Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  “Is this normal?” I ask, holding onto the arms of my chair with knuckles the colour of melted snow.

  “We’re ok Beth. It’ll take a minute or two but we’ll get through it. This is one of the safest aircrafts there is.”

  He holds out his hand to me but I can’t release my grip on the chair. “Maybe I should have mentioned it before, but it’s not just the take-offs and landings I hate. I’m not too fond of the middle bit either, especially when it’s like this.”

  I feel the colour draining from my face. With every abnormal fall I scream.

  “Look at me Beth.”

  I lift my eyes from the floor.

  “Just look at me and tell me about Rome. What are we going to do when we get there? I know you must have something planned.”

  Nice distraction Ayden…

  “I’ve found us a little ... Ah! ... restaurant that has great ... Ah! ... reviews ... it’s in the centre so we can stroll ... Ah!” I give up trying to speak. I can’t think straight. I’m dizzy. I’m going to be sick.

  “Beth! Beth!”

  I hear him calling my name but I feel too out of it to answer. His expression turns suddenly very solemn. In a flash he’s out of his seat, cursing, swaying, struggling to keep his balance. He’s unbuckling my seatbelt. What is he doing? He’s lifting, carrying me to the rear of the plane.

  We land heavily on the couch and he wedges his feet against the opposite seat and holds me on his lap, rocking me like an injured child. I close my eyes, wrap my arms around his neck and whimper. His reassuring words and soft kisses make the ordeal bearable and, for the first time in the longest 30 minutes in my life, I feel safe.

  The plane levels out, I release my grip and frame his face with my sweating palms; it’s warm to the touch, an angelic visage. I find his mouth with mine and deliver a grateful kiss. His protective arms release me and adopt a very different role. No longer is he my saviour, he’s my lover.

  There’s nothing like a near death experience to get the adrenalin pumping and pumping it is, making every muscle tighten and contract with an all-consuming need for sexual contact. I lift my leg over so I can straggle him, I’m so turned-on I’m losing control, forgetting where we are, willing him take me.

  “Beth stop, we can’t,” he states in a less than convincing voice. “We can’t.”

  “I need this, I need you Ayden.” I barely recognise myself.

  “Not here. We can’t. Not here.”

  Breathless with need, I hear myself pleading. “Stop saying that. Please, Ayden. You must have done it before?”

  “No. Never.” His startled look tells me he’s totally truthful.

  Knowing that drives me on. His kisses intensify and find my throat, he brushes his lips beneath my ear and I make that sound he loves so much. “Ah.”

  It’s enough to stimulate him to the point from which there is no return. He stands me upright and snatches my hand. “Come with me.”

  He escorts me to the rear of the plain like I’m under arrest for a crime of passion, and pushes me into the washroom. It’s hardly spacious but there’s room enough to do what he intends to do. He switches places and sits on the toilet seat, locking the door behind me. I reach down, fondle his erection through his jeans and revel at the sight of him leaning back, defenceless. The thought of doing this has been rattling around in my head all morning.

  I take his tongue in my mouth and suck, deepening our kiss. Our moans echo around the small compartment.

  “Jesus Beth, you’re killing me,” he purrs.

  I will here none of it. “I’m not killing you Ayden. I’m loving you.” Unable to hold back, I start rubbing myself against him. “Can’t you tell?”

  I want to feel his skin on mine, flesh on flesh. In a dramatic pull, I lift off his sweater, arms up, hair all over the place and then proceed to pin him down with my craving for forbidden sex. My hands are resting on pectoral muscles wrapped in scented hair and the fusion of the two is driving me wild.

  I begin unbuttoning his black jeans, all fingers and thumbs. When I take hold of him in both hands, he utters a deep groan and tilts his head back. His noises ignite my steaming passion, my breathing hitches and my insides start to quiver. The aircraft is beginning to fight its way through clear air again but I don’t care, I’m too focused on Ayden’s impressive hard on as it stands to attention unsupported by my hands.

