TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (16 page)

Even before I begin,
he places his hands around his back and I know he’s gripping his own wrists.
Realising he has tapped into Ayden’s thoughts causes me to wince, but only for
a second. As I look at his stirring erection I’m reminded that this is my
husband’s body; I have known no other. With that singular thought I press on
licking, tasting, sucking until my eyes begin to water and I can do it no
longer. I fall back against the wall breathless and exhausted, marvelling at
his stamina.

Ayden lifts me from
the floor and sweeps me up in his arms. As he places me down on the bed, I feel
strong hands removing my panties. We lie together naked, bathed in candlelight
on a bed of rose petals, and it feels perfectly natural. He reaches over and
takes my face in his left palm.

“Thank you.” His lips
graze my forehead.

“For what?”

He traces the outline
of my swollen lips with his thumb. “For trusting me.”

“You promised not to
hurt me,” I remind him.

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t imagine it,
did I?

He smiles wickedly.
“Then I must handle you with care, darling,”

“Please do.” I look
around at the candles and the shapes they are casting on the walls as they glow
and deliver their flickering light. In a single movement he waves his right
hand and a breeze extinguishes almost all of the candles. Only the two on
either side of the bed remain. A smirk forms and I smile in response but say
nothing.

In a move worthy of
an escape artist I break free of his grip and scramble under the duvet.

“Are you hiding?” he
asks.

I shake my head. “No
I’m cold.”

He draws back the
duvet to join me and the rose petals fly high above the bed, then flutter down
like a scattering of red confetti at a fairy-tale wedding.

“Come here. Let me
keep you warm.”

I snuggle into his
chest. “Don’t you want to start over? You didn’t come.”

He kisses my hair. “There’s
time enough for that … not unless you want me to.”

I raise my head,
resting my chin on his chest, nestling in chest hair. “I don’t want you to be
in a permanent state of arousal.” I can’t help but giggle.

“I’m beginning to
think that the most lovable part about you, darling, apart from your beauty,
your intellect and your compassion - is your sense of humour.” He kisses my
nose. “You are truly adorable, Beth, and I will cherish the time we have
together as a precious gift.”

“You can be very
sweet when you’re not listening in to my thoughts, clicking your fingers or
wafting your hands about.” His chest is rumbling beneath my left ear.

“I do not waft. I
command. There’s a difference.”

“I’ll take your word
for it.”

“That would be wise.”

I draw circles on his
chest. “Tell me, did you turn off the rain today, or was it purely coincidental
that the sun came out when it did?”

“There’s no such
thing as coincidence, Beth. Fate can be a cruel master or a gentle lover. I
learned that long ago.” He rests his hand on my hair.

“But how can that be
when you do what you do? You change things.”

“I can play with
heating or engage with the elements - even suspend time - but destiny is too
strong a force to control, even for me.”

“So is that how you
know where to be when you need to do your job?”

“Something like that;
but time isn’t a fixed thing for me. I can be gone a second and traverse a
continent or witness a war and be back here in time to wake you. It’s all
relative.”

Taken with his
honesty, I crawl across him until we are eye to eye. “So what are you like when
you’re not Ayden?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Very well.” He
thinks through his answer. “I am light.”

“You’re what?”

“I am a life force. I
have no form as such.”

“Shit!”

“Beth! Please.”

“I’m sorry but that’s
not the answer I was expecting.” I roll onto my back and gaze at the shapes on
the ceiling. “So the only way you can interact is to take a human form like you
have now?

“Yes.” He rolls onto
his side to explain. “This doesn’t change anything, Beth. I feel everything
Ayden feels and love with the same intensity …”

“ … But you’re not
Ayden,” I announce a little too quickly.

“This is true.”

“Don’t say that. I
know you’re trying really hard to become him, for me, but it will take time for
me to comprehend what’s happened.”

“Should I turn back
time to the moment when you described the rose petals as red confetti at a
fairy-tale wedding?”

I’m shaking my head.
“No, I want to remember. You said you wouldn’t lie to me. What would be the
point of saying that if you just pretend we never had this conversation?”

“Because it would
take us back to a time when you were more receptive to my advances, and less
afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of
you.”

Not much anyway …

He hits me with a
piercing stare. “
Not much
is too much, Beth.”

