Futile Resistance Ch. 03

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French came home from school on the fourth full day since the breakup to find that Marcheline had returned to a semblance of herself. She was nicely dressed, her hair was coiffed to perfection and she wore the makeup she customarily wore. She behaved somewhat normally, yet her eyes shone with a manic brilliance. Her brittle smiles and shrill, forced laughter gave lie to the normalcy she had hoped to project. In a newfound quest for domesticity, she had prepared some of French's favorite Martinican dishes and cleaned the house. She feigned interest in French's activities and acted as though the past few days hadn't happened. With watchful eyes, French observed her mother's manner and thought it better not to mention what had happened with the man. Marcheline's mask had eventually cracked and she had vehemently promised French that she would do better next time to find a Papa for French who loved them both enough to stay with them forever.

That wasn't the only time Marcheline succumbed to depression. Each time a man left, he had seemed to take a little piece of her mother with him. As she had aged, there had been fewer men of the type she preferred. The wealthy, well-bred types no longer saw the exotic in Marcheline; they rather saw an aging immigrant woman, whose thick French accent and broken English had ceased to be charming. She still held allure for some men, but they were men she felt were beneath her. She had gone back to Martinique several years ago with her pride in tatters and had married the man she would have married if she hadn't met French's father. Marcheline said she was happy, but French knew that she had been desperate for the attentions of a man -- any man. She suspected that her mother didn't have respect, or even liking, for the man she'd married. When French had last visited her mother and stepfather on the island, Marcheline had glittered and glowed brilliantly when people were around to observe it. Indeed, friends and family proclaimed the newlyweds to be proof that true love would always triumph, no matter what people tried to do to change destiny. In unguarded moments, however, Marcheline looked old and tired, weighed down by grief and defeat.

French was well aware that she carried wounds from her childhood; she even understood their genesis. Butdamned if she could suppress the fear she felt at the thought that she might make herself vulnerable to the kind of dependency and loss her mother had repeatedly endured. She monitored herself carefully, taking care that she quashed all behaviors that were in any way reminiscent of her mother. With careful, logical planning, she ensured that there would be no unwelcome surprises and that she'd depend only on herself for her money and happiness. With a bitter twist of her mouth, French reflected that in spite of her independence, she felt as if something were missing.I have tons of friends, she thought,I own my apartment. I have a career doing what I love. Why aren't I happy? Surely being a part of a couple isn't the only way a woman can feel fulfilled? In the end, even though I've chosen a completely different life for myself, will I wind up as unhappy as Maman is? she wondered.

Shaking her head, French dismissed the thought. She would not end up like her mother! She would apologize to Aidan like the grownup she was. It wouldn't be hard to do because Aidan had never shown any tendency toward cruelty or viciousness. He would accept her apology gracefully, she knew, then allow the evening to move on as though nothing had happened. She didn't know what would happen in this new arrangement of theirs. She didn't even know what his motivations were. Did he just want companionship as he'd said last night? Or was he looking for something more? If that was the case, she didn't think herself capable of giving Aidan what he wanted, didn't think that she could escape the wreckage of her upbringing. He deserved someone who could love as easily as he did. She admired him for the emotional security he had that allowed him to connect with people so freely and totally. He was a whole person, whereas she felt as though pieces of her were missing.Maybe Aidan's beliefs about love and commitment were right after all. Maybe I'd feel more fulfilled if I could believe in love, she thought.

French checked her watch and was alarmed to see that she only had about half an hour before Aidan arrived. She pulled the stopper out of the tub and stepped out of the water she had only just noticed had gone unpleasantly lukewarm. She patted herself dry, then smoothed on lotion that was the same exotic fragrance as the bath oil she'd used. She flossed and brushed her teeth, then checked out her reflection in the mirror. She eschewed the use of make-up as usual, but applied lipstick, then blotted most of it off, leaving her lips looking only lightly berry-stained. She took the chopsticks out of her hair and shook it out. She'd wear it down just the way Aidan liked it. Satisfied with her appearance, she picked up the cut-glass atomizer of perfume she'd gotten as a gift from her cousin in Paris. It too, was the same scent as the bath oil and lotion, carrying undertones of musk and spice that were what she imagined a sultan's harem smelled like. Earthy and womanly. She dabbed the perfume in a few strategic places on her body and rushed into her bedroom to get dressed.

