Through muffled groans he growls, “I want to give you everything, Beth.” And I believe him. His movements become frantic, as if he’s possessed by some primal need to fuck: hard, fast penetration, pushing me to my limit.
“Come with me.” He leans over and snatches off the blindfold.
I blink to accustom my eyes to the light. I‘m shocked by what I see. His body is glistening with sweat, his hair is flat against his forehead and, his once sparkling eyes are the colour of the charm on my bracelet: dark, midnight blue.
“We’re going to do this together.” He doubles his efforts, all the time binding me to him with his fierce eyes. I’m watching him, watching me climax and it’s such a powerful turn-on I start to pant, trying to hold off my orgasm, anticipating that monumental moment when our two worlds collide in a riotous explosion of pure passion.
“Let it go, burn for me Beth,” he calls out, making it impossible for me to contain my ecstasy. Responding to my involuntary clenching he comes with a raucous yell, loud enough to raise the dead, ejaculating what feels like hot lava into my core.
“Feel me Beth, it’s all for you!”
I throw back my head and gasp my way through an earth-shattering explosion of pure pleasure, calling out his name, surrendering my orgasm to him. “Ay-den!”
He fights to regain his composure and, still inside, leans up and kisses me hard. I can taste the salt in his perspiration and feel the heat coming off his skin: he’s totally wasted.
Leaning over my head, he releases me from the cord. It feels good to stretch my arms. His gaze rests on my wrists which have been marked by the corded rope and I see he is unhappy about the tell-tale signs of my struggle. Me, I’m too overcome with post coital bliss to care.
Flat and motionless, he lays beside me; I turn onto my left side and take stock of him. He is absolutely knackered. All I can do is grin.
He can barely turn his head to look at me, and I receive a side-ways glance. “That’s a happy face,” he remarks, with every ounce of stamina sucked from his body.
“I’m a happy person,” I announce proudly. “You seem a little, what’s the word ... exhausted?”
He sends a wide stare in my direction and silences me with it. “You don’t say.”
I lean over and kiss him softly, feeling him raise his right arm to hold me close. “Thank you for taking care of me Ayden.” I frame his left cheek with my hand.
“Thank you for letting me.” His lips rest on my hair. “What time is it?” He asks, suddenly alert.
I glance at the bedside clock. “It’s 9.15.”
Straightaway, both hands are in his hair. “Shit!” Pushing me off his chest he slides out of bed. “I told Jake to call me at nine. I had no idea I’d be involved in a fucking marathon.”
With that he picks up his bathrobe and stomps off into the study.
Oh dear!
With no more than a half-eaten chicken carcass and a bloated cat for company, Dan flicks his way through this month’s issue of Hussler magazine. Some men buy it for the pictures, others for the articles. He buys it for both. Across his lap, a blond bombshell bares her wares to the world and her nakedness causes sexual yearnings to stir in him. For all her exhibitionism the girl in the photo is no match for his girl. He will not allow a stranger to corrupt his mind, to steal his affections: he’s saving himself for Beth Parker, no-one else. But, with his hands hardened and fit for purpose, what to do?
He closes his eyes, abandons reality and waits, waits for her to arrive, to take her place in the well-rehearsed scene. When she makes her entrance, she floors him with a look of such magnitude his pants moisten with pre-cum. Some may see terror in those sky blue eyes, he sees only desire.
“Welcome home princess. It’s been a while, but you’ve come back to me.” In his fevered brain, she twirls and dances over to him, when really she’s turning away. On his command she stills and becomes a statue, a Grecian beauty. Most people fear him, give him a wide berth, but not her. She wants him, has to have him.
The leash around her neck keeps her to heel, all it takes is a gentle tug and she tips forward, moves closer. The chains around her ankle prevent her from falling and the tape across her mouth makes words unnecessary.
With one enormous hand he cups her face and squeezes until her features contract and tears form. “I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson princess. One you won’t forget.”
