Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

“Me too. I thought I’d never find you.”

  With that he’s on top of me and again I’m spreading my legs for him. He positions his rigid penis by my wet opening and kneels up to slide on the condom waiting for use at the bottom of the bed. He resumes his position, watching my face as he pushes into me, but I’m slick after the foreplay and he enters smoothly. I can’t help but moan, he’s snug but there’s no discomfort. We savour a glorious connection.

  I arch and move to the tempo of his movements and hold him with my clenching, but there’s a gentleness in his movements; he’s being cautious, he’s afraid to push too hard or thrust too deep.

  I lift myself up off the mattress and reach out my hands, he pulls me to him so he is kneeling and I am riding him. I wrap my legs around his buttocks, feeling them against my calves. He starts to move.

  I plead. “Make love to me Ayden.”

  Instantly, I feel the quickening of breath and I tighten my grip around his body, urging him to seek me out, to fill me. I’m ready. He’s prepared me and I can take anything. I lean back and face him, holding on to his biceps while he grips my neck and lunges again and again with carnal craving.

  “Yes, Oh fucking yes!”

  With every piercing thrust, my own breathing is quickening and I’m echoing his passionate cries. “Yes, yes.”

  “That’s it. Find your voice … let me hear you,” he urges.

  Now I’m squeezing and lifting myself off him to feel the full length of his stiff cock sinking into me; I’m rolling and rocking and coming again with such ferocity I think I will pass out.

  “Yes!” I throw myself back and with a final thrust, he pumps everything he has into me, growling my name. We fall together, sprawling onto the cold sheets, exhausted and desperate for sleep.

  ***

  When I rouse from my slumber, Ayden is sat beside me, stroking his chin with his thumb. What is he thinking about? I turn to face him, but my body is stiff and I stretch out my arms and circle my neck to ease the aching in my limps.

  “Hey, can’t you sleep?” I ask softly, turning his face to mine.

  “No, must be the jet-lag.” He pulls up the duvet around me.

  “Do you want some warm milk?”

  He laughs out loud. “Warm milk, what am I five years old?”

  “No. I just thought it might help you sleep.”

  He kisses my forehead. “No, I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

  I sit up and snuggle into his rippling chest, stroking the soft down with my warm fingers. “I’m awake now. Let’s talk.” I know he’s been doing some serious thinking. Is it work? Is it me? “What have you been thinking about?”

  “Us.”

  With the grace of a sloth I lift my head until its level with his. “Oh?” I don’t want to press him.

  “I was just thinking how long we’ve known each other and how far we’ve come in such a short time, that’s all.”

  I try to hold off on a wide eyed stare. “And do you want to take it slower, is that what you want? It has been a little intense.” I fake a smile.

  He turns, and I see apprehension behind those misty spheres. “Why do you?”

  Sensing his anxiety, I brush his lips with mine. “No. I’ve loved every minute of it.”

  He holds my face in his hands and stares, simply stares; there’s an ocean of memories hidden behind those captivating eyes, deep and wide and, swimming in that ocean is a translucent reflection of me.

  “Tonight felt like the first time Beth, how you gave yourself to me. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

  He’s right. “You made it easy for me Ayden, you were so patient and so gentle. You made love to me and it was the first time.” He wraps his arms around me like a protective shawl.

  “It felt that way. You’ve made me realise what I’ve been missing all these years.”

  I want to ease his pensive mood. “Hey, that’s my line,” I laugh softly. “You’re the playboy and I’m the prude, remember?”

  He sniggers at the thought. “There’s nothing prudish about you Elizabeth Parker!” He kisses my nose, and I feel him easing out of his melancholy. “But there’s a reason I can’t sleep, and it’s not jet lag.” He considers his words carefully. “I need to know if this is real.” He looks down at me with so much helplessness I want to kiss away all his fears.

