Futile Resistance Ch. 11byquintessentialquill©
French's mood was the best it had been in days; she felt as light as air and imbued with a wonderful positive energy. This time she would make sure she stayed happy. She sat in the backseat of the black Mercedes-Benz® taxi and drummed her fingertips on her thigh. Parisian cab drivers were known for their speedy driving, but she was impatient and willed the driver to go even faster than he already was. She wanted to hurry back to Aidan. He was exhausted from his trip and had been deeply asleep when she left. She hadn't bothered to wake him, thinking she would probably be back before he even knew she had left. Now that they had reached an understanding of sorts, she didn't want to be apart from him anymore. She would retrieve her belongings from her cousin's house and spend the rest of her time in Paris with Aidan.
She cautioned herself not to move too fast, not to be too optimistic. She couldn't help it, though. Aidan had proven that he wanted her, without a doubt. And not just sexually. She had looked into his eyes, had fallen into those deep, dark blue eyes, and seen everything she needed to know there. She was sure he loved her. Or almost sure, the monster doubt reared its head. Stop it. You know it. You know him. He wouldn't have come all this way if he didn't love me, she told herself. Right?
Ignoring the doubt that had constantly undermined her, she told herself that this time would be different. They hadn't talked yet, but she would make sure that they did as soon as she saw him again in less than an hour. She hadn't told him that she loved him, hadn't pitched her plan on how they would be able to continue their relationship. But, she was sure he'd agree to it. Especially, after the afternoon they had spent in bed.
She blushed at the thought, crossed her legs over the twist of arousal that shot low across her abdomen. It never ceased to amaze her that he could pull such a wicked sexual response from her. She had never been so uninhibited with other men. Not that there had been many. Her friend Fifi, a world-class connoisseur of men, thought she was too uptight to enjoy sex, while French had often wondered what all the fuss was about. Now she knew. Maybe it was all about finding the right person.
With the few other lovers she'd had, she felt detached during sex. She couldn't stop thinking about other things, mundane things, when she was intimate with other men. It was decidedly un-sexy to compose a grocery list or run through her schedule for the next day in the middle of sex. And when she wasn't thinking about random stuff, she was feeling self-conscious because she wasn't 'into' the whole experience. She'd felt even more self-conscious when she tried to fake an interest in what was going on. To her ears, she'd sounded like an absolute idiot, her responses patently false. But the men hadn't seemed to mind. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure they'd even noticed.
With Aidan, it was different. He could look at her in a certain way, he didn't even have to touch her, and she'd go up in flames. She wondered if it would always be that way between them. She hoped so; she was getting used to being with him, doing things that would have shocked her to death if she had thought of them before. She liked doing those wicked things, liked being free enough with him to tell him what she wanted, what she needed, from him. As it turned out, she trusted him enough – loved him enough – to be herself with him without fear of rejection or reprisal. If only she could learn to transfer that sense of freedom from the bedroom to all aspects of their relationship.
She leaned her head back against the seat with a little smile on her face. Yes, this time will be different – I'll be different. I'll make sure of it, she promised herself. She would do her damnedest not to let her fears and trust issues rule her anymore. She pledged to herself that she would try very hard not to respond in her habitual fashion to situations that made her uncomfortable or frightened. It was imperative that she vanquish those habits in order to move forward in her life; she realized, now, how much she had held herself back by indulging her rampant distrust of people. She knew, deep down in her heart, that she could trust Aidan. The first trial of her newfound determination to break free of old habits would be to lay her heart bare to him. She wanted him to know how she felt about him, wanted to tell him as soon as she could. In that direction lay true freedom.
The cab pulled up in front of Marie-Josée's apartment and she jumped out and ran inside. She bounded into the apartment only to find it empty. Her cousin and Nicolàs were still out. That suited her plans just fine. The less explaining she had to do, the less time she'd be away from Aidan. She was very eager to get back to him and didn't want to waste time chatting with her cousin and Nic. She flew down the hall to her room and stripped off her clothes. Pinning her hair up so it wouldn't get wet, she took a quick shower. She performed her usual post-shower ritual cursorily and darted back down the hall to her room. She rang for another cab, then dressed in jeans, a lush, sage-green sweater and her running shoes. She repacked her airplane carry-on bag and was ready to go.
