Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  Before he even speaks my face splits into two with a ludicrously broad smile. He looks up completely oblivious of how amusing he is and actually looks around wondering what is making me smile. Still reading through the list, he speaks softly. “Something has put you in a very good mood.”

  I try to pull myself together but I can’t help it, away from our four walls he’s a different person. Right now, he’s a waiter’s worse nightmare with his flippant attitude and pretentious manner, but I know it’s all part of the façade he has created for himself. It’s all part and parcel of being Mr. - my Mr. P. and tonight he looks gorgeous framed in candle light on this, our first diner date.

  “Have you seen anything that meets with your high standards Mr. Stone?” I enquire, rearranging my cutlery.

  “No, but I’m still looking.”

  I get the message, so refrain from saying another word. Instead I snap a bread stick and nibble on that.

  “Do you like Chianti?”

  “I’m not sure if I’ve had it before.” I carry on nibbling.

  “Then we’ll try it.” He lifts up his hand and signals the waiter. “Can we have a bottle of this.” He points to the dearest bottle available and hands back the wine list to the attentive waiter. “And bring some water to the table, please.”

  With the food and wine out of the way he focuses his attention on me. “You’ve regained your composure, I’m pleased to see.” His mouth twitches slightly at one side but he cannot mask an amused smile.

  “I have, I don’t want to be accused of being a naughty girl.” I smile cheekily, putting the bread stick a little too far into my mouth so I can suck on it as it leave my lips.

  He smiles, gleefully, charmed by my innocent attempt at seduction and looks away, shaking his head from left to right. “Something tells me this is going to be one of those nights.”

  When he turns and his eyes find their target there is a dark, carnal longing within them that makes every muscle in my torso contract. I’m squirming in my seat, hoping he hasn’t noticed. I no longer have the urge to giggle, more the need to look away for the sake of my sanity. He’s eye-fucking me.

  “Are you feeling alright Beth,” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. “You look a little ... flushed.”

  Bastard!

  “Yes. I’m fine, it’s a little warm in here, where’s the bloody water?” I scrape back an invisible strand of hair and bite my thumb nail.

  He actually starts to waft me with his napkin. “There, is that better?”

  No it isn’t!

  “Yes, I’m fine now thank you!”

  His smug expression is both annoying and arousing at the same time. Why do I let him do this to me? The point is, I don’t let him. I simply have no defence against stares of that velocity when they are directed straight at me. And he knows it.

  The waiter comes to my rescue. I’m pouring water while Ayden is wine tasting. By the time he’s approved the Chianti and the waiter has poured, I’ve thrown back two full glasses of iced water.

  Feeling internally chilled I confront him. “Why do you do that to me?”

  “Do what?” He tries for a secondary volley and reinforces it with a sexy grin.

  “You know what.” I glare at him.

  “Because I can.” Nonchalantly, he reaches for a bread stick. “I like to play games too Beth, you know that. The difference is, I always win”

  He has the audacity to claim a victory.

  “Besides, I like making you moist all over.” He liquefies my insides with one word.

  Oh dear God!

  I fashion a look of mild indignation. “I’m not moist all over.”

  “Shall we pay a visit to the ladies and check?”

  What kind of question is that?

  “Or maybe we should check right here?”

  Oh no …

  I roll my eyes but that really is not the appropriate thing to do. Now he sees this as a challenge. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Oh it’s more of a want than a need Beth.” He’s tipping his head to the vacant space at the back of the booth. “Come over here.”

  Inch by inch he’s moving around to the other side of the table, out of public view. “Hurry up, or I’ll have to scoot over to your side.” The wink tells me it’s not an idle threat.

  With each passing second, I’m becoming more physically aware of him; the thrill of anticipation is rippling through me like an unstoppable tide. I follow orders and move to my right until our elbows are touching. I really hope no-one has noticed?

  “Now what?” I sound a little put out, but the way my hands are pulling at the material on my dress covering my knees, blows the whistle on my excitement.

  “Lift up your dress at the back.”

  How can he sip wine and tell me to do something like that? “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “No, this is a £3,000 dress, it will crease.” I’ve made a valid point.

  “I’ll buy you another. Lift it up at the back or I’ll do it for you and I’ll be a lot less discreet.”

  I tut and roll my eyes. “Why?”

  “You’ll see. Reach for a bread stick”

  “I don’t want another bread stick.”

  He’s blowing out air in exasperation. “Just do it Beth, for once in your life will you just do as you’re told?”

  As I reach over to the other side of the table, he places his hand on the seat. When I sit down, I’m startled to find his fingers moving around underneath me. “Ah!”

  I feel his hot breath in my right ear. “Does this bring back memories?”

  I’m looking anywhere but at him; across at other couples, at pictures on the walls. “You’ve got to stop Ayden.”

  What if someone sees us?

  “Why, what will I find? Creamy, white lies?”

  His words make me ache inside. Of course I’m slick and ready for him, I’m always ready for him. But, I keep up the pretence.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Voluntarily I lean forward, allowing him to trace the lace on my panties, to edge towards my moist opening. He pushes into me with two fingers.

  “Oh.”

