Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  A couple of roundabouts later, he finds himself at his destination. It’s 1600hrs. He’s wearing his new check shirt, and feeling uncharacteristically buoyant. With the gait of a man excited at the prospect of moving into a new home, he steps out of the car and leans in to pull out a box of second hand crockery and cutlery. He bounds over to the security door, letting the contents rattle and jangle beneath his arm. Without looking at his Tenancy Agreement, he punches in 1479 and, to his satisfaction, it clicks open.

  Assuming the occupant of 53a is not at home, he begins carrying in his meagre possessions up two flights of stairs, leaving some of the bags and boxes at the bottom. The move-in takes no more than half an hour.

  There’s the rattling of a door lock behind 53b and, for a second, he is frozen to the spot. What if the labels had been wrong on the front door and his girl steps out onto the landing, bringing them face to face? ‘What to do? Nothing’s in place. It’s too soon.’

  To prevent a possible cockup, he climbs the stairs, two at a time and drops his last item on the floor with an echoing thud. The mattress slides down the wall and comes to rest in a sitting position in the living room. It’s queen sized and second hand, he picked it up on the way over for twenty quid. He won’t be needing anything fancy for what he has in mind.

  11

  Feeling as if I have a new lease of life, I speed walk into my bedroom, throw off my stale work clothes, shower and put on Ayden’s T-shirt and the prettiest panties I can find. I just have time to brush my hair and clean my teeth before the doorbell rings.

  I take my time. It rings again. When I open it, I swear he’s out of breath: has he run all the way here? I’m floored by a vertical stare and want him to take me right there on the doorstep, but we have to talk first.

  He enters cautiously, throws down his overnight bag and kicks the door shut behind him. “I like the T-shirt,” he states, following me into the lounge.

  “Then you’ll love what’s underneath it.” I grin over my shoulder. “Come in and sit down.” Rather than settling for the sofa, I switch off the lamps and make straight for the bedroom. It will only be a matter of time before we’re in here anyway. “Take a seat.”

  “Where?”

  Does he thinks I’m being Elizabeth?

  “Anywhere, on the bed, the chair.” I fold my arms and the T-shirt rises a little up my thighs. I catch him looking and like that he’s being so attentive.

  “I don’t know what’s going on Beth but ...”

  “Ayden, just be quiet and listen. I don’t want you to say anything, alright?”

  He nods. “I’m all ears.”

  He leans back onto the bed, allowing his strong forearms to take his weight. Now it’s my turn to visually undress him. I notice he’s discarded his tie and the top two buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing a few strands of protruding chest hair; his fitted shirt isn’t tucked in, but it’s lying across his fly, creased.

  He looks so hot.

  I clear my throat and begin. “I’ve had time to think, and I know what’s been driving you for most of your life and throughout our relationship: your need to win. That’s been your motivation. It’s impacted on your business in a positive way - you said so yourself in your speech tonight - but it’s had a negative impact on your love life, on us.”

  He’s clearly surprised by my candour, but not shaken by it. “Should I be writing this down?” He has to throw me off, doesn’t he? He’s settling back onto the bed, looking like the main course at a buffet. That’s not good, especially as I haven’t eaten all day.

  He cocks his head to the right and signals for me to carry on. I swallow noisily and try to tear myself away from his intense scrutiny. I wish I’d opted for a pair of jeans and an overcoat now. When he looks at me that way, I feel as if I’m being stripped bare. I pull his T-shirt down over my thighs as far as it will go, but that only makes it cling to my hardening nipples. He’s enjoying the view, I can tell.

  Regardless, I press on with my deliberation. “You’ve regarded every woman you’ve ever dated as a challenge, one you’ve set yourself: to woo her, to win her heart, to fuck her and then to move on. And, that’s worked for you until now: until you met me.”

