Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (38 page)

Rather than disturb him I tiptoe onto the
terrace, wrapping my shawl around my shoulders to keep the evening chill from
my skin. The sky is Ayden’s signature colour. Unlike his suits and my sapphire
charm, it’s peppered with pin pricks of light. There’s too much light pollution
to pick out any constellations but I know they’re up there somewhere. I hear
music and turn to see where it’s coming from.

Ayden is carrying his iPad, playing is
Michael Buble singing
Feeling Good.
I have a choking sensation in my
throat, I’m fighting back emotion. I inspect my beau from head to toe; he looks
princely in his slate grey suit, black shirt and silver grey tie; right hand in
his pocket, left hand holding the iPad. He sets it down on the table and
approaches me. I feel my chest inflating and my bosoms heaving at the sight of
him.

“May I have this dance?” He takes my hand
and draws me to him, takes my hand in his and spins me around and around before
pulling me in close and sweeping me around the terrace.  He whispers in my ear.
“You don’t have to say what this is Beth, I know.” He reads my thoughts: this
is another Titanic moment, the best so far.

He steps back and studies my face, my hair
even my dress before smiling proudly. “I’m a very lucky man. You look amazing.
I’m looking forward to getting you out of that dress.”

Those seductive words cause my breath to
catch. “Then you’ll have to wait.” I smile shyly. “You look so handsome Ayden,
I’m a lucky lady too.” I mirror his playful smile and stroke his face with the
back of my hand.

“If you say so Miss Parker, then it must
be true. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go eat.”

The limousine is waiting for us outside
reception. As we manoeuvre ourselves onto the back seat I offer our driver a
greeting, “Buona sera.” He does the same and makes his way through the one way
system to the restaurant.

He pulls up outside an innocuous looking
building on a narrow street just over five minutes later. “Dov’e il
ristorante,” I ask him.

“L’aggiu,” he answers pointing.

I reply with “Grazie tanto,” and we step
out of the car and make our way inside.

Ayden takes my arm and leans in to me. 
“You speak French
and
Italian?”

“Only when I have to,” is my reply.
“That’s what becomes of having too much time on your hands and keeping your
head down for six years: you attend lots of night school classes. You should
see my flower arranging.”

He offers me a down-turned smile, a
solitary nod and I assume that means he’s impressed, but who knows?

When we enter I scrutinize Ayden’s face,
knowing the venue is a little rustic for his taste but, when in Rome ...

We receive a warm welcome and are quickly
seated in a private booth. Two minutes in and it’s a feast for the senses: wine
bottles are arranged along the walls and inside cabinets, they’re everywhere.
Crimson red table cloths drape intimate tables covered with pungent food and
contented diners. It all looks very civilised, but it’s not the Ritz.

The menu is in English, thank God. My
night school Italian will only get me so far. Even before Ayden utters a word I
know he’ll be trouble.  Why is it he never orders straight off a menu? The
waiter arrives, pad and pencil in hand. I should have suggested he sharpen it
first. He’ll be taking copious notes.

With little fuss, I order the beef fillet
carpaccio, followed by sea bass with honey and mushrooms. Then, it’s Ayden’s
turn; he opts for the house speciality and the title of the dish should be a
clue as to its quality, but no. He wants the pan fried pumpkin flowers with
asparagus and black truffle without the asparagus, but he will have any other
green vegetable. Then it’s the Fillet of Tuscany beef and fondue cheese served
with Italian salad and toasted pine nuts. It sounds delicious, but no, the
cheese must be low fat, the beef well done on the outside, very pink in the
middle and he doesn’t want the pine nuts. Five minutes later with the order
placed, he starts to peruse the wine list.

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 plays 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.