She was back on the street and into the taxi in record time. She bade the driver take her back to Aidan's place and once they were on their way, called her cousin to let her know about her change of plans.
"Hey, it's me."
"How did it go?" Marie-Josée asked eagerly.
"Fine. More than fine, I think," French replied, a smile in her voice. "I was just calling to tell you that I'll be spending the next few days with Aidan at his hotel."
"Ohhh, really?" came her cousin's exaggerated reply. "I guess things must have gone pretty damned well for you two!"
"Well, we still have some talking to do," French blushed, "we got a little – um – sidetracked earlier."
Marie-Josée guffawed and said, "Oh, I'll just bet you got sidetracked, little cousin! I knew he didn't come chasing after you for just a talk!"
"Anyway, as I was saying... I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I think we're going to be OK."
"I knew it! Aidan's no fool; he knows a good thing when he's got it."
"What about me? I know when I've got it good, too! Hey, for that matter, I know when you've got it good," she added pointedly, referring to the clandestine affair Marie-Josée had been having with their close childhood friend.
"Touché, little cousin, touché. Will we see you before you leave town?"
"Yes, definitely. I'll call you tomorrow so we can schedule dinner. There's New Year's Eve, too. We should do something fun."
"You sound so happy, French. I'm glad. And yes, we should do something fun to ring in the New Year," Marie-Josée concurred. "Let's talk tomorrow."
"OK, 'bye," French flipped her phone closed, ending the connection. She had sounded happy on the phone, much more ebullient than she had sounded in years. She grinned foolishly to herself, thinking, I'm downright lighthearted!
Aidan paced back and forth in his hotel room. He was furious with French. They had made love, he had fallen asleep and she had left! She didn't even leave a note to let him know where she had gone or when – if – she would be back. Now here he was, feeling like a fool for having chased her to Paris to claim her forever after as his own, and she had simply left.
He was frustrated beyond belief and wasn't sure that he had any fight left in him where French was concerned. He had reached his limit. He had launched a prolonged campaign to win French over and he now faced the possibility that perhaps she just wasn't going to come around. He had coddled her, confronted her and consoled her – all with a view to helping her grow to trust him and to see that not everyone in the world was out to get her.
Had she gone back to Nicolàs? he wondered bitterly. He was tormented by the very thought of the two of them together. He hadn't had a chance to find out who Nicolàs was and he was boiling with curiosity about the man and jealous into the bargain. Who was he to French? Why would she let him handle her with such familiarity? He didn't want to believe it of her, but it looked as though she was in some sort of... relationship with the guy.
He was being eaten up inside with the desire to find her and bring her back again. But he refused to do it. He was tired of chasing her, tired of trying to make her change her mind about him and how good they were together. His patience with her had been exhausted. Maybe it's time for me to cut my losses, he thought morosely.
If there was any hope that they would resume seeing each other, it would be up to her to make the first move. He knew it would kill him to stay away from her, to wait for her to initiate contact, because what if she didn't? He knew her well enough to know that fear, pride and pure stubbornness had often prevented her from doing things that would, to her twisted way of thinking, make her appear vulnerable. He was prepared to face the real possibility that that could happen now. I may never see her again, he dropped into a chair in front of the fireplace and stared at the leaping flames glumly.
He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a light rap on the door to his room. An annoyed Aidan wrenched open the door and glared at the person who dared to interrupt him while he was stewing in his anger and self-pity. It was French.
"Hi. I'm back," she said cheerfully.
He dragged her inside and slammed the door behind her.
"Where were you? Did you go see Nicolàs?" he sneered.
Her friend's name sounded foul the way Aidan said it. She drew back from him in surprise and distaste.
"Aidan, what's the matter with you? Have you been drinking?" she asked, puzzled at his behavior.
"What's the matter with me? I woke up alone, French, and after some pretty hot fucking, too. Fucking, I might add, that I crossed an ocean to get. And you want to know what's the matter with me?"
