a little intimidated, I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s his height and his self-possessed manner.

  Once in the cafeteria, I pull out an inexpensive, lightweight chair for him, clearly it’s not what he’s used to but this is my world and he’s just visiting. I place down our chilled bottles of water, two paper cups and shake out my hands, pretending to warm them but really it’s just a helpless attempt to stop them from trembling.

  Instead of pouring out his water he sips it from the bottle, slowly tipping his head back to catch every drop. For some reason, this simple act of drinking and swallowing is so erotic. I try not to look but for two, maybe three seconds I’m staring. The water is bubbling and tumbling into his mouth, the rim is touching exquisite lips and his tongue is coating his bottom lip with wetness, making it moist and glossy. Lost in the moment, I try to tear myself away, shifting my focus to my bottle top which is clearly welded on. Damn it! Now is not the time to look ineffectual.

  "Please let me ..." His perfect mouth forms into a flat line as he takes the bottle from my hand.

  The touch of his fingers across mine is feather light, sending an electric current the full length of my arm and beyond. I detach my hand and pull my tingling fingers into a fist, allowing him to pour the water into my paper cup.

  "Thank you, Mr. Stone. The art of chivalry is alive and kicking it seems," I say smartly, then wish I hadn’t.

  He does a kind of shrug that I have neither the concentration nor the skills to decode. Thinking on my feet, I fill the space with a compliment. "I must say, you’ve made quite an impression on our students today. They aren’t usually that enthusiastic about careers advice."