Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (14 page)

“Count back from ten, and then come.”

“From ten?” I’m already panting.

“Come on, you can do it, make it last.”

What!

I can’t hold out until one! He’s playing
my game. That’s
so
unfair.

His game starts with “ten” and I pick up
the countdown. By the time I get to four, waves are lapping around my ears.
Three, and I can barely speak for gasping. Two and I’m about to spontaneously
combust. One is an ecstatic blur.

When I finally come down to earth, I’m
breathless, whispering his name and fisting his hair.

My God!

After five minutes I regain some
composure. He settles himself besides me, nuzzling into my ear and wiping the
sweat from my brow.

“Well, well … I’m pleased to report that
you are a very responsive woman Miss Parker.”           

As hard as I try, I can’t stop grinning,
inside and out. “Beginners luck.”

Now he’s grinning. “Oh, we’ll see about
that.”

We drag our exhausted bodies closer
together and I hold on tight. We kiss and I can smell myself on him; when he
strokes my face I want to say thank you but it’s unnecessary.

He’s exhausted. He could count the hours
of sleep he’s had in the past three days on two hands. I turn away from him and
pull his left arm across me, kissing his hand. We spend the rest of the night
spooning. We slot together perfectly, conjoined and connected.

With no more than a name to go on, Dan
Rizler pieces together a simple biography of his adversary. He’s got his work
cut out; “Fuck me Stone you move around more than a ferret with fleas,” he says
with a sneer, shocked at the 947,320 results that roll out before him on his
aging computer screen. Ten minutes in and he realises his opponent will not be
an easy guy to get close to. He doesn’t seem to have a routine that will put
him in any given place at any given time. There is only one certainty, where
ever he is, there she’ll be. Stone will have been around her long enough to
know how special she is, and gone all out to steal her from him, making her
forget the time they spent together.

For a treat, he takes out the cardboard
box hidden under shoes in his wardrobe; it’s about the size of a cereal packet,
only a little deeper. “What have we here?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know.

The film of dust that has formed across
the lid is thick enough to write in; he drags his forearm over it, sending the
dust particles cascading onto the floor like shards of broken glass. The
contents are priceless; everything he stole from her is wrapped in newspaper
and arranged in the box like buried treasure.

To the outsider, the contents are innocent
enough but, upon close inspection, they become a terrifying reminder of what
happened on that unforgettable night.

With unaccustomed tenderness, he peels
back the yellowing newspaper and marvels at his cache; four items, small,
inexpensive but worth more to him than the crown jewels. His eyes are
unguarded, etched on his face are powerful emotions, tell-tale reactions to
assorted tactile, visual, aural and fragrance filled images that would disgust
any other person, but not him. He would be the first to admit it, to take it on
the chin. The way he feels about his girl is beyond normal: she’s his
obsession.

He takes out her small shoulder bag; the
chrome fastener has become tarnished and the nap of the black suede is
flattened and faded. Even so, it’s soft to touch and when he strokes his face
with it, he can imagine her tiny hand brushing against his chin, held in place
at the wrist. With every item, comes a memory, a fantasy that makes his head
spin and his cock twitch.

Next is her Nokia 6230. It sits in the
palm of his hand like a ten pack of cigarettes, not much heavier since he
removed the battery. The screen has become opaque, like a square eye clouded
over with an unsightly cataract. But, that doesn’t detract from its power to
excite. Very softly, he brushes the buttons against his lips, some of the
letters have faded but that doesn’t matter: his mouth is against her mouth.
With his eyes close, he visualises her lips parting, meeting his, swollen from
crying, aching to be kissed, supressing a helpless voice, pleading. He licks
his lips and enjoys the feel of her responsiveness. She knows she can’t fight
him, can’t fight the urge and gives into him, gratefully accepting his
advances. Her whimpers become defenceless moans of pleasure.

Like leftovers from a jumble sale, the two
items are displayed on his duvet waiting to be added to.

Next: her small leather purse. It has
fared better over the years. The patent leather has not lost its sheen. When he
holds it up to the light, keeping his forefinger and thumb either side, he can
see her fingerprints, imprints of nimble fingers and thumbs that trace the
lines on his face, the stubble on his chin and the flexing muscles below. Every
innocent stroke takes him closer to orgasm, leads him on to a fantasy world
where he is king and she’s his princess.

