Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (22 page)

“Beth?”

I return my gaze, hoping I’m communicating
some of the powerful emotions I’m feeling.

“We’re good right?”

I lift up his palm and plant a kiss in its
centre. “We’re better than good Ayden.” I don’t expect to see a grateful smile,
but when it appears, I feel blessed.

After a moment or silent intimacy, I
speak. “My mum used to take me picnicking,” I want to share a little of my life
history with him, spurred on by the family gatherings around us. “Yeah, she
died of breast cancer and being here just made me think of her. I don’t know
why.”

He kisses my right palm. “That must have
been hard to deal with.”

I nod slowly, harnessing my sadness.

“It was different for me. I didn’t miss
what I’d never had.” He’s holding my palm to his face and closing his eyes. I
watch him refocus, take hold of my hand firmly and press it to his lips. “But
I’d miss this.”

His declaration touches my soul, I can do
no more than lower myself onto him and pull his head to my breasts, feeling my
body enveloped in his arms. I feel strangely paternal and pick-up on his need
to be held: it’s a silent surrender. It lasts until the emotion dissipates and
we can bring ourselves to face each other.

I want him to know everything there is to
know about me. “I’m an only child and my dad passed away just before my
twentieth birthday. So, you see Ayden, we both know what it’s like to be
orphans.” I run my fingers through his hair. “I know what it’s like to be
alone.”

“But not anymore?”

I meet his eyes. “No, not anymore.”

He jumps up suddenly and startles me.
“Let’s go!”

I leap to his command and in a flash the
caviar, crackers, champagne and strawberries are packed away. While I fold the
blanket, Ayden contacts Lester.

***

Away from the crowds it’s easier to
rediscover the intimacy we’d experienced earlier. In the car, we kiss briefly
but it isn’t enough to extinguish the smouldering embers in my stomach that are
threatening to catch alight. I fidget and the leather seat squeaks and creaks
beneath my short dress. I try to distract myself by looking out of the window,
but my thumb nail insists on finding my mouth.

“Don’t!” Ayden orders. “If you do that
then I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

Like a scolded child, I place my hands
neatly on my lap and he keeps them in place with his firm left hand. “Try and
keep still for God’s sake.”

With my hands out of service and held in
place, I turn and lean into him, but he withdraws. Seeing him so flustered does
something to me. “Ayden,” I say sweetly. “I ...”

“Stop Beth, I know what you’re doing but
cut it out.” His eyes are darting from side to side, he can’t look at me.

“But I’m so hot for you right now.”

“Deal with it. We’ll be back at your place
in twenty minutes.” He’s trying to be so masterful but I’ve heard him give
orders and this is more of a request. I’m impervious to his requests.

“Put your hand on the seat palm up.” I reposition
his hand on his knees and raise myself up, ever so slightly.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking. No.”

I’m getting off on the shock in his voice.
“Yes.” I slide his left hand under my dress. “Do as I tell you Ayden.” When I
sit on his hand I know he can feel the wetness through my lacy underwear. “Mmm
... that’s better,” I purr, gripping his left knee.

“Fuck!”

I turn to face him and, even though I know
I’ve taken him by surprise the size of his dilated pupils tells me he’s getting
off on this too. I feel him folding back his middle finger to pierce my
panties, so I rock forward to ease his entry. The material tears and I can’t
help but voice an involuntary whimper.

But, he’s Ayden Stone, he’s keeping up
appearances and he has no intentions of being caught in a compromising
situation in the back of a Rolls Royce. So, as we move through the crowds and
wait patiently at the traffic lights, he looks out of the window and uses his
middle finger to penetrate me. I push down into the seat and his finger folds
into the wetness, making me cry out and grip the seat with both of my hands.
Lester looks up and I cough to disguise my outburst and smile sweetly,
pretending to focus on the road ahead.

A clammy layer of perspiration is forming
on my body and the skin above my lip is becoming sticky. I pat it with my
forefinger and concentrate on my breathing. I can see Ayden’s chest rising and
falling at the side of me and, despite his visible indifference, the knuckles
of his right hand are white and taught as he grips the door handle.

