Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play
Page 42
Each word draws me closer and makes me want him more, so profound is the sexual chemistry between us. His right hand is stroking my back and his left hand is caressing my hair with so much gentleness I’m beginning to feel the world fading into nothingness: he has me spellbound.
“Come to Hong Kong with me,” he asks, not so much pleading but appealing to my impressible side. He’s making it virtually impossible to refuse. “We’ll play hooky for a couple of days, see the sights, I’ll navigate ...”
His boyish grin sets my nerves on edge; I’m starting to squirm on his lap and he knows it.
“You can tie me up and I’ll submit in Chinese, what do you say?”
He must be desperate.
“You’re trying to seduce me Mr. Stone, using your sexiness to get what you want?” I widen my stare and caress his lips with the fingers of my right hand. “It’s back to business Ayden, I have to give you back to her now.” I offer a smile of resignation.
“Her?”
“Yes, A.S.M.I. your mistress. It occurs to me that our relationship has three components and, if it’s going to work, I have to get used to sharing you.”
He huffs away a smile. “For you to share me would imply I love you both in equal measure and, that simply isn’t the case.” He holds my face in his warm hands and meets me head on. “I love you more, and I have the photo evidence to prove it.” He nods to the screen. “Take a look.”
We focus our attention on the first photograph he took of us in my apartment, pre-Titanic and Chinese take-away: one of my favourites. “See, I loved you then and I love you now.”
I saw that too
My attention lingers on the photograph. “I loved you then too,” I confess, returning my eyes to his. “That was the first time you made love to me.”
“Yes, is it any wonder? Look at us together. Just the thought of you turns this heart of stone into a raging furnace.” He places my right hand onto his heart.
I’m touched by his honesty, but I can’t let his disclosure shatter my resolve or affect his ability to operate independently. I offer a coquettish smile. “It has to, to get all that blood to your extremities.”
He grins, my sweet boy again. “Well my extremities are full-blooded now.”
Now look what I’ve done.
“Oh really?” To stir him further, I pull my thumb nail to my mouth and watch his breathing quicken; the glistening flecks in his eyes are darkening into a fiery, navy blue. “And what do you propose to do about it?”
“I propose to make love to my future wife right here in this office.”
He closes the lid of his laptop and places it on the floor just at his feet. The dark, wooden desk has a vacant space, just wide enough to accommodate my slender frame. He taps it with the tips of his fingers.
“Take a seat Miss Parker.” True to form, Ayden can only talk sex for a limited time; having it is a way of ending a conversation: I’m happy to swap discourse for intercourse anytime.
I slide over, lifted by patient hands gripping my waist. “It would be my pleasure Mr. Stone, but isn’t this where you spend quality time with your mistress?”
He chuckles. “Fuck that, we’ll have a threesome.”
Our laughter is smothered by hot, wet kisses and all-consuming passion erupting around us. He’s using the wheels on the chair to move closer to me and unbuttoning my jeans. His smiling eyes never leave mine.
“You can’t be serious?” I’m stifling a giggle.
“Yes I can, but this is going to be quick and hard, we have a flight to catch.” He grabs my buttocks and pulls me to him, leaving me to fumble with his fly, but I can’t do it one handed and, suddenly shy, don’t want him to see what’s in my left hand.
He misses nothing. “What have we here?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re going out of your way to conceal nothing?” I should be used to his authoritative tone by now, but it only makes me tremble with anticipation. “Show me.”
I nod no.
We both look down as he gently peels back my fingers like the petals of a delicate flower. Sitting in the palm of my hand is our joint present. He’s taken aback but utterly bemused.
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”
I can’t look at him, this is beyond embarrassing. What was I thinking bringing a vibrating love ring to his office? Whatever it was, we’re both thinking it now.
He cups my face with his hand and tips up my chin. “I think we should christen our joint gift don’t you?”
My eyes are wide and darting nervously every which way. I nod yes.
“Do you want me to draw the drapes.” What a selfless thing to say.
“No.” I place the love ring on the desk and set about undoing his fly, using both hands. My eyes never leaving his. I slip my hands inside his boxers; his hot, firm buttocks flex and tense under my fingers, causing my own cheeks to clench with craving. My heart beat is increasing by the second. I lean back. “No kissing, just look at me.”
“With pleasure.” He does just that. Flickering sapphires hold me in place, stealing the breath from my body. As he inches towards me his face takes on a pained expression, lips parted, breathing laboured with the intensity of his focus.
He’s reaching into his trouser pocket, I assume for a condom and I’m presenting a mocking look of surprise, he catches it and tips his head to the left. No words are needed. He learned never to be unprepared on the flight over. I smile cheekily and raise the level of my own arousal by watching him roll the condom down his rigid cock, and then position the love ring over the crown and then slide it to the base. The black object sits nicely against his pubic bone and nestles in his pubic hair. It’s a sight I could never have envisaged seeing, up until a fortnight ago. Now, nothing surprises me, except myself.
He spreads my thighs. “Hard and fast. Ready?”