The chair creaks and moans beneath him as he leans into it, finding purchase for his heels, knowing what’s coming next. The hard skin on his heeling palm feels alien against his pulsating cock; like the hand of a stranger. Not the velvet touch he envisages, but more like that of someone who has toiled, busied themselves with hard labour: a sex slave maybe? He likes the sound of that.
The thought of having sex on-tap excites him further; he has the means and the opportunity, why not? His arousal peeks. Tiny beads of sweat gather on his forehead and across his lip. He picks up the pace and the anticipation of sexual violence is enough to have him gasping and clutching at the threadbare arm of the chair. He’s on fire. The scorching sensation comes out of a delirious craving for a solitary person.
“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he declares, believing it to be a statement of fact. He’s unaware of the savagery of his self-abuse and pounds on and on until the image of her wilting body is so intense he cannot contain himself. He comes hard into her yielding core, still unable and unwilling to open his eyes. When he does, his sight is drawn to his bruised and flaccid penis.
“Aren’t you a greedy little thing. Can’t get enough of Danny boy eh? This time tomorrow you’ll be begging for more.”
19
My own desire was to stay in bed, but I reconsidered; this is our last day and I want to make the most of it. The shower reinvigorates every part of by body, and alleviates the impact of the welts forming on my wrists. I emerge pink and buffed and dress alone in the bedroom, picking up my bathrobe off the carpet by the bed as I go. From it falls the cord, the blindfold and a condom packet, unopened. I gather them up and throw them in the drawer and select my travel outfit. A simple pair of pale blue designer jeans, a white Calvin Klein T-shirt and a matching scarf to go with my navy blazer.
When I step into the lounge, room service are just leaving, having laid out our breakfast selection on the terrace. Ayden is calmly giving a subordinate a series of instructions relating to some kind of merger. It looks like I’ll be having breakfast alone today with only my memories of the past three days for company. I can live with that.
Orange juice from a crystal glass tumbler trickles down my throat, while I gaze out over the now familiar panorama, feeling as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. This day feels special somehow.
Hearing his footsteps I turn; he’s still wearing his bathrobe, unshowered and decidedly unkempt. My mouth twitches as I try to withhold an amused grin.
“Is everything ok?” I ask tentatively.
“It is now,” he answers rather abruptly, shaking his head from side to side. “I can’t believe I lost track of time like that, that never happens.”
Well, I’m sorry to have kept you.
I feel affronted. He grabs a croissant with one hand and pours out a cup of coffee with the other. I say nothing and pretend to be reading the newspaper, giving him time to reconsider his thoughtless remark. Becoming aware of my silence, he puts down his coffee and moves over to where I’m sitting. In the same way he did in the coffee shop, he places his hands on the arms of the chair and leans into me. I lift my eyes to his, waiting for his acknowledgment.
“Good morning.” His eyes are a kind of sultry green colour, specks of brown and gold are flickering in his irises like an early morning firework display. They hold my attention. Even though he’s unshaven, with two days growth and looks as if he’s just rolled out of bed, he’s still incredibly handsome.
“Good morning.” For all the wrong reasons I feel a little bashful and self-conscious. This gorgeous man
has seen me tied up and entirely naked, and it’s that very thought that causes me to blush.
“You’ve been very demanding, Miss Parker,” he admonishes. “So much so you made me miss my nine o’clock call.” A feather-light kiss finds my lips. “If we had more time, I would carry you back to bed and take those fifteen minutes back in kind.”
I say nothing. I’m too busy trying to conceal my crimson cheeks.
“Is this what they call the silent treatment?” he asks, playfully.
I raise my eyes to his and shake my head: no.
He takes a step back. “I do believe you’re blushing, I wonder why?”
Stifling a smile I look away to the left.
“My precious little genie is wishing she could climb back into her bottle right now.”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, I’m not. I’m never going back. I’m just ...”
“ ... Shy about what we got up to.”
I nod, yes.
