Midas Touch

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I know I said that my next planned story would be a Reconciliation one, but the idea for Midas Touch grabbed me and wouldn't let go, so I went where the inspiration was.

Greatest Gift Of All (the reconciliation story) is coming along and barring some disaster should be out prior to Christmas!

Like my previous story, The Garden of Grace, Midas Touch is not a depiction intended to read like a family court report. It's fiction. It's meant to distract you from your real life for an hour or so. That is all. So, again I suggest the reader practice a little suspension of disbelief and enjoy the ride. If you're looking for something that mirrors real life, I'm sorry, but you won't find it here. Real life I live every day. I read about every day. It's in the news every day. So, give me fiction! A little escapism!

As per my previous stories, I've done my own editing which probably means there's little mistakes I've missed because I'm too familiar with my own words. My best friend, lover, and partner, Vandemonium1, has proofread so if any mistakes remain, it's his fault... hahaha, just kidding, my love, I take full responsibility. We both know I'm an Olympic Gold Medalist contender when it comes to tweaking!

Thanks, and happy reading.

******

THE EARLY MORNING LIGHT streamed through the narrow gaps in the wooden venetians. Olivia Hammond rolled to her side and took a moment to admire the way the sunlight threw bands of light across the naked torso of her husband. At thirty-three he was still in peak condition and certainly didn't perpetuate the stereotype of the scrawny computer nerd. Her gaze travelled up his body and she smiled—Steven had thrown his arm over his eyes, blocking the light. Olivia was convinced Steven was like a puppy and could sleep anywhere, in any position.

She glanced beyond him, to the bedside clock. She had twenty minutes before her alarm was set to go off. A sly smile spread slowly across her face; plenty of time for a quickie. Stealthily, she slid a hand beneath the covers, her aim unerring, and clasped her husband's flaccid cock. She smiled when it began to immediately firm up; Steven could always be relied upon to perform and perform well.

She stroked slowly and gently, rolling his foreskin back and forth over the head. Steven's hips, independent of his mind, began a rocking motion, pushing his cock in and out through the glove of her hand. Olivia's smile broadened, she enjoyed her power over her husband's body. She and Steven's cock had an agreement—when she called, he responded. Without fail.

Steven groaned, his eyes still covered by his arm. "You're a witch, wife-of-mine, an evil witch."

"Yes," Olivia agreed, manoeuvring herself to straddle her husband.

Grasping his cock, she aimed it at her already wet snatch, running the head teasingly up and down. On each pass she let the tip of Steven's cock just enter her before tilting her hip away and sliding his dick up to circle her swollen clit, torturing them both.

"And a greedy one," she murmured, her voice husky.

"I'll give you greedy," Steven muttered.

In a moment he had her on her back, her wrists clasped in his hands above her head, and his dick pistoning in and out of her hungry sex. Olivia moaned appreciatively; she loved it when Steven took control and just fucked her. She raised and splayed her thighs as far as they would go, wanting to achieve as deep a penetration as possible.

In one smooth motion, Steven was back on his haunches, still thrusting, and Olivia's legs were on his shoulders. With deliberate casualness he coated the fingers of one hand in saliva. Olivia whimpered in anticipation; she always came hard and fast when he stroked her clit while fucking her deep and strong.

"That's it, come all over my cock," Steven growled, his thrusts becoming erratic.

And Olivia did. In spades.

******

"I'M GOING TO MISS you, babe," Olivia said with her back to her husband. The hot spray of the shower felt good on her breasts and belly.

"You could always cancel," he replied, continuing to wash her back with the huge loofah.

Olivia sighed. "You know I'd prefer to be here with you and the girls, but I'm so close to nailing this deal, I can taste it. If I pull it off it will mean another 250K bonus. That will be the second one this year. Think what fun we could have with that."

It was Steven's turn to sigh. Long experience told him it would be fruitless to argue with her or ask what they needed more money for. Once upon a time he'd been the biggest earner in their family, but that time had long since passed. Olivia now easily outstripped him. She was ambitious; an over-achiever. It wasn't about the money for her. It wasn't even about the negotiating. It was about sizing up her prey, detecting their weaknesses, and then strategizing to exploit them. She was a hunter. It was about winning, about the deal. Always the deal. Even as one was on the brink of being achieved, she would already be planning her next one.