  “I think it’s real. It’s real for me.” I look away. “I know I’m not what you’re used to, and I don’t wear the right clothes or chose the right wine but …”

  He lifts me so my body is weighing down on his. “Why would you say a thing like that? I don’t give a fuck about the clothes or the wine, but I do give a fuck about you, but I’m ...” He falters. “… I’m not sure you’ll feel the same about me once we leave these four walls.”

  I don’t get it. “What do you mean?”

  “I ... I don’t like to lose and there are things I’ve done that I’m not proud of.”

  “Ayden, nothing will change.”

  “You don’t know me Beth, not really. Not the person I’ve become.”

  He’s worrying me with his serious face. “If you’re trying to scare me off, you’re doing a fucking good job?” I sit up and run my fingers through my dishevelled hair. “I’m not blind Ayden, I know what you’re like with other people, that’s you Mr. P. Mr. Powerful.” From the look on his face, I realise what I’ve said means nothing to him. “Just go with it, it’s a long story…”

  I start over. “You’re like a Minstral or a Smartie, all hard shell on the outside and soft in the middle, I get that: you have to be tough and unbreakable. ‘Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.’ Even your Renaissance man knew that.” He smiles, surprised I should be quoting Machiavelli. “Your life has made you that way, but that’s not the person I know. That’s not you.”

  I reach up to him, tears welling in my eyes. “But I’m the lucky one, I don’t have to break through your armour plating, I get the best of you; the you who’s smart and generous and funny and sexy. I don’t care about the rest.” I kiss him for all I’m worth and his lips kiss away my tears.

  “How have I got through a single day without you Beth?” I assume I’m not expected to reply and let him wipe away what’s left of my glistening tears. “Tonight, we’ll leave these four walls and I’ll take you somewhere. I want to show you off.”

  I manage a happy smile. “You may as well, you’ve bought the dress.” I remind him, sniggering.

  He rolls me over onto my back. “Less of your cheek missy.”

  “I don’t know, what you mean Mr. Stone?”

  Brushing my hair back he smiles broadly. “I think I want Elizabeth back.”

  “Don’t you worry about Elizabeth, she’s around and she’ll get you to fuck her if you don’t behave.” I can’t help but giggle.

  “I think I might enjoy that.” He’s laughing and pretending to hold me down.

  “I might enjoy that too.” I can’t stop giggling for some reason.

  “Something tells me I’ve let this genie out of the bottle.” His tongue is in my ear.

  I’m wriggling and laughing. “Yes you have, and I’m never going back.” With that, the excitement fades and, in a tangled bundle of arms and legs, we drift into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Sunday morning comes in a blaze of sunshine, last night’s antics have left me stiff and sore. As usual, I’ve been abandoned and Ayden is hard at work - or so he’ll tell me. I can hear him talking, spitting out orders between expletives; sparks flying off consonants.

  When I trundle into the lounge, he barely notices me. He’s focused on his iPad and having a face to face with someone probably thousands of miles away, but I can’t hear them because he’s using earphones.

  “Do I look happy? Does this look like a happy face to you? Yeah, Yeah. Fuck that. I’ve heard all the excuses but this is time sensitive. Get it sorted! Back at you Jake.” He spots me. “Later ...”

  He places his iPad down and us
hers me over. “Come over here sleepy head.”

  I stumble over to him pushing back messy hair from my face.

  “Look at you with your, ‘I’ve been fucked’ hair.” He smiles broadly and sits me down on his lap, cradling me in his arms. For a minute I think he might actually rock me.

  “What do you want to do today,” I ask, rubbing my eyelids with the back of my hands.

  He laughs and pats my head as if I’m a sickly child. “Poor sleepy baby. There, there.”

  I’m enjoying the attention and nuzzle into him. “You smell sweaty ...” I sniff his moist chest, noticing he’s wearing a white vest top and black shorts.

  “I went for a run at 8 o’clock.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to. It gave me time to think.”

  Our early morning conversation comes flooding back. “Oh dear, you don’t want to do that.” I try to suppress a yawn.

