I look into his eyes. “Because …” I think through my reply. “Because you treat this as a game with no regard for me.” I sip at the wine. “I thought you said we would find a way to approach this adventure that would suit us both?”
“I did.”
“And yet …”
“Have I hurt you? Demeaned you, forced you to do anything you haven’t wanted to do?”
“No, but …”
Finding it difficult to control the tone of his voice, he prepares to explain the finer points highlighted in our earlier discussion. “There are no ‘if’s’ or ‘but’s’, Beth. Don’t you realise I could have fucked you and fled like a thief in the night, and that would have been the end of the matter? I have revealed myself to you and offered you honesty and yet here you are, taking every opportunity to profess your love to your husband, reneging on our agreement.”
Thoroughly chastised, I lower my head. “I thought you were off somewhere doing what you do. I didn’t do it to offend you.”
He positions himself besides me, tilting up my chin and holding me in place with a fierce stare which reminds me, if I needed to be reminded, that Ayden is not here.
“This is not a game.” He leans in and kisses me softly, leaving my lips tingling; brushes his lips over my moist eyelids until I ache with a longing for Ayden that tears at my soul. “Be my wife or be bereft. The choice is yours, Beth.”
When I open my eyes again he’s gone. Feeling dazed by his decree, I wobble to my feet. My thumbnail finds its way to my mouth and I’m quick to remove it, not wanting to appear too shaken by his declaration.
Arranging the flowers gives me time to collect my thoughts. A lemon envelope falls from the bouquet and I open it tentatively, unfolding the flap like the petals on a daffodil. Inside there is a crumpled piece of paper, yellowed and tattered around the edges. On it is neat, slanted handwriting; some words have been crossed out and replaced but there is a legible signature at the bottom. It reads: S.T. Coleridge.
Wow!
This is an early draft of Desire. My prospective husband sent me the poem and now I’ve been gifted the original. I can scarcely believe my eyes. It’s priceless. I can’t even begin to think where he got it from … a museum? Or, maybe he retrieved it from the man himself …?
Just thinking this through makes my head spin; it’s an irreplaceable piece of history, if somewhat ironic. I imagine what Ayden would be feeling right now; my Romantics man would be smiling from ear to ear, and so would I.
11
Taking energising breaths and long strides, I enter the lift and descend one floor. The hallway is illuminated and the door to the master bedroom is ajar. I approach it with my head held high. One single thought is on repeat in my head like the chorus in a song.
Be bold baby.
Feeling fearless, I push open the door, catching sight of Ayden bathed in lamplight, undressing for bed; his grey T-shirt has been carelessly discarded and thrown onto the chair. His belt buckle is undone and he’s sitting on the bed removing his socks. He turns to acknowledge my arrival with a half-smile, given more out of politeness than any need to be forgiven for his blunt proposal. Unselfconsciously, he lowers his jeans and they land on top of the T-shirt. There he stands before me, a perfect specimen.
“You’ve chosen the perfect man to possess,” I comment. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you are, Ayden.” I use his name purposely, feeling something sharp penetrating my chest as the final consonant leaves my mouth. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, Beth.” He outstretches his hand and I will myself to move forward even though my feet appear to be glued to the carpet. I take one step and then another until I’m standing before him, looking up into the dark indigo eyes of the man I love.
With the gracefulness of a magician he moves his hand to my face, slipping it beneath my hairline as I tilt my head; I feel the strength of his palm on my cheek and close my eyes to absorb it.
Keeping my eyes closed, I lick my lips in anticipation of what’s to follow. He doesn’t disappoint. I taste the lips I have come to love and claim as mine in this exploratory kiss. I open my mouth in response, feeling the need to take in more air as I succumb to the lush wetness coating my lips as the kiss deepens. His hands are framing my face and I’m being devoured. No one kisses like Ayden.
I’m rocking back and forth, being slowly unravelled one limb at a time; my fists are unclenching and my feet are gradually toward him. He’s doing very little, but his perfect nakedness and kissing prowess is enough to have me in a hypnotic spin.
“Open your eyes, Beth,” he whispers.
I do, feeling intoxicated by physical longing and his oh-so-familiar cologne.
He tilts my chin up to focus my attention on his words. “I want you to do something for me.”
I blink, knowing what’s coming next.
“I want you to relive your first encounter with you husband. Do you remember it?”
I do. I have visions of Ayden stretched out across my bed, attached to the headrest by my stockings. It’s not what I expected him to say. “Why?”
“Because I want us to start over. I think you need that, don’t you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“I will be totally compliant. I am yours to do whatever you wish tonight.”
“And tomorrow night?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the right. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead …”
Liar.
“Alright.” I agree. “But you’re already undressed.”
“Close your eyes.”
I do.
“Open.”
When I open my eyes he’s dressed in the same clothes Ayden wore that night at the theatre. Even the shirt looks crisp and freshly ironed. “Another party trick?”
He nods. “One of many.”
“I like it. All we need now is the music and we’re back in the moment.”
“I think we may have very different tastes but I have a song in mind. May I?” He reaches around and selects Aqualung’s Strange and Beautiful. “Do you approve?”
