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.
"Yes?"
"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.
