Futile Resistance Ch. 10

"Excuse me, but the last time I checked, I'm a grown woman who doesn't need to ask for permission to go on vacation!"

"Oh really? I would have thought that you had enough respect for me and our relationship than to just walk out without a word!"

"You're the one who suddenly needed to go for a run the other day, Aidan! You left in the middle of a conversation because what was being said wasn't to your liking! You left me there with no clothes, no shoes, no keys, no money -- no nothing! I wasn't going to just sit there and wait for you to come back!"

"Why not? I wasn't even gone that long!"

"It was too long for my liking," she shot back. "It was ridiculous of you to pull that stunt anyway. Who do you think you are to hold me captive? Besides, you can't possibly blame me for leaving after all the things you said!"

"What? JesusChrist, French!" Aidan wasn't following her train of thought. He ran a hand through his hair, then around the back of his neck. He was really too tired to do this right now. Nothing was coming out of his mouth the way it was supposed to. He'd been mad the minute he walked into the apartment and things weren't getting any better. He decided to try a new tack.

"Will you come away with me?" he asked. "I mean... Notaway away. But just to my hotel. I haven't showered or eaten since yesterday in Boston. I'm fried. Do you mind if we go to my hotel so that I can clean up and eat before we talk?"

"I could meet you somewhere later, after you've had a chance to rest."

"No. Just come with me now... Please," he added after a beat. Aidan didn't want to let her out of his sight. Now that he was here, he would keep her with him, even if that meant they spent the time together fighting about whatever ridiculous thing they were currently fighting about.

"Fine," she said, her ungraciousness masking insecurity and fear. "I'll just call Marie-Josée to let her know that I'm going out, then get my coat and purse."

She left and Aidan breathed a sigh of relief. He felt like a high schooler on his first date. French seemed schizophrenic -- skittish one minute; mad as hell the next. The rapport that they had built over the past month had totally disappeared. It baffled him that it had only been two days since they'd last seen each other and now they reacted to one another as though they were strangers.

French splashed cold water on her face in the bathroom, seeking calm. She quickly brushed her teeth and smoothed her curly hair into a clip at the nape of her neck. She grabbed her coat and purse and went back to the living room. She called Marie-Josée on her cell phone and told her their plans. She began to shrug into her coat and Aidan, who had already donned his, moved behind her to help her slide her arms into the sleeves. He surreptitiously took in her scent, her flushed skin releasing a cloud of her subtle perfume and the essence of her.

French suppressed a shudder at his nearness. Her eyes nearly fluttered shut with the desire to lean into him and draw his arms around her.How had this happened? she wondered. Things had gotten so bad and so quickly.I have to do something equally quickly to turn the tide. I need to gather the courage to justtell him.

She used the key she still had from when she'd arrived at her cousin's apartment to lock the door behind them. Aidan collected his carry-on bag from where he had left it waiting underneath a bench in the building's lobby. Before long, they had hailed a taxi and were on their way to Aidan's hotel.

He had gone straight to Marie-Josée's apartment, so had yet to check in with the innkeeper. The hotel was more akin to a bed-and-breakfast and the matronly proprietress greeted him warmly, behaving as if Aidan was a relative returning to her home for a visit. The house was old, its furnishings antique. The foyer was warm and inviting and they were directed to his room without the impersonal business that usually accompanied hotel check-ins. Aidan asked Madame if she would please have a tray sent up to his room in half an hour and she agreed to do so.

"There's a chef here?" French whispered as they ascended the sweeping curve of the staircase.

"Well, Madame does the cooking, but she is brilliant. Simple food, nothing too complicated or frou-frou. The epitome of classic French cuisine," he told her enthusiastically.

French smiled, happy to note that while so much had happened to make him feel like a stranger to her, Aidan's appetite and appreciation for good food had remained unchanged. She loved to watch him eat almost as much as she loved to watch him make love.I need to get a grip on myself. Otherwise I'll wind up on my hands and knees begging him to take me back.