"I know. I also know you'll pull it off; you have the Midas Touch. Everything you touch turns to gold."

Olivia laughed. "The Midas Touch. I like that. Pretty good asset for a merchant banker to have, wouldn't you say?"

Steven answered by kissing the nape of his wife's neck.

"Here. My turn," he said, pushing the sudsy loofah into Olivia's hand. He manoeuvred them until he faced the spray of the showerhead. He placed his hands on the cool tiles and closing his eyes, angled his face into the flow.

******

AT THE CLICK-CLACK sound of Olivia's heels Steven poured a coffee; black with one. He pushed the cup to the empty space along the kitchen counter and winked at his six-year old daughters. They giggled.

"What are you two munchkins laughing about?" Olivia asked, dropping a kiss on each of their heads before perching on the bar stool beside Hailey.

"You, Mummy," said Hannah, giggling.

"Yeah," piped in Hailey. "Daddy says you can't do anything until you've had a coffee."

Olivia paused, the edge of her cup resting on her bottom lip for a moment before she pulled it away without having taken a sip, turning the cup this way and that, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. Hailey and Hannah giggled into their cereal.

"I do declare your Daddy may well be right," Olivia stated, smothering a smile. "Guess, I'd better have a cup then or who is going to braid your hair? Daddy?"

"No!" squealed the girls together. "Daddy is terrible at braids."

"And last time, he forgot our ribbons," added Hailey.

"Oh, the shame, the never-ending shame of the forgotten ribbons," wailed Steven, dramatically dropping his face into his hands.

All his girls laughed at his antics.

Steven got serious and hustled his women along. Not for the first time, mentally likening it to trying to herd chickens.

Once the girls commenced school, which heralded Olivia's return to the workforce, Steven normally got the girls up, dressed, and fed. Olivia saw to the finishing touches such as their hair and ribbons. Barring an early morning meeting or work emergency, Steven drove the girls to school, Olivia's office being in the opposite direction. Today, being school holidays and therefore unnecessary for him to chauffeur his daughters, Steven had arranged to drive Olivia to the airport to catch a flight to Melbourne. She and a bunch of other banking big-wigs were negotiating a deal with a big multi-national that was potentially worth millions.

The girls would be spending the day at the zoo with Mrs. Foster. Mrs. Foster was a godsend who'd been with them since the girls' birth. Steven had initially been resistant to the idea of employing someone to assist Olivia in caring for their daughters and the house, having himself been raised in a blue-collar home with a stay-at-home mother, but Olivia had been insistent. If she had to take a break from her career in order to care for the girls, she wanted to improve her education at the same time. With Mrs. Foster living in a granny flat on the property and shouldering the brunt of the cooking and cleaning, Olivia was able to study online, adding a degree in economics to her one in accounting as well as completing her MBA.

Steven readily conceded his reservations had been unwarranted. Olivia was a good, if not fully hands-on, mother and Mrs. Foster proved time and again what an asset she was. She cleaned, cared for the girls if they were ill, provided after school and holiday care, babysat when necessary, and cooked a tasty and nutritious meal for the entire family on week nights. Hailey and Hannah adored her, viewing her as a pseudo grandmother.

While Olivia fixed the girls' hair Steven quickly saw to their breakfast dishes as he felt it was wrong to leave such things for Mrs. Foster to clean up. Steven heard the back door open and smiled; Mrs. Foster's timing was perfect as always. After kisses and the usual admonishments to his daughters to be good, have fun, and do as Mrs. Foster instructed, Steven grabbed Olivia's overnight bag and headed for the garage. He thought the bag heavy but didn't comment; Olivia being Olivia he knew she'd have packed for every possible contingency.

The lighting in the garage was dim but Steven didn't bother turning on any lights. They wouldn't be lingering long. He shoved the case in the trunk of their 4WD before moving to the side to open the passenger door for Olivia. She slid in, placing her briefcase and handbag on the floor beside her legs.

As the garage door made its slow ascent, Olivia's chatter began.

"I wonder if that coffee shop, you know the one with bicycles hanging on the wall, is still there on Berkeley Street?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's been seven odd years since we left. A lot can happen in that time," Steven answered sombrely. He didn't like to be reminded of their time in Melbourne.

