Futile Resistance Ch. 07

French made a keening noise, felt as though she was stretched too tightly. She was aroused beyond bearing, over-stimulated and mindless. Aidan urged her on, heaped sensation upon sensation until uncontrollable tremors wracked her body. Hips writhing and bucking, she matched the thrusts of his finger and thumb inside her, aided the digits in their penetration of her, pushed them deeper into her.

She had never felt this way before, unhinged and entirely needy. Focused solely on her own pleasure. Aidan gave her no room, no time at all, to think about what was happening. She had no experience with anal play, had always felt faintly repelled by it. She had thought it was dirty and most likely painful. Definitely not something she was interested in trying. But here she was. Aroused beyond her wildest imaginings, wanting more – and more – of what Aidan was giving her.

Aidan was ruthless, pushed her past her inhibitions. He wanted her to know that her body, her soul, was as much his as it was hers. He, and he alone, could make her want things she had not even known she wanted. He worked his fingers inside her, his mouth on her, like a man possessed, bewitched and intoxicated by the tastes and textures of her arousal.

French felt her consciousness dim; all sensation receded, leaving a vacuum in its place. Time hung in suspension and utter silence roared through her head. She was sucked into a vortex, a centrifuge that spun her until she was all particulate matter. She was reduced to the most basic components of organic material: individual cells, molecules and atoms. She could feel each of those pieces quivering, vibrating. Suddenly, her being coalesced as her climax rocketed violently through her. The reintegration of her mind and body was exquisite agony, her every nerve scraped raw so that she felt the awful engulfing pleasure with every fiber of her being.

Reduced to a sodden, sweaty heap, she lay motionless but for the rise and fall of her chest as she sucked in air. Aidan sat back on his heels between her spread-eagled thighs and stripped off his shirt. He looked down at French, took satisfaction in what he saw: his woman, quaking in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm. Senseless, open and helpless against him, boneless and melting. He stripped off the rest of his clothing and leaned over her, kissed her.

His lips were wet and pliant against hers. He devoured her mouth just as moments before he had devoured her pussy. She lay beneath him, eyes closed, still unable to think coherently. He stroked her, caressed her, forced her body to reawaken.

"Oh God, Aidan, I can't, it's too much," she murmured weakly.

"You can."

She murmured another futile protest as Aidan turned her this way, that way, to unfasten her bra and remove it. He cupped the full mounds of her breasts, leaned down to take one of her overly sensitive nipples into his mouth, laved it with his tongue. French twisted under him, trying to get away, trying to get closer. She dragged her limp arms up, pushed her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, raked her fingernails over his scalp.

He lifted his head from her breasts, caressed one hand downward, tracing a line down the center of her body. He turned her over onto her stomach, spread her legs, scooped a hand under her hips, tilted her so she was open to him. He stroked the wet lips of her pussy, the slick flesh swollen and blooming like an exotic hothouse flower.

He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance and slammed into her, parting the sensitive tissues, plunging into her until he bottomed out. She gasped and moaned, overcome by the force and precipitous nature of his penetration. He pounded into her with hard strokes, taking her breath with each one. French felt the tip of his cock against her cervix with each pounding thrust and pain mixed deliciously with pleasure.

Aidan pulled her onto her hands and knees. Leaning over her back, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back and to the side so he could access her neck with his mouth. He sucked, licked and took little bites of her. She arched her back and pushed back against him, matching him thrust for thrust until he pulled out of her with the same suddenness he'd entered her.

He pushed her over and onto her back, knelt between her legs and thrust home again. He pulled her legs up, so her ankles rested on his shoulders, caressed the long, smooth lengths of her legs as he drove into her in a slow powerful rhythm. Her cunt was slick, thoroughly wet with arousal, but still gloved him, gripped his cock tightly. Aidan fought against the urge to come; he wanted to keep going, to keep fucking her forever.

Looking down at her, he thought she was beyond beautiful with her dark curls tumbling across the pale blue pillowcase, tangled and tousled. She tossed her head back and forth, caught in passion's web. Her skin was sleek and luminous in the dim light of the room, soft as silk. He wished he could imbed his whole being in all that hot, burnished flesh, not just his cock. He wanted to meld with her, body, mind and spirit.