“Does it matter one way or the other?”
“No, but I like it.”
I return his smile. “Then so do I.”
The buttons on his shirt are fiddly just as I remember them. This role-play isn’t so bad. The only difference is that it’s undertaken in silence. I feel like I’m starring in a silent movie. Surely there must be subtitles to go with this? That thought makes me smile.
“What made you smile?”
“This is not how I remember it. I was jabbering on about nothing to hide my nervousness, taking my time …”
He takes hold of my hand, making me jump. “Then take your time … please.”
I take a step back and close my eyes, remembering how it was - the pretence. Ayden already knew who I was, and was already in love with me. The way he gave himself to me like a gift I had to unwrap. I feel tears leaking from my eyes, and wipe them quickly with my fingertips. I can’t back out now.
I straighten my back and begin unbuttoning my blouse. “This is bullshit! I can’t relive a moment like that. Just because it’s lodged in Ayden’s memory doesn’t mean it can be re-enacted like some blockbuster movie.” I fling my blouse onto the chair. “Get undressed and get into bed.” Covertly, I watch him remove his trousers for the second time, pull back the bedding and stretch out beneath the sheet. Just as I remember it, his erection holds my attention as it creates a ridge in the bedding; but, rather than lying perfectly flat, he turns towards me, planting his chin on his left palm. I’m the leading lady now and I don’t like it one bit.
Oh shit!
This is beyond embarrassing. I’ve never undressed in front of any man other than my husband. Now look! I have a stranger in my bed. I’m rolling my eyes, feeling hesitant again.
Instantly he wriggles a hand out of the sheets and switches off the bedside lamp.
I’m grateful for that. “Thank you.”
“I’m not totall
y oblivious to your bashfulness, Beth; although why you would be shy when you are so beautiful, mystifies me.”
I begin to unhook my bra. “It’s because of who you are. You must have seen so many beautiful women. I can’t compete with them.” I peel off my bra and place it on the chair then settle my eyes on a spot on the carpet, bending my knees and covering my breasts with my arms.
“Beth. I have travelled through space and time to be here. Do you seriously think you could disappoint me?”
I raise my head. “Travelled? I thought you were brought here by Ayden crashing the car?”
He corrects himself. “Yes, of course I was but we are not strangers. I have been aware of you for some time. I explained that.”
I’m standing in my panties, feeling as if I have nowhere to hide. “Yes, but you’ve not seen me naked.”
“Oh… please. Come, you’ll catch cold standing there looking like a quivering figurine.” He pulls back the sheets.
Shivering, I clamber over him. “My mother had one of those.”
“A quivering figurine?”
My teeth are chattering. ”No. A Lladro figurine.”
“Did she?” he chuckles. “Is this the way you usually embark upon a romantic liaison with your husband? Discussing Spanish pottery?”
“No, we usually begin with wine and music, then move onto literature and take it from there.”
He wraps his arms around me and I fold my forearms to my chest, hoping to absorb some of his body heat.
“Why are you so cold” He rubs his left hand up and down my arm.
“I’m frightened.”
He tilts back and frowns. “Of me?”
I nod, knowing he can just see the outline of my features.
“What can I do to reassure you?”
“Just hold me and let me fall asleep in your arms. It’s been a while since I felt safe and I always felt safe in Ayden’s arms.”
“I understand.” He kisses my hair. “Go to sleep. You’re perfectly safe now. No one will ever hurt you again.”
Wrapped in his arms, I know that to be true. Nothing in heaven or earth can touch me now.
When I awake, I’m still encased in a kind of human force field, warm and untroubled by fearful thoughts. I lift up my right hand and stroke Ayden’s left cheek.
Out of the darkness a voice materialises. “I’m still here.”
At first I’m startled but I settle quickly. “I know. You breathe differently than Ayden.” I continue to caress his cheek. “Can I ask you something?” He nods. “Have you had many lovers?”
“Define ‘many’.”
“More than ten, fifty, a hundred, two hundred?” His silence causes me to raise myself and to look down at him. “More than two hundred?”
He’s shaking his head. “I think it’s best I don’t answer.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll think you sleep around?”
He begins to laugh out loud. “Why would I care about that?”
“If you want me to fall out of love with my husband and in love with you, you’ll want me to respect you and not to think of you as … promiscuous.”
“I hardly think you’re in a position to judge.”
“I think I am. Why won’t you answer? Are you ashamed?”
“Ashamed?”
I detect indignation in his voice. “Yes.”
“I have nothing to be ashamed of, Beth”
“How can I know that?” I enquire further.
“Because I say so, and I never lie!”
“Never?”
“Never.”
I lower myself onto the mattress. ”Tell me about your last lover. Was she stunning and voluptuous or one of your kind?”
“No and no. There is only me.”
I turn to face him. “Only you? You’re one of a kind?”
“I am.”
“Can’t be much fun being you, then. No wonder you possess handsome men’s bodies.”
He raises himself up off the bed and stretches out his left arm until it’s across my body. “Beth, tell me. Were you like this with your husband?”
“Like what?”
“Utterly delightful.”
