Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 15

  I call out, I’m so turned on. Here we are fully clothed like a pair of young lovers and he’s inside me. He lifts his head to watch me come and I turn to the left and search for cool air and invisibility.

  “Do you want my mouth?”

  Oh please don’t say things like that ...

  “No, I’ll come.” My voice is hoarse and unrecognisable.

  He stops moving his fingers and whispers in my ear. “Not yet missy, this is a game two can play.”

  I turn to face him, unsure whether to be angry or more aroused. Is he switching? When did I become the sub?

  “Just hold on.” He seals his command with a fierce kiss and a penetrating tongue claims my mouth.

  I pull him to me, sinking my nails into his T shirt and offering myself to him. His fingers are moving in and out and the slightest bend is finding my G-spot. I lurch forward spontaneously giving in to a throbbing hum as he increases the pressure on my clitoris.

  I’m pleading. “Let me come Ayden, I have to come.” He pushes deeper and I convulse, holding his fingers.

  He slows. “No. Not yet Beth, I’m going to stretch you.”

  No!

  He pulls out his fingers and tries to push three fingers into me. It hurts a little, but then it feels so good.

  “Breath into it ….”

  “Ayden.” I’m losing all self-control, it’s agonisingly good.

  “Good, you can feel the spark now can’t you?”

  “Yes ... yes.” I’m so stimulated, my body is trembling, I’m so close. “Ayden.” I cry out his name.

  “There it is … let it go…”

  My insides explode and there’s fireworks and a deep burning in my groin that goes on and on. My insides throb. I can’t get my breath.

  “Fuck” He’s pushing into me and I’m coming hard onto his fingers. He swallows up my cries with his mouth until my orgasm subsides. My breathing starts to slow and he eases out. He’s staring at me with a look of total veneration.

  Still panting I bait him, “Mr. Stone, perhaps you should have used one of your electronic devices after all. I think you need more practice.”

  His face cracks wide open into a full, self-satisfied grin. “Oh, are you assessing my performance Miss Parker?

  “Yes ... and enjoying. I think you have a lot of potential but could try harder.”

  He starts to nibble my ear and my post orgasmic daze turns into a giggle. “Oh, you want me harder do you?”

  “That ... that’s not what I said. Don’t misquote me.”

  The rough and tumble of the next five minutes is almost as much fun as the previous five minutes, almost. After a restful silence I prepare to speak. “What are you thinking? Anything you want to share?”

  “I was just thinking how my life has changed over the past week.”

  I turn my body so I face him square on. “I know that feeling.” I nuzzle into his chest hair.

  “I’ve got some really important business coming up in the next few weeks. I’m going to L..A. then Hong Kong. Why don’t you come?”

  I feel his fingers playing with my hair. “That’s a wonderful invitation Ayden, but no. You have to be a different person out there. In here, with me, there’s no pressure. It’s best if we separate the two. You’ll have me to come back to.”

  I move my face up to his and kiss him softly. I see disappointment in his eyes; the dancing flecks of green have been replaced by cloudy streaks of khaki.

  Reluctantly, he accepts my explanation. “You’re right. It was a crazy idea. It’s just, I feel so ... relaxed and invincible when I’m with you.”

  “Even when you’re blindfolded and tied up?”

  Especially then.”

  “Wait!” I’m feeling impetuous. I jump up and head for the bathroom.

  After five minutes, I return and position myself next to him crossed legged. I feel a little giddy with excitement. I can actually give him something he doesn’t have: a gift that money can’t buy. I hold out the jewellery box my kiss necklace came.

  He sits up. “What is it?”

  “A gift.”

  “Another gift, you’re spoiling me.”

  “You’re worth it,” I grin. “Open it.”

  He opens the box and spiralled around inside is a long lock of my blonde hair. It’s held together at one end by an elastic bobble.

  He looks puzzled.

  “It my hair. So whenever you feel stressed or unhappy you can take it out and wrap it around your fingers. It’s like the restraining cord or my body or me inside: I’m holding you, keeping you safe, empowering you.”

