“Good morning fiancée.” He grins, wiping the remains of the toothpaste from his lips. “To think I
may have missed this … you, wide awake and so affectionate too.”
I peep around, our eyes meet in the mirror. “When am I not?”
I see a sexy smile in response. “Never.”
He takes hold of my left hand and sucks on my fingers. At the same time he draws my right hand
the length of his body, sliding it inside his towel. His fingers rest over mine as we share the sensation
of his burgeoning arousal.
“Did you carry me to bed last night?” I enquire, formulating a seductive plan.
With eyes closed he nods between quickening breaths.
“Then maybe you should sit down.” Ducking under his arm I slide in front on him, positioning
myself between two hard surfaces. With two free hands I edge him backwards onto the toilet seat.
He’s smiling. We’re sharing a memory. Only this time we’re not 46,000 feet in the air and there’s
plenty of room to manoeuvre.
With eyes locked I straddle him, feeling no more than a fluffy towel between us. I place his hands
by his sides, take his handsome face in my hands and enquire, “How can I repay you for you kindness
Mr. Stone?”
Happy to play along he smiles wickedly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something Miss Parker.” He
tips his head to the right inquisitively, anticipating a sexual favour.
I unwrap him slowly like a birthday present, folding back the towel until it covers the toilet seat
like a throne. There he sits proudly; here I sit, ready to fall at his feet.
“You seem pleased to see me.”
“Seeing you, touching you, tasting you. Everything about you pleases me Miss Parker.”
“And you me Ayden.” Without shame or embarrassment I peel back my robe and begin rubbing
myself against hard flesh, arching my back, allowing my breasts to brush against flexing pectoral
muscles. That’s all it takes to set this sensual frenzy in motion.
His hair is still wet and delicious, tumbling through my fingers like waxy shoelaces. Powerful
fingers and thumbs are moving northwards from my knees, gripping, squeezing, reinforcing a silent
promise of sexual delight. His masterful strokes awaken my very sexuality, raising my consciousness
to a private place belonging to us alone. This is what it feels like to be desired.
“That’s it. Look at me.”
I lower my chin, synchronising our sighs and stare for a thousand miles into those pools of
sapphire. “Please don’t leave me again Ayden.”
With a single hand he grasps my neck. “I won’t Beth. My home is in your arms.”
I fist his hair and writhe into his hand, free from bashful thoughts or insecurity. Our separation was
spatial and nothing more. When I’m consumed by fire he pulls my mouth onto his, swallowing up my
orgasmic cries; I melt into his arms until the flames licking at my core become no more than a
throbbing ball of embers. But this is just the beginning …
“I want you,” he growls, snaking his tongue into my mouth and sucking on mine, coating it in
peppermint. “I belong to you baby. I want you to make love to me Beth,” he says softly, afraid anyone
might hear those helpless words as they leave his mouth.
I edge backward, hypnotised by his request and whisper softly, “I’ve not seen you like this before.”
There’s urgency in his movements, neediness like that of a child. I stroke his hair, knowing Ayden
Stone never asked for anything his whole life; childhood disappointment saw to that. And yet he sits
before me with glistening eyes, showing more devotion in the asking than could ever be expressed in
the taking.
The Stone veneer seems to be cracking under the strain. I only know of one way to restore his brave
and beautiful face; to show him he is loved … more than life itself.
With artist’s fingers I explore his face; brows, cheekbones, lips; watching weary eyelids fall like
heavy clouds over an ocean. I erase the lines forming above his nose with my thumbs until only
smooth skin remains.
Keeping a slow, even pace I arch into him, peppering his neck with feather light kisses, fisting hair
in a playful tousle. All the time his hands are resting by his side in active submission. The feathers
catch fire and scorch his skin as I cradle him in an almost maternal embrace, sensing his craving for
intimacy.
He is gifting himself to me.
But, some gifts should be treasured, accepted with good grace and gratitude: such is the gift from
this fiancé of mine. He has taught me how to love by loving me so devotedly. I pray I too might be
able to convey my devotion with equal piety.
I reach for the condom on the counter top and tear at the wrapper ravenously, spitting out the tear
off strip and shaking the lifeless roll of latex, ready for use. Against every natural inclination he has
he nods, giving me permission to roll it down his impressive cock standing upright, gloriously gorged
with blood. I’ve only done this once before; it was a turn-on then and it’s a turn-on now.
I wriggle into position and raise myself, both hands on his shoulders, eyes locked like natural
elements: earth and sky existing in total harmony. I descend, taking him inside, cocooning his body
with mine. Once muffled pants, find their way to the heavens, increasing in volume as I feel the
fullness of a steely erection deep and snug.
“I have you exactly where I want you Mr. Stone,” I mutter between panting breaths.
His hands remain by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching to the up and down jockeying
rhythm of my quivering body. I ride him hard, gyrating, clenching, milking him until the trickle of pre
cum oozes into the latex sheath like warm milk. We race towards our climax; hearts beating out of our
chests, noises emanating from our mouths like a lovers’ duet, muted by fierce kisses and wet, swirling
tongues.