He tips up my chin with his right hand. “Did I keep my promise? Did I take good care of you?”
“Yes, you did.” I smirk.
“And do you want to do it again?” His smile is wickedly mischievous; his brows are lifted high for effect. He’s simply irresistible.
“Yes please.” I whisper softly, pulling his bed-head to mine. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always a pleasure and never a chore, Miss Parker.” He ends the conversation with a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m going to shower and make myself presentable for you. Can you bear to be away from me for ten minutes?”
“It will be tortuous but I’ll soldier on somehow,” I tease, pushing him away from me.
“That’s the spirit.” He tips his head back gleefully, and I can hear him laughing as he leaves the terrace. He’s in a good mood.
I use my time to check my texts and emails. I reply to Charlie and renew my car insurance on line, and that takes all of ten minutes.
Ayden appears on the terrace looking much less dishevelled, still a little tired around the eyes but refreshed and clean shaven. He kisses my hair before sitting down opposite me. “You smell good.”
“Thank you. So do you.” I pour out another cup of coffee and place it down in front of him but, before I can pull my left hand away, he gently takes hold of it and slots it between his right and left palms.
“We don’t have much time Beth. I want to finalise something.”
Oh? Why do I think this is going to be a serious conversation? “About last night?”
“No. Something else.”
“Ok.” I lean further into the table, giving him my full attention, keeping my eyes on his face, searching for clues. I wait.
“Well ... I’ve been thinking about this for a while and, you know ...”
Whatever it is he’s struggling to get it out. Is he finishing with me? I can’t conceal my fear, my voice is a mournful utterance. “Are we breaking up?”
He’s shocked at my question, and takes my hand to his lips. “Dear God no! Why would you think that?”
“You ... you can’t get the words out and you mentioned finalising something.”
“That’s because I’m an idiot and I’ve fucked it up, said the wrong thing, phrased it all wrong.” He blows out an impatient gust of air. “What I’m trying to say is ...” He reaches into his left trouser pocket with his hand and lifts out a small blue box.
I can’t take my eyes of it, of him, of it. He flips it open. I see what’s inside.
“Francis Elizabeth Parker will you marry me?”
It’s embarrassing I know, but my mouth has fallen open; I’m having to cover it with my free hand. I try to speak. This is so unexpected.
“Beth?” He’s trying to coax me with a stare but I can’t shake my eyes free of the platinum engagement ring. “Do you plan on answering any time soon? Do you need time to think about it?”
“No.”
He’s taken aback. “No. You won’t marry me, or no you don’t need time to think about it?”
I start to laugh. “I love you Ayden, but this has got to be the least romantic proposal ever. What are you like?” I stand, still leaving my left hand in his and slither onto his lap. “Yes I will marry you and no I don’t need time to think about it.” My smile is so wide, my face hurts: I’m beaming.
He reaches around me and removes the stunning ring from the box. “Thank God for that. For a minute there, I thought you were turning me down.” His relief is audible.
“Now why would you think that?” I ask, taking his beautiful face in my hands. “You’re the man I adore.”
“Give me your hand.” I outstretch the fingers of my left hand. “If you don’t like it, we can choose another, but it matches your bracelet so I thought.”
I hold it up to the light. “It’s perfect.” A constellation of sparkling, ice white diamonds frame an enormous sapphire the colour of the night sky; cut into the shape of a heart. Exactly the same colour as the charm on my platinum bracelet. It’s gloriously extravagant and must have cost a fortune.
I shift my attention to him. “You didn’t have to buy me this you ...” But, before I can finish the sentence, he grips my head and pulls my mouth onto his, smothering out my words.
Between a passionate kiss he confesses. “Yes I did. You’ve had my heart from day one.”
“Oh Ayden, that’s such a romantic thing to say.” I take another look at my engagement ring and a thought occurs to me. “Do you realise what you’ve given me: it’s a heart of stone, it’s your heart.” I feel tears welling, making it impossible to focus on my future husband. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “I love you Ayden.”