  He lifts my chin so I am facing him. “It’s how I make my money; thinking and planning, that’s my thing.”

  “I know.” Actually, I don’t. “What is it you do exactly?”

  “As little as possible. I make sure smart people do what they’re supposed to in record time.”

  “And that is?”

  “Research, develop, market and supply high tech communication devices around the world, using satellite technology and ...”

  I yawn.

  “Am I boring you Miss Parker?”

  “No, but it is a little technical for 9.30 on a Sunday morning.” I kiss his nose and make my leave.

  “Hurry back, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  I walk away and raise my hand in acknowledgement. I love surprises.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I emerge, fresh faced and communicative. “I’m making omelettes, ok?”

  “Only the whites.” He calls out from behind the screen.

  “No can do. I’ve only got six eggs. If I only use the whites, I’ll have to serve it on a saucer.”

  “Whatever, surprise me.”

  I crack open the eggs and throw in some grated cheese and pieces of ham. Not sure if that counts as a surprise, but it’s the best I can do. Whilst it cooks, I open the French doors, allowing the light to flood in and lay the breakfast table: it’s the beginning of another new day with my special guest.

  Ayden sits himself down and makes small talk: I know he’s purposely making me wait to hear about my surprise. In a battle of wills, I feign disinterest for a long, drawn out fifteen minutes.

  “Aren’t you going to ask?” He enquires with an arched brow. “You know you want to.”

  “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I occupy myself with the clearing of plates.

  He gives an exasperated tut. “OK, I’m ready. I thought we’d have a picnic in Hyde Park today, the weather forecast is good and tonight I have to attend a Book Launch for an author one of my PR companies is handling. I thought we might go together.”

  I smile broadly, showing my pleasure at his thoughtfulness. “You have been busy haven’t you? We’ll have to go and buy provisions though. I hadn’t planned on a picnic.” My synapses are firing at the speed of light: where the hell will I get picnic food from?

  “No worries, I’ve got it covered.” He looks very pleased with himself. “Lester will be here in a just over an hour with a blanket and a hamper from Fortnum & Mason.”

  “Great. I won’t be defrosting any cocktail sausages then?”

  There’s a trace of a smile. “Not today.”

  Sunday morning dawn patrol gets underway at 0600hrs. Dan is itching to get started and welcomes the day with a restored sense of purpose: the gloves are off and he’s found himself a new sparring partner.

  From the way Stone was manhandling his girl, he is in no doubt that he’ll find him at her apartment: that’s where he’ll be, or maybe he’s taken her back to his place in Belgravia. Either way, he’ll find them. It’s just a matter of good recognisance.

  He tosses the large flask of tea and the two breakfast baguettes he bought from the supermarket yesterday into his rucksack and hits the road. He puts his foot down and takes the exit onto A10. He makes good time and is sat hunched down in his car watching and waiting by 0900hrs.

  There is little sign of life, except for the dark haired runner approaching wearing black shorts and a white vest top; he seems to be sprinting towards one of the apartments. Knowing more about male physiology than most, Dan assesses his physique. He’s reminded of the man he used to be before she entered his life: she changed everything, not least of all, his gruelling, fitness regime. He used to run ten miles a day in his prime.

  Through his rear view mirror Dan watches the runner as he approaches and comes into focus. “Hey! I know this guy: it’s Stone.”

  For no more than three seconds, he contemplates swinging open his door, ‘That’ll put a dint in that perfect fucking face of yours,’ he muses, wrestling with his need to inflict actual bodily harm. He slides his hand onto the door handle. ‘I could take you out right here, right now and that would be the end of you pretty boy, but no.” His fingers return to his thigh and stay there until the runner has passed, looking hot and sweating like he’s run a marathon.

  ‘No, that would be too easy, a sucker punch; you wouldn’t even see me coming and that’s not my style. I’m going to get up close and personal, close enough to see the whites of your eyes and then I’m going to launch a killer blow that’ll leave you gasping for air.’ Just the thought of it causes a current of sexual fervour to surge through him; he licks his lips to catch the escaping saliva.