Reaching down, Aidan disengaged her clenched fists from the fluffy down comforter. He guided her hands to her breasts, wanting to see her cup them, to watch her squeeze and pinch her nipples. She gazed up at him from beneath swollen, heavy eyelids, licked her lips slowly. She palmed her breasts, lifted them up as though in offering to him, loving the look of pure lust that flared in his eyes as he watched her.

The rapt expression on his face made her heart twist.Would this be the last time for them? she wondered. She knew that it could very well be the last time they would make love and she wanted to make the most of it. She let her legs slide off his shoulders, wrapped them around his waist and used them to pull him down to her. She wanted to feel him, all of him, pressed against her, wanted to taste his passion as they strived for rapture. She pulled his mouth to hers and feasted.

As her tongue slid along his, Aidan's thrusts within her became even deeper, harder and slightly arrhythmic. He tore his mouth from hers, his jaw clenched as he tried to control himself. French slid her hands into his hair, tugged his mouth back to hers, fused her lips to his, sucked and licked into his mouth. She was utterly intoxicated, felt her orgasm swelling inexorably inside her.

Aidan's cock swelled further, filling her, stretching her to an almost impossible degree. Her pussy contracted around him and he moaned, determined to hold back until she came again. She moved her hands to his firm buttocks, pulled him closer, urged him to come more deeply inside her. Their bodies slapped together, the force stimulating her clit and creating amazing sensations.

"Aidan, oh God, yes, yes, yes," French repeated the overwrought mantra. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come – " she broke off abruptly, the words becoming one long moan as a rippling orgasm welled up and overflowed. Rather than being explosive like the last one had been, this one was all warm pulsations and vibrations, her whole body trembling, buffeted gently, over and over, as though by waves lapping a beach at low tide.

Finally. Aidan was beyond rational thought, but knew his wait was over. He could surrender. He let go, feeling unbearable relief as he pumped into her and released. He could feel himself unwind from the inside out, felt his strength drain from him as he came. It felt to him like he came forever, his cock twitching and jerking with each jet of ejaculate. His body finally spent, he collapsed atop French, pressing her down with his boneless, heavy weight.

*****

Aidan left his apartment early the next morning to buy breakfast and the three newspapers he habitually read. The air outside was bitterly cold, but he scarcely noticed. He strolled down the street to his favorite bakery, whistling as he went.Francoise Delauney was his. Irrefutably his. She had been deeply asleep when he'd woken up and he'd been hard pressed to leave the cozy confines of his bed. He had wanted to give her a slow, delicious wake-up call, had wanted to sink into her melted-honey flesh and claim her once more before they got on with the new day. He had resisted the temptation because she was exhausted – and had good reason to be.

It was hard for him to conceal his satisfaction with what had transpired the night before. He had taken French, all of her, used her until she had had nothing left to give. He had dismantled her, uncloaked her, unveiled her. There was no place for her to hide, at least not from him. Then, he had put her back together again so that she now contained pieces of him, pieces that she could never get rid of.

Back at Aidan's apartment, French shifted languorously amid the tangled sheets of his bed. Her body ached, pleasantly so. She opened heavy-lidded eyes and confirmed, as she had already sensed, that she was alone.What a night, she thought. She felt ravaged and well-loved. She felt loose limbed and oddly hollow, as fragile as an Easter egg whose insides had been blown out prior to being decorated. Aidan had been merciless, had made love to her over and over again throughout the night, in every imaginable way. She blushed as she thought of the primitive response he had pulled out of her. She felt embarrassed as she remembered the depraved depths to which she had descended, was mortified that she had reveled in every kinky, tawdry step along the downward spiral. Aidan had demanded and she had answered, rousing to him again and again, responding to him, no matter what outrageous thing he said or did.

