Futile Resistance Ch. 04byquintessentialquill©
French had been very busy during the week following her weekend in the Berkshires with Aidan. It was the end of term at school and she was issuing final exams to her students. She had chosen a different piece for each instrument category in the orchestra for the playing portion of the students' test, which would determine their positions in the orchestra for the coming semester. Additionally, she would administer an aural skills test to gauge their sight-reading and sight-singing abilities, a written music theory test and finally a piano exam, where they would play the pieces they'd been working on over the course of the semester. Since most of these tests were conducted one on one, with students playing or singing for her individually, French's schedule was fully booked most days until late in the evenings.
Now it was Friday and she had three weeks off for Christmas Break. She had booked her quintet to play at several holiday parties. And her new chamber group had planned to meet twice weekly to rehearse. They would start hiring out and scheduling performances after the first of the year and so had begun rehearsing in earnest. Other than those commitments, she was free to do whatever she wanted.
She'd not seen Aidan very much since the Berkshires weekend. They'd met for dinner a couple of times, but hadn't had a chance to spend any significant amount of time together without the interruptions of their busy lives. She was looking forward to spending time with him without the pressure of schedules and deadlines.
She was still bothered about Aidan's reticence to make love with her that Saturday night at his family's cabin. French had fallen asleep troubled by the turn of events and had thought things would be awkward between them afterwards. Nevertheless, they had made love several times the next day, beginning with long, slow morning sex that had left her thoroughly sated, while at the same time, fueling her desire for more of Aidan. They had had a leisurely breakfast, cuddled together in front of the fire, which had inevitably led to more lovemaking. They left the cabin as late as reasonably possible and had capped off the weekend with a quick, fervent coupling once they'd arrived back at her apartment in Boston. Their lovemaking over the course of the day had gone some distance to allay her fears that he had nefarious ulterior motives. Sexual encounters notwithstanding, they had still not discussed Saturday night.
She wanted to talk to him about it, but didn't know how to broach the subject. They had carefully avoided the discussion, but French knew that they were both keenly aware that there were unanswered questions looming between them. Her busy schedule had provided the perfect excuse not to think or talk about it, but now that she had had time to catch her breath, she was unable to continue dodging the issue.
Aidan was due at her house for dinner that evening. Maybe she'd talk to him then, she thought as she put the finishing touches on their meal. The front door buzzer sounded and she looked at her watch. She wasn't expecting him to arrive for at least another hour. She went to the door and pressed the intercom button.
"It's me," Aidan said, "I know I'm early, but I couldn't wait."
"I see... Come on up," French said with a smile in her voice.
She did a quick check of her appearance while waiting for him. She was dressed casually for the evening in jeans and a form-fitting, fuzzy, touchable sweater. She had showered after school and had let her hair air-dry. As a result, the heavy mass of curls had an untamed look that she only allowed when she wasn't going out. She wore no make-up as usual, just a little tinted lip-gloss. Her skin was aglow with good health and, overall, she thought she looked pretty good. She had already set out candles in the living and dining rooms and a fledgling fire blazed in the fireplace. She had just gotten it lit, thinking that if she screwed it up the first time, as she sometimes did, she'd have time to get it going again before he arrived. Luckily she'd gotten it right, she thought as she scurried around lighting the candles. Finished at last, she gave the dimly lit rooms a once over and decided that they looked romantically inviting and homey.
Aidan tapped lightly on the door, then walked in carrying a bouquet of flowers.
"Hi," French said. As usual, her stomach dipped when she saw him. It seemed to her that each time she saw him was like the first time. Her whole demeanor softened, her eyes and voice warmed. "You brought flowers. They're beautiful, Aidan. Thank you. I should get them right into a vase," she said, going over to him to take the flowers that reminded her of the fields and valleys of the French countryside.
As she reached for them, she raised her lips to his for a quick kiss. Aidan set the flowers on the table in the entryway and wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a hug and then a more leisurely kiss. French sank into him in spite of the chill that clung to his coat. She opened her mouth under his, allowed his tongue to enter her mouth and curl against hers. Her aquiescence, the feel and taste of her fired his blood and the tenor of his kiss changed. He kissed her hungrily, devouring her as if he were starving and she the only thing that could satisfy his appetite.