  The security door of apartment 53 clicks open and he watches Stone disappear inside. His arousal has morphed into something much more primitive: it’s hot, smouldering rage. His heavy hands contort into white knuckled fists and, falling back on his boxer training, he has to take deep, energising breaths to centre himself.

  Recalling something his former group commander used to say to him, he tells himself. “Stand down, Danny boy, discretion is the better part of valour.”

  With a twist of his wrist, his car roars into life and he pulls out into the empty road, gazing up at the third floor apartment which will be his new, temporary residence as from tomorrow. The radio hisses and finds its station. Before he is even a mile down the road, he’s smiling and whistling along to rock music, allowing its throbbing beat to reverberate around the car; feeling more self-satisfied than he has for a very, long time.

  It’s 12.20, I’m laying out a blanket on a patch of green in Hyde Park and Ayden Stone is opening up a picnic basket full of chilled delicacies.

  Someone pinch me.

  It feels good to be out of the apartment, out in the real world and, from where I’m sitting, it looks pretty civilised: family members throwing balls to each other, couples walking dogs and Sunday strollers. It’s very calming.

  Thirty minutes later, having consumed the contents of the picnic basket, Ayden positions himself across my lap; he has his iPad to hold his attention, but keeps breaking off to caress my face or squeeze my hand. When I catch his eye, I swear he looks at least five years younger: he’s truly at ease, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate on my Kindle, words are mingling and I’m having to reread line after line.

  I put down his iPad and his returning smile is so soft it touches my heart. No man has ever looked at me that way, with so much tenderness. I bend down and slot my lips onto his: we’re a perfect fit.

  “This was a great idea Ayden.” My voice is a breathless whisper, there are people nearby and what I have to say is not for their ears. Through hot breath I confess, “I love being around you Ayden Stone.”

  “I love that you love being around me Beth Parker.” He pulls me onto his mouth and deepens his kiss and I slide my fingers into his hair.

  “This is the best surprise.” I touch the platinum kiss at my throat. “And I’ll treasure this.” In that outstanding moment of intimacy we are inextricably linked: nothing else exists, time stands
still.

  Out of the blue, he asks, “Does this count as a Titanic moment?”

  I’m moved to tears. “Only if you want it to,” I whisper, circling my right hand around his handsome face. He spots the glistening wetness.

  “Then that’s what we’ll call it - our Titanic moment.”

  When I cannot bear to look a moment longer into those penetrating orbs of light that have become turquoise in the autumn sunshine, I blink and look into the distance.

  “Beth?”

  I return my gaze, hoping I’m communicating some of the powerful emotions I’m feeling.

  “We’re good right?”

  I lift up his palm and plant a kiss in its centre. “We’re better than good Ayden.” I don’t expect to see a grateful smile, but when it appears, I feel blessed.

  After a moment or silent intimacy, I speak. “My mum used to take me picnicking,” I want to share a little of my life history with him, spurred on by the family gatherings around us. “Yeah, she died of breast cancer and being here just made me think of her. I don’t know why.”

  He kisses my right palm. “That must have been hard to deal with.”

  I nod slowly, harnessing my sadness.

  “It was different for me. I didn’t miss what I’d never had.” He’s holding my palm to his face and closing his eyes. I watch him refocus, take hold of my hand firmly and press it to his lips. “But I’d miss this.”

  His declaration touches my soul, I can do no more than lower myself onto him and pull his head to my breasts, feeling my body enveloped in his arms. I feel strangely paternal and pick-up on his need to be held: it’s a silent surrender. It lasts until the emotion dissipates and we can bring ourselves to face each other.

  I want him to know everything there is to know about me. “I’m an only child and my dad passed away just before my twentieth birthday. So, you see Ayden, we both know what it’s like to be orphans.” I run my fingers through his hair. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

  “But not anymore?”

  I meet his eyes. “No, not anymore.”