His left cheek falls
like a lead weight into the palm of my hand. “You called this an adventure and
you weren’t wrong. In a dictionary somewhere there will be a definition that
reads: ‘an unusual or exciting experience that involves taking risks.’ That
just about covers it. I’m risking everything for love. And, as long as we can
both live with that’ I think it will be an epic adventure, don’t you?”

“I do indeed.” He
places a soft kiss on my lips. “Get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us
tomorrow.”

“We do?”

“Yes. We begin our
honeymoon.”

I turn over on my
side and he wraps his body around mine until we are spooning. I feel the
partial hardness of a fading erection against me. For some reason the thought
of him enduring another night without release has me smiling into my pillow. As
hard as I try to scatter my thoughts, they betray me, once again.

He whispers into my
hair. “Try not to concern yourself with my gratification. I’m happy to defer
until the morning.”

I send him a message.

Stop listening in.

Stop sending out. Go
to sleep.

“Goodnight, Ayden.”

“Goodnight, Beth.”

Pulled in the
direction of the lounge by an intangible force, I don my bathrobe and tiptoe
out of the bedroom. As I leave the room, I hear his even breathing and glance backwards,
still in a state of disbelief.

My laptop boots up
and I type in the password. Quickly I retrieve the digital scrapbook and
consider my entry. Wanting to keep this record strictly private, I use the
earphones from my iPod and shuffle through my selection of songs. I listen to
Biffy Clyro singing
Many of Horror.
Unconsciously, I’ve managed to
capture my thoughts in a song but dare not commit them to print. Instead I
type:

NOVEMBER #2

“One half of me is yours, the other
half yours,

Mine own, I would say; but if mine,
then yours,

And so all yours.”

William Shakespeare: The Merchant of
Venice.

What a day! We made
our first public appearance as man and wife only to find we were never actually
married. Ha! All that planning of yours and our day was scuppered by MI5. 
Thankfully Stephen saved the day. (Consider the irony in that)  We’ve signed
the documents and we are married: it’s official. It’s only been 14 hours but
already I feel different. Here’s the photograph; I had Charlotte take it. You
look as handsome as ever and me … well, I was still trying to cool down after
experiencing what could only be described as a heat wave in your Boardroom.
Don’t ask …

Coming home today I
realised just how far we’ve some in such a short time; but we have a lifetime
of memories to share, Ayden, and this is only the beginning. Tonight, when we
made love, it felt like we had truly found each other; two worlds colliding and
not a single tear shed.

I love you, Ayden,
with all that I am and all I will ever be. I belong to you … I love will you
from this moment on, as I always have, for as long as we both shall live.

Yours, Beth X

I insert the photo
from my SD card and paste a newspaper article about our arrival at the Stone
Building. There we are hand in hand, Ayden a good six inches above me, oozing
confidence and potent masculinity. He looks every bit the media mogul: not a
trace of trickery, not a hair out of place.

I save the document
and shut down; lock away my heart and put my camera back into my bag ready for
the next photo opportunity. A faraway place awaits our arrival and I prepare
myself mentally for the next chapter of this incredible ‘adventure.’

***

Even though Mack has
been working for the Metropolitan Police Service for over 20 years, he still
relies on gut instinct. That’s why he’s hopeful that this latest clue in the
Stone case will prove fruitful. He’s at 11 Milton Avenue, the secondary
residence of Mr. Rizler. Taking in the broken down cars and the smashed bus
shelter, he makes his own prediction as to Mr. Rizler’s lifestyle.  Only today
has he become aware of this address. CID has focused their attention on the Elm
Gardens address after Mr. Stone’s chauffeur recognised him as a resident, but
further investigation has led him here.

Mr. Rizler’s ground
floor apartment looks as if it’s been vandalised and used as a drug den.
There’s graffiti on the walls, and it smells of urine and sweat. Several
hypodermic needles have been discarded and scattered about like deadly weapons
on the carpet. Mack takes tentative steps towards the back of the apartment,
noticing the smallest of details on the way; the brightly coloured squares of
carpet around the edge of the room, the clean rectangle of wallpaper, the
out-of-date computer smashed into pieces and the plastic bag half full of
photographs. He squats and drags the torn pieces of black and white images out,
noting how they have become yellowed and misty over time. He detects small
pinpricks and surmises they must have once been part of a collage.

It takes him five
minutes to sort them and one minute to recognise the girl in the picture.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Parker.” He shakes his head and gives himself an
imaginary pat on the back.