I’ve lost the power of speech.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He looks positively euphoric. With a groan of surging passion, he slides into me and grasps my waist, pulling me onto him so there is barely a millimetre between us. He clicks the small button on the magical black ring and rests it against my clitoris. He doesn’t thrust but rolls against me in tight, little circles, caressing me with the pulsating head of the ring, his eyes never leaving mine. “Miss Parker, you’re a very naughty girl, and I want you wet.”
The combination of words, vibration and penetration set my nerves jangling; he has me fisting his hair. “My God!” I call out, sucking him deeper into me.
“There’s the spark. Feel it Beth.”
Under his coaxing, I begin to spasm, feeling an uncontrollable desire to orgasm. My own delicious agony is starting to morph into helpless rapture, and his bulging cock is thrusting and lunging, filling me to the point of stretching.
“Too much?” He gasps, dipping his hips to stake his claim.
“No,” I pant. “God no.”
I’m impaled, racing towards orgasm, struggling to inhale between excited cries. “Oh Ayden.”
I convulse around him, tightening, crushing him once, twice, three times until I can hold off no longer. I’m so swept away, I lean back, splaying my hands left and right on the dark wooden desk, taking everything he has to give and wanting more.
From a foot away, I can feel his steaming breath on my face, but it’s his eyes that cause my muscles to clench and tighten; from the depths of the darkest place, they consume me, taking away any thoughts I might have of self-determination. I feel possessed, my body is his. I belong to him.
“Come,” he growls. “Give me the memory.”
His words are my undoing. I pull him to me and wrap my legs tightly, holding him in place, willing the vibrations to turn my insides into molten flesh. I’m rocking and pushing against him, responding to his circular motion, urging me to come.
“That’s it ... I can feel you creaming me.” He throws back his head, crazy with a savage hunger to ejaculate. “I want to live inside you Beth.”
I arch my back away from him but my trembling arms will not bear my weight. He reaches out and his hands spread out across my shoulder blades like folded wings, holding me in place. Fully supported, I fist my hair and pant my way through an earth-shattering orgasm, surrendering myself to the sensation, eyes closed, tears forming.
My God!
There is a rumble of such physical longing it makes me open my eyes. His groans convey so much yearning and helplessness, I want to reach out to him but my need for some degree of self-preservation forces me to stay where I am, at arms’ length.
His groans increase with every penetrating stroke until he reaches that point of no return. His damp hair is tumbling over his forehead, his T-shirt is clinging to his muscular torso and now I’m getting to watch him come inside me.
“Look into my eyes Beth,” he snarls, using his hands to pull me onto him, bending at the knees until our bodies are moulded together, filling and spreading me.
“You have all of me. You always have.” And with that, the intensity of his bewitching stare fades and softens as he bares his soul to me at the moment of his supreme orgasm. I take hold of his biceps and hold on tight, until his thrusting slows and my internal clenching eases.
The pained expression leaves his face far more quickly than it formed and I have my lover back, a little worse for wear, but back.
“Fuck,” he announces, gently easing out of me. “One of these days Beth, you’re going to give me a heart attack.” He leans over, takes my face in his hands and sucks on my lip with his hungry mouth.
“You started it,” I tease, as he raises his boxers a little, leaving the condom in place. “I only came over to look at a few photographs.” I feign innocence.
“Of course you did, carrying this.” He slides the love ring off, and holds it out in front of me.” He grins, in the mood for some self-denigration. “So what are you suggesting? I’m a predatory, over-sexed megalomaniac who takes advantage of you?” He lowers me off the desk, pulling up my jeans tenderly. “No really, are you ok?”
It feels good to be asked. “Yes, and you?”
“Better now I have my mental picture of you.” He arches a brow sensuously and I roll my eyes. “Now it will be the three of us in Hong Kong. I got you to come for me and with me after all.” He laughs adoringly and rubs his nose against mine.
“Bravo Ayden. You win and I don’t even have to endure the jet lag.”
“Then it’s a win, win outcome.”
“Please ...” I nod my head from side to side. Give me a break. “Haven’t we moved on from the winning, isn’t it the taking part that matters?”
“Yes,” he states, grabbing hold of my shoulders as I stand in front of him. “It’s the taking part I’m enjoying the most.”
“What about the giving part?” I ask cheerfully, waiting for his smart reply.
“I like to think I give as good as I get.” He winks.
“This is true,” I reply, with one of his stock responses, meeting his relaxed stare. “And while we’re on the subject of giving, thank you for this.” I hold up my engagement ring, even in the artificial light the diamonds sparkle and the sapphire is iridescent. “It’s beautiful.”
“Just like you,” he interjects. “I’m not looking forward to us being apart for nearly three days.” He takes my hand and we stroll into the lounge but my legs are still shaky and I’m a little disorientated. He’s actually smirking. “Are you alright?”
“After what we just did, you ask me that? What do you think?” I punch him in the arm and try to walk or rather stumble away.
“Poor baby.” He picks me up off the floor and throws me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of something weightless. “You need to lie down.”
“You need to put me down!” I call out, half laughing, half shouting. “What are you doing, you’ll injure yourself. Put me down you crazy, over-sexed, megalomaniac!”
