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.
I’ve missed touching you like this. I’m sliding my fingers into you, can you feel me?”
I lick my lips and pull him deeper inside, feeling the warmth of his fingers.
“Breathe into it. That’s it. You know what to wait for …”
I’m swept away by the music and by his feather-light kisses on my neck. “The spark …” I gasp
breathlessly.
“Yes. I can feel you.” His thumb finds my clitoris and starts to move in small circles over the tiny
sensitive bud, but there’s something different in the way it feels.
I stare at him wide eyed, panicking. “I can’t …” I start to splash around in the water, losing focus,
confidence; losing myself. “What’s wrong with me?”
He leans over and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me to him. “Nothing’s wrong with you
baby, you’re still getting over a terrible ordeal. You were sedated, remember?”
“But I want us to get back to how we were. I want this.” Why do I feel so emotional? Why am I
sobbing?
He’s brushing back my hair. “I know, but these things take time. We’ll get through it.”
Forgetting my injuries, I hold on to him tightly, pulling away only to kiss him passionately,
smothering him. My wet hands are turning his hair into single strands of black liquorice.
“Be careful Beth, don’t hurt yourself.”
I kiss away his words. “Don’t you want me? Now I’ve been marked and soiled? You don’t want to
make love to me, do you?” Even though tears are blurring my vision, I can still see his horror.
“Christ! No, it’s not that. You’re perfect; before, now, always.”
“Then make love to me … please.” I can barely get the words out; my lips are trembling and I feel
as if my heart is breaking. Only now the impact of what has happened hits me head on, bringing with
it the realisation I might have had my life with this wonderful man snatched away. It’s too much for
me to bear.
Without a second thought, he opens a drawer beneath the mirror and grabs a condom. Whilst I
watch on unable to prevent my body from rippling beneath the water, he hurriedly slides it down the
length of his semi-erect cock with both hands, fixing it tightly at the base. In a single splash he’s
standing knee high in the bubbles, lifting me; he has his hands around my waist and I’m resting my
hands on the sides of the bath. He sits down with me kneeling around him.
Frantically, I’m searching for his mouth with mine, fisting his hair. “That bastard stole almost
seven years of my life, don’t let him take this from us.” My back aches and my feet are tingling with
the pressure I’m exerting on my toes but I pay them no regard. All my attention is focused on this
immaculate man beneath me and his hard erection pressing into my moist flesh.
“Get onto me Beth, don’t ride me. I’ll do all the work.”
I offer an appreciative smile and wait for the fire to build and burn me from the inside, incinerating
all my fears. I feel his strong hands on my hips; he’s lifting me and manoeuvring me into position
slowly, gently. I feel the prod of h
is rigid cock against me.
“Beth.” I look into his eyes. “You remember the safe word, right?”
“Yes.”
“If it gets too much …”
I strain against his hands and begin to lower myself. His grip eases and he watches as I descend into
the bubbles, causing a clear swell of water to circle around us.
“Don’t rush it. I know what I’m doing.”
He does. I tip back my head and hold onto the sides of the bath for support, but really it’s him I
need to touch. I rest my hands on his shoulders and focus on his face as he picks up speed, clenching
his thighs, thrusting into me. He rolls his hips to fill me, creating a tidal wave, drenching the floor and
… there it is, that ecstatic burn.
I call out, “Yes!”
“Come on baby. Come back to me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s it …” Still thrusting and stretching me, he slips a hand around the back of my neck and
takes hold of me forcefully, fixing me in place. He draws me to his mouth and nuzzles my right breast
and then my left, licking, sucking hungrily until my nipples are hard and swollen. With each pull, I
call out as my flesh burns and a blazing current radiates through my body. With my back arched and
my head tipped back, he moves his hand from my hip to below the waterline; beneath the waves his
thumb finds my clitoris. I’m so stimulated the slightest amount of pressure causes me to spasm and
tighten around him. He fixes his eyes on mine and I see a galaxy of emotion in those saintly, indigo
spheres. It’s my undoing. I fall apart; crash and burn around him. I hear myself calling out and it’s
more of a thankful cry than a moan.
Two more hard, penetrating thrusts and he detonates inside me with a rasping, primitive groan that
echoes around the bathroom, resonating off the marble surfaces.
“Fuck yeah!”
Panting, we descend into the bubbles. Instinctively, I fall onto him and fling my arms around his
neck. Forgetting my injury, he wraps his arms around my back only to pull away quickly when I call
out. Instead he takes hold of my upper arms and pushes me backwards to face him. Was there ever a
more self-satisfied looking man?
“My little genie has come back to me.”
I feel shy and look away.
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 12