TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (28 page)

With acrobatic grace
he tips me backwards, steadying me with a firm hand against my neck; with
nothing to hold onto I let my arms fall to the floor, feeling weightless and
secure. A familiar hand moves towards my bikini bottoms and slides under the
fabric; it’s warm and reassuring against my moist flesh. He arches his fingers,
finding more space, and massages a swollen clitoris with the pad of his hand.
“Now tell me, Beth. Was this what you had in mind when you looked at me that
way? To have my fingers here?” He moves toward my vagina, now soaked and ready
for penetration.

“Yes,” I pant.

“Or maybe here?” He
inserts two fingers and pushes them inside until his hand is pressed up against
me.

“Y … es,” I answer,
breathless with want, aching with need.

“Then your wish is my
command.” Once again he finds my breasts and sucks hard, drawing my nipples
deep into his mouth, causing me to whimper and moan. 

“You’re so wet for
me, baby,” he pants. “Come onto my fingers so I can watch you give yourself to
me.”

His grip tightens on
my neck as he bends his finger into position and strokes me internally; his
thumb massages my clitoris in small circles as I writhe into his hand and
whimper like a woman experiencing sweet agony.

“I feel you
tightening, you’re close. Look at me.”

With a single hand he
raises my head and our eyes meet. Through my ecstatic haze I see the intensity
of his arousal and the pleasure he experiences from my surrender. That triggers
my own.

“That’s it, hard and
deep. Feel it, Beth.”

I do.

I stretch out my
legs, toes clenching, back arching. My entire body spasms and I throw back my
head as the raging heat of an orgasm rips through me. My groin throbs with the
flames that spread like wildfire through each clenching muscle as he continues
to grind away at my insides with expert fingers.

“That’s my girl.”

I’m way past
screaming and can only offer a kind of animalistic growl so deeply felt it’s
barely audible. When I’m able to speak, I call out his name, “Ayden!” and close
my eyes to contain my tears. I am lying across his knees utterly sated and
delirious with desire; too weak to even raise myself. All I can do is lift my
arms and be hoisted into a sitting position. The smile on my face must be
priceless. 

“There you are,” he
says, smirking. “Are you feeling more like yourself now?”

“I’m not sure who I
am when you do such weird and wonderful things to my body, Ayden,” I reply
softly, holding onto his shoulder with my left hand to steady myself.

“I do?”

My smile broadens.
“Don’t go fishing for compliments not when you have such a smug look on your
face. You know exactly what you do to me.” I kiss him chastely.

“Yes. I do, but as
much as I would like to, I can’t take the credit for that. I believe this face
and these hands have a universal appeal. And, besides that, you’re a very
responsive woman…

“… with little
self-control…”

He laughs quietly to
himself. “I won’t argue with that; but watching you lose control ranks up there
with one of the most erotic events I have ever witnessed.”

I can’t conceal my
surprise. “You rank them?”

He arches a brow.
“Not as such, but I do have my favourites, it has to be said.”

“Do I feature in any
of them?” I ask curious to hear more.

“You feature in all
of them, darling,” he declares, caressing my left arm with his fingertips.

“I do?”

“Yes. Being inside
your body is my idea of heaven on earth, Beth.”

“Mine too. I miss us
not being … together.”

“My delight comes
from experiencing your surrender and your willingness to trust me.”

“I do. I felt as if I
was floating … even flying.”

“That’s because you
were. Angels are meant to fly, my darling, and you are an angel.  You are
unique in composition: beauty and innocence coalesced, a perfect specimen in
form and substance.

I melt into his arms;
our naked bodies amalgamate into one perfect bundle of sensuality. “Thank you,
Ayden. You make me feel so special. I will miss you so desperately when you
go.”

“I may go, but I will
never leave you, Beth. Your safety is assured.”

I loop a stray curl
around my forefinger and play with his hair. “I have a proposition for you?”