French would never be able to forget Aidan. It was impossible for her to imagine her life without him. She wanted forever with him, loved him to distraction.Can I confide in him about Patrick Hurst? If I do tell him, will he stand by me and against Hurst? she wondered. Aidan's father had known Hurst since they had attended prep school together; they had shared fifty years or so of friendship. How would Iain and Maggie react to the news that Hurst had an illegitimate daughter whom they had never heard of? Let alone the fact that said illegitimate daughter was deeply involved with their son.Would they think I intentionally became involved with Aidan to get at Hurst and, that I'm only using him for another purpose?

Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. French wished from the bottom of her heart that this new twist had never come about.Why could nothing ever be easy for her? She had struggled in life since the day she was born and now, she had a chance at happiness, had found the perfect man and she couldn't have him.I want him, she thought,I want him! I will not let Patrick Hurst ruin my relationship with Aidan. He is the most important person in my life and I will not let Hurst take him away from me without a fight. I have to tell Aidan and get everything out in the open.

Last night's lovemaking had proven to her that she couldn't hold anything back from Aidan. Against him, she was powerless, both physically and emotionally. She realized now that it was possible for a person to belong to another person and that there was joy in the possession and in being possessed. Aidan was hers. She was his. The knowledge came as a shock to her, inspired fear because she hadn't considered that such could be possible. On the other hand, she was giddy with excitement at the thought that they were irrevocably bound.

Having resolved to come clean with Aidan, she slid out of bed, headed to the bathroom to wash up. The corner of her mouth quirked in a smile when she saw that he had retrieved her toiletries from the locked trunk of his car. However, there was no evidence that he had likewise retrieved her clothing – in fact, the outfit she'd worn the night before was nowhere in sight. He was apparently inclined to hold her captive for another day. The difference was that, in light of her newly acknowledged acceptance of the depth of their relationship, she would willingly, even gladly, stay.Captivated, not captive, she thought.

She showered, letting the hot water loosen her overused muscles. She had finished her toilette and was poking around in Aidan's closet looking for something to wear when she heard the apartment door open and close. Her stomach fluttered with nerves.Aidan. She grabbed a thick pair of socks and one of Aidan's button down shirts to cover her nudity. She inspected her appearance in the mirror and saw exactly what she had expected to see. She absolutely oozed sex. Her eyes were lambent, her skin luminous and incredibly sensitive; the fine cotton of Aidan's shirt brushed against her skin like an erotic caress. Her lips were slightly swollen and red. Beneath the collar of the shirt, and scattered in strategic places on her body, were faint bruises and bite marks. She had been thoroughly had. She shivered in delight as she recalled their sinful, decadent lovemaking.

She fluffed her hair and let the loose curls fall around her face and over her shoulders. She sallied forth from the bathroom, eager to see Aidan, wanting to touch him, desperate for him. She was imbued with a new sense of hope for the future and felt lighter, more unburdened, than she had in years at the thought that she would be able to tell Aidan everything about her past. She went down the stairs, following the fragrant aroma of fresh coffee to the kitchen.

She fairly floated through the living room on her way to the kitchen. She felt rather silly that she was so eager to see Aidan. Like a schoolgirl with a crush on some handsome boy. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves and in anticipation of seeing the object of her love in a few short seconds. She was puzzled by the unfamiliar feeling that had descended upon her. With a start, she figured out that it was happiness! Pure, simple happiness. She had always wondered what it would feel like to be happy and hopeful and it was better than she had ever imagined. She fought the urge to laugh out loud with joy, but couldn't hold back the smile that split her face in two.

She reached the kitchen and to her chagrin, it wasn't Aidan in the kitchen at all. It was Patrick Hurst. The bubble of contentment that had surrounded her burst abruptly, replaced by despair and anger.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Hurst had evidently not heard her enter the room, the thick socks she wore having dampened the sound of her footsteps. He jumped, sloshing coffee all over the counter where he had been pouring a cup from the carafe.

He put the mug on the counter with a firm click and glared at her.

"What are you doing here, Hurst?" she asked again.

"I could ask you the same question, but then, I don't have to, do I? We both know what you're doing here. Just look at you," Hurst said in a mocking tone. Disdainful green eyes that were identical to hers raked her from head to toe. He smirked, "You don't look much like your mother, but it is glaringly obvious that you are indeed, her daughter." Hurst lifted his coffee mug to her in a mock salute.