She was putting her socks on when the buzzer sounded. She skidded down the hall in her socks and buzzed Aidan in, saying, "Come on up, the door's open."

She rushed into her bedroom and put on black boots that were in the style of biker boots, but with urbane sleekness. She was rummaging through her jewelry box when she heard her apartment door close. "I'm back here, Aidan!" she called distractedly. "I'll be done in just a minute. Do you want someth-..." Her voice trailed off when she realized Aidan stood in her bedroom doorway.

"Oh. Hi." She hadn't expected to feel flustered when she saw him again, but she did. She felt a blush rise up her neck.

"Hi, yourself. How was your day, Legs?" Aidan asked with a smile. He looked fantastic, as usual, even though he was dressed as casually as she was. He wore jeans, an expensive looking navy blue sweater and boots. She shouldn't have been surprised because he looked stunning in everything he wore. She also knew that that fact had nothing at all to do with the clothes themselves.

"It was good. I made it through every single audition tape! I deserve a night out," French replied, "What about you, what'd you do today?"

"I spent the day in my darkroom developing some more photos from Eritrea. There were some I held back fromTime; I guess I just wanted to keep them to myself. Here," he said pausing, "let me help you with that clasp."

French has chosen a suite of chunky sterling silver jewelry to wear tonight. She'd already put on the dangly earrings and bracelet, but was having trouble with the necklace.

"Thanks," she said, lifting her hair and turning around so her back was to him.

Aidan made quick work of the clasp and then embraced her from behind, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

"You smell great."

"Thank you. It's the new limited editionSerge Lutens. My cousin Marie-Josée sent it to me from Paris. You remember her, don't you? She always seems to choose just what I'd pick for myself," French mused, realizing she was chattering a bit to cover her nervousness. He turned her around and kissed her lips lightly, then tapped a finger on the tip of her nose.

"Great taste must run in the family. You ready to go?"

"Yup. Where are we going, by the way?"

"My place."

"We're having dinner at your place?" she asked, nonplussed. "I guess I better bring the Pepto Bismal if you're cooking!"

"Ha, very funny. Why don't you grab some clothes and stuff for tomorrow?"

"Umm... There's really no need, is there? Even if it gets late, I can still come home. You only live a few blocks away, Aidan."

"I think you should bring a change of clothes and some toiletries," Aidan said with finality. "Get your stuff."

Seeing that he wouldn't take no for an answer, French quickly gathered the toiletries she needed and selected clothes for the next day. When she reached for pajamas, Aidan stopped her.

"I don't think you'll be needing those."

French's mouth opened in protest, but then she snapped it shut and closed the drawer.He was probably right anyway, she thought as she folded her things neatly into a black leather shoulder bag.

"OK. I guess I'm ready then."

"Good. Let's go," he said, picking up the bag and going down the hall to the front door.

Aidan set the bag on the floor and helped French into her coat. Taking the key from her, he locked the door while she put on her gloves and scarf. They headed down the stairs and out into the street together. French was surprised to see Aidan's car double-parked in front of her building.

"You drove here?! We could've walked. You'd better hope you didn't lose your parking space!" French teased him, "If you did, we'll probably wind up walking farther from the new parking space than if we had walked from here to there."

"We'll see," Aidan replied cagily, helping her into the car and tossing her duffel on the backseat. He slid behind the wheel of his silver Audi and pulled into traffic. They reached the corner and turned the opposite direction than they would have gone had they been going back to Aidan's apartment.

"We're not going to your place, are we?" French asked, finally catching on.

"We are. Just not the one you mean."

"You have another house?"

"Well, it's not exactly mine. The cabin belongs to the family. Dad told me last night at the party that he needed some stuff done up there and since I haven't been there in a while, I told him I'd go up and take care of it."

"Where is this cabin?"

"The Berkshires," Aidan admitted a little bashfully.

"Ah. Of course, where else but the Berkshires?" French teased.

"I knew you would say something like that. That's why I didn't tell you beforehand. Figured I'd save myself a little grief..."

"I'm only teasing. It's a long way to go for one night, though, isn't it?"