Five minutes from home the car picks up
speed and the crowds disperse, Ayden times his intervention perfectly. He
breaths into my right ear, “You have been a very, very bad girl, and now I’m
going to finger fuck you until you come, right here in this
fucking
car.”

His words work like a charm. My lower body
convulses forward onto his two saturated fingers and, as I push down onto them
he makes deep, burrowing circles inside me. When I climax, my mouth gapes and I
hold my head down to conceal my rapture, gripping his left knee in an attempt
to contain my cries.

As we turn the corner to park outside my
apartment I lean forward and he pulls out of me. I glance at Lester. Did he
have any idea what was happening? Oh, I really hope not. I feel myself blushing
at the thought. I pass Ayden a tissue and he wipes his fingers.

“I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he says
with a mischievous grin.

We make our way to the front door. My
hands are trembling and for some reason I’m a little unstable, weak at the
knees. Ayden is at my rear. Is he strategically positioning himself to catch me
or, is the erection I feel pressing into my derriere, his way of saying ‘now
it’s my turn.’

I hope so.

“I think I should take it from here, my
poor little genie doesn’t look like she has the strength to turn the key.” I
throw my keys in the air, he catches them and, with his arm wrapped around my
waist, we make our way inside.

How
can a woman be expected to be ready in
only two hours. I’ve never been to a book launch before: up hair, down hair,
mini, maxi, gown? After our post picnic tryst, Ayden left me to get ready and
has arranged to pick me up at 7.30, but he was no help when I called him asking
for advice.

“Wear whatever you feel comfortable in,”
he said. “We won’t be there for long.”

It’s easy for him, he throws on his
signature Armani suit and he’s good to go; his hardest decision is choosing a
tie. How difficult is that?

I opt for a classic dress from DKNY. It’s
one of my most expensive purchases and not something I would have picked for
myself, it was only on Celine’s recommendation that I tried it and - who knew!
It looks spectacular on, if I say so myself. It’s in midnight blue satin and
the bustier makes me look and feel a million dollars, and the fact that its
strapless will allow my platinum kiss pendant to take pride of place on my
décolleté. I even have matching, killer heels in dark blue and a silver clutch
to complete the look.

When the buzzer sounds I’m ready. I take a
deep breath and prepare for my debut: I’ve never felt or looked better.

“Hi Lester,” I call out, offering him a
friendly smile and slamming the door behind me. He opens the car door for me
and I step inside.

Ayden’s gasp is audible. “My God, you look
absolutely stunning Beth.” I actually think his mouth is gaping.

“Thank you, I wasn’t sure about the dress
at first, but Celine chose it for me.” I’m fussing over the folds, afraid to
sit down in case it creases.

“Killer heels too, I like those.” He runs
his hand up my leg until he reaches the stocking tops and pulls his hand away
quickly. I think I know why.

“Yes, I love the shoes but you do know I
won’t be doing any dancing tonight, don’t you?”

“I do now.” He grins, and I see a twinkle
in his eye: it looks a lot like pride.

Once I’ve settled myself, I turn to look
at him: he looks as if he’s stepped out of a film set, so polished, so
majestic. My mouth falls open. “Ayden, you look so handsome. You look like
James Bond only younger and better looking.” I run the fingers of my right hand
down his tie.

He sees a look in my eyes that spells
trouble. “Keep breathing Beth, you’ll get over it.”

“I don’t think deep breathing will help.”
I edge closer to him and the magnetism between us creates invisible sparks. I
take hold of his face and kiss him passionately.

“What’s going on with you … Oh fuck!”

Are the last words I hear before I launch
myself onto his knee. As I straddle him, he presses a button in the door.

“Take the long route Lester.”

I don’t hear any response because he’s
raised the privacy glass and we are in our own private bubble, concealed behind
tinted glass.

“You’re acting like an oversexed teenager.”

“I can’t help it, you look so hot in your
James Bond suit.” I wriggle around on his crutch.

“It’s just a suit Beth, get a grip!”

I look helplessly at him. “Do you want me
to stop?” I manufacture a sad face and slide away from him to my side of the seat.

“Not so fast, let’s think this through.”
He holds me in position. “You really have been a bad girl once already today
Miss Parker. I may need to take you in hand and discipline you.”

What does he mean?

Just the timbre of his voice causes a rush
of pure excitement to circulate my body, and he knows it.