French crossed her arms over her breasts. She felt naked in front of Hurst, even though Aidan's shirt covered her more than some dresses she owned. Her vulnerability had nothing to do with how much or how little she was wearing.

"Aidan's not here."

"I can see that. I had intended to talk to him this morning. To warn him about you," he said blandly, moving past where she stood in the kitchen doorway to pace the living area. "But, since you're here, I'll talk to you instead."

"I don't think there's anything we need to say to one another," French said coldly.Warn Aidan about her, indeed! she fumed. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"I have a key, naturally. Now. Let me ask you a question. How did you find out that Aidan is as close to me as my own kids? I have to admit, it was a pretty clever way of getting to me," he mused.

French flinched at his reference to his 'kids'.She was his kid, his first-born and they weren't close at all.

"Don't flatter yourself, Hurst. I met Aidan through mutual friends. He pursuedme. He never mentioned you in all the time I've known him, not by name, anyway. And I certainly had no reason to mention you, because you mean less than nothing to me."

"Considering the source, you'll forgive me if I don't believe a word you say," he sneered. "You want me to believe that, by sheer coincidence, my long-lost bastard daughter has wound up in a relationship with my best friend's son? No, I don't believe that for a second. The logical conclusion is that you used him to get to me. What is you want – money? You won't get it, so you might as well give up."

"I don't want your filthy money. I never wanted it," French retorted.

"Don't pretend that you don't want money. All women like you want money. Money is what lubes you up, it's what gets you excited."

"You're disgusting! You don't know a damned thing about me, Hurst."

"I know you better than you think. Don't forget – I knew your mother very well. And, I know your father rather intimately," he gestured to himself in exaggerated fashion. His mouth stretched into a facsimile of a smile while his eyes remained coldly calculating.

"Maybe you should be talking to Aidan. I've tried and tried to get him to leave me alone. He won't – can't – stay away from me. He held me here against my will last night. Even now he's hidden my clothes, my purse, my keys, so that I can't leave."

"Ah," Hurst said, realization dawning. "You've ensnared him with sex. That was your mother's favorite trick, too. It's how she tried to trap me. It was a near thing, too; she's an incredibly sexy woman - incredibly inventive in bed. Do you take after her in that regard?" he wondered. "At any rate, I was able to escape your mother's clutches. She never was very bright..." he trailed off.

"You pig. I don't have to stand here and listen to this," French said and headed for the stairs.

"How much will it cost to get you out of Aidan's life?" Hurst asked, sensing he was about to lose any leverage he might possibly have.

"I told you. Keep your filthy money."

Hurst groped in the pocket of his sport coat, pulled out a checkbook encased in a leather cover. He tore off a check. Apparently, he had previously endorsed it and just needed to fill in the amount.

"Come on, Francoise," he coaxed. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and called up to French, who had made it halfway up. He waved the check around, back and forth, as though it was a fat worm and French a hungry fish. "You know you want it. How much? Ten thousand? Fifteen? Twenty? This is an ass backward way to negotiate; I shouldn't let you know just how badly I want you out of Aidan's life. But, there it is. I want you gone, so how much will it cost?"

French stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly, prepared to skewer Hurst. She wanted to rip him limb from limb. Her eyes flared wide when she saw Aidan standing just inside the door.

"What's going on? Paddy, what do you mean you want her gone?"

"Oh! Aidan, you're back" Hurst said jovially. "You must have misunderstood me. I promised your mother I would look in on you today since you and your, ahem,friend left so abruptly last night. Naturally, she was worried about you."

French was amazed at how easily Hurst lied. Aidan set his newspapers and the box of pastries on the table and came further into the room. As he neared them, he could feel the tension swirling around between Hurst and French, felt like he was wading through it.

"What's that?" he asked, neatly nipping the check from Hurst's fingers. "Why'd you make out a blank check to French?"

He looked back and forth between French and Hurst suspiciously.

"Somebody better tell me what's going on."