TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (15 page)

down all worldly possessions for a baby; after him, that’s all I wanted and still want now, nothing’s

changed. But, I sense a change in him; he seems to have little interest in me. Have I lost my allure and

been tainted by some kind of vulnerability?

I ask the question that scares me the most. “Don’t you want me?”

Instinctively, he pulls my head to his breast and enfolds me in his arms. His grip is nearly too

painful to endure. “Oh, baby. You have no idea.” His breath is hot on my hair. “You’re all I think

about. All I want to do is to make love to you, to make you forget.”

With what little strength I have, I pull back “Then why don’t you?”

“I’m scared I might hurt you. I’ve done that emotionally too many times already and I just …”

I kiss his lips and his words dissolve into a kiss. I’m the one with the bruises but he has his own

scars too, that have come from wrestling with his conscience. He needs time to heal.

He nods and edges off the bed. “I’ll go put some bubbles in it.”

For the first time, I sit on the edge of the bed and try to stand. Through the bandages, I feel pain,

something like having too many stones in your shoes or sandals full of sand. I pacify myself with that

thought and attempt to manage the dizziness and maintain my balance without holding onto

something.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Ayden rushes over and sweeps me off my feet. “You’ve got to learn

to walk before you can run.”

I look into his concerned face. “I wasn’t running …”

“No, you weren’t walking either.” He has a point.

He settles me down on the bathroom stool and sits cross-legged on the floor; with my feet between

his thighs as he removes the bandages. When he looks up, he catches me smiling. “Assessing?” he

asks, playing along with our private game of turn-taking.

“No, enjoying.” I’m grinning. The light in here is so much brighter and even illuminated by a

thousand watts of ceiling spotlights, he’s stunning, although I’ve never seen him looking quite so

rugged. It’s a different look and another hot button for me. His Calvin Kleins are stretched across his

crutch and the thought of what’s underneath causes the smile to leave my face, only to be replaced

with a saucy grin.

“There, all done. How does …?” He takes one look at my expression and his words evaporate in the

steaming air. He recognises sexual longing when he sees it: it’s etched on my face and communicated

through my eyes. “Now, Beth, behave!”

I shrug, feigning innocence.

“I know that look, so don’t play innocent with me.” He stands and reaches for the hem of my

nightgown and I look up to him, appealingly. “Put those baby blues away. I’m not looking at you. Lift

your arms.” I obey and he pulls it slowly and smoothly over my head. I’m sitting in my panties, his

burgeoning erection is in front of my face. Impetuously, I lean forward and nuzzle his boxers, forcing

hot breath through the cotton material. He leans into me responsively for a split second, forgetting

himself, allowing me to turn my head to seek out the solid mass. He lets out a guttural moan, spurring

me on.

“Beth …”

I can’t answer, my mouth is busy and my tongue is preoccupied, feeling the outline of the veins and

the crown of his cock beneath the sodden material. I increase the pressure and hold onto him with my

lips, feeling his hands fisting my hair. Forgetting his protestations, he arches his buttocks and his

erection stirs and flexes, desperate for liberation, desperate for my mouth. Without thinking, I slip my

fingers into the elastic of his boxers and circle his body from back to front, my hands tingling at the

touch of muscle and pubic hair. I lower them and, having learned from past experience, lean back to

give his erection space to spring free. And it does. It’s just as I remembered it, gorged and velvet to

the touch, requiring both my hands to hold it.

“Fuck!” Ayden’s hand shifts to tip up my head. He’s looking down at the sight of his arousal and

my tongue as I’m licking my lips. It sends him over the edge. Any ideas he had about holding off on

sex are long forgotten. I have him where I want him, and he knows it.

“You don’t have to do this …”

What a strange thing to say.

“I do Ayden, I need this. You need this. I want to fuck you with my mouth.”

As I knew they would be, those words are his undoing. He brushes my lips with his thumb, slides it

an inch or so into my mouth and fixes me with a smouldering stare that ignites my entire being.

With nimble fingers, I find the ridges and grooves and run my thumb along the sensitive crown

before licking and tasting the salty tip. I hear him groaning with pleasure as he enters my mouth

leaning slightly to deepen my welcoming grasp. When I ease him to the back off my throat, I feel his

abdomen muscles quiver and contract in sweet agony. I am spurred on by the grunts escaping from his

mouth and the sensation of hot breath on my hair. I’m enjoying the feeling of dominance over him;

I’m controlling his orgasm and, for the first time since returning from Rome, I feel empowered. Once

again, his surrender is his gift to me.

I catch the scent of perspiration on his skin as a physical gauge of his arousal. He’s melting before

my eyes, dissolving along with the fear and anxiety of the past few days. He’s letting go. I apply more

pressure, unsheathing my teeth a little and sucking hard on the crown as I pull away. I know he likes

that and I’m rewarded with a series of involuntary jerks and a grateful cry.

“Yes!”

I bring him to climax with more of the same, but with greater speed and ferocity so when he comes

it’s with a roaring yell that rips him apart. He’s incapable of gentleness and grips my head with both

hands, lost in the moment, spurting into my mouth, riding the orgasm like a wave of emancipation.

With that release comes consolation; at last he is purging himself of the emotional torment that arises

from guilt and the need for forgiveness. In this single act of sexual intimacy, all is forgiven.

When I look up at him, I see the iridescence has returned to his eyes; there’s a sparkle there and teal

green hoops of colour that tell me he understands the significance of what just happened. He falls to

his knees and kisses me passionately. It’s been a while since he’s kissed me like this and, God, how

I’ve missed it. His palms are warm and sticky on my face; he tastes of perspiration and cum, and how

fucking hot is that?