  “Hush, or you’ll get us thrown out of this quaint little restaurant.”

  When I find the courage to face him, he’s smiling in such a way I feel drawn to his eyes like metal filings to a magnet. I want to kiss his mouth. I lean towards him.

  He pulls away. “Now, now we’ll have none of that. This is a public place. Behave!”

  Feeling like a schoolgirl who’s been reprimanded, I look away. He drives me crazy with his games: crazy mad, crazy in love.

  The waiter arrives, carrying our first course. Initially, he’s surprised to see we have moved and is unsure of exactly where to place the food. Assuming we will return to our original places, facing each other, he puts the plates down, smiles and walks away. He must know what we’re up to, surely?

  I lift both plates over to us and rearrange the cutlery. “Do you want me to cut up your food for you?” I ask, worked-up and damp around my hairline.

  “Why not?” Ayden begins picking at his colourful starter with his fork in his right hand.

  Just as I’m about to do so, he intensifies his fondling; the delicate material of my panties, giving way to his insistent fingers. It tears and he has me right where he wants me, right where I want him: circling inside me.

  “Ah!” I cry out, my breath hitching and my eyes widening.

  “Eat your meal,” he urges, seeming oblivious of my arousal.

  I pick up my knife and fork and try to eat but my hands are trembling too much.

  “Oh dear.” Now his smile has become a sexy grin. “I’d cut up your food for you, but unfortunately my hand is otherwise engaged.”

  He places a morsel of food in his mouth off his perfectly balanced fork then repeats the act only this time he’s holding the fork in front of my mouth. “Eat up.”

  It’s not easy chewing when you’re smiling. He p
lays the best games.

  “More?”

  “Please.” I sit patiently, panting, waiting to be fed. There’s something very erotic about this. I can’t put my finger on it, but Ayden seems to have everything under control, my dietary requirements included.

  “Reach for another bread stick.”

  Highly aroused and agitated I protest. “I don’t want another breadstick. I want to be able to eat my meal.”

  “You know what will happen if you don’t. I’ll bend you over your lovely meal. Reach!”

  He is so infuriating. I reach over and grab a breadstick and wave it in front of his nose. In that split second, he pulls out his hand. I watch as he wraps it in his napkin, lifts it to his nose and closes his eyes. I’m mesmerised.

  A groan leaves his throat and finds its way to my thighs that are now sticky with perspiration. With his right hand he pulls my face to him so we are eye to eye: green and blue flecks, flickering in the candle light. “That’s the sexy smell I get when I go down on you.” I feel his lips on mine. “Is it any wonder I want to spread you out and fuck you right here on this table?”

  After only a second, he frees me and I look away, barely able to contain myself. From the corner of my eye I watch him tip water into a spare napkin and wash off his hand with the moist cloth. He begins cutting up his food, as if he’s done nothing, said nothing.

  I pat my upper lip with my napkin. “Mr. Stone, really, you’re so naughty.” I’m swallowing hard and focusing on my meal. “You’re turning me into a very naughty girl.”

  He’s grinning from ear to ear. “Yes I am. My naughty girl.”

  I stand corrected …

  I continue to cut up my food and place my fork in my left hand. Now it’s my turn to play. I slide my right hand under his clean napkin and settle it on his semi erect penis.

  “Let’s see if you can eat with shaky hands.”

  He sniggers. “My hands won’t be doing any shaking tonight Beth.”

  Oh we’ll see about that ...

  He carries on eating, seeming unaffected which is surprising considering the impressive hard on which is taking shape under my fingers.

  I claim back my hand, disappointed at my inability to make a discernible impact on his concentration. I stop eating, turn and wait for him to do the same and face me. When he looks into my eyes, I smile. Facing me are the deepest, darkest pools of indigo I have ever seen.

  “Your hands may not be shaking but your eyes are telling a different story Ayden.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” He turns back to his meal, unwilling to admit defeat.

  I set about my delicious meal, feeling exhilarated and victorious. “There’s two, big, black lies right there.”

  He stops eating long enough to give my right knee a squeeze. “Touché. Eat your meal, keep your strength up. You’ll need it for later.”

  Smiling between mouthfuls I devour the scrumptious food, leaving my plate spotlessly clean.

  Ayden passes me my wine and our glasses chink. From only a foot away, he tries but cannot hold back on a secret smile, I return that smile with interest; for every loving thought he invests in me, I can multiply it to the power of ten and then some.

  “Drink up. That is, of course, if your bladder has any room left for wine after your gallon of water.”

  We laugh unselfconsciously and don’t stop laughing until the waiter arrives with our main course. Even then, I glance at him through mascara coated lashes and giggle, intoxicated, high on pheromones and humour. He touches me on so many levels. I can’t begin to count the ways. I love him. How could I not?

  By 9 o’clock, we are merrily drunk on what turned out to be a very pleasing bottle of Chianti.

  “Do you want coffee or should we head back,” he asks, stroking the knuckles of my right hand with his thumb.

  I pretend to be thinking when really I’m admiring the view. He has loosened his tie slightly and is rubbing his chin with his finger and thumb that way he does when he’s strategizing. I remember where that finger has been and what he can do with those hands and the coffee idea becomes redundant.