"It's only a couple hours' drive. We'll be there in time for a late dinner. I'll do the things I need to do in the morning and we can be on our way back to town in the afternoon," Aidan said. "I thought it'd be nice to get out of the city for some peace and quiet."

"It will definitely be nice to breathe some clean, fresh air," French confirmed enthusiastically. Her expression sobered somewhat as she shifted in her seat to look at him. "Aidan, I..."

"Please don't tell me you've changed your mind about what we talked about last night," Aidan tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he cut her off.

"No, not that. I just wanted to apologize for being such a pill last night. I hadn't expected to see you at the party and then I got all confused. I'm sorry for being mean."

Aidan relaxed and joked. "I wouldn't say you were mean, exactly. Bratty is more the word I would have used."

Just as she'd predicted, he'd accepted her apology without making a big deal of it. His response made it easier for her to continue, "Aidan, I really mean it. You are such a nice, good person. You didn't deserve what I did last night."

"None of it?" he asked with fake startlement, "surely I deserved some of what you did?"

French blushed, but allowed him the joke. She touched his hand lightly where it rested on the gearshift and turned back around in her seat.

*****

They made it to the cabin just before nine. Cabin was rather the wrong term to use in describing it, French thought. Constructed of rough-hewn logs, the house was a large two-story structure built in the style of a ski chalet. The first floor contained three bedrooms, a full bath and a large eat-in kitchen. The great room, with its vaulted ceilings, skylights and huge stone fireplace was the centerpiece of the first floor. The chocolate brown leather couches and chairs near the fireplace were appropriately rugged-looking and well worn. There were snowshoes, cross-country skis, board games and other sporting accoutrements in the room, which along with the scuffed wooden floor, made it plainly obvious that this was a real home to Aidan's family, not simply a showpiece.

The second level was devoted entirely to the master suite. A cozy seating area that looked over the great room was just at the top of the stairs. The overstuffed chairs were draped with homemade afghans and practically begged to be snuggled into for an afternoon of reading. A huge king-sized bed with gnarled hardwood head- and footboards was centered under a skylight through which the full moon beamed its radiant light. Sliding glass doors at the back of the room revealed a deck and hot tub. A full bath with a deep claw-footed tub and separate shower stall completed the sanctuary that was the master bedroom.

"Aidan, this is lovely. So homey," French said.

"Yeah, we spent summers here and most of our winter vacations, too. I love this place," Aidan replied, the fondness of memories evident in his voice. "Let's go downstairs and get a fire going, then we can eat."

"Is the kitchen fully stocked?"

"It has the basics. But I brought enough food for an army. Never go to the grocery store when you're hungry," Aidan warned.

The fire finally lit, Aidan and French went to the kitchen to fix dinner. True to his word, Aidan had bought what seemed to be the entire contents of the gourmet grocer in their neighborhood. They decided to have cold roast chicken with an arugula salad, roasted eggplant and red pepper bisque and crusty French bread. He had also brought strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, an assortment of nuts and cheeses and a box of chocolate truffles for dessert. While French heated the soup, Aidan went to the wine cellar for a bottle of wine.

They ate in front of the fire, talking easily, as they had always done. French had worried that the conversation would center on their 'arrangement' and had dreaded the awkwardness such talk would bring. Instead, they talked of what they'd been doing over the few months they'd been apart. It was plain to French that Aidan was genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was excited when she told him about the new ensemble she'd auditioned for and won admission to and appropriately displeased when she told him about the politics and infighting that went on amongst the administrators and her fellow teachers at the school she taught at. She, in turn, thought there was no better photographer and writer in the world than Aidan. She was so proud that he'd made the leap from writing general interest and travel pieces to more legitimate, hard-hitting journalism. He'd been very successful before, but had always wanted to tackle more weighty subject matter.

Replete after their meal, French stifled a yawn and stretched. They'd been sipping brandy as they talked and she was beginning to feel a little sleepy. She was having such a good time, though, that she hoped she'd catch her second wind, so they could continue rediscovering one another.

"You're tired," Aidan stated. "Ready to call it a night?"

"No, I'm fine," French replied, then involuntarily opened her mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn.

Aidan laughed, "I can see my company leaves much to be desired."