Olivia continued, oblivious to Steven's changed mood. "I do so hope it's still going. They made the absolute best coffee. And their muffins were to die for." Olivia laughed. "I might even let myself have one."

Olivia was fanatical about monitoring her carbohydrate intake since the birth of the girls. Her vigilance meant the entire family was, by association, vigilant. Poor Mrs. Foster had had to learn new recipes and adapt old ones to prepare the low-carb dinners Olivia required.

Steven made a token effort at smiling; it didn't reach his eyes.

"Shall I try to smuggle one back for you, my love? As I recall you were rather partial to the raspberry, cream cheese, and white chocolate one."

"Yes, I was," Steven agreed dryly, navigating their local streets on auto-pilot. "But I think you cured me of that particular weakness."

Olivia's happy glow dimmed. She frowned. It lasted for the briefest of moments. She brightened. "Well, maybe I'll have to find you a new sin to enjoy. It will be a surprise."

"I'm sure it will."

Steven lifted his foot from the accelerator, allowing the car to slow at its own rate as they approached the intersection that would take them out of their quiet suburban area. Left would take them into the city, right to the airport. With thirty yards to go Steven tapped the indicator stick downward.

"Change of plans, old boy. Turn left."

Steven and Olivia reacted to the gravelly voice coming from behind them on instinct. Olivia screamed, swivelling in her seat toward the voice. Steven grabbed the wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes. They squealed in protest, the car fishtailing before coming to a jarring holt that threw all the occupants forward and then back into their seats.

"Who are you?" screamed Olivia, staring at the gun being pointed at them.

"What do you want?" yelled Steven at the same time.

"One question at a time, folks," chuckled their assailant, clearly enjoying their fear and confusion. "Who I am is your worst nightmare. What I want, well, now that's a bit more complicated. What you should be asking is why. Why should you do what I want?"

"Why?" Steven grated out, gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

"Two reasons, really. I have a gun and what's the other reason? Oh, yeah. I have your daughters."

Pandemonium reigned as Oliva screeched and Steven yelled and tried to unbuckle himself while reaching for the intruder. Their captor merely sat back, smiling.

"Done now, are we, kiddies?" he asked drily once Olivia and Steven finally fell into an uneasy silence.

"How do we know you have our daughters?" asked Steven.

"They've gone to the zoo with Mrs. Foster," added Olivia, her tone defiant.

"Have they? Are you sure of that now, missus?"

The man rubbed his chin and cheeks, his fingers running over his three-day growth making a soft rasping sound. The noise drew Olivia's attention to his face. She sucked in a breath; other than a pair of sunglasses, he wasn't trying to conceal his identity. Her stomach lurched; would she, Steven, and their daughters survive the day?

Two cars drew up behind them and beeped their horns.

"Best get moving. Turn left."

"Why? Where are you taking us?"

"When I want you to know, I'll damn-well tell you," the man growled, shoving the gun into Steven's side. "Now turn fucking left."

Steven did as instructed.

"Now give me your phones. Nice and slow. No funny business."

He pocketed them in his vest. The vest bulged. Olivia swallowed with difficulty, her imagination working overtime wondering what other things he kept in its various pockets.

"And the other one," he said to Olivia, snapping his fingers at her.

She tried to look innocent and confused. It didn't work.

"Enough with the bullshit, missus. Give me your other phone. The one in your briefcase."

Olivia lifted her briefcase onto her lap, opened it and retrieved the phone. She held it over her shoulder to the man. During the whole incident she avoided meeting Steven's gaze. She could feel him repeatedly looking from the road to her and back. It felt like his eyes were burning holes in her skin.

"You have a second phone?" Steven's voice was tight with anger.

"Now is not the time to talk about it, Steven."

The man in back chuckled. "Yes, Steven. Now is not the time to have a domestic or question your wife as to why she has a second phone she hasn't told you about."

Steven looked at the man in the rear vision mirror, glaring.

"Now is the time to do as you're told. Wouldn't want something terrible to happen to those lovely girls of yours."

"You can't have them. They've gone out for the day. They left the same time we did." There was a note of challenge in Olivia's voice. "I don't believe you. You're lying."

"Lying, am I?" the man snarled. He lifted his phone to eye level, his gaze darting between the screen and Olivia's face. He pressed a few buttons before handing the phone to Olivia.