His face is alight
with humour and curiosity. “Do you? I’m intrigued.”

“Alright we have an
hour before we have to leave for our trip, and now that I have come down to
earth, I propose to make love to you.”

His mouth twitches as
he tries unsuccessfully to suppress a coy smile. “Sounds promising.”

“We can either make
love right here or I will fuck you with my mouth.” I raise my head feigning
confidence. “What is it to be?”

“How long do I have
to decide?” he asks playfully.

“Ten seconds …”

“Very well.”

While he strokes his
chin pretending to be wrestling with his dilemma, I fold back the fingers of my
right hand and then my left, counting the seconds.

“Time’s up!”

“Both,” he whispers.

“Well … I’m not
sure,” I answer, shaking my head. “I think you may be taking advantage of my
angelic nature.”

He tips his head to
the left, accepting his transgression. “You could be right.”

Making a big deal out
of my magnanimity, I shrug my shoulders. “But, seeing as we’re on our honeymoon
and I love you more than life itself then, I suppose, I could …”

He’s laughing and I’m
rocking on his knee. “Said in true angelic fashion.” He pulls my mouth onto his
and tangles his hands into my hair. “You are truly adorable, Beth. I can’t wait
to be inside you.”

Those words leave his
mouth like a barrage of bullets. I’ve heard them before. When they were first
said I was swept away, but know I’m caught in the crossfire. Ayden raises my
chin; and I rediscover my smile and camouflage my sadness. This is a battle I
cannot win and, resignedly, I fall to my knees.

We have showered and
dressed for our outing and Ayden is drying his hair.  I busy myself collecting
various travel items for a day spent at sea in the midday sun and quickly slip
on a pair of deck shoes. Ayden’s laptop is still where he left it, facing the
plate glass window. I saunter over to it and prepare to close the lid. On the
screen there is an empty room - an office. When I check to see who is still on
the other end of the Skype connection I gasp. It’s Jake.

During our love
making, we were still connected minus visuals but with sound. I hold my hand to
my mouth, feeling my cheeks heating but, as the rosiness fades so does my
embarrassment. Instead I’m gripped by fear. Listening into our ecstatic moans
is bad enough but what did Ayden say, and what did I say? Did we reveal our
deepest, darkest secret?

I hear Ayden
approaching and close down the laptop, slam the lid down and head for the deck,
my heart beating through my T-shirt.

He takes my arm. “All
set?”

“Yes,” I reply
light-heartedly.

He picks up on my
nervous smile. “Everything okay?”

I nod. “I’ll tell you
now … I get seasick on long boat rides, especially when it gets rough.”

He takes hold of my
hand and kisses my fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that the ocean remains
like glass for you. Nothing and no one will ruin our day.”

I think something and
someone already has…

I stand on my tiptoes
and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

***

Mack is driving home
from work, feeling like he has misread the entire situation. It’s as if he has
bestowed goodness upon Elise; goodness that simply was not there. Since finding
out about her likely collaboration with Mr. Rizler, the world has become just a
little murkier. The darkness that pervaded her childhood seems to have stayed
with her like a stain on her heart.

He had been quick to
pass judgement on Mr. Stone and to cast Elise in the role of the helpless
victim, but now he’s having second thoughts.

Maybe I was wrong…

The sound of his
phone ringing breaks his moment of introspection. He rummages through his
pocket and grapples with it before it rings off, answers and puts it on
speaker.

“Mack, it’s Phil at
the morgue. You asked me to give you a call when we’d finished the autopsy.”

He recognises the
Pathologist’s voice straight away. “Yeah, so how’s it going, Doc? Any
surprises?”

He sniggers. “Maybe?
Depends what you call a surprise.”

“Okay, fire away.
What did Miss. Richards die of?”

“Well, that’s an easy
one. She had a fatal cervical spine injury at craniocervical junction C1…”

“Whoa! Hold on there,
Doc. Give me that again in plain English.”