Once again, he
punches a number into his phone. “Sam, it’s Mack again. I’m here at Rizler’s
place. It’s a shit hole but there’s a heap of stuff here that needs bagging and
tagging. Get the team over here. Tell them to collect
all
the
photographs.” He pauses to listen. “I know the bastards dead but just humour
me. This place has been trashed already and I don’t want them coming back
lighting a fire. There’s important stuff here.”

He turns off his
phone and heads into the bedroom, kicking torn bedding, clothes and shoes
aside. There’s little for him to see… except a small black bag that most
certainly didn’t belong to the resident. He takes out a plastic bag from his
pocket and drops it inside. His instincts tell him to gather evidence of his
own before the powers that be decide to bury it, as they have every other
single piece of information relating to this case. 

He leaves with a
sombre heart. All this death and deception is getting to him. He needs to get
his head around it before it gets away from him; if not him, who else would
pursue the truth?

For the rest of the
day he digs. He starts with Dan Rizler, discovering all there is to know about
him. He checks his bank balance and discovers he has over £10,000 in a savings
account, with no next of kin to benefit from it. But the one thing he finds
that makes him call out “Yes!” is his employment record. He has worked at
Cambridge University for over ten years. A single thought occurs to him. ‘What
if he knew Miss Parker when she was there?’ It’s enough to have him playing the
drums on his desk.

There
have been days when I have been awakened by sunlight, birdsong and a kiss, but
this is a first for me. Ayden has his hand between my legs and his mouth at my
breast. He is wrapping his tongue around a hardening nipple and I am responding
to the push and pull of fingers and lips.

Instinctively, I arch
my back and roll my body into his hand. His fingers slide through moist skin
and enter me with minimal thrusting. All I can do is writhe and moan into the
darkness.

Partially awake, I
say, “Ayden,” but he doesn’t respond. It’s apparent he’s enjoying this as much
as I am. I fist his hair and tug him from my swollen breasts. Gentle music is
playing: it’s Ed Sheeran singing
Kiss Me
, and I do.
His mouth
locks onto mine in a passionate kiss, deep and hard. When he raises himself
from me I am gasping for breath and so aroused I would beg to be taken.

In a kind of judo
roll he lifts me from the mattress and places me on top of him. My legs are
spread on either side of his hips; I am wide open and the wetness between my
legs is trickling from my body. I lean in to kiss him but he will not allow me;
instead he holds onto my forearms and pushes me backwards onto his throbbing
cock.

“Slide me inside your
body, Beth. Watch me as I come inside you.”

His words have me
reaching backwards, one hand on his thigh and the other for the hard rod
twitching beneath me. When I take hold, my breath catches. My fingers and thumb
can scarcely grasp it, but I’m frantic with desire and I want to feel it inside
me.

With little
difficulty he lifts me and, with eyes locked, lowers me slowly onto him.
Feeling the hard tip I brace myself and fan my hands across his pectoral
muscles as I open my body to accommodate him. The tightness is exquisite; the
feeling of overwhelming fullness unknown to me.

“Oh my God!” I call
out feverishly, my eyes shut tight, my insides flexing to find room for this
delicious invasion.

“Open your eyes,
Beth.”

I can’t. I’m
concentrating hard and holding myself off him, fearful my body will not be able
to endure total penetration.

“Look at me!”

Startled by his
command, I do. But my breathing is uneven and I’m panic-stricken, edging away.

“You can do this,
Beth. This body belongs to you, remember? Relax.”

With his gentle
coaxing I calm, allow my breathing to ease and my heart rate to slow, slightly.

He softens his words
with a smile. “That’s it.” His hands take hold of my hips tightly, then
release. In a lifting motion he raises me up and down, slowly, painlessly,
until the feeling of tightness fades and my body begins to mould around him.

His top lip twitches
and he licks it, coating it in glossy wetness. A kind of snarling sound leaves
his throat as I move of my own volition. I cannot tear my eyes away.

“You have all of me,
Beth,” he utters, tiny moans reverberating into the air, echoing my own. “Take
this body and claim it.”

With that thought in
mind I begin to pick up the pace, to arch my back, to tighten my internal
muscles and to begin the ride of my life. He removes his hands from my hips and
allows me to canter towards my orgasm, swerving my body until the ridges of his
cock are perfectly placed to stroke that illusive spot inside me.

