TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (59 page)

“You say the where and the how and leave the rest to me,” he urges, skirting around my mouth with

lips wetted by a moist tongue. He’s moving in for the master stroke; he’s caressing my face, tracing

the shape of cheekbones and skin, manhandling me as an artist would his finest creation. I feel

treasured.

I place my palms onto his chest, feeling my own virile work of art flexing and tensing under my

splayed fingers. When his mouth finds mine I clench my fingers, grasping handfuls of cotton in

response to all this sensory stimulation. I break free of his kiss to catch my breath, leaving him free to

roam and the sensation of a day’s growth on my neck only excites me more. The searing eruption of

energy radiating from my body escapes as indecipherable sounds of pleasure.

“Make love to me Ayden,” I implore, desperate to consummate a love for him that has spanned 22

years of my life.

He pauses. “Here? In front of God and the universe?”

“Yes. But I think I need more champagne, first.” I hold out my glass for a top up.

“No, you don’t. You need me.” He pulls me to him forcefully, wrapping his arms around my neck

until we are wedged together, inseparable. “I’ve never brought anyone up here before Beth.”

I still have my glass; I’m holding it behind his back like a secret weapon. “I believe you.” I have to.

There’s not a trace of a lie, only elation at the prospect of sexual unification.

“Mm ...” He inhales deeply, setting himself, preparing for a command performance.

My hunger for him peaks. I’ve been starved of attention for over two days. Up until this point, his

kisses have been no more than a delicious collection of hors d'oeuvres. Now his simmering passion is

set to boil over and I‘m mentally preparing myself for an immensely satisfying, five star banquette.

As my body melts into his, the glass falls from my fingers, hitting the floor with a crash. It’s of no

consequence. There will be more glasses but there will be no more nights like this; our wedding night.

Through parted lips he whispers, “I still can’t believe I’ve found you and we’re here like this.

Together.”

“Believe it Ayden.” I scarcely have time to utter the final syllable, before he grasps my hips and

pulls me roughly to him.

“Fuck! I love you. I need to be inside you.”

I gasp at the intensity of his words. Instinctively, I lean towards the make-shift bed.

“No! I can’t. Not here. I want you in my bed …”

“Our bed.”

His mouth twitches. “Yes. I want you in
our
bed. That’s where we should be spending our wedding

night. Fuck the stars. Their work is done.”

That single declaration makes me smile. In a hurried dash we retrace our steps back to the lift,

following the little white lights on the floor as if they are star dust. He flicks a switch and, as I turn

preparing to descend, I catch sight of the terrace shrouded in darkness except for the ethereal glow of

the full moon. It makes for an unforgettable backdrop.

I feel his grip tightening on my hand and I match it with my own. Resting my head on his right

bicep, I reaffirm our connection and wait for the smallest of jerks as we reach the first floor.

Like the lovers we are, we stroll hand in hand along the corridor, turning right into
our
bedroom in

a matter of seconds. My heart is fluttering, anticipating … I don’t know what.

No sooner have we entered the bedroom than he turns to face me. With considered words he

prepares to spell out just how he feels. “We’ve had so many obstacles put in our way Beth, and we’ve

managed to overcome every single one.” He slides a loving hand across my cheek, until it rests

beneath my hairline; his thumb caresses my cheek as I rest onto his open palm. “Having the gift of

your love makes me the richest and most grateful man on this imperfect planet.”

“You say the sweetest things Ayden. I’ve discovered riches beyond my wildest dreams and it’s

nothing to do with money. You are my most precious possession.”

“Baby, you have no idea how it moves me to hear you say that.”

“Yes, I do. I see it in your eyes. From the moment you wake to that very last glance at the end of

the day. I see myself reflected in your eyes. This is where I belong.”

“Yes, it is.” He arches into me, applying the slightest of pressure until I feel his throbbing erection

pressing against me like a hard slab of granite; the flowers on my dress are crushed but present no

resistance. He’s teasing me with kisses, waiting for that garbled noise to escape my mouth, signalling

my arousal. Slow, deliberate grinding is his preferred mode of operation.

He spins me around until my cheek rests comfortably on the wall. To my right, I see us reflected in

a full length mirror, his powerful body pressed up against mine, holding me captive. I watch as he

raises my hands and places them on the wall left and right, lifts my dress with both hands, and falls to

his knees to nibble at my flexing cheeks. My lacy panties give way easily and are tossed on the floor,

leaving me naked from the waist down and utterly open to curious fingers and a hungry mouth. He’s

sucking, licking, biting. The sounds of pleasure bubbling up from his throat are a reverential

expression of awe. I am loved.

Grasping my hips firmly, he climbs my body. I close my eyes and breathe in the virile cocktail of

cologne and sex on his hands as they are woven into mine; fingers touching fingers, thumbs stroking

thumbs.

I feel his hot breath before I hear his words and anticipate soft coaxing, but …

“I have always been careful with you Beth. I feared I might hurt you if I fucked you too hard or for

too long but, tonight, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.”

I swallow hard, feeling his grip tightening on my hands. Is he serious? Is this one of his games

where fear is used to intensify my arousal? Whatever he’s doing, it’s working. I ache for him; it’s an

endless ache that has evolved over time and been fortified through physical longing. I’m shivering

with nervous excitement. I try to say two words without faltering. “Then don’t.”

In a whisper, he reminds me. “If you want me to stop, use the safe word.”

I’m in need of no further coaxing. “I trust you Ayden.”

With that assertion he turns me around to face him. I raise my hands to unbutton his shirt.