“Here, lie down for half an hour. I’ll get the bags taken down.” He places me gently onto the enormous bed. “Do you need anything?”
“No, not really. Just you,” I purr.
He bends over to kiss me. “You’ve already had me baby, remember?” He walks away shaking his head from side to side, laughing and pulling off his sodden T-shirt.
“How could I forget?” I call out, following him with lecherous eyes.
“Sleep!”
I feel my eyes flickering as a wave of tiredness washes over me. I really do need to rest.
It’s 0600hrs and Dan has been awake for nearly an hour, undertaking a virtual tour of apartment 53a; some people count sheep to help them sleep, he counts steps from door to sofa, from sofa to table, from table to bedroom door …
With eyes shut tight, he revisits the soon to be scene of the crime, a crime of passion resulting from days, months and years of infatuation. The prospects of that gives him butterflies that skip and summersault around his intestines. He uses his heavy hands to massage away the frisky insects with palms that no longer hurt. In fact, they have hardened up quite nicely. From fingers to wrist, the skin is pleated and puckered into neat little wrinkles. They look as if they belong to someone ancient, withered or dead.
Untouched by vanity, he lifts them from under the duvet, switches on the lamp and inspects them. With his fingers splayed, his palms look like huge sheets of sandpaper. Instinctively, his thoughts turn to the love of his life, ‘These hands will keep you in place, feel your soft skin, explore your body, inside and out. You won’t forget the feel of these hands.’
There had been moments of self-doubt this week when he’d seriously thought about throwing in the towel, but not anymore. He’s a man who has found his second wind and, even with less than four hours sleep, he’s fighting fit.
What usually amounts to a fleeting encounter between flesh and flannel, turns into a long, drawn-out face to face between skin and scorching streams of water. For some reason, he feels the need to cleanse himself, of what, he has no idea.
When he steps from the shower, his skin is glowing the former colour of his scorched palms; he scarcely recognises himself in the bathroom mirror. Naturally his face is flushed from the self-inflicted scalding, but there’s something about his eyes; they are glistening, alight with lust and brutish thoughts. He’s a man who has been raised from the dead: he’s alive. The lascivious grin only reinforces the fact he has the upper-hand. He’s mentally and physically prepared to fight for what is rightfully his and, when he takes it, to indulge in whatever activity takes his fancy to achieve total, sexual gratification.
In false light, his newspaper free lounge seems dustier than ever. Foot square shapes of brightly coloured carpet have appeared around the walls, reminding him of just how long the hunt for his girl has been going on. It had seemed like an exercise in perseverance, a tour of duty that would never end, but now he is coming home. Or at least that’s how it feels.
Breakfast is a simple matter of eating what’s edible and throwing away what’s not. He sits down by his computer and boots it up while sipping hot tea from a mug that has the University of Cambridge crest on it. He Googles Heathrow airport and clicks on ‘Flight Arrivals.’ There are eight flights coming in from Rome, starting at 0945hrs. The last flight is 22.00. To be on the safe side, he decides to get to Elm Gardens for 1000hrs, giving him ample time. He’ll have to break off to meet Elise, but that won’t be a problem, everything is in place and it will simply be a case of retrieval: ‘Operation Snatchback’ is good to go.
His rucksack is so light he barely notices the weight of it. He has off-loaded its contents on earlier expeditions and there is little left to carry. He attributes his anticipated success to premeditation, that and ingenuity. He has a date with destiny and he’s making good time.
20
“Time to wake
up, sleeping beauty.”
I smell my prince’s provocative scent before I see his face: it’s Obsession and he’s mine.
“It’s 11.30, we need to catch our flight before one o’clock or we’ll miss our slot.” He brushes away the unruly strands of hair from my face. “Feeling better?”
I turn to face him, unprepared for what I see: he’s even more handsome than I’ve remembered him from an hour ago. He’s showered and now he’s wearing a tightly fitting, V neck, white T-shirt and pale blue jeans. I swear I can see every contour of his perfect body. What a wake-up call.
“Yes, I’m rested. You look and smell scrumptious.”
“Good to know,” he grins. “Still feel wobbly?” Standing, he eyes my nether region suggestively.
“No, the only thing that’s wobbling is my pride.” I swing my legs off the bed. “I need to freshen up before we leave, give me ten minutes.”
“Sure, take this with you.” I take the steaming cup of coffee from him. What a nice thought.
Having nothing left to salvage from my make-up I shower quickly and reapply some tinted moisturiser, a little mascara and a warm pink lip gloss. Thankfully my jeans and white T-shirt have survived our sexual encounter better than my cosmetics and I slip them on in a second. With so little time, I scrape back my hair into a decorative clip and saunter out into the lounge with all my toiletries thrown into an oversized make-up bag. There they sit by my navy blazer waiting to be packed into our hand luggage.
“All done,” I call out to Ayden, but he’s disappeared. I take a seat, finish my coffee and catch my breath, remembering to take two travel sickness tablets. I don’t want to embarrass myself again. Although the outcome was a lot of fun as I recall.
I jump up when I hear his voice outside in the hall, preparing to leave and excited at the prospect of another four hours of quality time spent with the man I love.