But, he’s saved the best until last. With
trembling fingers he delves into the crumbling newspaper and lifts out a pair
of white lacy panties, unwashed, untouched by hands other than his own. They
are his best kept secret, his prize possession, the one item he stole from her
apartment all those years ago. He could have taken anything, but he was drawn
to the delicate lace, the pungent smell, the stained crutch, evidence of her
arousal, her neediness. It all amounted to subtle seduction then, and nothing
has changed in almost seven years.

Never has one man envisaged so much from
so little. He sits on the side of the bed, the three items draw his eye, laid
out in a row, having served their purpose. The delicate, lacy fabric covers his
left hand like a silk glove, resting over his mouth and beneath his nose. He
inhales deeply and breathes her in. His other hand stokes and teases, until he
is fully erect: hard flesh against a rough hand.

With his eyes closed, he conjures up her
ghostly image out of the darkness. “There you are, there’s my girl,” he
whispers, almost tenderly. “Have you missed me? Yes? Good.”

His movements quicken, his breathing
becomes ragged and grunts of pleasure emanate from his throat. “My special
girl’s been hiding from me, haven’t you, been playing hide and seek, but I’ve
found you now and it’s time for us to play another game.”

The images and the souvenirs combined are
a powerful stimulant; he jerks himself off and falls backward onto the bed,
utterly depleted. “My,  my. I have to give it to you princess, you never
disappoint.”

I
wake to the sound of bread being flicked
out of a toaster. My senses combine and the images in the present are
overshadowed by images from my recent past. Last night’s events linger in my
mind, just long enough to create a longing to do it all again.

Ayden’s side of the bed is cold, so he
must have been up for some time, doing God knows what. I dive into the shower
and wash away that tell-tale smell of sex on my skin and catch myself in the
mirror. It’s still me, but I detect a sparkle that wasn’t there a week ago and
a rosy colour in my cheeks. I look as if I’ve had a tonic or a metabolic boost:
it’s the Ayden Stone effect.

I apply a little tinted moisturiser and
lip balm, slip on a pair of Levis and a sky blue T-shirt, to match my eyes,
quick dry my hair and tiptoe into my kitchen. Ayden has his bare back to me,
his dark blue jeans are hug seductively low and he’s barefoot. Even from the
back, he looks out of place: too refined, too sculptured for such a humble
abode.

He’s opened up the French doors and the October
light is streaming in; my shadow-filled world is bathed in autumn sunlight, transforming
it into a Garden of Eden.  Ayden has taken me out of the darkness in every way
and this feels like a symbolic gesture.

I saunter over and wrap my arms around his
waist, pressing my breasts against him. “Good morning, have you been up long?”

He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my
palm. “Only a couple of hours, I thought I’d let you sleep.” He turns and lifts
me onto the work top so we are eye to eye. “You had a busy night.”

I try to conceal my embarrassed smile but
he plants a marmalade kiss on my lips and I’m no longer self-conscious.

“This is true,” I reply, using a turn of
phrase more suited to him than me. He hears the inflection in my voice and
raises a brow before turning to face me.

“What can I get for you?”

“Nothing, I’ll get some cereal, that’s all
I want for now.” I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I’ll let you know if I want
anything else.”

“Please do.” He kisses my nose and returns
to my laptop on the kitchen table.

I switch on the kitchen iPod and flick
though until I find JLo.
‘I’m into You’
plays in the background while I
lean against the open doors eating cereal, moving to the beat and singing
along. Does life get any better than this?

When I look at Ayden, he’s engrossed in
something and typing away frantically. I almost choke when I see the small,
leather wallet sitting on the middle of the table. I tiptoed out in the early
hours and slipped it into his overnight bag. I felt uneasy just having it in my
possession, but I feel even more uneasy now it’s found its way back to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask casually.

“Checking emails and finishing some
paperwork, I can remote access my desktop computer in my office.” He’s talking
but still entirely focused on his work.

“That’s cool.” I wiggle to the beat.
‘I’m
into you.’

“Yes, it’s very cool,” he smiles, swapping
formality for my vernacular phrasing.

I’m so content, humming, crunching and
looking at this fine example of the male form partially clothed in my kitchen.
I want to take a photograph, to capture the moment ... but he breaks my
concentration.