  His hands are everywhere, gripping my thighs, devilish thumbs heading north, testing the durability of the seams as they progress towards my saturated crutch. He pulls down my trousers and lacy black panties in a most ungentlemanly fashion, but that’s ok, we don’t have time for lengthy foreplay. The sensation of his right hand sliding beneath me is unspeakably good. When the fingers of that hand make their way through wet flesh and insert me, my God I have to call out his name. “Ayden.”

  He’s coming undone. “Forty six thousand feet and I’m here fucking you in the toilet. What the hell am I doing?”

  With his free hand he grabs the back of my head and pulls my mouth forcefully onto his so he can wrap his tongue around mine to the same rhythm as his invasive fingers. I keep time with my two handed grip on his pulsating cock whilst rocking into him and clenching forcefully around his fingers. I’m so close.

  “Make me come.” I plead into his mouth, yielding to my appetite for an orgasm. His left hand fists my hair while his thumb curves into position, massaging my clitoris in slow rhythmic circles. He has me right where he wants me, on the edge of an abyss.

  Gasping for air I tighten and rock into him, scorching spears of fire burning me from the inside out. I come, screaming with ecstatic joy and ease back down to earth trembling.

  Ayden has watched me up close and the beads of sweat forming on his nose and the darkness of his pupils confess his arousal. I lean into him and wipe his nose with my fingers.

  “Do you have a condom?” I ask impetuously.

  He gives me a reproving look and shakes his head.

  “What do you want?”

  His breath quickens at the prospect of … something. In fractured breaths he makes his request. “I want you to get on your knees and blow me.”

  Well that’s unequivocal. I respond with an indignant stare, he mirrors my indignation. The man who was so masterful earlier, clearly has not left the ‘building’, he’s very much alive and kicking right here in this confined space.

  He senses my hesitation. “What’s the problem?”

  “Nothing.” I try to ease my way onto the floor, but there’s just something about kneeling on a toilet floor that troubles my sensibilities. No matter which way I move, I can’t seem to position myself comfortably.

  “You’ll have to stand,” I state, clambering up over his thighs, “There isn’t enough room.”

  He rises and lifts me up briskly into a standing position, turning us around so we are facing in the opposite direction: now his back is against the door.

  “Are you sure you’ve not done this before?” I ask bright eyed. “You seem to have come up with a solution pretty quickly?”

  He rolls his eyes and starts to button up his jeans.

  “Hey, not so fast, now we’ve sorted out the choreography, I want to dance.” I unbutton my blouse and open it up. “See? You have me undoing all the buttons.”

  We share the memory and his mouth forms into a sexy smile. “You’re very disarming Miss Parker and very naughty.”

  “I’m also good at BJ’s, apparently.” I tip my head to the side and move in to him, allowing my mouth the caress his lips very, very gently. I make my way south whilst being manoeuvred backwards onto the toilet seat.

  Once seated, I find myself perfectly positioned to carry out his request. I pull down both his jeans and his boxers and take a lecherous look; he stands before me, a glistening example of male, physical perfection. Taught skin stretched over sculptured abs and hips. How lucky am I?

  His semi-erect penis falls into my right hand and I begin moving up and down, up and down, r
ubbing my thumb around the tip, coaxing him to harden. My new platinum bracelet tinkles and rattles as I move, as a reminded of his love for me.

  I gaze up at him through dark eyelashes, monitoring his arousal. He’s open mouthed, his breathing is ragged, leaving his lungs in hot waves.

  “Why do I let you do this … to me?” He asks, struggling to complete the sentence.

  “Because you want me to. Because I want to.” I declare confidently.

  Within seconds he hardens; gently takes my head in both hands and puts me to work. I draw my tongue across my lips in preparation and boldly begin by licking the moist crown while both hands hold him in place. I mouth him, taking the rigid mass deeper and deeper into my throat, feeling his body folding over me and his knees starting to buckle. He outstretches his arms and presses his hands against the panelling to make the shape of a giant T. This is his Titanic moment and he doesn’t even realise. I press on.

  Each long, drawn out suck causes him to hiss with pure pleasure and causes me to squirm, wishing this rod of pure muscle was inside me.