  He lifts it from the box carefully, as if it’s spun gold.

  “Now, you can travel the world, be powerful and invincible and I’ll be with you.”

  His head falls and his eyes are fixed on the lock of hair; he wraps it around the fingers of his right hand and pulls it tight.

  “See.” I fold his right hand into a fist around it. He licks his teeth and bites his bottom lip but says nothing. Shit! I’ve misjudged the situation: it’s too much, too soon. “Of course, you don’t have to keep it, I just thought ...”

  I’m captivated by his serious eyes; their glistening flashes mean only one thing. “Oh Ayden.” I hold him to me and he hugs me back so tightly I can barely breath. “I never intended to upset you, I’m sorry.”

  He edges back. “Don’t be sorry Beth. It’s a very special gift. The most amazing gift I’ve ever had. I’ll treasure it and take it everywhere I go.” He stands and leaves the room.

  He’s on the phone. Is he calling a taxi?

  ***

  When I enter the lounge, he’s poured out two glasses of red wine. He hands me a glass, still seeming a little unsure of himself.

  “I’ve ordered Chinese food,” he announces, moving over to the sofa. I follow, but there’s an invisible barrier between us and the air has shifted in the room.

  “Ok,” I respond cheerfully. “I’ll eat anything.” His hand is on his knee and I place mine on top of it affectionately, but he lifts his hand and rebukes my gesture. Suddenly, after a fantastic day, I feel bereft. I could cry.

  “Beth ...” He struggles to articulate his feelings. “Beth ...we’ve not even known each other a week and I ...”

  I know what’s wrong - he thinks I’m taking this relationship far too seriously, cutting off my hair? What was I thinking?

  “… Look Ayden, don’t sweat it. I’m a big girl and I won’t put any demands on you.” He’s watching me speak but doesn’t seem to be registering the words; he has the look of a man tortured by something so painful the mere mention of it has him in pieces. “If you think the hair thing was too much then give it back.” I reach out for it

  “No, it’s mine now,” he calls out impulsively.

  His declaration rocks me. He’s a frightened child, he’s my broken boy! I feel the muscles around my heart tightening.

  “You can’t go giving things to people then take them back! That’s just cruel, Beth.”

  “I don’t want it back Ayden. I thought you didn’t want it.” I’m shocked beyond words.

  “I need it Beth.”

  I’m close to tears. “Then fucking keep it. What’s wrong with you? You think I go cutting off my hair for every guy I meet? No! I don’t. So it’s yours, from me: a gift.”

  His head falls into his hands and he seems lost.

  “If you don’t start telling me what’s going on, then you can leave, because I’m not sitting here letting you make me like shit for doing something with good intentions.”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice is small and helpless.

  I pull him to me, he’s tearful. “Ayden.” My Mr. P is coming apart at the seams. What have I done? “Please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean to shout.” I swallow back tears: I’m so desperately sorry.

  “It’s not you,” he mutters, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I never talk about my childhood but something like this is a trigger, it brings it all bac
k.” He looks to me for understanding. I let him talk.

  “I didn’t get gifts, no-one cared enough to buy me presents. If I wanted something, I’d either work, steal it or trade what I had for it. I was the kid who got left behind on trips; the cute kid who got more attention than was good for him, especially off the wrong kind of girls and then there’s the pervs who ruffle your hair and offer you sweets in exchange for fuck knows what - you soon learn to give them a wide berth. So ...”

  He holds onto my lock of hair as if it’s a lifeline offering some kind of salvation. “So, to get such a special gift like this with no strings attached is something unexpected. It’s like a mind fuck for me.” He looks into my sad face and I can’t even fake a smile.

  “That’s all, it’s not you.” He holds my face in his free hand. “It’s me.” He places the softest of kisses on my flat mouth.

  The images I had days ago, all come flooding back; picturing that lonely and neglected boy tears me apart. “Oh Ayden, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not after sympathy.” He’s regaining his composure and offering a smile of sorts. “But this.” He kisses the lock of my hair circling his fingers. “This I’ll keep right here.” He places his hand onto his chest, onto his heart.