She stopped dead in her tracks. What the – no, she told herself. Remember your promise: respond differently to things! You will stay calm. You will not lose your temper. You will talk to him, find out what bug crawled up his ass calmly. Like a rational adult.
"I'm sorry if you were worried, Aidan, but please don't use that type of language when you talk to me," it just about killed her to stay calm.
"Oh, I wasn't worried. I am pissed!" he jabbed a finger at her. "You left my bed to go to your Martinican boy-toy and you thought I'd be worried?"
"My what? You think that I -? With Nicolàs?" French was incredulous. She flopped down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and laughed.
"That's funny to you? What am I supposed to think when I walk in and find you in the arms of another man?" he asked angrily. He grabbed her hands where they lay along the chair's armrests and pulled her to her feet. "You were sitting on his lap, for Christ's sake! He kissed you! You let him touch you and I can't stand it!" he said through gritted teeth.
Her laughter at his idiotic notion died in her throat at hearing his tone. When she looked into his eyes and saw the torment there, the fire of possessiveness burning bright, she melted inside.
"Oh, Aidan – " she began, only to be cut off by the scorching kiss he pressed to her lips.
He took her mouth ruthlessly and without finesse, the need to stamp her as his overwhelming him. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting warm mint and her. He hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her tight against him. Mindless with jealousy and the need to claim her, it didn't register on him that she had wrapped her arms around his neck and was responding to his kiss. He simply plundered, took, poured all the conflicting emotion – anger, jealousy, fear, frustration and relief that she was with him – that swirled in his mind into the kiss.
French's own senses were awhirl, Aidan's rough treatment of her breaching yet another sensual stronghold inside her. She hadn't been able to think and had stood struck dumb when he first seized her, kissed her. Then she had felt the velvety invasion of his tongue in her mouth, felt the glorious strength and heat of his body when he molded her close. He took her breath away. She felt her knees wobble and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, wound her fingers through his hair. As always, he sent fire racing through her body, awakened desire and need in her.
Aidan's cock had quickly grown painfully hard behind the button-fly of his jeans. He needed to bury himself inside her more then he needed to draw his next breath. He dropped to his knees in front of her, undid her jeans and pulled them roughly down her legs. She almost toppled over and he caught her and lowered her gently to the floor in front of the fire. He yanked her shoes off and tossed them over his shoulder, her jeans and silky panties followed. He scaled the length of her body and took her mouth in another hard kiss. Mine! Mine, mine, mine! The words roared in his mind, underscored everything he did. He knelt between her thighs, had sense enough to check that she was ready to take him before he plunged inside. He groaned when he touched the warm, supple flesh that had begun to grow slick for him. She was ready.
With a shaking hand, he quickly undid the fly of his jeans, pushed them down just far enough to free his cock. He positioned the blunt head of his cock at her entrance and paused, tore his mouth from hers. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs and he took just a second to calm himself down, fought to subdue the beast that raged inside him. Mindless with want as he was, he was far beyond being able to be gentle with her at this point. He craved her, needed to feel her wrapped, wet and tight, around him, but he didn't want to hurt her. He never wanted to see her hurt.
French writhed under him, rubbed against his cock where it pressed against the opening to her cunt, waiting for him to plunge inside. She frowned when he paused and opened her eyes to find him looming above her. He appeared to be having second thoughts about what they were doing. Not wanting him to stop, she reached up, cupped his face in her hands, drew his head down to hers. Green eyes met deepest blue and she suddenly understood the battle he fought. She pressed her swollen lips to his and whispered,
He thrust into her hard, her words feeding that primitive part of him he'd tried to rein in. French gasped at the sudden invasion, felt herself stretching to accommodate his cock, which was impossibly thick and hard inside her. He pressed deep, touching the core of her, then withdrew. The walls of her cunt clung as he pulled out, then slammed home again. She arched her hips to meet his next thrust. She met the driving force of his body eagerly, relished walking that fine line between pleasure and pain, had discovered that she liked it. It was like eating something that was very spicy, yet tempered with something sweet. Exciting. Addictive. Delicious. Decadent.