  “My God Beth... suck me, deeper.”

  His wish is my command. I take him to the back of my throat and gaze up at him. I want to watch him fight for breath at that moment when I consume him with my gluttonous mouth.

  “You’re making me come so hard,” he growls, watching me watching him.

  The intensity of the connection is not wasted on either of us. In a spectacular display of masculine virility, he spurts into my mouth and I have to work hard to suppress a gag reflex. His body shudders and pulsates around me, until his groaning sounds subside and I release him.

  He falls backwards onto the locked door, out of breath and spent. For some reason, he doesn’t pull me close or offer me one of his grateful smiles. He looks dejected. Why?

  Feeling downcast, I rearrange my clothes and take a hard look at myself in the mirror. I’m flushed, my lips are swollen, the water-proof mascara I applied this morning is intact but my hair is a tangled mess. I turn to Ayden, he’s fixing the buttons on his jeans. I pass him his sweater, a little fearful of meeting his eyes.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  He wriggles into his sweater in the confined space, causing me to move left then right to avoid his outstretched arms. “No. Of course not.” His head appears above the neckline. “You were ...” He considers his words. “The best.”

  I smile. “So were you, but then you always are.” He pulls me close and I wrap my arms around him, feeling my ears popping. “We’re descending. We’d better get seated.” I pull away.

  With the force of a tornado he hauls me to him, spins me round so I’m pinned against the door by his flexing hips, and arches himself into me; he takes my face in his hands, then proceeds to consumes me with feverish passion, kissing me until I am close to suffocation.

  Scraping back my hair he leans backward and prepares to speak but … thoughts take shape, I see then forming behind his eyes, but he is unable to translate them into words. I wait. His face erupts into a broad smile and I see he’s come to terms with whatever it was that was troubling him. But what the hell was it?

  “Let’s get ready to land.”

  With a single click the door opens and we tumble out, Ayden breaks my fall and we begin giggling, even our eyes are laughing. I run my fingers through his hair, trying to rid him of that post orgasmic look, but it’s hopeless. Even wearing a hat he’d still look the same: utterly fuckable.

  Whilst I salvage what I can from my make-up and tame my hair with serum, I notice two extra coffee cups and saucers on the galley shelf: that makes all four, present and correct. The co-pilot must have returned them mid-flight. Shit! He will have seen the empty cabin and put two and two together. I don’t have the heart to break the news to Ayden but, there is no doubting the fact, we have become honorary members of the Mile High Club.

  14

  Thankfully, our landing into Fiumincino airport is uneventful. Ayden takes my hand and we walk at a pace through empty hallways, catching sight of queuing tourists as we go. By the exit door, a well turned out gentleman with slicked back hair and a twinkle in his eye holds up a sign: Stone. I don’t doubt it’s meant for us. Ayden makes that assumption too and allows him to lead the way, leaving an airport employee behind us struggling with our bags on a trolley that refuses to stay pointed in the right direction.

  Quickly, the bags are loaded and we ease into the traffic. The experienced driver weaves the limousine through parked cars and scooters. Sounding his horn for no apparent reason seems to be an unwritten rule.

  After a stop-go, thirty minute journey, we arrive at our destination: Hotel De Russie. From the outside it’s not very grand; from the inside it’s a revelation. Two eager doormen dressed in morning coats tip their tall hats to us and open the door to the ultra-modern reception which is captured in light cast by an impressive chandelier. Neither of the two female receptionists recognise Ayden, but they are quick to recognise him as a man who does not suffer fools easily.

  “We’re booked into the Nijinsky suite for two nights, the name’s Stone.” With that, we are lead to the lift. There’s no check-in, no handing over of passports or form filling; apparently we can do that in our room.

  A distinguished looking gentleman in a well cut, black suit and shiny shoes escorts us to the elevator and presses the button to the sixth floor. He leads the way into the suite, opening doors and pulling back full length drapes to reveal an enormous roof top terrace with panoramic views over Rome. There’s a hilltop castle to the left and church spires to the right: it’s spectacular. I turn to catch Ayden’s eye and mouth: ‘Wow!” but he simply rolls his eyes and directs the maid to the bedroom where she’s about to hang up our clothes.