Wide-eyed and almost
delirious with unbridled passion I open my mouth to suck in more air. When I
look at Ayden he is shimmering with perspiration, his eyes are an iridescent
grey like the Milky Way.

With garbled words he
cries, “I’m all yours, baby,” and pulls me down hard onto him making me gasp
and cry out. His orgasm tears through him, and the spark he has ignited in me
catches fire as he detonates. I burn and burn with the intensity of an atomic
wind that sweeps through me on its path of destruction; like that unstoppable
wind, he roars as my body buckles around him and then it disperses, to become
nothing more than a whisper. 

Totally sapped of
energy, I peel myself off him and roll over onto the cool side of the bed,
still stunned by the intensity of our lovemaking.

Once the air settles,
he turns to me and pushes back a strand of hair from my brow, “That was
earth-shattering!”

“It was.” I can’t
lie.

“Did I hurt you?” He
inspects my body for any signs of bruising.

Feeling a little
embarrassed, I reward his consideration with a smile. “No.”

He reaches to the
bottom of the bed and pulls up the duvet. “Then I’m learning.” He kisses my
forehead as you might a small child. “You’re a good teacher Beth. I will try to
be the perfect pupil for you.” Roughly, he tucks the cover around my neck. “Now
go back to sleep for an hour before we have to prepare for our outing.”

“Do you mean
honeymoon?” I smile, lifting my chin out from under the cover.

“No. I mean outing.
We will be attending Elise’s funeral at 10 a.m.” He kisses my nose and rolls
away.

Funeral? What the
hell …

Feeling a little
stiff and disoriented, I blink myself into wakefulness. It seems as if I have only
slept for half an hour but, by the intensity of the sunlight, it must be 8 a.m.
Surprisingly, Ayden is still next to me, sleeping. So as not to disturb him, I
slither out of bed and tiptoe around to the bathroom but I’m pinned to the spot
by the strangest sound. I turn to face him and watch his eyes flicker and his
face contort into a grimace. He makes the noise again, only this time I hear it
more clearly; it’s like the muffled breath of a man having a nightmare.

I fall to my knees by
the bed and do no more than stroke is hair. “Hush, hush.” I whisper in his ear.
With that he settles and the tension fades from his handsome features like
watercolours on canvas. Quickly, I wipe my tears and hurry into the bathroom. I
can’t think clearly and must not allow myself to jump to conclusions. More
important, I can’t send out my thoughts.

By way of a
distraction I dive into the power shower, not stopping to test the temperature.
Thankfully it’s pre-set and steaming hot, hot enough to wash away any trace of
passionate lovemaking. The knock on the door makes me jump, and for some
reason, I hurriedly reach for my bathrobe before the door opens.

Ayden enters naked;
he’s scratching his head and yawning. “You should have woken me,” he says
mid-yawn.

“I thought you were
doing your other job,” I reply, sweetly. “Anyway, why are you tired when you
say you never sleep?”

“I don’t, but your
husband’s body is feeling the after effects of strenuous lovemaking.”

“Are you sure that’s
not you?” I waft past him. “Ayden didn’t used to get worn out so easily.”

He spins around as I
pass. “Are you attempting to bait me, darling?” he asks, taking hold of my
wrist.

“Of course not.” I
kiss his cheek.” Merely stating a fact.”

In a flash, he takes
hold of both my wrists and wraps them behind me. I feel my back pressing
against the doorframe.

The provocative scent
of masculine essence and sex on his naked body causes me to shiver and, sensing
my responsiveness, he draws his tongue along the soft skin beneath my chin.
“Your perfume and your playfulness is a powerful aphrodisiac, Beth.” He nuzzles
into my wet hair and I feel the hardness of his erection though the soft
bathrobe.

“Ayden, I have
neither the time nor the stamina to make love.”

He whispers into my
ear. “Who said anything about making love?” He takes hold of my earlobe between
his teeth and gives it a gentle tug. “Right now I would like nothing more than
to fuck you. Maybe then you would be less inclined to question my stamina.”

His words cause me to
widen my eyes and swallow deeply. “I don’t question it,” I reply, softly. “I
fear it.”

Instantly he releases
my wrists and steps back. “Why?”

I lower my eyes. “You
know why.”