“In simple terms, her
neck was broken. The car was hit side-on sending it into a spin, causing a
whiplash effect and, as she wasn’t wearing a seat belt, she was catapulted
through the windscreen. She has facial injuries, cerebral contusions and
multiple micro-haemorrhages.”

“Alright, I get the
picture. Are you saying, there was no way she could have survived the accident,
even if help arrived sooner?” He has to know.

“No. And even if by
some miracle she survived the crash, she would have been paralysed from the
neck down and sustained some pretty gruesome facial injuries.”

Mack indicates and
pulls up in his drive. “Thanks Doctor Phil. That’s straightforward enough. Send
your report through the usual channels and we’ll close the case. I appreciate
you letting me know …”

Phil is quick to
point out, “There was one thing …”

Mack pulls out the
car keys and waits to hear more. “Is this the surprise you were telling me
about?”

“I think it might
be.” He pauses. “I checked her next of kin and she has a mother listed but no
children.”

“That’s because she
didn’t have any,” Mack states.

“That’s odd because
she has a caesarean scar.”

Mack sits up in his
seat. “A what?”

“You know, a caesarean
scar? She must have given birth.”

“Now that
is
a
surprise.” He frowns and taps his chin with his car key. “I suppose she could
have had a kid. She was married at sixteen, but divorced the guy at 22. Since
then…”

Phil jumps in, “No!
This is an old scar.”

“How old?”

“I’d say around
sixteen years by the type of cut and the scar tissue, maybe more.” He sounds
certain.

 Mack is shaking his
head. “I tell you, the more I hear about this woman the more I’m convinced
she’s a bloody mystery. She has more secrets than the KGB.”

Phil sniggers. “She
must have been a looker in her day. She has a good bone structure.”

“You’ve not taken a
liking to her, have you?” Mack asks laughing softly.

“No but I can tell by
the scars across her chest and her back that she’s had it rough.”

“Scars? What scars?”
Mack asks, sounding shocked, but reminded of the video he watched.

“Some were recent but
most of them were old, consistent with her being beaten. Maybe she was into
some kind of sex games. Looks that way. But that wasn’t my brief. All I’m
concerned with is cause of death. No need to drag her name through the mud. But
I tell you Mack, the press would have a field day with this one.”

Considering who was
driving the vehicle, Mack agrees wholeheartedly. ”I can imagine.” He lets out a
deafening sigh. “Thanks, Phil. I owe you one.”

“It’s on the house.
See you, Mack.”

“Ha! That’s what they
all say, and then I get an enormous bill at the end of the month. Bye Phil.”
Mack is laughing but it’s sour laughter. What he’s learned is messing with his
detective’s mind.

What happened to the
baby and why was she adopted the same year?

***

Still tingling from a
mixture of salt water and sun on my skin, I wriggle into my red Chanel evening
dress. We have both acquired a healthy glow, thanks to days resting outdoors
and hours spent out on the ocean today on a catamaran. Little make-up is
required; tinted moisturiser, a dash of mascara and matching lip-gloss is all I
need. I place my platinum and sapphire bracelet in the safe and lock it away as
I have done everything I value most in my life. My most precious of possessions
are safely tucked away out of reach, but not out of mind.

My heels clip-clop
noisily on the wooden floor and announce my arrival seconds before I actually
appear. Outside on the deck photographic equipment has been assembled and
inside Ayden is chatting with a familiar young gentleman. Ayden looks so
distinguished in his dinner suit and bow tie. He dressed before I could return
to our bedroom and I’m unprepared for this vision of masculine beauty. He winks
and gives me the kind of smile that tells me I look good, causing me to smile
appreciatively in return.  For a second or two I’m gripped by the memory of
another time and place; a terrace in Rome, beneath the stars, bewitched by poetry
and beloved by the man of my dreams: my prince. Where is he now, I wonder? Why,
he’s six yards in front of me.