“What is it with you and moving vehicles?”

“It’s not the vehicle Ayden, it’s you.” I
place my quivering hand on his firm chest. “What have you done to me?” I brush
my lips against his open mouth and watch him lick his lips, tasting my
lipgloss. “I feel like a ticking time bomb, permanently charged and ready to
explode.” I mean every word.

I feel the back of his right hand against
my cheek. “Me too Beth.” He takes a long, penetrating look at my face. “It’s
taking every ounce of strength I have not to spread you wide and take you right
here. The only reason I’m not is because you look so beautiful, I don’t want to
mess you up.”

His hand brushes against my bare arm and I
visibly shiver under his soft caress. He seems tense and off balance, just
talking about sex is making him sweat: it’s making
me
sweat. I can see
the skin on his nose reflecting in the half light. He likes to think he’s
always in control, yet all it takes is one little request and he’s stunned and
overawed. I live for that look.

He’s fumbling through the expensive
material gathered on my lap. Through the layers he finds my lacy panties. “To
start with.” He rips them off in a single tear. “These have to go.”

“Argh!” My gasp is audible.

In a smoky voice he states, “Today you had
me do something in this car I’ve never done before and I’m going to repay the
gesture. It’s simple cause and effect. You cause me to lose control and I will,
in effect, have you do something
you’re
not entirely comfortable with.”

He shows me my shredded panties, sniffs
them and slips them into the inside pocket of his Armani jacket. “I’ll hold
onto these.”

I feel a crackle of sexual craving between
us, it’s electric. I have absolutely no idea what he’s going to do next and
that excites me, so much so I forget to inhale.

“Breathe Beth,” he commands. “Now I’m not
going to kiss you or touch you, and I’m not going to fuck you and that’s your
punishment.” I start to speak, but the look he gives me makes me think again.
He takes my right hand and feeds my fingers into his mouth, sucking each one
tenderly.

“You’re going to put
this
hand
under
this
magnificent dress and get yourself off and, I’m going to
watch.”

Feeling so needy and desperate to climax,
I begin rummaging through the dress. With my fingers on my clitoris, I turn
away. He takes hold of my chin and locks his eyes onto mine, causing me to gulp
noisily. “I don’t think I can do this with you watching.”

“You don’t have a choice Missy, besides,
you know it turns me on to watch. That’s the game, right?”

“What game?”

“Your game. The ‘let’s take Ayden out of
his comfort zone game … let’s pull Ayden apart, piece by piece until he doesn’t
know which way is up, game?’”

I don’t have an answer to that. I simply
shrug.

Surely that’s not what I’m doing? Maybe it
is …

“So … let’s get started.” He tips down his
chin and nods for me to begin.

I can’t believe what I’m doing. I nestle
myself onto his lap and set about my task.
I’ll show him …
 I stroke my
moist opening, it’s swollen and warm to the touch; my clitoris is almost
pulsating with need.

I slide my left hand under his tie and try
to unbutton his shirt; he said he wasn’t going to touch me, but didn’t say
anything about not touching him. He lets me. The buttons are small and fiddly but
I create an opening wide enough to slip my nimble hand inside. I feel soft
hair, a pounding heart and pectoral muscles contracting beneath my palm. It’s
enough to cause my breathing to hitch. I give into the feeling of flames
licking at my core, opening my mouth to suck in oxygen, looking into the dark
sapphire eyes of the man I love. I’m holding back, trying to silence my
ecstatic cries.

“All it takes is a little spark.”

I gasp involuntarily.

“ … And there it is.”

I’m aware of his hands moving towards my
own hand, steadily climbing up my thighs, gripping tightly, holding me in
place. He said he wouldn’t touch me, but he has. He’s folding already.

“That’s it. You’re trying so hard to be a
good girl, and so quiet too. But your body is speaking to me, loud and clear.”

I cannot escape his stare.

“I have my thumbs on you femoral artery
and I can feel your heart beating faster and faster. I’m watching your breasts
rise and fall, and now, my poor little genie is starting to pant. You see, I
can play this game too.” His mouth forms into a wicked smile. “And I always
win.”

