Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (6 page)

He’s licking my lips with his tongue and I’m starting
to tingle everywhere: heart racing, breath quickening.

"Tell me what you see."

I’m trying to say something, but I’m panting and
speaking is difficult. "I see you ..." He continues to ravish me with
no more than fingertips in my hair and his devilish tongue. "I see you
..."

For the first time I steel myself and stare into his
eyes. The green flecks are dancing, and his pupils are as dark as the night
sky, depthless; he looks almost wild and unbroken. I pull back, but he has my
head in his hands and I can feel his tongue entering my mouth, pushing its way
through lips and teeth, penetrating me. I want to run.

I grab his upper arms and try to push him away but
he’s like marble; hard, muscular biceps too big for my nimble hands to hold
onto. I push against the arms of his chair and his right hand moves down my back
holding me firmly, I’m anchored to him. There’s no escape.

My fear dissipates, I release my hands from his chair
and I touch him, afraid that if I reach out he will disappear and be no more
than a figment of my imagination, a fantasy come to life, a wish come true. I
feel sinews flexing beneath his shoulders and timidly stretch out my fingers to
touch his perfect face, caressing chin and cheekbones. Feeling my embrace, his
urgency melts, his movements are less fraught and it’s as if a moment of complete
calm folds in on us; there’s an understanding, beyond words, beyond space and
time: this is where we belong.

With trembling hands, I let my fingers ease their way
into his hair; the soft curls fold over my thumbs and I take hold of them,
fulfilling a need in me to claim and possess this exquisite man. I pull his
head closer to mine, forcing him to thrust his tongue into me, giving myself to
him as I have never done with any man before. My jaw relaxes, our tongues
touch, there’s an explosion of sensations: he enters me body and soul.

Growling, he releases me, "The power you have
over me Beth ... you feel it don’t you, tell me you feel it?"

The air around us is spinning. "I feel it
Ayden." My heart beat is whooshing in my ears, yet there’s a gentle
stillness between us that comes from accepting our fate.  I want to frame this
moment, to put it up on a wall behind a curtain so only I know it’s there: the
moment when our two worlds actually collide.

I take his face in my hands and allow my senses to
take in every pore: Ayden Stone you are so incredibly beautiful, why would you
consider this gift of loveliness a curse?

Instantly, his firm hand is on my chin, his fingers
along my jaw and his thumb skimming my lower lip. "I want to be inside
you," he mutters, sliding his thumb into my mouth. His lip twitches
momentarily as my tongue finds the soft pad of his thumb and circles it slowly.
He shifts in his chair and I sense his arousal. I feel my own: I’m wet and my
underwear is sodden and I know my dress will be stained from sitting.

"Suck hard Beth, take all of me," he
instructs, before moving his thumb in and out of my mouth in a sort of hypnotic
incursion. His other hand is moving down my dress; his fingertips are tracing
spirals across my collar bone and still I suck and lick his insistent thumb.

He removes it from my mouth and trails it down my chin
before filling the vacant space with his tongue. Like magic, he breathes life
into me; his breath enters my mouth and I inhale him like oxygen. I push back
with my tongue, I want to taste him. He takes me inside his mouth and groans at
my fevered invasion.

I’m so preoccupied with his mouth that I barely feel
his hands on my breasts. He’s cupping me, searching for my nipples with his
thumbs through the silk material. I feel them hardening and rubbing against my
bra, so I push them forward, encouraging him, urging him on. I’m so aroused. I
want to be touched, I need to be touched and I desperately want to touch him.

I lower my hands from his face, feel the damp pleats
of his shirt against his skin and let my hands come to rest on his knees
.
Jesus!
But my hands are rigid and I hold onto his hard thighs afraid of
traveling further into unknown territory.

"Do it," he gasps. "I want you to do
it."

"I can’t, not here."

He moves his hands to my waist and moans into my
mouth, "I’m so fucking hard for you."