  I manage to hold back my tears somehow. “Good!” I exclaim. “That’s where it belongs.” I plant a noisy kiss on his hand.

  He nuzzles my hair and we embrace for several minutes. I count every second and listen to his decreasing heart beat while my own heart continues to race.

  Like a man possessed, he stands and begins to pace the floor. “Where the hells that food?”

  In the blink of an eye, he’s back. He’s on the phone and I barely recognise him. His body language, the tone of his voice, everything about him reeks of authority. I reach for my glass of wine and gulp down virtually the whole glass. Unintentionally, through my innocent act of offering him a gift, I have unearthed some disturbing memories. I realise, for all his wealth and status, he’s just a man, a very special, self-made man. All I can do is offer him my understanding and love. I just hope it’s enough.

  It’s Saturday night, the TV is on, creating a kaleidoscopic backdrop to the main event; a half-eaten pizza is starting to curl around the edges, looking like pantomime shoes and Honey has long since left the premises. Only Dan remains, packing his newly acquired equipment into his rucksack with the excitement of a schoolboy embarking on a camping trip or starting a DIY project. One at a time he ticks each item off, knowing there’s no room for error; he lost his bottle and fucked it up last time, he won’t make that mistake again.

  He’s made an addition to his checklist and added a box of sedatives; he told the doctor he was having trouble sleeping years ago and has kept the Tamazepan tablets, just in case. Of course he’d never take them, he’s made of stronger stuff, but they may come in handy if his little girl plays hard to get.

  The drill comes with a selection of drill bits, making it possible to chew up any kind material and to secure a fixing, although he suspects the walls of the apartments in Elm Gardens will either be breeze block or plasterboard. He places the mighty tool carefully into the bag, ticks it off and moves on.

  The heavy chain has links the size of pound coins, it seems solid enough but, not taking any chances, he’s checking it for weakness; pulling and tugging at each one, taking the strain, inspecting the metal for fractures.

  The double width, masking tape gets a cursory glance; he’s used it before, there’s not much can go wrong with that. Same for the box of latex gloves, size large, a necessary accompaniment but, not something he intends keeping on. He’s waited long enough to touch her, to feel her soft skin against his. He throws the box into the rucksack. “Fucked if I’m doing it with gloves on,” he announces. “You can’t leave fingerprints on skin.”

  He pulls the knife out of its brown, leather sheath; it’s a Browning Backcountry Hunting Knife almost nine inches in length, lightweight, easy to handle and very, very sharp. He catches his face reflected in the stainless steel blade and presents a distorted smile. “Dan, Dan, the dangerous man,” he chuckles, waving the blade in front of him like a luminescent sparkler. He balances it across his palm, slips it into the sheath, then into the waistband of his jeans and pulls his shirt over it. It feels a little uncomfortable put empowering. With bare knuckles and a blade, he’ll be invincible.

  The folding tripod takes some manoeuvring to fit inside the carrier and, even after several attempts, it sticks out of the top, looking like a ‘60’s TV aerial. He isn’t worried, it could be anything, no-one will suspect its real purpose. He checks the camera is fully charged and slips it into an inner pocket for safe-keeping. It fits perfectly onto the tripod. Unable to contain merciless laughter, he gives in to the idea, “A couple of home movies to add to the family album. Why not?”

  Finally, he frees the leash from its packaging and wraps it around his hand. The strip of leather will serve as a training tool: absolute submission and obedience are what he expects and that’s non-negotiable.

  With the evening’s entertainment out of the way, he turns his attention to the TV but, disinterested, returns to the list, sensing he has forgotten something. It comes to him slowly, taking shape out of the mists of time. He scuttles off into his bedroom, returns holding something small and fragile in his right hand. Unhurriedly, his fat fingers unfold like the petals of a prehistoric plant, revealing a tiny ring. It has little monetary value but, he suspects it’s the kind of ring only a princess would wear for sentimental reasons, after all, she put up such a fight to keep it.