“I love you more Beth, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”
I make him a solemn promise. “You won’t have to. I will always love you.”
Ayden spends the next twenty minutes consuming two portions of scrambled eggs and bacon: the night and early morning exertions have given him a ravenous appetite. I’m happy to read him the headlines and to listen to him relay details about the Hong Kong merger. His enthusiasm is contagious, even his body language conveys a heighten awareness of all things corporate; he’s gesticulating, raising his voice, making declarations about profit margins and productivity. With every new revelation, I feel him slipping away, leaving me for his mistress: A.S. Media International.
I’ve been spoilt, demanded his attention like a petulant child; but now, for all his wealth and position, spending whole days and nights together has become a luxury even he can ill afford. With the deal done and our engagement ‘finalised,’ we’re about to return home. I have the love of a wonderful man who wants to give me everything and I have the ring to prove it so ... why then, do I feel like his latest acquisition.
He’s instructed, the hotel staff to pack our cases and I’m keeping out of the way, but what if they find the blindfold and the cord and the condoms? Shit! And my toys! I’m mortified at the thought.
When I return to the bedroom, they are all but done; clothes folded beautifully, shoes bagged. I make my move. “Thank you for your help, I’ll take it from here.”
“Very well Miss Parker. Please call reception when you are ready to have your cases collected.” The forty something housekeeper, straightens her uniform and exits the room, leaving me to pack our private possessions and toiletries.
It’s a five minute job. I take a long, lingering look at the king-sized bed and memories of the night before converge on the golden duvet, jostle for first place and cause a surge of sexual bliss to radiate around my body. I leave the room, wearing a sensual smile, betraying the kind of guilty pleasures which some might consider improper. What do they say, as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual?
I go in search of Ayden, to organise our day. I don’t have to search very far: he’s still in the study with his mistress. And I thought I was demanding. For once he isn’t on the phone, he’s sitting comfortably in his chair, arms folded, attention focused on the screen of his l
aptop.
I reposition myself, trying to get a glimpse of what it is that has him so transfixed. The music I added to the slideshow is turned low, but he can hear it perfectly. Katy Perry sings Teenage Dream and it’s light-hearted enough to make him smile, particularly when it’s teamed up with the photo where I’m standing beside a sign pointing out the Trevi Fountain but still focused on my Sat Nav.
Happy days.
Images of the day roll by one after another: so many smiles, so many close-ups and too many of me. I’ve never looked more alive, he’s never looked more handsome.
His finger hits the space bar and I’m curious, why? It’s the one of us together at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, obligingly taken by a random tourists. I make a mental note to take a closer look when I have some time to myself. What has he seen?
I cough and approach him from behind, just as the music is fading and hang my arms over his shoulders from back to front. My senses are intensified in response to a powerful cocktail of pheromones and Obsession, how apt. The photographs have triggered a visceral response in him and his arousal is clearly visible even from where I’m standing.
“Come here, my teenage dream.” He smiles, hooking me into him with his left arm. “Look at you in your skin tight jeans.” He grins, eying me from head to toe, using the lyrics from the song to ensnare me.
“You’re in a very good mood,” I remark, arranging his hair and avoiding his eyes.
“I’m always in a good mood, when you’re around. Can’t you tell?” He lowers my right hand from his hair, kisses my palm and rests it on his crutch. “I’ve only been looking at photographs and I’m hard for you. Imagine how I feel when you’re naked and beneath me.”
“I don’t have to imagine Ayden, I just have to remember.” I pull back a knowing smile and continue to fiddle with his hair.
“And what a memory,” he answers, eyelids heavy and lustful: he doesn’t hold back.
This is where our relationship started, physical attraction, sexual magnetism. But I sense his need to talk or share a secret that will begin with playful banter and end with I love you. If he’s been half as moved as I was to see the slide show then, I suspect he needs to talk about that. I’m sitting comfortably across his lap, ready to listen.
Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 41