Aidan's room faced the street. They stepped into a cozy sitting area immediately upon entering the room. The antique armchairs and oval shaped coffee table were situated in front of a smallish fireplace already ablaze with a cheery fire. Further into the room was the bed, made up with sumptuous looking linens and flanked by charmingly mismatched antique nightstands. In front of the large window was a round table, topped with a vase of fresh-cut flowers, which could be used for eating or as a workspace. An armoire faced the bed, behind whose doors French assumed were the obligatory modern conveniences all hotel rooms offered. The floors were of shiny parquet and scattered with well-worn Oriental carpets. Three houseplants, one in a plant-stand, one centered on the dresser and one hanging in a pot in a light-drenched corner added a wonderful homey warmth to the space.

Aidan hung their coats, then excused himself, telling her to make herself comfortable. A shower was his first order of business. He felt stale with recycled airplane air and groggy with jetlag. Hot water and a vigorous scrubbing usually helped to invigorate him when he traveled.

French sat in the little sitting area, staring into the fire as Aidan showered. Her mind raced as she composed hermea culpa. The longer she waited for him, the more anxious she became. Reticent as she'd been before, she wanted to get everything out on the table now so she would know where she stood with him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She answered it and admitted Madame, who bore a large tray covered with a snowy white napkin. She inquired as to the suitability of the room and then set the tray on the table in front the fire. She opened a bottle of red wine to allow it to breathe and then left the room.

French poured a glass of the wine and took a big swallow. It felt unnatural to drink when it was barely past noon, but she did it anyway. She heard the bathroom door open and Aidan emerged with a thick white towel wrapped around his waist. Her eye was caught by a droplet of water that dripped from his hair and onto his neck. Two days ago, she would have felt comfortable -- even entitled -- to lick it away. Now all she could do was watch, mesmerized, as it slid between his pectorals.

"Irish courage, French?" he asked drolly when he saw her sitting with the glass of wine half-tilted to her lips.

Her mouth quirked in a wry smile and she raised her glass in a toast as she answered, "You bet. I need all the courage I can get."

He smiled and shook his head, somewhat sadly French thought, and turned into the bedroom to dress. He joined her in front of fire in a few short minutes, having pulled on a pair of jeans. He looks good enough to eat, French thought, devouring him with her eyes. Shirtless and barefoot, he was delectable. She cleared her throat and gestured him to the chair opposite her. She unveiled the tray of food and poured a glass of wine for him.

"To Paris," she offered a toast.

"To Paris."

Aidan tucked heartily into the lunch that French declined to partake of. There was a fresh baguette, soft cheese and a tureen of homemade tomato soup. For dessert, Madame had baked miniature tartes aux pommes. As he ate, they chatted about anything and everything inconsequential, as if they were strangers just making one another's acquaintance. It felt wrong, but again, neither of them could broach the subject that was foremost in their minds.

Aidan swallowed the last bite of apple tart and leaned back in his chair, replete.

"I love to watch you eat." The words were out of her mouth before she could register that she'd even thought them.

"You do? You never told me that before."

"You're so... passionate about food. You relish every single bite." Slightly uncomfortable talking about something so intimate, yet at the same time wanting to say it, wanting him to know, she rose from her chair and paced slowly to the window overlooking the street. She pulled the curtain aside, gazed out onto the street and said, "You eat the same way you make love -- thoroughly, savoring every mouthful, enjoying all the tastes and textures. It's incredibly sexy," she finished, her voice a husky murmur.

As she finished talking, Aidan's hands closed over her shoulders and squeezed. He had walked up behind her, silent on bare feet. He turned her around to face him and their eyes locked, each of them searching the other's eyes to see what thoughts or feelings might be revealed. In hers, he thought he saw a hint of uncertainty, sadness and... longing? In his she read determination and a flare of desire.

French's stomach dipped as his head lowered toward hers. She sucked in a quick breath just before their lips met, not having realized that she hadn't breathed properly since his hands had touched her shoulders. Her lids fluttered shut at the first brush of his lips. It was a feather light stroke; she would barely have felt it if she wasn't so eager to feel him, to drink him in.

