TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Jamesson, Sydney

  information.

  “And what about the paperwork? You’ve shown them? Right … and …? There’s a weighty pause.

  “This is bad Jay. They’ll come after me for this. I tell you. You’d better make it right!”

  I hear footsteps and sense him coming towards the bedroom. As quickly as my legs will carry me I

  head for the door. I’ve heard enough to have grasped the gist of it.

  He’s in trouble.

  Even though we are in the gambling capital of the world, Ayden was in no mood last night to

  shuffle cards or throw dice. We lay out on the terrace bed and watched the lights wink into

  wakefulness before exploding into a kaleidoscopic strip of neon illuminations. It was an unforgettable

  sight.

  We engaged in light-hearted banter about Rome and Charlie’s party. Anything of a serious nature

  was left indoors behind shatter proof glass. He had no idea I knew what had happened and I wanted to

  keep it that way.

  Like two weary souls we made our way to the island that was our bed. I made no attempt to initiate

  sex and he seemed too distracted to be able to generate any enthusiasm. Instead, we rolled to the

  centre and huddled together, me folding myself into him like a tortoise into its shell. We fell asleep

  spooning, or at least I fell asleep.

  I woke at 4am to find myself alone, lying there like a whale beached on a deserted patch of white

  sand. I listened and listened again. Nothing.

  With my bathrobe about my shoulders and carelessly wrapped about me, I tip-toed along the

  corridor towards the lounge. Still no sound.

  I checked the terrace, the guest bedroom, the study. He was not in the suite. I was alone.

  The walk back to bed was a sombre one. I didn’t know what to think. I let the bathrobe fall by the

  side of the bed, climbed in and waited …

  As I peel back weary lids from my eyes, I’m becoming aware of even breathing. Moving in slow

  motion I turn over and watch Ayden inhale and exhale at regular intervals. He’s fast asleep. I close my

  eyes tight and open them again, as a camera would taking a photograph in macro mode; picking out

  the smallest detail, missing nothing.

  For some reason, seeing him like this is stirring my emotions. The muscles in my throat are

  constricting and tears are forming, blurring my vision. Through a weepy haze I try to imagine life

  before him. Quickly I shove that image aside. I don’t want to remember; the loneliness, the fear, the

  wishing for more …

  Now I have everything and yet I have a dark sense of foreboding, dread even. Why do I think my

  bubble filled with rainbow colours is about to burst? Even in his reverie his body calls out to me. I

  allow my hand to hover over his heart, wanting to touch, to be reassured.

  He stirs, licks his lips and rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands like an animated cartoon

  character. He looks adorable. He turns and catches my watchful eye, prepares to speak but I beat him

  to it.

  “Good morning.”

  His smile is my wake-up call. “Yes, it is.”

  I roll away from him before he can see well enough to spot my glistening eyes.

  “Not so fast Missy.”

  Strong arms are wrapped around me and I’m being pulled backward, across and under his upper

  body. I pull him in for a kiss but he leans away. Seeing the forlorn look in my eyes he slackens his

  grip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  He squints, not believing my assertion. “The last time you said nothing you had a love-ring

  concealed in your hand. Remember?”

  I smile at the memory. “I remember.”

  “And now, what are you concealing? Let’s check.”

  He is giving me the sexiest body search, using his hands to cover every inch of me, inside and out.

  I’m wriggling and giggling uncontrollably.

  “No. Nothing here.” The search continues. “No. Nothing there either.” He takes a breath so deep, it

  has his chest expanding and his pectoral muscles flexing before my eyes. “It’s safe to say you are

  quite clean Miss Parker and, as such, free to go.”

  I love his games. They remind me how lucky I am to have the love of this man. “Are you sure? You

  don’t want to press charges, read me my rights …?”

  He taps his chin. “I intend to press charges, most definitely, but not at the moment.”

  I roll away from him, across the expanse of white linen. “In that case, I will make my escape.”

  “Only until I can arrest you again,” he calls out after me. “And have you picked up for evading

  capture.”

  His voice is drowned out by the sound of spray leaving the power shower with the force of a

  fireman’s hose. As I rinse off any remaining suds, I become aware of a naked Adonis making his way

  into my steam filled cubicle.

  “Hello, my little fugitive. Your friendly crime fighter here.”

  I splash his face with water and he blinks and smiles, ducking his head under the forceful jets of

  water.

  “Tell me, are you wet enough yet?”

  I turn to face him and etched on his face is the promise of untold pleasures. I know he isn’t talking

  about the water. From between the droplets and the spray I mouth the word, “always.” and he needs no

  further encouragement.

  His mouth is on mine. The steaming water froths and fizzes around our lips. His hair squeaks

  beneath my fingers and I pull and tug at it, urging him on. Will I ever get enough of this man? He’s

  the drug I can’t do without. Ayden Stone, my daily fix.

  “I want to wash every inch of you,” he says softly into my ear.

  “Why? Do you think I’m a dirty girl?” I reply playfully.