“No. Your husband wants to undress you and possess you. No amount of modesty on your part will

keep me from your body tonight.” Gently, he places my hands by my sides and begins unbuttoning his

shirt, carelessly pulling it over his hands and throwing it to one side. My eyes widen at the sight of

him; body and soul, he is perfection. He’s unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down with his

boxers. In no more than ten seconds he’s standing before me, powerfully naked and primed.

Fuck!

I feel helpless. I can’t contain my arousal. My chest flushes and I blush, unable to suppress the heat

radiating off him, through me, projecting a crimson glow. “What do you plan to …?”

“Hush.” His voice silences mine. “Sit on the chair.”

The chair?

He nods towards the easy chair by the window and takes my hand. “Sit down.”

I lift up my shoe for him to remove it and he smirks. Clearly I’m not there to have my shoes

removed, but he does it anyway and places them to one side. Here I sit, very prim and proper in my

summer dress, hair about my shoulders and hands sitting on my lap. When I look up I come face to

face with a bulging cock. It holds my attention. Unthinkingly, I lift up my hands to stroke it but Ayden

takes hold of my wrists, shakes his head and pushes me away, resting my hands on the arms of the

chair.

What’s he going to do?

He kneels before me, resting his buttocks on his heels and mentally leaves me. He’s caught up in a

daydream. I’ll wait for his return.

A long minute later he comes back to me, lifting his head to acknowledge my presence. His hands

find my shins and move northwards.

What is he thinking?

“These knees. I know these knees.”

What can I say to that? “You do?”

“Yes. We’re old friends.”

I need to hear this. “Tell me about them.”

The memory appears from the mists of time and his eyes cloud over as it forms. “Each day, your

dad would drop you off and you’d scoot off inside to find me. Sometimes I’d hide and you’d charge

about shouting, ‘Saphi, Saphi!’ I’d hear you and my day just brightened at the sound of your sweet

voice. Other times, I‘d trot downstairs to meet you and you’d run into my arms, and I’d sweep you up

and spin you around until you were dizzy. Your giggle was contagious. I’d laugh with you and catch

you as you wobbled.

One day we were playing and I was called inside, I don’t know why. You went over to the

playground. I told you to wait but you were too excited to listen to a word I said. See … you liked to

climb and went straight for the monkey bars. You loved to look down and imagine you could fly, and

you’d visualise all kinds of kingdoms and I’d play along. You’d hang down from your tower and I’d

catch you.

When I returned, you’d climbed to the top and was hanging from the cross bar, three feet or so off

the ground, calling my name. I ran as fast as I could to catch you but I was too late. Your hands

slipped and you fell onto your knees.” He’s stroking those very knees with his fingertips, looking for

signs of leftover scars. There are none. “When I picked you up, they were cut and grazed, tiny pieces

of gravel stuck to them like dirty sprinkles.

You cried. I picked you up and ran inside. One of the carers patched you up and gave you a sweet to

quieten you. I held your hand the whole time. When we came outside I scolded you, shook you by the

shoulders. You see, I was scared anything would happen to you; you were precious to me. I took your

wellbeing very seriously, even then.”

I offer a flat smile, feeling my eyes stinging a little at his assertion.

“I raised my voice and told you never to take chances, to wait for me.” He’s shaking his head,

distressed at the thought of behaving in such a brutish fashion. “The pain I caused you was far worse

than the pain from your knees. You cried so hard. You looked up at me with your baby blues and they

were swimming with tears like two enormous marbles. I felt so bad. There you were, tearful, with two

oversized plasters on your knees. I took you in my arms and told you I was sorry. You had your arms

wrapped around my neck like a scarf for most of the day, and I carried you around like a satchel

weighted down with guilt. So … you see. I know these knees very well.”

I’m moved almost beyond words. “Yes, you do, Ayden. Fancy you remembering that?”

“I remember everything Beth. I relived every day over and over, until it became a bedtime story in

my head. I think that’s why I turned to Elise, as a replacement for you. When your dad finished his

work and left, I was heartbroken. Elise needed someone to care for her and I needed someone to care

for. But … you were, and are, so special to me.”

I lean forward and place my hands over his so we are both gripping my knees. “Some things never

change. I still like to be up high, imagining kingdoms and that I can fly.”

“I know.” He’s smirking, making me wonder why. “Our visit to the London Eye was the first

indication you hadn’t changed. It was our first Titanic moment.”

“One of many.”

He’s nodding. “Yes.”

“Hotel de Russie, The Cosmopolitan, The Grand Canyon, The Top of the World Restaurant. it

doesn’t get much higher than that.” I shake my head disbelievingly. “So, all this time you’ve been

doing that because of my love of the monkey bars?”

“Something like that.”

“You did a great job Ayden. I’ve loved every minute of it and managed to survive every new

experience without suffering any injuries.” I cup his face in my warm palm.

“It seems that way but there were times when I wasn’t there to ‘catch’ you and I should have been.

Like when your mum died and your dad passed away; and when that fucking psycho got his hands on

you.”

“Don’t! Don’t carry that heavy satchel around with you, not again. You were always with me in

here.” I place my hand on my heart. “You were there in
my
bedtime stories too; in my studies and

present in the pictures in my home. In every book I read, I was picturing you. I kept the memory of

you alive in my subconscious. I see that now. Like the ripples on a pool, merely the faintest memory

of you was enough to give me the strength I needed to carry on, even when I thought I couldn’t. The

promise of you was enough.”

His head falls into his hands. “Well, I thank God for that.” After a shaky pause he lifts his head,

unveiling a lifetime of disappointment. “I want you to know that everything I’ve done in my life has

led me to this very moment. Through every fucking battle and hard fought deal, and every shattered

dream, I knew I would survive because I had you out there somewhere.