Aidan strained over her, the words mine, mine, mine echoing in his head. Her pussy was supple and hot around his cock. Bracing himself above her, he watched her face as he took her, memorized each beloved feature: the tiny frown of concentration that creased her brow, the luxurious fall of her thick, curly hair, the light flush that had washed over her face. Her mouth – God, that sexy mouth! he thought – was slightly open and the pink tip of her tongue darted forth to dampen her lips. His balls tightened and he slowed his strokes within her.
"No, don't stop," she begged, "do it harder, faster."
He groaned and increased his speed. The sexy little noises – grunts, gasps and moans – she made quickly had him back on the edge. He didn't know if he could hold back, didn't really want to. He wanted to let loose and take what he wanted for once. He had given himself to her unstintingly – apparently unsuccessfully – and for so long that he selfishly felt that, somehow, he was owed a freebie. He felt his orgasm boiling deep within him, churning inside, creating an incredible sense of pleasurable pressure.
"You're mine, French," he rasped hoarsely, "Mine."
"Yes, Aidan – God yes," she cried out, drowning in the deluge of the orgasm that suddenly dragged her under. She bucked beneath him, dug her nails into his back to anchor herself against the pleasure that knifed violently through her. It battered at her, spiraling on and on, seeming to increase in intensity with each pounding thrust of Aidan's cock inside her. She had been surprised by the suddenness of her climax, had been sucked in, overwhelmed by the never-ending onslaught of pleasure. She was awash in a thrilling agony of blissful sensation.
Seeing, feeling – hearing – her go wild beneath him made Aidan's head spin. Contrary to the thoughts he'd had only moments before, he willed himself to last just a little longer, wanting to give her more. He knew any such effort would be futile, though. He let go and came explosively, jerking and pounding into her even harder, even deeper, than he had been before. He couldn't believe the intensity of his orgasm; it left him utterly drained. It was more like he hadn't come in weeks, rather than just a few hours.
He collapsed on top of her and felt the soft material of her sweater against his face, hazily remembered that they hadn't undressed completely. She stroked her warm, soft hands up and down his back and a wave of sleepiness washed over him. A voice in his head told him that he must be crushing her, but he didn't want to move. Nonetheless, he pushed himself up on his elbows and moved off of her to lie on his back next to her on the floor in front of the fire.
French groaned at the loss of his heat and the comfortable feel of his weight on top of her. A sense of lassitude stole through her body and she couldn't summon the energy to do anything more than pull on her panties, which were tangled around one of her ankles. She flopped back down and snuggled close to Aidan.
"Wow. What was that?"
"Nothing." He shrugged carelessly.
"Nothing, huh? It felt a hell of a lot better than any nothing I've ever felt in my entire life..." French wouldn't let him get away with calling what had just happened between them 'nothing'. As much as the night of her capture in his apartment, this had been a claiming. At least she thought that's what it had been. If so, her job of convincing him to continue their relationship would be easy.
"Look, it was nothing," Aidan said, exasperation in his voice. He yanked his jeans up, refastened them, then sat up and leaned against one of the armchairs.
"Aidan... You kept saying 'mine mine mine' and you want me to think that was nothing? Well, sorry. No can do," she challenged him a bit smugly.
He was caught. He hadn't realized that he had spoken the words aloud. "Who – exactly – is Nicolàs?"
"Nicolàs is no one. I've known him for as long as I can remember; I probably spent as much time with him as I did with Marie-Josée growing up. We were the 'Three Musketeers'," she smiled in remembrance as she sat up and arranged her legs Indian-style. "But I do love him – how could I not? He's a wonderful person. But my only feelings for him are as a dear friend, or even a brother or cousin. And the best news is that I just found out this morning that Nicolàs and Marie-Josée have been lovers for over a year."
"Oh," Aidan said. He'd been apoplectic thinking she had gone back to the 'other man' after he'd made love to her. Now he felt the tiniest bit like an idiot. He scowled and continued, "I've been torturing myself with the image of you and him together since I saw you earlier."