He rests his head on my lap and wraps his arms around my naked torso, bringing to mind a classic

painting, Rembrandt’s The Prodigal Son. Here he kneels reverently, silently seeking mercy and

deserving so much more. I feel his lips skimming my stomach. It feels heavenly and I pull him to me

and blanket him with my embrace. I will forgive this man anything.

He concludes our moment of quiet serenity with a smile. “Let’s get you in this bath before it gets

cold. Lift up.” I lean over him, resting my weight on his shoulders and he pulls down my panties. I

have to resist the temptation to spread my legs; I’m saturated and sticking to the toilet seat, aching for

his touch. From the way I’m breathing, it’s quite apparent, there’s no disguising it. He’s been listening

to my body since day one and is fluent in the language of sexual arousal.

I have to speak. “You smell like you and sex, it’s a powerful aphrodisiac, Ayden.” He pretends not

to have heard. Does he want me to beg? Because I will. There’s no shame in desire, not when the focus

of my desire is standing naked before me and looking like this.

Once I am seated, he lifts up my legs in turn to inspect my feet. “The cuts were only superficial and

they’re healing.” He glances back at me. “But you won’t be doing any dancing for a while.” I smile

back, too busy looking at his perfect body to construct a sentence. “You gave me quite a scare. When

Lester said you were bleeding, I thought you’d ruptured something, internally…”

I can’t remain silent any longer, I have to engage before he becomes morose again. “Or I could

have started my period with the shock. I’m due this week.”

There, that’s made light of the ordeal.

He’s surprised. “Of course, there’s that, but that was unlikely to cross my mind under the

circumstances.” He brushes back my hair. “When you’re up to it we’ll go somewhere, take a trip. Put

it all behind us. Up!” He lifts me into the bubble bath, bottom first.

“Ouch! It’s hot.”

“Too hot?” He lifts me out.

“No, just right. Take it slowly. Don’t want to burn my derrière on top of everything else.” I watch

him roll his eyes, making me laugh. The bubbles part and then come together to swallow me up until

only my head is visible. “Aren’t you joining me?”

“Not today.” He looks anywhere but at me and, on his knees, busies himself applying expensive

body wash to a flannel. “Hands.”

I lift up my right hand obediently. “What about your mistress? Won’t she feel neglected again if

you go off somewhere with me?”

He’s nodding no. “Leave her to me – I can handle her. Hand.”

I swap hands. “The way you handle me?”

His broad smile tells me we’re in for some fun. “Oh, no, you’re much more trouble. You can be a

very bad girl sometimes. Lean forward.”

My chin hits the bubbles. “Does that mean you still want to take me in hand?”

“Always.” He has opened the flannel and is skimming it against my bruised back with so much

gentleness; it’s more like a whisper than a stroke.

“Tell me …”

“No, not now. Didn’t you get the email? I said I wanted to take care of you. Can’t you just sit back

and let me?” He places his hand under my hairline and inches me backwards.

“I suppose so but just because I’m being good, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about doing naughty

things with you.”

“Beth.” He gives me a stern look. “You’re only making things worse for yourself. We’ve got plenty

of time for that. I want you to get better and I won’t settle until that fucking arsehole is caught or

killed.”

Killed!

I give him my full attention
.
“What do you mean, killed?”

“I just mean that psychos like that usually end up dead, rubbing the wrong person up the wrong

way…”

“Do they?”

“Anyway, the police have his DNA. It will just be a matter of time before he’s put behind bars.” He

opens out the flannel and lays it against my breasts. I feel his hand, warm and cleansing but he stops,

sensing I might be enjoying it a little
too
much. He stands and reaches for his bathrobe. “Call me when

you’re ready to come out, do you want me to turn down the lighting?”

I nod yes, reach out with an armful of bubbles and paint his face with foam. “You’re such a tease.”

He places his hand over my head and pushes me under for a second or two. When I come up for air,

he’s gone. The last thing I need is time to myself to ruminate. I’ve either been sedated or side-tracked

for the past 19 hours and now I have nothing to occupy my mind, other than hazy memories of the

attack. If I concentrate hard enough, I can hear his voice and replay his utterance,
“We’ve got

unfinished business, you and I princess …”

As hot as the water is, I feel a chill running down the length of my aching spine, all the way to my

ragged feet. I shudder it away and reflect on bright and warming thoughts; like Rome sunshine and my

engagement ring. To think I actually considered giving it back.

Craving warmth I call out to him. “Ayden!”

He comes rushing in. “Where’s the fire?”

I tip my head to one side. “Right here.” I part the water, making my body visible. “Will you do

something for me?”

He smiles wickedly. “That depends …”

“Make me come.”

He blows out a hot wave of air and kneels down. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to make me come. I’m having bad thoughts and I want to feel something good.” I

blow bubbles off my hand onto his face. “See, you’re already wet.”

“And so are you.” He smirks, shrugging off his bathrobe and slipping his left hand under the water,

cupping me, scissoring out his fingers. “Try and relax.” After a gentle massage he’s sliding two

fingers inside me, but I feel tense and unable to relax.

“Breathe deeply, close your eyes.”

I do, but when I close them I see shapes and hear a disembodied voice,
his
voice. Startled, I open

my eyes only to be face to face with Ayden’s uneasy stare. He knows my body better than I do.

Something’s not right. “What’s wrong with me?” I ask, feeling tearful. “Nothing’s happening.”

With his free hand he brushes back my wet hair. “You’re tense, that’s all.” He jumps up and pulls

back a small flap to a six inch square unit on the wall by the door and presses some buttons. Instantly

there is soft music, Eva Cassidy singing
At Last
in that sorrowful way that only she can. He closes the

unit and dims the lights even more, and returns to me.

“That’s better.” He leans in and kisses me softly before starting over. “You look beautiful Beth.