French's mind went blank with need and she met the onslaught of his kisses willingly, eagerly, greedily taking him and giving herself. She put her arms around him, slid her hands up his back, to his neck and into his hair where she raked her fingernails gently against his scalp. Aidan lifted his lips from hers and gazed into her eyes, as though trying to read her thoughts. Satisfied with the burgeoning desire he saw there, he kissed her again, deeply. He slid his hands down to cup her ass, brought her body tighter to his. His cock was already hard, aching to be inside of her.
She moaned at the feel of him pressed at the apex of her thighs. She wanted him badly, too, wanted him to take her quickly, roughly on the hardwood floor in the entryway or on the hall table or up against the wall. Anywhere would be fine, as long as she could have him. She shoved his black wool pea-coat off his shoulders and onto the floor, then began working at the buttons on the front of his shirt. She pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms. They stopped their desperate kissing for a moment when Aidan's hands, tangled in his shirtsleeves, got pinned behind his back. Almost violently, he tore his arms free and French heard buttons from the sleeves of his shirt hit the floor with a clatter.
He came at her again, half-naked, intense and determined. She met him kiss for frantic kiss, sure that she'd die if he didn't fuck her soon. Her hands roved hungrily over his torso, tracing the sleekly defined muscles of his back and chest, feeling his nipples harden when her fingers brushed back and forth over them. Their kiss grew savage, their lips and tongues sucking, licking and biting. Aidan kissed a trail down her neck, pulling the neck of her sweater out of the way as he laved and sucked at the pulse point at the base of her jaw. Frustrated, he yanked the sweater over her head and paused briefly to absorb the sight of her in the sexy, sheer navy-blue, demi-cup bra she wore before quickly dispensing with it. He palmed her breasts roughly, watching as her supple flesh overflowed his hands. Her nipples, hard as diamonds, poked between his fingers. He bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucked it hard, grazed it with his teeth. Clutching his head tightly to her, French hissed, and her head fell back as pain and pleasure shot through her.
He halted and looked up at her face abruptly, then shook his head and seemed suddenly to come to his senses. His passion-glazed eyes cleared as his vision came back into focus.
"My God. What is wrong with me?" he asked, sounding dazed.
"What?" French asked breathlessly, straining upward, raining kisses along his neck and jaw, completely befuddled by the abrupt halt to their passion.
"I'm barely in the door and I'm mauling you. Look," he said, turning her to the mirror that was centered over the hall table near where they stood, "your lips are all swollen, I bruised your neck and there's a welt on your breast." As he ran down the list, he brushed his fingers lightly over the affected areas.
French took in her image. He was right. She did indeed look as though she'd been ravaged. Gone was the elegantly casual image she'd presented just a few moments before. She looked wanton, like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked, or was just about to be. Her lips were throbbing, her eyelids heavy. Her body felt overheated by blood that coursed just under the skin, tightening it so that his every caress was magnified. She felt wonderfully and unashamedly aroused.
Her eyes met Aidan's in the mirror and what he saw in them made him say,
"Baby, please... don't look at me like that. I'm hanging on by a thread, here."
French turned to face him, took his head in her hands and gave him a kiss that had him moaning in anguished arousal. Their tongues dueled for supremacy in one another's mouths, each of them desperately trying to consume the other. Panting now, French broke the kiss and moved down his chest, licking, sucking and teasing his nipples until they were as hard as hers. She dropped to her knees in front of him, took off his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.
"God, no, Legs," Aidan said in a rasp, "I don't think I can handle that..."
French looked up at him challengingly and reached into the vee of his open pants and freed his cock from his boxer-briefs. It was hard and hot in her hands, the head completely engorged and decorated with a clear drop of fluid. As she looked up at him from beneath hooded eyes, she licked the droplet from the tip. Her mouth watered and she licked and sucked his shaft, wetting him thoroughly. She hummed with delight when he swore and anchored himself by plunging his hands into her hair and holding on. She had a feeling that he was on the edge of losing control and she liked it. He'd had her on edge enough times and now, it was his turn to be on the receiving end.