Aidan's hands came up to gently cup her face, to steady her, when she swayed a little at the touch of his lips against hers. He raised his head and looked at her, trying to discern whether or not he'd misread the signals he thought he'd received from her.Is this what she wants? doubt flickered in his mind. She must have felt his gaze searching her face and dragged her eyelids open. In them he read the answer to his question.

He lowered his head and captured her lips in a deeper kiss, pushed into her mouth with his tongue. She opened willingly, eagerly, for him and kissed him back hungrily. He gentled the kiss. Slowing the pace, savoring the exploration of her mouth.There is no reason to rush, he thought,she's here now and I'll keep her here.

French wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed her hands into his hair. She pressed her body tight to his, wishing they were already naked and touching from their mouths down to their toes. She ate at his mouth voraciously, tasting apples, wine and him, feeling desperate to have all of him right then, feeling heat and desire sweep over her in a great wave.

Aidan tried to keep control of the situation. His hands, as they charted the course of her body, were gentle. He swept them up and down her back, cupped her ass gently, pressing her ever-so-lightly against the bulge growing behind the zipper of his jeans. Her hands had begun to wander hungrily over his naked torso, brushing over his nipples and down to the waistband of his pants. She unbuttoned the top button, but before she could move to the next one, he captured her hands and brought them back up to encircle his neck. She moaned in protest.

Determined to savor, Aidan gentled their kiss, slowed their pace, made every effort to rein in the intensity. He slid his hands under the hem of her sweater, touched the smooth, hot skin of her back. She shivered and rubbed against him like a cat. It was his turn to suck in his breath at the feel of her, so perfect in his hands, so perfect did they fit together. He maneuvered them toward the bed. When he felt the edge of it at the backs of his knees, he turned, reversing their positions and pushed her across the wide expanse of exquisitely soft bed linen.

He stood between her legs where they dangled off the end of the bed and removed her knee-high black leather boots. He dropped them to the floor and crawled up her body to claim her mouth again. She groaned in protest that he hadn't made any attempt to remove the rest of her clothing even as she welcomed his weight atop her. She spread her legs so that his cock pressed against her clit through their clothes. Her hands fluttered restlessly over his back, down to cup the firm cheeks of his ass, then up to ruffle his hair. She squirmed and whimpered, frustrated, demanding he give her what she wanted -- everything -- all at once.

Aidan broke their kiss.

"Slow down, baby," he said huskily.

"I can't," she whimpered, "God, Aidan, I can't -- I don't want to!"

She took his mouth in a hot, wet kiss, swept him back into the maelstrom of her desperation. He moved to the side a bit and slid a hand down her body to pull her slim red skirt, which had worked its way up her thighs, the rest of the way up. She spread her legs wider in silent entreaty.Touch me. He teased her, gently caressing the insides of her thighs through the opaque black tights she wore. She mewled in protest, pressing her hips upward.More. He continued to tease, kissing her more lightly than she would have liked, not touching her where she would have liked.

Finally --finally -- he traced the seam of the crotch of her tights from bottom to top with his index finger, ending with a light flick of her clit. Her body jerked and she moaned into his mouth. He repeated the caress once more, then again. The fourth time, he surprised her by tearing through the gauzy fabric, which gave way under his hands as though that was what it had been made to do.

He touched her pussy, found it dripping wet with arousal. Teasingly, he slid his finger back and forth through the copious moisture, up and down along her slit, wanting to prolong the pleasure of anticipation. He wanted to drive her mad, bring her to the brink of begging and beyond.

French couldn't think for the sensations that rioted through her body, the rampant need that coursed through her veins. She, who was normally prim and proper, staid and deliberate in her actions, was unable to slow down, was unable to control her body's response to Aidan. He had once told her that she should let pleasure unfold slowly, keep her senses awake to the delights that occurred along the way instead of rushing through to the climax. She tried to, knew he was right, but she wasn't always successful. Sex with him made her lose touch with the cerebral part of her brain. With him, her body wrested control from her and she was always quick to arousal and, if he didn't hold her back, even quicker to orgasm. He had loosed the wanton side of her and it refused to be caged again.