  “Oh, I certainly hope so,” he declares, letting the bubbling foam in his hands cover my breasts, then

  my arms and my back; the touch of his mouth on mine and his hands everywhere is both sensual and

  stimulating at the same time.

  I lower my hands to measure the rate of his arousal. I’m not disappointed; his sheathed cock stands

  to attention and ready for action.

  Enabling him to draw wet strands of hair through his fingers, I throw back my head while his sweet,

  wet kisses dissolve on my neck like melting caramel. Luxuriating in his touch, I stand cleansed and

  expectant.

  “There you are, all clean and delicious.”

  The muscles in my bottom clench involuntarily at the prospect of him devouring me and he knows

  it. “Thank you, my turn.” I busy my hands with the task of washing his hair; he rolls his head in a

  circular motion to allow me to rinse the lather from his eyes, unaware of my lascivious inspection of

  his perfect torso.

  “This is my favourite part of the day,” he gushes and, as the steam rises, so does his urgent need to

  slide himself into me.

  With his hands beneath my buttocks he lifts me. “Wrap your legs around me Beth.” Willingly I

  oblige. “This is going to be quick but I’ll be gentle.” He fastens my eyes to his with an intensity that

  makes me hold my breath and pushes into me and keeps pushing. Our bodies are locked together in an

  inseparable union: groin to groin, mouth to mouth. I’m impaled, rocking, my senses rising.

  “You do things to me,” he hisses, struggling to contain himself.

  “You too,” is the only thing I can say. I pant, feeling a burning, an aching, a longing for detonation.

  M
y sounds inflame him further and I sense his approaching climax. “Harder, faster,” I urge. He

  doesn’t disappoint, he never disappoints. “Ah ...” he makes me cry out.

  “You have all of me Beth,” he declares with so little air in his lungs, my name floats in the steam; a

  single syllable scattering and drenching the walls.

  He launches himself. “Yes ... yes,” he cries, pumping everything he has into me. His cry meets with

  mine as I contract around him and he calls out “Yes Beth I feel you.”

  I cannot shape my sensations into words and I groan and sit into him, helpless and fulfilled.

  When our breathing eases he pulls out of me and settles my feet back onto the tiled floor. Breaking

  away from his eyes, I realise the whole room is filled with steam and I smile. There I was fearful of

  sleeping alone, of waking alone. He didn’t leave me at all.

  When I return to dress, our bedroom is empty. It’s getting to the point where I never know where he

  is at any given time. The likelihood of this trip being as wonderful as I had hoped is becoming

  questionable, at best.

  Feeling the need for speed, I dry my hair and wrap it around into a kind of French plait and clip it

  up, apply simple make-up and give myself the once over. I’ll do.

  Dressing for comfort, I slip on a casual pair of crisp ivory trousers by DKNY and a matching tunic

  in claret; it’s light, free flowing and feels soft on my skin. I throw a Jasper Conran ribbed cardigan

  over my arm, grab a scarf to coordinate the outfit and make for the lounge, unsure of exactly who I’ll

  find there, if anyone.

  Ayden is sipping coffee and reading the newspaper when I enter.

  “Morning, lovely lady … can I tempt you with some breakfast?”

  I glance over at the selection. It’s a veritable feast. “I think so. I’m starving.” I lean over and kiss

  him. He tastes of something sweet.

  “I ordered a little of everything so help yourself. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  That statement gets my attentions. “We do?” I answer, sipping hot coffee.

  “Yes. I’ve chartered a chopper so we can go see the Hoover Dam and then the Grand Canyon this

  afternoon.” He looks quite pleased with himself. “Sound good?”

  With a mouth full of Danish pastry, I nod enthusiastically. “Mm ...”

  He laughs a little and folds the newspaper in half. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes. You?” I feign disinterest, seemingly engrossed in the breakfast banquet.

  “Not too bad.”

  Knowing his confidential incident could prove to be disastrous makes every nonchalant remark

  stings like an insect bite. Lying is physically painful for me. Hoping to escape further enquires I move

  swiftly onto the day’s schedule of activities. “Have you done the excursion before?”

  He smiles broadly, knowing where this conversation is going. “No. I haven’t.”

  “Ah. That’s nice. It’ll be a first for us both then?” I state, popping fruit into my mouth.

  “Yes it will. One of many, I hope.” He stands, stretches and walks over to the terrace, pulls back the

  glass door and breathes deeply.

  I glance up between mouthfuls, sensing his unease. Although his grey sweater fits his muscular

  frame like a second skin, I can see through material and muscle and skin to the man underneath; he’s

  suffering. He turns, feeling my eyes on him, oblivious to my thoughts, smiles and I swallow back an

  involuntary gulp. Even putting on a brave face, he’s beyond beautiful.

  “I’ll get my things and then we’ll begin our adventure.” He kisses my hair, and is gone.

  The journey to the airfield has taken us 30 minutes in an air conditioned minibus. I glance out over

  the stretch of concrete and see a gleaming white helicopter, with the word ‘Serenity’ emblazoned

  across it diagonally.