  He comes out onto the terrace to join me. I saunter over to him and take his right hand in mine. “It’s lovely Ayden.” I plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “You haven’t even seen the suite yet,” he replies, taking in the afternoon air.

  “I know, but it’s all wonderful.”

  The distinguished looking gentleman coughs by the door. “Excuse me Mr. Stone, will there be anything else, Sir?”

  “No, thank you ... Oh, is there Champagne in the fridge?”

  “Yes Sir, but if you would prefer a particular Brand or vintage, it can be arranged.”

  “Then send up three bottles of Krug Grande Cuvée, with some cheese and fruit.”

  “Of course Mr. Stone, I’ll get that now for you Sir.”

  With that, he’s off and we are left to appreciate Rome from a great height. “Shall we take a look at the suite?” I ask excitedly.

  “Yes let’s,” he mimics with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  I give him a dig in his arm. “Are you making fun of me, because if you are I’m going to have to get Elizabeth to sort you out.” His raises a single brow and grins. “Stop that now. Be good.”

  Once inside I see the suite in all its glory; the larger of the two lounges is painted white, plush leather furniture in cream is accented with cushions in dark red and purple. Out of one doorway to the right, there’s an enormous dining table, big enough to seat ten people. Off that, there’s a kitchen and a library leading on to a spacious bedroom which is dominated by a king-sized bed, ladened with gold coloured cushions and pillows.

  The piece de resistance is the bathroom: it’s stunning. Apart from the fact that it’s as big as my apartment, it’s a spa retreat embellished with mosaic tiling and marble tops. It’s in a kind of Art Deco design, worthy of a photograph. Everything about this suite is exquisite. It’s the perfect choice for us.

  After losing myself in the countless rooms, I find Ayden in the study. I stand behind him, gazing over his shoulder at his laptop.

  “Have you seen how big this place is?” I ask, my voice raising half an octave. “You’ll have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming.” I smile into his hair.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He carries on reading and holds a conversati
on with me at the same time. “Do you want to do anything in particular? It’s only four o’clock.”

  “I’d like to make up for the time you’ve been away and show you just how much I’ve missed you. Does that count as anything in particular?”

  “I’d say so.” His mouth begins to twitch.

  “Or we could sit out on the terrace and relax for a couple of hours, drink fancy champagne and nibble on fruit before we get ready for dinner.” I brush his hair; the soft black flicks are soft to the touch and smell of something delicious. “I’ll let you decide.”

  “Thank you.”

  I think he’s smiling but I can’t tell from where I’m standing.

  “As much as I like the sound of option number one, I think I may need a couple of hours to regroup. It’s been a busy week. Option two sounds good.”

  I plant a soft kiss on his hair. “Alright then, champagne on the terrace it is.”

  I shift position so I’m perched on his desk, I want to see his handsome face and invite him to watch my appreciative words form and fall from my lips. “It’s like a dream, you know all this.” I turn my head from left to right and then back to him. “Thank you for arranging it.”

  He dismisses what he’s doing and faces me head on. His eyes are a soft diopside green, captivating. “It’s my pleasure. I want you to be happy and this is just the start.”

  I reach out and caress his cheek. “You don’t have to you know. I don’t expect it.”

  “I know, and that why I’m doing it. Besides, it’s not an entirely altruistic gesture, I get to spend time away from the office with you.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose you should be thanking me.” I kiss him softly. “You can thank me later.” I squeeze his shoulder and head out towards the private terrace.

  The sun is settling in the west and the terracotta rooftops are starting to take on a different dimension in the late afternoon light; shadows are forming and windows are becoming opaque. Families are gathering around kitchen tables and small children are getting ready for fathers returning home from work. Beyond this terrace, life goes on much the same as it did yesterday and the day before, but here time stands still. On this private terrace only the two of us exist and that’s a very evocative thought.