  “With this ring, I thee wed …” He loves the way that sounds. “ … for richer, for poorer, ‘till death us do part …”

  The ring nestles into a small zip-up pocket. He secures the fastening, places the heavy rucksack on the floor and leans back in his chair feeling proud of himself. Reaching into his jean’s pocket, he pulls out the receipt for one month’s deposit and one month’s rent in advance for 53c Elm Gardens. Tucked beneath the folded paper, is a cream business card:

  Miss. Elise Richard

  Residential and Commercial Sales/Lettings Negotiator

  Taylor and Main

  Tel: 02086114327

  He taps the card to his lips. “Why not, nothing ventured, nothing gained …”

  8

  When I wake, I’m stretched out between Ayden’s legs on the sofa; we’d fallen asleep and missed the end of Titanic. Trays of uneaten Chinese food are scattered on the coffee table: there’s still enough left over to feed an army. I slither off the cushion and begin clearing food away as silently as possible, leaving Ayden to rest.

  Twenty minutes later, the job is done. My freezer is full and the kitchen is tidy. I select George Michael from my iPod, Jesus to a Child softly plays.

  Carrying what’s left of the Rioja I return to his side, moving stealthily to sit on the sofa in the curve created by his body as he rests, side-on. The music is a gentle lullaby and the words resonate and create the perfect backdrop for my moment of veneration: and why not, he has the face of a prince – my prince? In his repose, he is at peace with the world, serene and untroubled by dark memories. What a rare treat this is to see him in this unconscious state. I lean over him, resting my weight on my elbow and brush back the hair from his forehead, taking a mental picture. This is the man I love, this is the man I’ve been waiting for: he’s found me at long last.

  I brush my lips against his. “Awake my beautiful prince, awake.”

  He stirs, scratches his head and swings his legs into a sitting position, unaware of my secret proclamation. “Hey, I must have fallen asleep. How long was I out?”

  I hand him his glass of wine. “A couple of hours. I’ve only just woken. You missed the end of the film.”

  He offers a phoney sigh. “Oh no! At least I got to see your Titanic moment.” He holds his glass up to mine.

  “Our Titanic moment.”

  “I stand corrected.” He’s still sleepy: his hair is r
uffled and he looks a little dishevelled but still a wondrous sight: a gift from above.

  I ask tentatively, “Are you planning to stay over?” I don’t want to make any assumptions.

  “If you want me to.” He seems a little surprised I even ask the question.

  I nod.

  “Then I will, besides, I have plans.” He’s found his second wind; his libido is fuelled by something inflammable. Is he concocting some kind of sexual assignation?

  I do hope so …

  “That sounds like fun.” I smile cheekily. “But before you put your plan into action can I ask you something?” I’m afraid I might have handed him a fire blanket but there are things I need to know, things he’s said and done that are floating around in my head like flotsam.

  “Fire away.” He sits back and folds his arms, preparing for an inquisition.

  I put down my glass of wine on the coffee table. “It’s about before, you know, when we were fooling around.”

  He nods and I see his mouth twitch; he manages to stifles a full smile.

  “Well, actually I have two questions.”

  “Two?” He looks faintly amused. “Ok, but before we start what’s my motivation?”

  Oh, I hate it when he plays this game.

  “What motivation do you need to answer a couple of questions?” I give him a baffled stare.

  “Buttons.”

  “What?”

  “Two questions, two buttons.” He holds his forefinger to his chin as if contemplating his words and then points to my shirt. “That’s my best offer.”

  “Oh please, you’re like an adolescent boy!” I undo the top button of my shirt revealing the top of my white lacy bra. “Now will you stop negotiating and just listen?”

  He nods acceptance “I’m all ears.”

  “Before, you seemed to know what you were doing when you were ... you know...”

  “Getting you off.”

  “Yes that. When I Googled you and selected images, there were hundreds of pictures of you with beautiful women. I just wondered ...”

  “… You wondered if I’d fucked them all?”