She sucked him deep, deeper than she ever had before. His cock nudged the back of her throat and she loved feeling it there. In and out, she sucked him, pausing here and there to lick and suck the head, only to take him all the way in again. When she sensed he was about to explode, she fisted her hand around the base of his cock and concentrated her efforts on the glans. Slowly, firmly, wetly, she jacked her hand up and down, rotated it, coordinating the movements of her mouth and hand.
Aidan's hands clenched tighter in her hair and his breath became faster, rasping in and out of his lungs as though he'd just finished a long-distance sprint. The sight of her kneeling at his feet, her full lips wrapped around his hard cock, the velvety stroke of her tongue and the hot, wet suction of her mouth were stripping him of his control. French looked up, saw his face tighten with ecstasy, watched him war with his desires. His eyes were closed, but she thought she could almost hear his thoughts: should he just let go and come in her mouth? Or should he drag her to the floor and fuck her properly? French didn't intend to let him make the decision. She wanted to taste him, wanted to feel the pulsing explosion of his come in her mouth, wanted to bring him to his knees.
Aidan's eyes slitted open and through the veil of his thick lashes, French saw that they had darkened to deepest blue, glittered with desire in the dim light of the hallway. He tugged lightly on her hair, silently telling her that he wanted her to stand up. French resisted, redoubling her efforts to serve him by increasing the pace and intensity of her motions. She heard his breath catch, felt his body tense as he tried to hold back.
Releasing her grip on the base of his cock, she repositioned one hand to cup his ass and the other between his legs so she could stroke his balls as she knelt before him. He spread his legs wider apart to accommodate her and to steady himself. She plunged her mouth down on him, taking him in to the hilt. Over and over, she took him, stroked him with her mouth and throat. Impossibly, it seemed, he grew even harder, longer and thicker than he had been. She felt the veins that ridged his cock in stark relief against her tongue and moaned around him.
He felt the vibrations caused by her vocalizations and knew that all was lost. He gave into his desire to thrust back at her, to fuck her mouth, as she took him in. He tightened his grip on her wild, curly hair, thrust deeply in her mouth. Once, twice... And on the third thrust, he was gone. He exploded in her mouth with a harsh gasp, a sharp intake of breath. French kept her mouth on him, swallowing as she milked the base of his cock to make sure that she got every bit of come he had to offer.
Aidan held her head in place for a moment before gently withdrawing from her mouth. He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her. Her lips were supple, her mouth wet, hot and so sexy. He could taste himself on her tongue. He reached for her breasts and caressed her taut nipples. He smoothed his hands up the sleek line of her back, stroked her hair and held her close for a long moment.
Having caught his breath, he drew back a little. With a devilish glint in his eye, he looked at her and asked, deadpan,
"What's for dinner?"
French collapsed into his arms, giggling.
They lingered over dinner, savoring each of the three courses French had prepared. She had decided on a Spanish theme and to that effect served a spinach salad, with bacon crumbles, marinated artichoke hearts and boiled egg tossed with Sevillana dressing for the first course. Seafood paella was the second course, accompanied by a lovely Rioja suggested by the clerk at the wine shop down the street. For dessert, she had made a cream cheese flan, to which she added her own flair by augmenting it with a tart raspberry coulis.
As she served dessert, Aidan pulled French onto his lap, kissed her lightly and nuzzled her neck. When she struggled to get up and return to the kitchen to get the espresso she'd brewed, he held her in place. She finally subsided and looked at him expectantly.
"Thanks for cooking dinner, it was fantastic. You're spoiling me. I'll never want to eat at a restaurant again, if you keep feeding me like this."
"Oh, no you don't! I like to cook, but you won't keep me chained to the stove! I need a night out just as much as the next girl," she protested teasingly.
"I can think of far better things to chain you to," he said, wiggling his eyebrows lecherously. "Although, the idea of making you cook things while you're wearing a tiny, ruffled apron, a pair of those sexy heels you wear and nothing else is pretty intriguing..."