“Are you watching me, Miss Parker? Am I
being assessed?” He doesn’t even lift his head. Does he have a sixth sense?

“No, not assessing. Just enjoying.”

“Me too.” He raises his eyes to meet mine
and smiles that smile. I stop spooning food into my mouth and feel my heart
racing. Does he know he has this effect on me?
‘I’m into you ...’
Of
course he does.

The music stops and I place down the
remaining cereal on the worktop. “Will you be working all day?” I enquire
casually. “Or do you want to do something?”

“I’ve already made plans.”

“Oh, ok then, maybe we can meet up later?”
I sound desperate. Did last night mean so little to him?

“I’m taking you shopping.” He slams down
the laptop lid and pushes it aside.

“Oh, Shopping? Shopping for what?” I take
a seat.

“For clothes, for you, for Rome.” He
places down his palms onto the table and his fingertips touch the leather
wallet.

All I can hear is ‘clothes,’ ‘Rome.’
Clearly my expression is as good as a thousand words.

“You already have the tickets, remember?
We just need to check our diaries, choose a date and synchronise our watches.”

“Well, my diary is pretty full,” I tease.
“I’m not sure I can fly off to Rome just like that.” My broad smile belies my
words.

“Then go get it and we’ll confer,” he
orders, flicking out his smart phone.

“OK, you show me yours and I’ll show you
mine.” I smile cheekily.

“Oh, you’ve already seen mine.” He holds
up his smart phone for added theatricality.

“Yes I have,” I say, biting my lip. “And
very nice it was too.” I hear myself saying the words but feel myself blushing.

“You’re very bold this morning, Miss
Parker. Are you up to the ‘b’s’ in your new book?”

“Only just, although I keep getting stuck
in the ‘A’s’ You know, ankle, arse, and arousal.” I try my hardest to force a
seductive stare and the quickness of his breath tells me I’ve hit the target:
bullseye. I saunter over to him and sit across his lap, positioning myself
between his firm abdomen and the table.

“What do you think I’ll find in the ‘b’s’
Ayden, any ideas?”

He outstretches his hands. “You’re the one
with the English degree, why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Well, there’s ‘breath.” I kiss him softly
and allow the hot breath from my body to caress his lips. “There’s ‘bottom.” I
slide his right hand under my right buttock. “And let’s not forget being bold.
That’s your favourite, I think.” I feel his grip tightening around my cheek and
his fingers reaching out in all directions like a wayward compass.

“I don’t have a favourite, Beth. It’s all
amazing with you.”

A complement indeed, for one as
inexperienced as me.

I feel his hand gripping my neck, forcing
our mouths together. Breathless, I try to speak. “So who am I now - Beth or
Elizabeth. I can be either one for you or both at the same time - we know that
don’t we?”

“Yes we do.” His tongue finds my mouth,
searching for moisture and acceptance.

I take his wondrous face in my hands and
hold him still. “I know what you’ve done, Mr. Stone.”

“Oh really, what have I done Miss Parker?”
He’s fisting my hair and pulling me to him with increasing intensity.

“You’ve brought me back to life, no less:
kissed me and woken me from my sleep.”

“No I haven’t, you were only hibernating,
sitting out a cold spell. Anyway, what does it matter?” He lifts my left leg
over, so I’m straddling him; he’s becoming hot and restless beneath me.

“It matters to me.” I pull away from him.
“I need you to hear this Ayden.”

He’s twisting his head to find my mouth.

“Be good. Listen. You know, the Dom/Sub
thing, I get it now and I’ve read up on it - but my...
our
version of it
is, well, it’s a pale imitation compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen.” I
blow out a gust of air and look to the heavens. “You and I both know I could never
cause you pain.” I think he’s listening so I continue. “OK, I might buy some
toys, but that’s all they are, toys.”

He scraping back my hair, examining my
face, planning where his next kiss is going to land.

“Ayden! Focus!” Now I have his attention,
but I’m looking at a frown. “So I think I know what you’ve done.”

He leans back in the chair. “Alright, I’m
listening. What have I done?”

“You’re a planner, a strategist that’s the
way you make your money. You make lists, you tick things off: Elizabeth, submission.
That must have been one you haven’t had to tick off before?”

He tips his head to one side, says
nothing, just smirks.