"No, really, I'm OK," French protested, "the long drive, the food and brandy got to me for a moment. Give me a few minutes and I'll be fine."

"What do you say we hit the hot tub, then hit the sack?"

"Sounds good, but-"

"You don't need a bathing suit, Legs," Aidan interrupted, knowing exactly what she'd been about to say.

"I hate it when you do that," French mock-sulked at him and preceded him up the stairs.

While Aidan was outside adjusting the hot tub, French undressed, folding her clothes neatly. Aidan had gotten fluffy bath sheets from the linen closet and she wrapped herself in one and swept her hair into a ponytail. He motioned to her from outside that all was ready. French she stepped outside and immediately began to shiver when the cold night air hit her skin. She dropped her towel in a heap next to the tub and climbed in, sliding down into the hot, bubbling water up to her neck. Noticing that Aidan was fully dressed, she asked,

"Aren't you going to go in and change?"

"Nope," Aidan answered and kicked off his shoes and socks.

"You're insane, it must only be twenty degrees out here!"

"I'll only be out here for a minute; it'll feel even better when I get in the water."

French couldn't stop herself from watching as he undressed. She spared a split second to wonder if this impromptu striptease was perhaps not so impromptu, but decided that that wasn't Aidan's style. He couldn't possibly know the devastating effect he had on her. He gripped the hem of his blue sweater and pulled it over his head, along with the white crewneck t-shirt he'd worn under it. The moonlight gleamed on his torso, limning his sleek muscles in a silver sheen. She could only just make out the shadow of the hair on his chest that tapered to a fine line as it reached the waist of his jeans. He unfastened his belt and unbuttoned the jeans and slid them and his boxers to his ankles where he kicked them aside. He raised his arms over his head, fingers linked, in a long stretch and groaned in pleasure.

French unconsciously licked her lips at the sight of his naked body. She absorbed every detail of the way he looked from the top of his ruffled hair, to the sleekly muscled planes of his chest, his tumescent penis and on down to his toes.Gorgeous, she thought as he moved toward the hot tub.

"Guess I'm a little bit of an exhibitionist," he joked as he slid into the hot tub. "I love being naked out here."

"Hmm, I daresay you might be," French remarked wryly.

Aidan sat on a low seat that had his chin just at the level of the bubbling water.

"Come here."

French averted her eyes from his for the merest second as she considered the request, then complied. He settled her on his lap and just held her. She could feel his cock brushing against her leg and knew that he was aroused. Still he made no move to seduce her, simply held her close. French shifted her position on his lap so that she straddled him. His hard cock brushed against the outer lips of her pussy, moving back and forth with the current of the bubbling water. She cupped his face in her hands, looked into his eyes. Then lowered her head and kissed him.

She started out with light kisses, brushing her lips across his in the gentlest of caresses. His hands rested on her thighs, but didn't move as French deepened the kiss. The only indication she had that her kisses were affecting him at all was that his hands squeezed once, convulsively, on her thighs then relaxed. She certainly felt the effects of the kiss. Heat that was not entirely generated by the hot tub suffused her body. She opened her mouth on his, sought out his tongue with hers. He let her play as she would, felt desperation rise in her as she took from him, knew she searched for even more.

French slid further up his thighs until his cock was snugged against her pussy and her breasts pressed against his chest. She felt the coil of her arousal tighten, then reached between them to stroke him. He breathed a sigh of pleasure and let his head fall back against the lip of the hot tub. Through half-closed eyes, he watched her face as she caressed his cock and used it to stimulate herself. Her hips moved, subtle gyrations that nudged him against her clit. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, as though the blood-rush of arousal affected them, too. Her skin glowed under the moonlight, studded with beads of water that gleamed like jewels.

She had braced one hand against his shoulder to steady herself as her other hand was engaged between their bodies. Aidan moved his hand from her thigh and slid it up her arm, to her shoulder, to her neck then pulled her mouth to his again. She gasped as the motion pressed her pussy more tightly to his cock. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, twisting and curling his around it now, running his tongue over her teeth, the roof of her mouth then. He reached between them, stroked his cock back and forth over her pussy. Impossibly, illogically, it felt even hotter than the water in the hot tub.