He may think he is winning, but from the
bulging mass forcing its way out of his pants and, from the way his abdomen is
flexing and rolling in front of me, I would say it’s more like a tie.

“So, before your heart explodes, let’s
hear it.” He leans forward and whispers softly. “No-one is going to hear.”

I inhale his delicious scent.

“Only me.”

“Ay-den.” As the two syllables gush from
my mouth, I give myself to bubbling rapture and bury my orgasmic cries in his
chest.

“There you go, that’s my girl.”

I keep my head bowed and fix my stare on
my ruffled dress, feeling bashful. I’ve never done anything like this before.

His hand is tipping up my chin. The
softest of kisses transforms into a victorious smile. “You really are such a bad
girl, but you’re
my
bad girl.” He hands me back my torn panties to wipe
myself and buttons up his shirt.

“Feel better?”

I nod modestly.

My panties find their way back into his
inside pocket. He raises my right hand and lifts it to his nose before closing
his eyes as a growling sound leaves his throat. “Remember to wash your hands
when we arrive or you’ll have me fucking you in public if I get a whiff of you
in there.”

The thought of that makes me smile without
embarrassment.

Still sitting astride him, he pulls my
chin so our noses are touching. “I knew from the moment we met that you were
going to be trouble.” He kisses me gently. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

With that, our sexual encounter ends; we
rearrange our clothes and I fix my make-up, grateful for the fact that he has
not messed me up, not physically, but mentally I may be dealing with the
implications of what just happened for the next couple of days.

“Lester,” he calls, lowering the privacy
glass. “Go straight to the Book Launch as planned.”

We continue the rest of the journey in
silence, his thumb is stroking the knuckles of my pungent right hand, and we
both know where it’s been. I lean my head against his arm, enjoying the
sensation of his lips briefly on my hair.

Feeling relaxed and playful, I remind him.
“You owe me a pair of panties.”

He rests his chin on my head. “You owe me
an orgasm.”

I smile, glowing with post orgasmic bliss.
“I’m looking forward to watching that.” I don’t need to see his smile to know
it’s there.

“Me too.”

Ordinarily, Sunday is Dan’s least favourite day, and
usually his least favourite evening. Not because he’s at a loose end but
because it signals the beginning of a new week, another week spent trawling the
internet and the newspapers for some kind of sign. All that’s changed, thanks
to a chance encounter with the one person in the world he thought he might
never find.

The prospect of a reunion has raised his spirits to
the point he’s walking on air, every step he takes elevates his mood. His life
has meaning; days that would otherwise be filled with dreary routine have begun
and ended with one, all-consuming thought. That thought makes his skin itch and
his hands twitch: the prospect of consummating his relationship with Francis
Parker, the only girl he has ever loved and ever desired to the point of
obsession.

Having had a premonition of Biblical proportions, he
is filling up empty boxes collected from his local Off Licence. On the outside
the label reads, Gordon’s Gin although the contents are definitely
non-alcoholic but, having said that, they are no less potent in the way they
communicate intent. Plates, bowls, mugs and cutlery nestle together, two by
two; a breadknife, a spatula and a bottle opener are wrapped in a washed-out
tea towel.

A box formerly the home to 12 bottles of Bell’s
Whiskey houses a crumpled pillow, folded down the middle, a double sheet and an
off-white bath towel. Like himself, every item he owns has seen better days;
edges are frayed and colours have faded, everything has become soiled and
tarnished over time.

He looks beyond the kitchen window into the dark space
beyond.  There was a time when he thought about tidying up the yard, pointing
up the flagstones, adding some pots and, maybe, a water feature but that was a
long time ago. Since then, he’s managed to occupy his time with more important
things like work and tracking down his special girl. The yard has become a
jungle of overgrown weeds; a neglected space fit for nothing, populated by
misshapen bags of foetid waste.

For what he is hoping will be the last time, he
returns to his much loved spot in the lounge, stepping over an obstacle course
of bags and boxes.

“Here you are princess. How you’ve changed, you’ve
grown-up but you’re still
my
girl. You’ve dyed your hair.” He stabs at
one of the photographs with a broad finger. “That’s ok, we can always change it
back.” There is tenderness in his voice, a longing that would be endearing if
it was not for the fact he has his hand down his jeans and is roughly stroking
himself.