  I stop to breathe, get into my stride and give him a second to take it all in. “You followed established protocol: flowers, poems, gifts, clothes and it worked like a charm. You even threw in the sub idea to clinch the deal, but things have not gone exactly to plan have they?” The question is purely rhetorical and I don’t give him time to answer, even though I can see words forming on his lips.

  “Come the time to move on, you found yourself wanting to stay and that’s not something you do. God forbid you should let anyone, a woman at that, monopolize your time and steal your affection right from under your nose.”

  I take a breath and draw out the shape of a TV screen as if I’m playing charades. “I’ve got a newsflash for you. You’re in love with me, and it scares you to death because it feels like you’ve surrendered and I’ve won.”

  He’s silent now, so absorbed in thought I simply continue with my commentary. “You said yourself that guys think with their dicks, and you were one of them; going all out to be the alpha male, having your choice of prime partners. But now, your heart speaks to you. It tells you to send me songs profaning your love for me and, for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’ve lost control, you’re not in the driving seat any more but merely a passenger who’s enjoying the ride. That’s an alien concept for you.”

  I break off, distracted by his smile; even though it more of a twitch, it reaches his eyes and I hear him speaking to me through silent words.

  “You’ve found someone you truly can’t live without - me!” I arch my brows and offer an overly animated shrug. There, I said it.

  He considers my revelation and tips his head over to the other side like an adorable puppy hearing his name for the first time. I’m rooted to the spot.

  “You think you’re very smart, Miss Parker?”

  I grin. “That’s because I am Mr. Stone.”

  “Yes you are.” He reaches out to me and I fall onto him, squeezing his face in my hands. “But, I’ve not finished ...”

  “Oh! Dear God. Not more revelations?” He covers his face with his hands.

  “Hush.” I kneel up at the side of him on the bed, feeling exhilarated and proud of myself. “Business has always come first, it’s you raison d’etre, or it was until now. And, do you know when I knew?”

  He shakes his head and brushes a strand of hair from my face.

  “When you cancelled meetings to fly home to me, turned off your phone and organised a picnic, stayed up all night trawling the internet for forgive me songs and then bared your soul to five hundred strangers, in the hope I would realise you were talking directly to me. That’s love Ayden. The only reason you’ve not been able to diagnose the symptoms is because you’ve never felt like this before: you’re not losing your grip, you’re love sick.”

  Even though he’s lying down and I’m kneeling over him he’s comfortable and relaxed and I wonder if this is active submission.

  “I’m just as guilty, I didn’t recognise it - I’ve never been in love before either.”

  Why does he look so surprised? “You’re in love with me!”

  “Of course I am. I became Elizabeth for you, I cut my hair for you. I stayed up all night sobbing at the thought of not holding you ever again. Don’t you see, we’re destined to be together. I’ve been waiting for you to find me my whole life, and you have.” I caress his cheek with my palm and fall into him.

  “Yes, at last, I have. And you’ve found me Beth.”

  It’s been at least 24 hours since we’ve kissed and, right now, it’s the only thing I can think of doing. I allow myself to be smothered in mouth-watering kisses and lose my hands in his hair.

  “I love you Ayden.”

  Like a tumbling wave, he rolls me over until I feel his full weight on by body. “I love you m
ore Beth. I was awake all last night thinking about you. That was when I wasn’t looking for ‘I love you’ songs. Have you any idea how hard it is to find songs that sum up what you’re feeling?”

  “Yes, I have, that’s why I loved the music you sent me. Doing what you did was out of character.” I undo one of the buttons on his shirt. “Not everything in life can be solved by barking out orders or fucking Ayden. That may have been the way you’ve dealt with things in the past, but that was then and this is now.”

  He starts to laugh. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “I wasn’t, I’m being serious.” I mean it, but his laughter is contagious and I’m folding by the second.

  He’s suddenly very serious, stopping the frivolity, pulling my face to his. “The prospect of living my life without you made me want to throw myself under a fucking train.”

  “Please don’t say that. Now the truth is out we can start to enjoy each other.” I solidify our bond with an equally serious stare. “I feel safe with you.”