“I don’t know. I was myself.”
“Then no wonder he never stopped looking for you. I would have done the same.”
Without thinking my answer through, I reply, “I think I would have gotten lost in the stampede …”
“The stampede?” He looks quizzically at me.
“Yes, from all those lovers you’ve had pursuing you to the ends of the earth.”
He’s laughing. “I have outlived them all, Beth. They’re all sleeping peacefully.”
“Like Ayden?”
“Yes. But he has not experienced eternal rest. It’s more of a … nap.”
“And what would happen if you chose to wake him from his nap? Would he remember everything you’d done or would it all be a blur?”
“He would have recollections, if I allowed him to retain some memories, but it would be like a dream.”
My face contorts into a frown. “What a terrible dream; sharing your wife with another. I wouldn’t want him to ever have a dream like that.”
“It wouldn’t be like that. He would be the one in the dream, with you,” he states frankly.
“He wouldn’t know anything about you?”
“No. Does that put your mind at rest?”
I sigh resignedly. “A little. It eases my conscience.”
His flat smile says it all. “Is that why you tremble when I touch you?”
“Not just that. I’m afraid I may actually enjoy spending time with you. That’s the thought that terrifies me the most.”
“Would that be so bad?”
I turn away. “It would be betrayal. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Betrayal would involve deception and disloyalty. Surely you can’t find yourself guilty of that?”
“No but I’d be sleeping with the enemy…”
His eyes flash with surprise. “You consider me your enemy?”
“No. It’s just a phrase that came to mind. I don’t mean it literally.”
“Metaphorically then?”
“Sort of …”
“And is this the part where we discuss literature?” He’s smiling and I see the kind of glint in his eyes that signals trouble.
“I suppose so. Thank you for the Samuel Taylor Coleridge draft. That was the first poem Ayden sent me.”
“I know. That’s why I sent it.”
“But you’ve given me the first draft.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can.”
I lick my lips. “That was the first time Ayden and I kissed. Can you kiss me like that too?”
“I think I could be persuaded to try.” He raises a curious brow. “In fact it wouldn’t take very much persuasion at all. You’re a brave and beautiful woman, Beth. I have put you in a difficult position, but this is not the body of a stranger.” He places my hand on his heart. “Can you feel a heart beating?” I nod. “This is your husband’s heart, as is every other part of this body. I possess it, but it belongs to you. I will make no demands, other than insisting on total commitment on both our parts to love, without boundaries.” He moves in for a kiss.
I hold him off with my hand on his shoulder. “Do you think you can love me like that?” I ask, hesitantly.
“Yes. I can.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“Because it’s true. I never …”
“… Lie,” I call out, completing his sentence, lowering my hand from his shoulder and placing it on a firm pectoral muscle. “Then I trust you to take care of me.”
“It would be my pleasure. Although I fear six months may pass much too quickly.”
“Six months is a long time.”
He shakes his head. “If time were an ocean, Beth, our six months together would be no more than a ripple on an endless sea.”
“Would it b
e that insignificant?” I ask, slighted by his analogy.
“Not insignificant at all; merely imperceptible to humanity, but attested to by me.”
“And that’s all that matters, right?”
He lowers his head, preparing to conclude our discussion. “You know the answer to that question.”
“Yes. But I won’t change for you; I can’t be someone I’m not.” I draw my forefinger across the chest hair that I have longed to touch for the past hour. “You’ll have to take me as you find me.” The second the words leave my mouth I regret them.
He smiles broadly and it’s so contagious, I find my giggle. It had become lost; I’d slipped it into a back pocket never expecting to rediscover it. Yet … here it is.
“I don’t have an issue with that,” he replies, charming me further with a wide stare that only complements the roguish smirk.
“You didn’t really want to be tied up did you?” I venture to ask.
“No. It would have been a first, I must admit.”
“But you were prepared to do that, to put me at ease?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what Ayden did.” I turn away, reliving the memory.
Gently, he turns my face to him. “Don’t go there. Stay here, with me. I want you. I want to make love to you, and I want to know what it is to be inside you, Beth; so deep you’re too breathless to even call my name.”
Fuck!
All I can do is tremble, either with fear or anticipation, or a hot fusion of both. Without saying a word, I slip my hand around his neck, weaving my fingers through soft curls; I pull him to me until I am cloaked in his lethal shadow, drawn to his beauty and craving his love.
His mouth finds mine. It’s moist and as I remember it - the texture, the shape, the hunger. With everything to fight for, I will myself to relax, to touch familiar ripples of muscles and skin; commanding trembling hands to still and feel without hesitation, while being kissed and caressed in such a way I can’t help but respond.
His right hand is snaking down my body, coming to rest on my panties, positioning me beneath him, locking me in place. A hard and unyielding erection presses into my groin and I clinch involuntarily, feeling the friction of hard flesh brushing against me. His knees sink to the mattress, parting me and I endure the heat of his muscular torso radiating through my fingertips as his breathing quickens, sending waves of masculine scent over my face and into my hair. He’s fanning the smouldering embers of passion inside me, those my husband so skilfully ignited a month ago: I am his.
TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 11