A quick glance at the screen as Olivia accepted the phone confirmed her worst fears—the man had their home number. How could that be? It was unlisted. Olivia gasped, finding it hard to breathe. She fought down panic as she heard Mrs. Foster's voice. She didn't sound like herself at all. The woman was normally calm and confident. Not now. Now she sounded shaky and hesitant; like she was a hair's breadth away from crying. Olivia felt as if someone had placed a clamp around her chest.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Foster? It's Olivia—"

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry. They have us. Oh, god, they have the girls. I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop them"

Olivia dropped the phone into her lap as if it had burned her and wailed her terror. The sound was piercing; like an animal in agony. Both men cringed.

"They do, Steven. They have the girls," Olivia sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

Steven banged the steering wheel. "What do you want from us? Why are you doing this? We're not wildly rich or famous? Why?"

"Rich enough, Techy. Now hand back the phone, missus."

"What do you mean? What do you want? Just tell us," begged Olivia, passing the man the phone. "We'll do anything. Just don't hurt our girls."

"That's what I want to hear. Now, Stevie-boy, take us to the National Australia Bank on Liverpool Street."

Olivia and Steven exchanged a glance. That was their bank.

"So, kiddies, how much dinero are we talking? How many pennies have you two managed to salt away?"

Steven opened his mouth to speak, but Olivia beat him to it.

"About 250K give or take a bit."

Steven closed his eyes for a fraction longer than a blink. He held his breath.

"Tut, tut, tut, missus. Have you already forgotten your little declaration of only a few minutes ago? You know; the one about you being prepared to do anything to save your daughters? You must have because you've just lied to me."

Steven watched in the rear-view mirror as their kidnapper shook his head ruefully.

"Let me see. What was that number again? Oh, yeah, that's right. Three hundred and twenty-two thousand and fifty-four dollars and seventy-five cents. Does that sound familiar?"

Olivia and Steven exchanged another glance; the amount was exact to the last cent. Olivia answered for them. "Yes, that's correct."

"No more lies, Livvy-girl, or I might get the idea you don't care what happens to your rug rats."

"Please," begged Olivia, drying her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. "Please don't hurt the girls."

"You keep doing what I tell you and quit with the bullshit and your girls will be just fine."

Olivia nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes and trekking down her cheeks.

The man frowned at her. "Clean yourself up. You need to make a withdrawal, so we don't want you giving the game away by being all weepy, do we?

Olivia shook her head as she fumbled in her handbag for tissues and make-up.

Steven remained silent, risking a glance or two in the rear vision mirror at their captor. Twice his captor was staring at him and Steven's gaze skittered away as if struck. In his peripheral vision he could see Olivia using a small sponge to dab foundation beneath her eyes.

The journey proceeded rather silently. The only sounds being their out of sync breaths and those of the surrounding traffic. The tension within the vehicle was palpable. Only one occupant seemed unaffected.

Steven turned onto Liverpool Street, slowing as he searched for a parking space. Stressed, he fumbled a reverse park. The man laughed at him. Steven's expression became even more grim.

For the briefest of moments all were silent as they contemplated the bank on the opposite side of the road, about thirty yards ahead of them. The sound of the man opening his door prompted Steven and Olivia to do the same. They stood on the sidewalk waiting for instruction.

"Okay, missus, time to make a withdrawal. I don't need to remind you to not alert anyone, do I? No secret messages or odd behaviour to alert staff. We wouldn't want anything to happen to your two precious bundles, would we? One sign that all isn't going according to my plan and you'll never see your girls again. Got it?"

Olivia nodded, accepting the briefcase the man held toward her. Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them away. "Got it." Her voice sounded croaky. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Understood."

"Wait, I've just remembered," said Steven when Olivia took a step toward the kerb. "For withdrawals over 50K, two signatures are required."

The man contemplated Steven, staring at him as if he were a bug under a microscope, clearly trying to gauge Steven's honesty.

"The same warning goes for you too, Daddy. If I even suspect you're doing a Bruce Willis, Die Hard move on me, I'll pull the pin on your girls."

Steven nodded sourly.

"Lighten up, man, 320K, give or take a few, is a small price to pay for your little angels." The man laughed. "Right?"