"Aidan, please..." She struggled onto her side to face him, then pushed him onto his back. She blazed a trail of kisses down his neck to his chest, where she sucked and licked his nipples in turn, grazing them lightly with her teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation and clenched his hands in her hair, causing the clasp of the clip that had held it in a tail at the base of her neck to spring open. Her hair spilled in a fragrant cloud over his chest and he moaned.

She worked her way down his body, kissing and nipping, allowing the ends of her hair to feather over his skin, to tantalize. She unbuttoned his jeans, fumbling in her haste. Her mouth watered at the sight of his gloriously hard cock. She licked her lips and darted a glance up at him. His eyes had gone nearly navy blue with passion and his breathing was none too regular.

She focused her attention on the prize she had liberated from its denim enclosure. His cock lay in a long, hard curve along his belly. She shoved his jeans further down and dipped her head for a taste of him, trailed her hot, wet tongue along the length of the underside of his cock. It jerked toward her and she smiled, satisfied, knowing he wanted just as badly as she did. Taking him in her hand, she closed her mouth over the swollen head, ran her tongue sinuously around the ridge separating glans from shaft.

Aidan's hands fisted in her hair again and she gave a hum of pleasure that vibrated through his cock on down to the seat of his soul. He was panting, breath sawing in and out of his lungs rapidly.She did it again, he thought incredulously,I can't hold back when she's like this.

He pulled her mouth off of his cock by gently tugging on her hair. He jackknifed to a sitting position and when he saw her questioning glance said,

"I give up -- you win. You're making me crazy. We'll do this your way."

He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, then knelt in front of her. He reached for her, yanked her form-fitting black turtleneck over her head and threw it to the floor. Her red bra hit the floor next. He palmed her breasts, leaned over sucked an engorged nipple into his mouth working his tongue over it at the same time.

She toppled back on the bed, dragging him with her. She reached between their bodies to stroke his cock as he suckled her other nipple. She arched under him,

"Now, Aidan, do me now!" she demanded.

He knelt upright again, spread her legs, then thought better of it. He tilted her hips to the side so her hips and legs were facing the wall, her torso still facing upward. He lifted her top leg and draped it over his arm, straddled the lower one. He rubbed the head of his cock once through her wetness, stroked her clit with it. French gripped his hips, pulling him closer, grinding down on him firmly, insistently.

"Fuck me! Do it now, Aidan, please," she whispered urgently.

He fitted the head of his cock to her entrance. She tensed in anticipation, held her breath. He sank into her and she exhaled a keening sigh of relief that turned into a moan of desperation when he reversed directions after pushing in only about an inch. He repeated his slow penetration of her. In an inch, then almost all the way out. In two inches, then back again. French gripped his hips tightly; trying to force him all the way inside her, but he controlled the depth of his thrusts by holding her top hip where it met the thigh.

Sprawled wantonly underneath him, her nipples hard points, her skirt rucked up around her waist, long legs still encased in the black tights, the hole he had ripped in them obscenely framing her pussy which was swollen, wet with arousal -- she was eroticism personified. He took in the image of her and felt his balls tighten, felt the rush of orgasm rising in him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes against the sinfully arousing picture she made, stilled inside her, fighting against the explosion of pleasure that almost took him before he was ready.

French thought she would die. Aidan was teasing her mercilessly, knew what she needed, but refused to give it to her. Her eyes were closed against the onslaught of pleasure, her senses solely focused on the feelings Aidan aroused in her. She savored the brush of air over her hardened, sensitive nipples. She was painfully aware of being only partially clothed, felt more exposed because of it. She hungered for him, wanted him to fuck her, to fill up the empty, grasping place inside her. The feel of him, the blunt, bulbous head of his cock partially penetrating her was exquisite. She loved the feeling of the first thrust of him inside her when they made love and this way, she got to experience that feeling over and over again.

Aidan surged into her all the way, taking her in one smooth thrust. She cried out, arched and twisted beneath him as her body reacted to the sudden fullness. He held still inside her, took the time to enjoy the wet heat, the grasping flutter of her pussy as she experienced the first orgasm of their encounter. He would give her more soul-shattering, earth-shaking orgasms before he finished with her.