  “I think we should leave.”

  He pays the bill with his card. We offer our thanks and make for the exit. Ayden waves over the limousine and we slide onto the back seat.

  “I had a great time tonight,” I confess, hoping the act of constructing a sentence will make me feel less fuelled by wine and desire.

  “Yes, so did I.” He wraps his left arm around my shoulders. I rest my head in the crook of his neck. He feels so warm and firm against my cheek.

  “You smell divine.” I exhale a little too loudly, trying to rid myself of the hot air gathering in my lungs. I feel him smiling into my hair.

  Without a word from me he opens the window halfway. “My poor little genie. So responsive yet so little self-control.”

  I lift up my head and look into his devilish eyes, a little taken aback. “What does that mean?”

  “It means, in terms of nocturnal activities, you’re still learning.”

  I tip my head to the side and continue to focus on his bemused expression. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “It’s just an observation.” He taps my nose with the tip of his forefinger before turning to look out of the window as if he hasn’t spoken.

  Feeling a rush of the kind of self-assurance that comes after two glasses of full bodied wine, I stand my ground: “Well I might be a novice but I haven’t had any complaints from you.”

  “This is true. But you should always keep an open mind about these things. For all your so-called dominance, vanilla is still your favourite flavour.”

  I’m aghast. I’ve read about that ... “Something tells me we’re not talking about ice-cream here?”

  He kisses my forehead. “No, we most certainly are not.”

  “Then you shouldn’t make assumption about my favourite flavour then. If I’m still so ... plain, then maybe that has something to do with the tuition I’m receiving?” I’ve made a valid point and it’s back in your court Mr. P.

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Good.” I think?

  “We’ll see.”

  That’s not fair, you can’t end a conversation with ‘we’ll see.’ I’m not a two year old. We pull up outside the hotel and his cryptic conversation ends. He turns to help me out.

  “I don’t need any help. I’ve already learned how to walk.”

  I hear a deep throated chuckle behind me. Once I’m out of the car, I take a look around; the hotel gardens are lit and there are tiny lights dotted around on the steps and by the flower beds. It’s enchanting.

  Ayden acknowledges the young man on reception with a perfunctory nod, letting me lead the way to the elevator. The key card opens the door to our suite and we step inside but the lights have been turned off; one side of the room is bathed in moonlight, the other wrapped in shadows.

  Unsure of where the switch is, I call out melodramatically, “Lights!” But, when I turn to face Ayden I’m caught off guard. There’s barely a trace of a smile. I know that look. I take a step back, I’m not sure why.

  In response he takes hold of my left wrist. At first I think it’s to steady me but his grip is a little too tight for that.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I whisper, turning on my heels.

  “No!”

  I swivel back to face him and our eyes lock hypnotically. There’s something very arousing about a man who is seriously contemplating how he’s going to fuck you, especially when he looks this hot.

  “You said you wanted to gift yourself to me.”

  I nod, slowly.

  “Then it’s time for me to collect my welcome home present.”

  I swallow hard, unsure of exactly what he means. I’m just about to speak but feel his hand over my mouth.

  “I’m not used to people answering me back, so tonight I’m taking away your power of speech. Just for tonight.”

  I give him a curious stare.

>   “Now listen carefully. You’re going to go into the bedroom and stand in the pool of light by the window and wait for me. Go.”

  Jesus, this is unexpected. Just thinking about what he is going to do to me, has my heart racing.

  I’m standing silently with my back to the window in our extravagant bedroom; outside I can hear crickets and the distant rumble of traffic. Inside, there’s only my expectant breathing and the sound of Ayden approaching out of the darkness.

  He sits, fully clothed on the edge of the enormous bed, removes his tie and gives me another command. “Undress, slowly.”

  I falter.

  “Stop thinking about it Beth, I’m not asking I’m telling. Just do it.”

  He’s totally serious and I obey, slowly removing my dress, letting it come to rest on the nearby chair. I’m wearing my black lacy bra, panties and my Louis Vuitton heels, standing before him while he directs the most intense of stares my way. In the half- light, I see flames flickering, dancing around depthless pools of blackness. Has he ever been more turned-on? Simply looking at him in this primal state affects my breathing, so much so I’m forgetting to exhale and have to keep reminding myself to do so. I reach my hands around my back to unclip my bra.

  “Did I say move?” He calls out.

  I launch an indignant stare in his direction. “There’s no need to ...”

  “… Be quiet Beth, or I’ll have to gag you.”

  What? Is he threatening me? I drag an imaginary zip across my mouth and stick my hands by my sides, signalling obedience.

  Happy now?

  Deliberately spelling out each word, he addresses me. “Gifting yourself to me, means you have to submit to my will. So stop with the fucking attitude.”

  Now there’s a thing: he’s totally serious.

  I’ve met this man before, only once, on the way home after the book launch. I didn’t recognise him then and I don’t recognise him now but, that doesn’t stop me wanting him.

  “Kneel down. Get on all fours.”

  I tip my head to one side in disbelief, asking why but saying nothing. Feeling very awkward, I do as he asks, settling my hands and knees on the plush carpet.