“You’ve orchestrated this ...” I struggle
to find the right word. “... this relationship, you’ve been very naughty. If
you’d come onto me, full onto me, you know playboy style, I would have run a
mile.” I can’t help but throw him a wide-eyed stare.

He’s smiling so wickedly, I’m having to
look away to maintain my equilibrium. “Anyway, I get it. You’ve given me your
body to play with, to explore, to get use to by creating Elizabeth.” I frame
his face with my hands. “I don’t have a problem with it. This is me saying
thank you.” I kiss him hard and squeeze his face. “Thank you Ayden.”

Unfortunately, my words don’t have the
desired effect. When I lean back and look at him, he’s still and serious, lost
somehow.

“I don’t deserve you Beth,” he mutters,
stroking my hair so softly it feels more like petting than caressing. “What
happened last night was, what can I say, unexpected, especially as we didn’t
get off to a very good start. It was more than I deserve. I felt so relaxed and
turned-on. It was a new experience or me.”

I feel his thumbs stroking my cheek bones
with a kind of devotion and it’s a humbling experience. Why would such a man be
so taken with a novice like me?

He wants to explain. “It was a first for
us both and that’s what makes us work. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.” I’m really just guessing.
“You’re saying that you didn’t mind it, but you don’t really want to be dominated
by me or anyone else?”

He’s shaking his head from left to right
with such a force I’m rocking on his knee. “I’ve tried the real thing.” He
smiles, caught up in the recollection. “I paid some leather clad bitch with a
whip to tie me up and to do the business, to make me forget myself for a couple
of hours.”

“And ...”

“And, I didn’t relax. I wanted to beat the
shit out of her when she’d finished with me.”

“And did she get you off?”

“No, she didn’t, not even close, and I
didn’t want her to. It was the least erotic experience of my life. I paid her
£1000 and never went back.”

I’m confused and I don’t know what to
think. “So where do I fit in?” My tone is terse but, good news or bad, I need
to know.

“You fit perfectly into my fucked up
world. I need you Beth.”

I blink away thankful tears. “And what
about Elizabeth?”

“I like Elizabeth  - you like Elizabeth a
lot, you like being her. She creates a safe place for us both.”

“But, what if she decides not to play fair
and she’s not sweet, will you like her then?”

His face is alight with raw emotion. “How
could I not? She’s you.”

I wrap my arms around him, and hold on
tight. His strong arms enfold me like a protective blanket.  “But ...”

He laughs softly. “Here comes the but.” A
warmth radiates from him and finds its way to my heart, making me hot and
restless too. That’s all it takes: a smile, a look, a touch, a word.

I want him
now
, anyway I can have
him. “But what if I want to initiate something, to be bold, can I still be
Elizabeth?”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, isn’t
that part of our game?” His tongue is skimming my lips and easing its way into
my mouth. I long for that invasion.

I press my body down onto his hard thighs
and tighten my grip around his hips. I’ve waited my whole life for you Ayden
Stone. I want to be bold. “Then fuck me Ayden, right now.” It’s a whisper, but
I sound desperate and that’s exactly how I feel. I’m fisting his hair and
easing my tongue between his teeth, circling, tasting.

This is what he does to me, he chases away
my demons, releases my shackles: he’s shown me what it is to be free. Now I
want to feel him. Inside me. Now.

He looks into the deepest depths of my
soul. “But Beth, I can be brutal and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

He says that, but his hands are moving
towards my crutch and his thumbs are starting to search for soft flesh beneath.
He wants this as much as I do. “I need to know what it’s like Ayden. I trust
you to show me. I’m not made of glass.”

He’s shaking his head. No. “You have a
fragile beauty Beth, like a snowflake and I must handle you with care; too much
heat and you will melt in my hands.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Yes.” There is a lifetime’s worth of
sincerity in those words.

I have no choice. I have to test our
theory. I whisper in his ear. “I could always make you.”

Has a man ever looked so utterly wicked
and so utterly gorgeous at the same time? “Then make me,” he says, and my
theory is proven.

This is our own, private game and I can
take the lead whenever I want. It’s now or never. “Then pick me up Ayden and
take me to my bed and fuck me.” I sense some hesitation and add an empty threat
to my command. “If you don’t, I’ll beat the living shit out of you.” I lick my
lips and try to contain my unquenchable thirst for him: I’ve been wandering
this barren dessert long enough. “Are you motivated now?”