I know where this is going but I’m powerless to stop
it. His hands rest on my hips and he rocks me back and forth in a kind of
rhythmic embrace, but I can’t tear myself away from his passionate kisses.

My stomach muscles start to tighten when he places the
palm of his right hand just below my navel. I feel his fingers spreading wide
and his thumb skimming my pubic bone: it feels too good. My arousal steps up a
notch, it’s hovering dangerously in the red zone.

This is wrong!

What’s he doing to me?

This is wrong!

I’m starting to panic … he’s got to stop, I’ve got to
stop. This is too much. "Ayden ..." I gasp. "Ayden ... stop,
please stop..." When the words leave my mouth, I sound as if I’m pleading.

He pulls back, removes his hands from my trembling
torso and scoops up my face in his sizzling palms. "I’m sorry," he
whispers, kissing my forehead. "It’s too much, I know, but I can’t help
myself."

He tips my face to his so we are staring into each
other’s eyes: blue and green hoops orbiting bottomless pools of blackness. Our
breaths are shallow and we come slowly down, down.

"I didn’t intend for this to happen, not this
way, but you’re like a drug to me. I lose all self-control around you."

He seems vulnerable and unguarded, I want to kiss him;
to feel the plump moistness of his lips on mine, but I hold off and stroke his
face with my thumbs, letting him speak.

"I’ve been thinking of nothing else but you since
Monday… I like order in my life, but you’ve come along and everything’s been
tipped on its head. I don’t know what the fuck’s happening to me!"

In my flushed state I can’t think straight, but I have
to say something. This is not the time for untruths. "I’ve been a wreck
too. If you hadn’t sent the invitation, I don’t know what I would have
done."

His confession comes out in a rush. “… It’s as if
there’s something pulling us together. Everything about you is magnetic."
There’s sincerity in his voice; his admission leaves him exposed and that makes
him all the more desirable.

"I’ve tried to be invisible for so long, Ayden.
You’ve come along and you see me and I’m so thankful for that." Before I
can say another word he pulls me to him with such force I think I’ll fall from
my chair.

"How could I not see you. Beth, you’re beauty
personified." He relinquishes his grip and brushes away a single strand of
hair from my face, taking in every line, every pore.

"But Ayden, I don’t understand what it is you
want from me?"

"I want to possess you and be possessed
by
you, in every possible way. That’s what I want."

My heart quickens in response to those heartfelt words,
I can tell from his expression that he is utterly sincere, but there’s an edge
to his assertion that seems a little unnerving. Sexual attraction is one thing,
but possession? I stiffen slightly, where’s this going?

"How do you think I can do that Ayden?" Am I
so inexperienced, should I know what he means?

"If you let me love you then we’ll find out
together."

For some reason, that doesn’t satisfy me. I’m suddenly
alert and captivated by him at the same time. "Ayden, I’ve loved tonight
and this thing we have is, well, mind blowing, but what is it you’re not
telling me?"

Before my eyes, this sexy, self-assured God of a man
is fading and there sits a lesser figure who seems to have the weight of the
world on his shoulders: he’s wrestling with an unfathomable dilemma.

I’m drawn to his tormented features and gently tip up
his chin with my fingers, forcing him to look at me. "No games Ayden,
remember?"

With unexpected softness he says, "I want to …”
He stops, looks into my wide eyes, the colour of a summer sky, and reconsiders
his words. “I want to be your … submissive ... "

"... My what?"

I try not to appear shocked but inside I want to
scream. “I don’t know what you mean?”

A single brow lifts in response to my declaration. “I
want
you
to take control, Beth. To be sexually dominant, with me.” He’s
scrutinising my face for evidence of understanding. He won’t find it there. Why
does this stunning, wonderfully, talented man wants to be dominated by me? Me?

Fuck!

"Ayden, look at me."

He lifts his head and so forlorn is his expression
that it cuts me to the quick. "I can’t imagine what makes you feel you
have to be dominated. I don’t know what to say to a request like that. Truly I
don’t."