Ayden cannot hold back. His hands are in my hair, they’re gripping my face as we leave our earthly
existence for a higher plane.
He fights to speak, “No! Stop! Beth, stop!”
Breathless, I pull away still panting; flushed with a near orgasmic glow.
He picks me up and, in one fell swoop, scrapes the items off the counter into the sink and sits me on
the cold white ledge. I am illuminated by the strip light above my head.
Still inside me he fights to speak. “I want to look at you. I want to remember every inch of you;
your beautiful face, your nose, your lips. Oh, especially your lips.” As he is speaking, he is gently
rocking back and forth inside me and tracing the outline of my features with his fingers, and kissing
me passionately, endlessly.
I follow his lead and draw abstract shapes across his face; the face of an angst ridden angel.
“Promise me you will always love me Beth,” he implores.
Willingly, I’ll promise this and more. “I will Ayden.”
“Say it. I need to hear it.”
Sensing his desperation I oblige eagerly, “I will always love you Ayden Stone.”
“Again”
“I will always love you Ayden Stone.”
“Again.”
His movements quicken to the sound of my voice.
“I will always love you Ayden St ….”
“Again”
“I will always love you Ay-den.” So powerful is my admission, we feel our lovemaking transform
into
a moment of pure ecstasy. My chanting is hypnotic, leading us over the edge and close to
oblivion.
But ... I sense something is wrong. He is losing himself in me, but there’s something in his
desperate need for affirmation and it doesn’t feel like desire.
It feels like goodbye.
Ayden is arching his back and giving me his all but, for some reason, he cannot release. This has
never happened before. The events of the week have taken their toil and I can’t allow him to suffer the
indignation of failure, not now. I pull him to me and coax him to climax. In a voice that is a whispered
confession, I say, “I will always love you Ayden Stone. I need you to come inside me baby.”
On command he lunges into me, lifting me off the counter for deeper penetration, as if he needs to
possess every inch of me; it’s almost too much for me to bear. All I can do is hold onto him as he
erupts inside me with no more than a strangled moan.
I feel his knees buckle and reach out to catch him but he regains his balance and steadies himself.
Rather than easing out of me he remains, seemingly unwilling to break the connection.
“I’d like to live in here,” he smiles, wiping the sweat from my brow. “It’s safe and warm and
belongs to me.” He grins in that boyish way that melts my heart.
“Well, it could make running your company a little difficult Ayden.” I beam.
“This is true.” With that he rubs his nose against mine and gently pulls away.
He is about to lift me down but I lean back. “You can leave me here, I’m quite happy where I am.” I
pull a towel off the rail and place it across my knee, anticipating what is about to follow.
“Do you have a ticket?” he asks.
“No. But I think I’ve paid in kind,” I reply with an innocent smile.
“And so you have. Then let the show begin.” Unselfconsciously he starts to shower, happy for me to
lust after him. The steaming droplets run down his body like silver beads on glass; I trace their
journey from his hair to his chest and all the way down to his feet and it’s like a pilgrimage. I could sit
all day and worship him. When he’s finished I clap and call out, “Encore.” He takes a bow.
“You’re next,” he commands.
Obediently, I slither off the counter, throwing the towel at him before stepping into the shower.
He dries off and watches me in the mirror; I’m happy for him to see me naked and covered in foam.
When I step out he hands me a robe and wraps me up in it like an infant. “You are perfect in every
way Miss Parker,” he confesses, towelling my hair but, before I can say thank you, he leaves the
bathroom.
On entering our bedroom he’s nowhere to be seen. On the bed is a single rose and sheet of paper.
Breakfast and Celine are on their way. I have to love and leave you …
I’ve a wedding to prepare for!
These words from my lips to your heart …
I love you Beth.
Forever yours
A X
I waft the paper across my face then place it by the bed. It’s almost 8 a.m. In four hours I’ll be
leaving for the Wedding Chapel and returning with a new name. I’m shaking my head from left to
right to clear the fog but it’s not fog, it’s steam from the shower that’s filled the room. I have no doubt
it will quickly disperse along with any fears I might have that this isn’t the right thing to do.
It is. I know exactly what I’m doing. Today, I’m marrying the man of my dreams.
Three hulking strides is all it takes for Dan to enter Elm Gardens and pass the ground floor
apartment. The same numbers remain but a shiny new lock now stands between him and the object of
his desire. One floor up, the bolt behind 53b rattles as he passes. He waits, anticipating a newsflash
from the neighbourhood peeping Tom.
“Hello Pat. Any news on the break-in?” He points the conversation in the right direction.
“Hello Daniel. No, but the police are taking it very seriously. Chief Inspector Bowker asked me to
give you this.” She hands him a small card with the Inspector’s name and two telephone numbers on
it. “I told him you work shifts and were out when it happened, but he said for you to call him.”