He’s shaking his
head. “No. I don’t. Explain it to me. Wasn’t I gentle with you, patient,
attentive? Didn’t I satisfy you sexually?”

“Yes. You were all
those things,” I confess, raising my eyes to his. “But you were holding back.
There may come a time when you’re unable to, and that’s what scares me,
especially when you talk of fucking me.”

He’s mystified by my
logic and shaking his head. “I was using your husband’s words. The thought of
actually fucking you is abhorrent to me.”

He moves away and
turns on the shower. “How can I become your husband if you don’t trust me?” he
asks, checking his profile in the mirror.

“You can only become
my husband by becoming more human and that’s not something you can achieve
overnight.”

“Clearly that’s the
case.”

I walk over to him
and wrap my arms around his perfect body as I have done so many times before.
“Don’t be cross with me. Last night you were the perfect lover.” I kiss the
skin between his shoulder blades with soft lips. “And today you’ll be the
perfect husband.” I release him. “Remember to wear a black tie with a black
suit, it’s customary at funerals.”

Just as I reach the
door he calls me back. “Beth …”

I turn to face him.

“You’re an
exceptional teacher and I’m a fast learner. I’m enjoying every lesson.”

He smiles at me in
such a touching way I feel my heart breaking. I offer a grateful smile in
return and leave. “Better not be late then or I may have to come up with a
suitable punishment.” I hear him laughing and it’s enough to tip me over. I
snatch at my clothes and toss a black dress onto the bed; I rifle through
drawers for underwear, and throw a bra and panties carelessly on top of it,
slam the drawer shut, stopping only to catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Roughly, I wipe away my tears with my sleeve and step out of my bathrobe. I
remind myself, “I am Mrs. Elizabeth Stone. I can do this.”

For some reason we
fall into an uncomfortable silence on the drive to the crematorium. I know this
is something we have to do; I was the one who insisted upon it. But that was
before I was confronted by the truth and I wanted closure for Ayden. It all
seems a little irrelevant now. Thankfully, it’s something that can be
documented and discussed at a later date. Not only that, we can literally put
her memory to rest once and for all.

We arrive at
Chilterns Crematorium in Amersham after a thirty-minute journey. As we approach
the gates, reporters begin ducking and diving around the car. Lester beeps his
horn and ploughs through regardless.

A couple of cars are
already parked; only one I recognise: A2MED1A. It’s Jake’s car. On seeing us
arrive he comes over, opening the rear door for Ayden and I to climb out.

“You made it,” he
observes, nodding in my direction.

“Had no choice; Beth
insisted,” Ayden states, taking my left elbow. “Shall we go inside? Who’s
here?”

He walks at Ayden’s
side. “Her family, a couple of friends, work colleagues and that fucking cop.
He’s about as welcome as the clap around here.”

“What’s he expecting
to do, commune with the dead?”

Jake sniggers. “He’s
just sniffing around.”

We walk slowly into
Hampden Chapel with five seats on each side and only the first three rows
occupied; so few people for such a dynamic woman.  Jake leads us to a seat on
the left, I follow and Ayden sits nearest the aisle. I rest my hand over his on
my lap, hoping to reassure us both that we can get through this together. It’s
such a sombre affair, as these things so often are.

Still unable to come
to terms with my own loss, I reach in my bag for a tissue. I wipe my nose and
listen to the words of farewell voiced so movingly by the minister.

“Are you okay?” Jake
asks, giving my arm a squeeze.

“Yes.” I force a flat
smile in response.

“She brought this on
herself you know. Ayd did good by her.”

His reassuring words
are well intended. “I know. I’m just thinking of what she went through as a
child. No one deserves that.”

He nods in agreement.
“You’re right.”

I nudge Ayden to my
right. “What do you want to do with these?” I open my bag and lift out the
black pouch. He takes it off me and tips out the three marbles into his hand.
They look so small and insignificant in his large palm.

“Nothing. Put them
away.”

“But …”

“Put them away!” he
whispers through gritted teeth.

I pull the string top
together tightly and drop the pouch into my bag, knowing this will not be the
last we hear of Elise Richards. Her legacy will live on long after her ashes have
been scattered.

Solemn organ music
begins and the coffin shakes slightly as Elise’s body nears the flames; only
her spirit lives on to pass over into that world beyond.

I look up to Ayden
and whisper, “Have you taken her soul?”

He nods. “Some time
ago.”