A little too quickly, he regains his composure. I see
him transforming, reverting back into the self-possessed man I saw framed by
crystal light only two hours ago. It’s as if he’s made a bad call, misjudged
the situation somehow. His back is settling into the back of his chair; he’s
becoming fierce and remote. "I see."

But he doesn’t, he’s pulling away, out of my reach.
"No you don’t," I answer sternly. "I didn’t say no, you took me
by surprise, give me a minute ..."

There’s an urgency in my voice that comes from a
colossal surge of emotion stirring inside me. It reaches down to the depth of
my soul and I am powerless to control it. "Do you think I would let anyone
dominate you or treat you that way. Of course, it
has
to be me." I
take hold of his hands in mine and rest them on my lap.

The gravity of the situation hits me: this is one of
those moments in life when a promise made is a promise kept. "I promise to
take care of you Ayden, in whatever way I can, and however you want me to. If
you want to call that being dominant, then so be it. Can I make it any clearer
for you?"

"No." For some reason, he treats me to a
victorious smile and moves closer so we can feel each other’s breath against
our lips:  he’s intoxicating and, by all accounts, so am I. His pupils are like
dark pools of rainwater; in them I can see myself reflected and I know I belong
there in that dark, secret space.

"What should I call you?" he asks with a
sexy glint in his eye.

Call me?

I’m thinking on my feet. "Behind closed doors you
can call me Elizabeth, but only then. Right here and now I’m Beth."

"Ok. Sounds good to me." Confidently, he
takes hold of my hand, preparing to leave then halts abruptly, thinking through
his actions. "Are you ready to go?"

I swallow deeply and prepare for my command
performance. "Yes, if we’re starting tonight then you should take me home
so I can tie you up and fuck you." I assume that’s the right thing to say
and, by the look on his face I think I’ve nit the bullseye.

His smile lights up the private box, it stretches to
his eyes and the warmth of that light makes us glow like a constellation of
undiscovered stars. He upturns his hand and reaches out to me.

"Let’s go, I’m all yours."

By lunchtime Dan has had enough. He makes himself
scarce and goes for a smoke behind the north exit door, remembering to keep the
bin between the door and the latch. He got caught-out by it once before and it
took him seven minutes to walk all the way around the building and to re-enter
through the double swing doors. That was the day he caught the eye of Sandra
clearing the bins in the back office. The memory of that encounter has stayed
with him like a bad dose of indigestion. “What a fucking mistake that was,” he
recalls with a sneer.

“Oh you’re a big boy, aren’t you,” she called out when
he passed, causing him to clench his fingers into a fist. She was trying to
embarrass him in front of her workmates, but he was having none of it.

He sauntered over to her and positioned himself
against the door jam, blocking her path. “Are you talking to me sweetheart?” He
could be charming when he wanted to be.

“I might be,” she said. He hated the way she came onto
him, fluttering her eyelashes and flashing her tits.

“Then, decide if you are or if you’re not because I
haven’t got all day.” He had her on the ropes.

“What if I am?”

“Then you should be here at 5.30 ready and waiting for
me.” He knew exactly how to handle her sort.

“And what if I’m not?”

“Then you’ll never know will you.”

“Never know what?”

“Whether I’m a big boy or not,” he said, throwing her
a wink over his shoulder. He left her with that thought, knowing she was
gagging for it. He could hear the peals of laughter as he turned down the
corridor, and could already feel the bile forming in his throat. It took a
visit to his locker to see his girl, and a couple of strokes to make him feel
better.

When he turned up as arranged at 5.30 in the foyer of
the main entrance, she was there, fussing with her peroxide blonde hair and
straightening her blouse which was easily two sizes too small. Her face lit up
when she saw him and he even managed to manufacture a reciprocal smile to
reassure her, before he hit her between the eyes with a knockout punch.