  “You are,” he states as the subtle glow from the lamp reflects in a glistening stare. “And you feel like home Beth, and that’s something I thought I’d never hear myself say.” His eyes continue to verify his revelation. “I want to keep saying the words. ‘I love you,’ even though it feels like I’m speaking a foreign language.” He’s smiling at me in such a way I can imagine angels watching and crying with the sheer beauty of his devotion. It’s a Titanic moment.

  “You see through all my faults Beth and, in spite of them, you still love me. Your innocence allows you to see the world through a child’s eyes; in your world, there’s no deception, only truth and trust. I love you for that if nothing else.”

  So intense is his stare that I’m self-conscious all of a sudden. “Stop staring.”

  “Why? You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out. For as long as I’ve known you I’ve wanted to fix my eyes on you like a heat seeking missile, but I’ve stopped myself, scared you might read my thoughts.”

  A broad smile takes shape. “I can. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

  “That’s not difficult seeing as I’ve got the biggest hard on waiting for you.”

  “See, I knew that.”

  He traces the shape of my nose with his forefinger and gives it a gentle tap at the end. “You have special powers Miss Parker,”

  He teases further, kissing every inch of my neck, my jaw and edging me backwards across the bed. I tip my head back in a kind of helpless joy. This is what I need, my daily dose of Ayden Stone.

  “I love this spot,” he whispers, kissing the tender skin beneath my right ear. “Because, when I kiss it, you make this noise.”

  He kisses it again and, one cue, I moan in response.

  He laughs seductively. “There’s another part of your body which quite takes my fancy.”

  He rolls up my T-shirt and it gathers around my stomach.

  “Ah, here it is.”

  He allows the tip of his tongue to tickle the area around my navel and then my pubic bone: the promise of what is to follow has me stretching and writhing.

  “Let’s see what we have here.”

  I feel his hands skimming my calves, my knees, my thighs, leaving my legs dangling over the bed, waiting. My breathing is irregular and I feel the heat of passion starting to sear through me.

  “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for,” he announces, lifting his head to nail me with a look of such intensity it makes me gasp. “The thought of never doing this again with you made me crazy.”

  I feel his hands taking down my panties and parting my thighs: my God this man has amazing hands, what he can do to me.

  The instant his tongue touches my clitoris I start to move and groan, I’m defenceless: breath rushes from my mouth, fingers clutch at bedding, perspiration coats my skin. A soft cry leaves my lips and I instinctively press myself into him.

  “Oh yes ...”

  My temperature is rising, so I shut out the light to allow my senses to focus on that central apex where my clawing need originates. To call this sexual delight would be an understatement: it’s raw, unadulterated ecstasy.

  “Make me come Ayden, make me forget last night.” My back bends and bows and I’m panting, begging. “Please.”

  He does exactly that, and I’m forgetting everything that has happened, living only in the moment. His fingers find me and their steady, relentless thrusting push me to the edge of orgasm. When he leaves me saturated and needy, I think I’ve been abandoned but his salty tongue pushes into my mouth and the pad of his right hand picks up where his tongue left off. His sinful mouth is on mine and I suck and taste myself.

  With a breathless whisper he commands me. “Look at me Beth.” I open my eyes to see his beautiful, vulnerable face. He’s stripped bare. “You speak to my heart you always have, you know me and you love me, in spite of everything. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Don’t say that, please don’t say that.” I cannot hold back; his words and his hands are tipping me over, everything is tightening and building. My tender orgasm sweeps through my body and my sob like cries are kissed away. I grip his shoulders and hold him to me.

  With a softness I had not expected, he wipes the tears from my cheeks and allows my heart rate to slow.

  “I want to feel you inside me,” I hiss, moulding his mouth to mine.

  In the blink of an eye, my lips are disregarded and my T-shirt is lifted over my head and flung across the room. He’s standing upright. With frenzied hands, he’s pulling off his shirt, unbuttoning his trousers.

