Read Online Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play by Sydney Jamesson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sydney Jamesson
Ads: Link
of serenity circles him, mimicking his mood.
Unbuttoning his shirt, I find myself talking about
nothing in particular. I don’t know what I’m doing but I can sense he’s totally
relaxed and willing to let me care for him in the softest of ways. I scan my
iPod resting in its deck by the bed for something appropriate and settle for
the soothing voice of Sade. She sings of No Ordinary Love and I let the
album play.
With nimble fingers, I undo the double buttons on his
cuffs and push back his shirt and try to contain a gasp: his upper body is
sculpted and toned; washboard abs and that V shape etched into his hips.
There’s a sprinkling of chest hair between his pectoral muscles that I can’t
help but stroke and rest my cheek upon. How long has it been since I felt this
close to someone? I can’t recall a time – never.
I trace the outline of defined abs with my fingertips
and breath him in. He’s every inch the man I imagined him to be. I come to a
stark realisation: this is about self-control, his and mine. Willingly, he’s
transferred every decision, every ounce of his power to me. He is my
submissive and how amazing is this?
Sitting him on my bed, I remove his shoes and socks,
he is content to watch me. I catch his eyes darting from left to right, tracing
every tender move I make.
"Stand please," I ask and he does.
With nervous hands I focus on the stylish fastening on
the top of his trousers, feeling my breath quickening and my pulse racing, but
… I can’ t undress him. I hardly even know him. What the hell am I doing?
I look up to him, seeking permission or is it guidance? He knows …
“ You’re in control Elizabeth.”
Is he reading my thoughts, is my inexperience so
obvious?
“Go ahead, it’s ok.” His voice is soft and coaxing.
Our eyes meet and there’s a sensual craving there
that’s flickering like glowing embers, I’m fighting to contain myself and I
suspect he is too. With shaky hands I pull down his fly and lower myself to
pull down his trousers. I stop to take in all his manliness. His erection
shifts and strains against his boxers and I feel as if I will climax there and
then. I fall to my knees, happy to worship at the altar of Ayden Stone.
"S... step out please," and he does. I throw
his trousers onto the chair by the wall and try to regain some semblance of
rational thought but my brain is fried and my clitoris is aching for him.
Dear God. Why did I ever agree to this?
The man of my dreams stands before me like an
unwrapped gift, perfect in his passivity and aroused state. What’s he waiting
for?
I know the answer: he’s waiting for my command.
"Ayden, I want you to get into bed now."
"Yes Elizabeth."
He slips under the duvet and lies on his back. Beneath
the duvet I can see him rigid and primed and it’s taking every speck of
willpower I have not to launch myself onto him. But that wouldn’t be fair, he’s
played his part to perfection. Now it’s my turn.
Against every inclination I have to turn out the light,
I leave it on. Taking my time, I remove my shoes and unzip my dress, knowing he
is watching me. I thought I would struggle with this but the further down the
zip goes, the more I’m getting turned on by the fact that this gorgeous guy
with an enormous hard on is lying in my bed, watching me. As I wriggle out of
my dress, I feel my pants sticking to my crutch, I’m sodden and stimulated
beyond measure.
I let my dress fall to the floor and start to remove
my stockings slowly, scandalously. I’m not just undressing, this is a
striptease. I’m the exhibitionist and all the time our eyes are locked together
closing the distance between us, intensifying our connection. I throw my
stockings onto the chair and they float slowly down and settle on the carpet by
the bed. But ... my confidence is failing. I’m almost naked before this
stranger: what am I doing …?
Just as I’m about to lose my nerve, Ayden’s movement
draws my attention away from my
Unbuttoning his shirt, I find myself talking about
nothing in particular. I don’t know what I’m doing but I can sense he’s totally
relaxed and willing to let me care for him in the softest of ways. I scan my
iPod resting in its deck by the bed for something appropriate and settle for
the soothing voice of Sade. She sings of No Ordinary Love and I let the
album play.
With nimble fingers, I undo the double buttons on his
cuffs and push back his shirt and try to contain a gasp: his upper body is
sculpted and toned; washboard abs and that V shape etched into his hips.
There’s a sprinkling of chest hair between his pectoral muscles that I can’t
help but stroke and rest my cheek upon. How long has it been since I felt this
close to someone? I can’t recall a time – never.
I trace the outline of defined abs with my fingertips
and breath him in. He’s every inch the man I imagined him to be. I come to a
stark realisation: this is about self-control, his and mine. Willingly, he’s
transferred every decision, every ounce of his power to me. He is my
submissive and how amazing is this?
Sitting him on my bed, I remove his shoes and socks,
he is content to watch me. I catch his eyes darting from left to right, tracing
every tender move I make.
"Stand please," I ask and he does.
With nervous hands I focus on the stylish fastening on
the top of his trousers, feeling my breath quickening and my pulse racing, but
… I can’ t undress him. I hardly even know him. What the hell am I doing?
I look up to him, seeking permission or is it guidance? He knows …
“ You’re in control Elizabeth.”
Is he reading my thoughts, is my inexperience so
obvious?
“Go ahead, it’s ok.” His voice is soft and coaxing.
Our eyes meet and there’s a sensual craving there
that’s flickering like glowing embers, I’m fighting to contain myself and I
suspect he is too. With shaky hands I pull down his fly and lower myself to
pull down his trousers. I stop to take in all his manliness. His erection
shifts and strains against his boxers and I feel as if I will climax there and
then. I fall to my knees, happy to worship at the altar of Ayden Stone.
"S... step out please," and he does. I throw
his trousers onto the chair by the wall and try to regain some semblance of
rational thought but my brain is fried and my clitoris is aching for him.
Dear God. Why did I ever agree to this?
The man of my dreams stands before me like an
unwrapped gift, perfect in his passivity and aroused state. What’s he waiting
for?
I know the answer: he’s waiting for my command.
"Ayden, I want you to get into bed now."
"Yes Elizabeth."
He slips under the duvet and lies on his back. Beneath
the duvet I can see him rigid and primed and it’s taking every speck of
willpower I have not to launch myself onto him. But that wouldn’t be fair, he’s
played his part to perfection. Now it’s my turn.
Against every inclination I have to turn out the light,
I leave it on. Taking my time, I remove my shoes and unzip my dress, knowing he
is watching me. I thought I would struggle with this but the further down the
zip goes, the more I’m getting turned on by the fact that this gorgeous guy
with an enormous hard on is lying in my bed, watching me. As I wriggle out of
my dress, I feel my pants sticking to my crutch, I’m sodden and stimulated
beyond measure.
I let my dress fall to the floor and start to remove
my stockings slowly, scandalously. I’m not just undressing, this is a
striptease. I’m the exhibitionist and all the time our eyes are locked together
closing the distance between us, intensifying our connection. I throw my
stockings onto the chair and they float slowly down and settle on the carpet by
the bed. But ... my confidence is failing. I’m almost naked before this
stranger: what am I doing …?
Just as I’m about to lose my nerve, Ayden’s movement
draws my attention away from my
Similar Books