  “Is that ours?” I ask, sounding a little apprehensive.

  “I think so.” He studies my face. “Don’t look so nervous Beth. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  I really hope he’s right. The two travel sickness tablets I took with my breakfast snack will

  certainly be put to the test today.

  Ayden and I climb into the back seat and Sam, our pilot, hands us a set of padded earphones.

  “It’s gonna get kinda noisy up there so you might wanna put these on. We can communicate

  through the mouthpiece here.”

  Ayden buckles me in before slipping mine over my head and chuckles, realising they are much too

  big for me. After shrinking them down, they fit more snuggly. I’m all set.

  He pulls his headset on and turns the mouth piece into position.

  “Alright? Can you hear me?”

  I nod.

  “Then say something so I can check mine.” He taps my microphone.

  I look into his eyes. “I love you.”

  His smile softens. “I love you more.”

  With that the motor starts and the rotor blades begin spinning faster and faster. We rattle around for

  a couple of seconds before becoming airborne. I reach out my right hand and grip Ayden’s left,

  squeezing tight as the ground moves away from us.

  He’s laughing. “You’re such a scaredy-cat Miss Parker,” he mumbles, pulling my white knuckled

  hand to his mouth and kissing it. “Here we go.”

  Here we go indeed. Higher and higher we climb into the blanket of blue above our heads. I look out

  over the changing landscape. Patches of green become sand coloured; flat stretches of land begin to

  peak and form into troughs and hills. It’s unrecognisable. A wide blue line weaves it way through

  trenches, blocked only by an enormous man made structure in white that curves and slots perfectly

  into the hillside.

  “It’s the Hoover Dam,” Ayden points out. “It’s holding back the water from Lake Mead. Look.” He

  points to the left of it and there’s a massive stretch of clear blue water. It’s beautiful; a shining oasis

  in this rustic desert.

  I free my hand from his and turn to look out of the window, without fear, feeling only exhilaration

  and delight. Who does this?

  The pilot skilfully takes us onward towards our destination, breaking the silence to draw our

  attention to points of interest. How strange the mountains look with their flat tops, as if laid out for a

  giant tea party.

  And here it comes … there’s no mistaking the Grand Canyon when it appears out of the midday

  haze; a ginormous wall of veined rock of an unimaginable size with a salmon coloured ribbon running

  through it at its lowest point.

  Out of nowhere a peak appears to our left and I gasp. “Shit!”

  Ayden roars with laugher and speaks to the pilot. “I think she means we are a little close to the

  rocks.”

  “Don’t worry ma’am, I’ve been doing this for the past eight years. I know these rocks like the back

  of my hand.”

  Ayden reaches for my hand. “Okay?”

  “Yes. It’s awe-inspiring, don’t you think?”

  “I do.” He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead. “Just like you.”

  Like the layers on a flamenco skirt the lines flow through the rock, giving a continuous record of

  the time taken to create one of nature’s finest masterpieces. I have no words … only silent reflection.

  As we continue on our flight, almost close enough to the rocks to touch, I hold onto Ayden’s hand.

  Not out of fear, simply to maintain our bond throughout what is a unique and unforgettable experience

&nbs
p; for us both.

  Even though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, he has remained carefree and

  attentive. God love him for that. When we leave this alien landscape for the real world, there will be

  no canyon deep enough or wide enough to hide in. I just pray the powers that be won’t ride roughshod

  over him. I couldn’t bear it.

  One hour after having left Sin City, our pilot begins his decent. In the distance I see an enormous

  lodge perched on a patch of green; that seems to be where we’re headed.

  “I’ll get you as close as I can Mr. Stone,” Sam says, breaking the silence.

  “Thank you.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Ready for some lunch?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Sure. I could eat something,” I lie. My stomach is tied in knots and forcing

  food between them will not be easy.

  “We’re a few minutes early but they’re expecting us.” He smiles, releasing my hand.

  I return his smile. “Of course they are.”

  We clamber out of the helicopter and I turn back to watch the rotors slow to a stop. Obviously Sam

  has his orders and will not be leaving until we are ready.

  A man of around forty, wearing a pair of casual slacks and a cowboy hat greets us. “Mr. Stone, Miss

  Parker, welcome to El Tovar. Everything is ready for you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I spot a lone table under a white marquee, sheltered on one side from

  the prying eyes of the guests, open on the other side overlooking the Grand Canyon. Why do I think

  that’s our table?

  Because it is.

  “Thank you. Please lead the way.” Ayden’s arm circles my waist and we head over to our table

  away from the crowds, away from everything.

  Our host pulls back my chair and I settle myself at the table, watching him as he shakes the ice and

  dripping water from the bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée,

  “Should I instruct the chef to prepare your meal, Mr. Stone?” he enquires tentatively.

  “Yes. Please do.” He lifts his fluted glass to mine. “I think … we are ready to eat now?”

  I snigger at the ‘we’ and nod accordingly. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure Miss Parker.”

  I’m bursting to say something, feeling almost giddy with excitement. “You are a sly one Ayden.