"I'll just bet it is," she said mock-seductively, "Maybe you'd like to watch me wield a feather-duster while I'm wearing nothing but the ruffled apron, too?"
"Now you're speakin' my language, baby! I've always been a sucker for a 'French' maid..."
"Pig!" French said, groaning at the pun and slapping him playfully on the arm. "Now, eat your flan while I get the coffee."
He let her get off his lap this time and found himself sitting there with a goofy smile on his face. They had been having a great time together the past few weeks. There had been a few tense moments here and there, but overall they did well together. He had thought that she would do a runner after that weekend in the Berkshires. He'd wanted her so badly that night, but had also wanted to show her that there was more between them than just sex. The drive to the cabin and dinner had gone exactly according to plan. They'd talked and laughed and felt really comfortable with one another. But he'd made a mistake in thinking that he'd be able to keep his hands off of her when they'd gone into the hot tub naked. He'd tried to change course in midstream by calling a halt to their lovemaking. That, he acknowledged in hindsight, had been a big mistake. He knew that she'd been confused, possibly even hurt, by his actions, or rather, the lack thereof. He could kick himself for giving her a reason to believe that her commitment and trust issues were well founded as they related to him. She was so skittish that he felt off-balance and was constantly second-guessing himself and re-evaluating the best approach to making her realize that a love relationship could be easy if she'd let it.
French came in from the kitchen balancing the little cups and saucers of espresso.
"OK, dig in."
They ate dessert, chatting idly throughout, sometimes teasing and feeding one another even though they were eating identical desserts. As they finished, the phone rang. French grabbed the cordless extension from the kitchen.
"Hello?" The expression on her face darkened and then she said, "Oh, Maman, comment ca va?"
Aidan collected the dessert plates, cups and saucers from the table and took them to the kitchen. As he loaded the dishwasher, French paced back and forth from the living room to the dining room, listening to the steady stream of talk coming through the phone. Her exasperation with what her mother was saying was evident, because as she paced, she sighed, shook her head, rolled her eyes and made gesticulations with her hands. As many times as she tried to interrupt, she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Finally, her mother wound down and French said,
"D'accord, Maman," she paused and listened.
"Oui... Oui, Maman..." another pause.
"Oui, d'accord. A bientôt," she pushed the 'off' button on the phone with a savage jab of her thumb and screamed through gritted teeth.
"Trouble?" Aidan asked from the doorway of the kitchen. He was drying the dishes he had hand washed while she was on the phone.
"Nope, no trouble at all, unless you consider the fact that my mother is trying to ruin my life trouble!"
"What's going on?"
"Arrrgggh!" came another little scream through her gritted teeth. "She's divorcing her husband. And guess who she's coming to visit for an indefinite time while she does it?"
"Got it in one. I don't know what makes her think I want her here. We won't get along. We never have and I'll just go crazy because she's so... so... so impossible! I thought I'd be free of her once she got married and lived back on the island..."
"Come on, she can't be that bad," Aidan said placatingly. "I mean, she raised you and you turned out great."
"You have no idea exactly how bad she can be..." French said bleakly as she slumped down on the sofa.
"What's so wrong with her?"
"Do you have a few free years? Because it'll take at least that long to tell that story!"
Aidan had never seen her so upset. It must be something important, he decided, so he said, "I have time. Let me pour us a brandy and you can tell me."
He didn't know that much about her mother, only what he'd picked up from context clues and from the way French didn't talk about her. He'd met French's cousin when she'd visited from Paris, but never met any other members of her family. He'd had dinner with the two cousins one evening on her last visit. He'd left the room briefly and had overheard them saying something very uncomplimentary about French's mother as they spoke in a mixture of French and Creole. French must have forgotten that he spoke a little of her language, certainly enough to understand what they'd been talking about so heatedly. When he came back into the room, they began speaking in English and had resumed the conversation they'd been having before he left. He'd wanted to know more, but had missed the opportunity to ask her about it. He wouldn't let the opportunity slip through his fingers this time.