  I lean up on my elbows, without shyness and look at his muscular torso for as long as he will allow. “Ayden, you’re perfect, inside and out. You just don’t realise it yet.”

  He pushes down his Calvin Klein boxers and presents himself to me. “Do you want this?”

  Isn’t the fire in my eyes and the wetness of my crutch proof enough?

  “Yes, I want that, in me, right now and, if you ask me to beg, I will ask you to leave.” I hold up my right hand to him and spread my legs a little wider, without shame or embarrassment. Why conceal what is his?

  He stretches out his hand and our fingers weave together, we hold on tight, locked together by animal magnetism. He smiles with dark thoughts etched on his face. “I wouldn’t dare. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  I watch as he slides the condom down the length of his stiff cock, merely watching makes me clench and ache inside.

  Just for the hell of it, he rolls me over so I am lying on my stomach, waiting. In a smoky voice that I barely recognise he states, “I want to take you like this.”

  I’m not sure what to expect, but when I’m treated to the sensation of his sizzling body on mine, I know I’m in for something special. There’s no rush; he’s massaging my neck, palming my shoulder blades, griping my waist with both hands, cupping my behind and it all feels like veneration. When I feel the prod of his erection and the hairs on his outer thighs against my inner thighs I brace myself, in spite of the preparatory massage.

  Patient fingers inch inside me, spreading the wetness from front to back; over my clitoris, within my folds, between the cheeks of my bottom. He’s touching me so tenderly, I can feel myself drifting, giving in to the sensation.

  He pulls me to the edge of the bed and leans in, whilst his other hand slides under my body to my stomach, anchoring me in place. His arousal is unsurpassed: ragged breathing, fervent ardour. “I love you Beth,” he utters in my ear, placing his hand over my mouth.

  I open my eyes wide and have the oddest feeling. Is something strangely unfamiliar about to happen? What is he doing? I don’t react, even though I can’t move and can’t call out. Not until I feel the tip of his penis against my anus do I stiffen. I inhale deeply, becoming aware of the smell of sex on skin, on my lips. It’s intoxicating. Do I want this, does he? Is this his way of winning?

  His weight shifts. “I want to be inside you here, to have you possess me, to own me, but
not yet.” I feel him sliding downwards, finding my slick entrance.

  “Don’t speak, don’t move.”

  With that, his left hand raises me up off the mattress, while his other hand covers my mouth. I’m not sure why, but it’s so fucking erotic.

  As his erection brushes against my folds I want to position myself onto him but, instead, I give him the satisfaction of finding me, taking me. I like feeling bound to him, unable to free myself from his overpowering grip.

  He slides into me, causing a moan to escape from my mouth and bury itself in his hand. It’s an extraordinary feeling having my cries contained, but surprising in the way it forces me to absorb sensations, to centre myself and listen to him calling out and groaning with wild desire.

  His primal need to come causes him to speed up; circling, moving to a relentless rhythm, he stretches me and fills every centimetre, urging me to move to meet his thrusts, burning, building towards orgasm. His tongue finds my right ear, licking, nuzzling, biting and whispering. “I belong inside you Beth, this is my home now.”

  But I can’t answer. I’m not meant to answer, just feel. I feel him igniting my over-heated core, I feel him pounding into me. I feel ...

  “That’s it, feel the burn.” His command forces my body to quiver beneath him.With every penetrating thrust, a surge of ecstatic energy radiates out and explodes and keeps exploding again and again, making me jerk into him.

  His breathing is becoming frantic and his cries are a guttural roar. His climax is brutal and ferocious, grasping hands clutch my hips and pull me onto him, bruising soft flesh, until I’m almost at my limit: it’s deeper than before, forcing me to call out, even though I know he cannot hear me. He’s in a nameless place, a place where wild, carnal needs dictate actions, not rational thought. He starts to tremble, withdraws then collapses at the side of me, utterly spent. We rest for ten minutes or more.