Dan takes the card, giving it a cursory glance before sliding it into his shirt pocket. “Don’t think I’ll
be able to help but I’ll give him a call. Thanks Pat.” He forces a smile. “How is the lady downstairs,
by the way?”
“I saw her yesterday and she looked much better. I expect that handsome gentleman friend of hers
will be taking care of her.”
You can bet your arse he will!
“She’ll be resting up after her shock,” he says, like he gives a damn.
“I’m sure you’re right. Bye for now Daniel.”
“Bye Pat.” He hears her door click behind him and a lock slide into place a couple of seconds
before his own. The vacuous space that has now become his second home feels as if it’s sucking the
life out of him. In silent contemplation he draws his hand across his chin, feeling two days growth and
slaps the Inspector’s card down on the counter top like he’s playing an ace. Even before the game gets
underway he’s feeling triumphant. After all, he’s holding the get out of jail card that comes from
having a nosy neighbour, a theatre programme, witnesses galore and absolutely no connection with the
victim.
One word leaves his lips: “Genius.” Followed by a vile sneer. Drawing on old habits, he prepares to
give the Inspector the old one two. He won’t be bothering him again after that. The Inspector is quick
to answer. “Hello Inspector Bowker. This is Dan, Dan Rizler from Elm Gardens. Mrs. Knowles has
given me your card. She said you wanted me to give you a call.”
“Ah, Yes, Mr. Rizler. Thanks for getting back to me. I’m sure you can guess what it’s about?”
“I assume it’s about the break-in down stairs?”
“Yes it is Mr. Rizler. It’s just a formality but I wonder if you could tell me where you were on
Sunday evening? ”
“Sure. I got back early evening and drove into the city to watch a show. I planned on having a drink
so stayed over at a B & B in Hackney. I’ve got the name of it here somewhere…”
“I don’t think that’s necessary Mr. Rizler. But if you could keep those details handy, in case we
need to follow anything up.”
“Like what?” Dan asks, seeming overly concerned.
“Like I said Mr. Rizler, just a formality. We have to explore every avenue.”
“I see. That’s a bit much for a break-in, isn’t it? Usually you guys just give an incident number and
say claim for the stolen goods.”
“Well … I can’t discuss the case with you Mr. Rizler, obviously. Other than to say it was
particularly nasty and we suspect the perpetrator had been in the apartment prior to the break-in.”
“Oh. I see …”
“So, you can imagine, we’re having to determine who was in the vicinity of the apartment in the
early hours of Monday morning. But if you weren’t there then that doesn’t apply to you.”
“Right. Have you spoken with Pat downstairs? She likes to keep an eye on things around here.”
“Yes, we have. She was very helpful.”
“Sorry I can’t tell you anything useful.”
“Not to worry. I’ll be in touch if I need to ask you anything else and if anything does occur to you,
don’t hesitate
to give me a call.”
“I won’t.”
“Enjoy your evening Mr. Rizler
“You too Inspector.” Dan ends the call and slides the card into his wallet. There it sits, all cosy like,
nestling between the two ladies in his life. A self-satisfied grin distorts his face. An arrogant air
circulates his mighty frame like a bad smell as he stands by his lookout post. He admires himself; his
eyes reflect, large and sinful in the expanse of darkness but he’s not done yet
Before leaving, just in case, he gathers up the sickening items assembled in his bedroom: the length
of chain, the masking tape and the leash, carelessly tossing them into his rucksack. The satchel sags
with the weight but it’s nothing he can’t handle. As a parting gesture, he straightens out the sheet
across the second hand mattress. To an outsider, there’s nothing indecent going on here; just some guy
settling into a new apartment, making do.
Feeling that familiar sting of disappointment he rubs himself through his jeans, teasing the flaccid
length of unresponsive muscle into life. He’s a weary combatant who’s lost count of his defeats. But,
he won’t stay down for long. A heavy rucksack rests under his chin as he makes his way to his car. To
disguise the noise of a rattling chain he whistles and clutches it to his chest with both arms in a kind of
bear hug. There it sits on the passenger seat, concealing an appalling assortment of items, the cruel
belongings of a sociopath.
He slams the door and pulls away, driving one handed to assess the extent of his carnal craving. The
whistling stops. The grunts begin. By the time he hits Junction 9 for the Baldock turnoff. he’s ready to
explode.
He parks up on the hard shoulder. Other motorists fly past him, unaware the man rocking in his seat
in the parked car directly beneath the pylon is jerking off; one hand fisting a pulsating cock, the other
on the passenger seat, wrapping itself once, twice, three times around a leather leash so tightly, the
sinews in his wrist are contracting and taut like the cables humming above his head.
“I’ve got you now,” he mouths, but his words are eclipsed by the sound of speeding cars.
18
Fresh faced and beaming, Celine appears at my door, brandishing an enormous holdall and an
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 37