Futile Resistance

A week had passed since French had told Aidan all about her past. Much to her surprise, not much had changed between them. That is, there were no negative changes. Aidan hadn't changed in his behavior toward her in any way. She didn't feel as vulnerable as she had expected she would having him know about the shameful secrets she had kept to herself for so long. Though she certainly wouldn't be running around telling anyone who would listen about them, it did feel good to have someone who knew all about her, someone with whom she could share her burden. It was an immense relief to her to be able to talk to Aidan about everything.

She was having difficulty breaking the habit of constantly diverting attention from herself. She had to make a conscious effort to remember that she didn't have to do that with Aidan anymore. She had grown so accustomed to measuring her words carefully lest she reveal too much to anyone. Whenever anyone talked about a subject she was uncomfortable with or asked her questions about her background, she had always given a glib answer and turned the tables, so that the conversation centered on the other person.

I suppose that's why people are always telling me I'm a good listener

, she thought. She hadn't truly realized exactly how much time and energy went into concealing so much of herself. Now that she didn't have to, with Aidan at least, she was forced to admit that it hadn't been easy to perpetuate her deceit.

Old habits die hard

, she thought. This was all still very new to her and she had decided to take things one day at a time. She knew she wouldn't blossom overnight into the type of chatty person who shared everything about herself with just anyone. She didn't think she was naturally inclined to be that type of person, anyway. She could already tell, though, that there was a heightened sense of closeness between her and Aidan, as if a barrier had come down between them and they could now see one another clearly. It occurred to her now that perhaps Aidan had always seen her clearly and that was why he still treated her the same way as he always had. She, on the other hand, had begun to see him a bit differently. She was beginning to believe that he actually was exactly who he presented himself to be. He wasn't like so many of the men she had known growing up, her mother's lovers, who pretended to be one thing or the other simply to get what they wanted. Aidan was real in every sense of the word; a man without artifice or guile.

Yes, she definitely felt closer to Aidan, she thought, leaning her head against the headrest of the bench seat in which she sat. The commuter rail train she was on was making all stops between the South Shore, where she'd attended a rehearsal, and Boston. It was taking forever to get home, but the long ride provided her with some much-needed solitary thinking time. She gazed out of the window of the train, taking in the wintry sights along the way. Though the suburbs were decorated with holiday ribbons and lights, the gay decorations did little to brighten the scenery, because of the overcast, drab gray day. There was snow on the way for sure. Christmas, two days hence, was sure to be a white one.

As she thought back to what Aidan had said to her the week before, about her being a victim of the past, she knew he was right. In just the week since she'd unburdened herself to him, their relationship had changed for the better. She really had been missing out on the fullness of all the relationships she had with people. She had loved her friends as much as she had allowed herself to. Fifi especially. But still, she had maintained a safe distance. When she thought of all the opportunities that may have slipped away because of her determination to protect herself, she felt a pang of regret. She had always been prepared for the 'real' side of people to emerge, had waited for the wolf to shed his sheep's clothing. Even among her friends. They would all be very hurt if they ever found out that she hadn't fully trusted them. She had never really trusted

anyone

.

She vowed to change that. She would try her best to stop expecting the worst of people. Again, she had to admit that Aidan was right when he had said that people are imperfect and fallible. Everyone made mistakes now and then, and sometimes others got hurt as a result. But that didn't mean that the person intentionally meant to inflict harm. It didn't mean that the person was necessarily a bad person. She had placed herself at such a remove from people that she had become judgmental of them before getting to know the essence of the person. Judgment was the very thing that she had been afraid would be directed at her; she had feared that, subjected to scrutiny, she would be found lacking.

She had been alone for so long.

'Solitary confinement', Aidan had called it

, she thought,

he's a really insightful guy

. She had been in self-imposed exile; she had begun to have the feeling that she was pitted against the world. She had often felt that, even in a sea of people, an invisible force field surrounded her and kept her separate from the masses. She could visualize the bubble that had confined her and protected her from everything outside it. Now the bubble had burst and she was in full contact with the world. Even though the 'bubble' was metaphorical, it seemed to her that sights, sounds, tastes and textures were suddenly more vivid to her.

Aidan. It all circled back to Aidan. With a soft smile she thought back to the night she had made her revelations. It had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done in her life. She was immensely grateful that Aidan hadn't reacted as she'd expected. She'd been sure that he would react in the way she'd imagined while preparing herself for the 'worst case scenario' in which he would judge and reject her. She had been taken aback when he'd responded with compassion. She had been stunned and had foolishly gone ahead with her 'worst case scenario' response, telling him he could leave and never come back. She was glad she had, in a way, because it had given Aidan a chance to say all the things he'd said. He'd held a mirror up to her in which she was forced to see herself in a new way. In turn, she was now on the verge of rebirthing herself.

They had gone to bed that night, both of them feeling very quiet and slightly uneasy with one another. They had spooned together in the middle of her big bed and had fallen asleep without making love. She had woken in the small hours of the morning with what she could only describe as a soul-deep yearning to connect with Aidan. They had shifted in sleep in the hours they had been in bed and were no longer curled together. Aidan lay on his stomach, his face turned towards her, one arm thrown loosely over her midriff, the other stretched above him and supporting his head. She had lain on her back and watched him, her eyes drinking in the sight of him sleeping sweetly next to her.

Tentatively, she had reached out to touch him. A lock of his too-long, thick brown hair had fallen over his forehead. She brushed it back, then let her hand linger there, tracing the shape of the widow's peak at the center of his forehead. Her fine-boned fingers lightly traced the arch of his brow, the long straight line of his nose, the bow of his upper lip and the smooth, full curve of his bottom lip. His jaw was roughened by stubble and she reveled in the way it felt against her soft fingertips. He slept on, undisturbed by her explorations. She turned on her side to face him, the better to see him, to touch him.

She didn't want to wake him from what was obviously a peaceful slumber, but she couldn't resist the urge to lean in and brush the gentlest of kisses across his lips. As she pulled away, his arm tightened around her waist and he said,

"That's it?"

French froze in the circle of his arm then relaxed back onto her pillow. Embarrassed, she darted a glace at him from beneath her lowered lashes.

"I didn't mean to wake you. You looked so peaceful. I'm sorry."

"The only thing to apologize for is that sorry excuse for a kiss," he replied, his sense of humor awake in spite of the hour and having had his sleep disturbed. "Come back here and do it right."

French cupped his face in the palm of her hand and leaned in, pressing another light kiss to his lips. When she would have pulled away, Aidan held her fast. He didn't wrest control from her, but let her do as she would. She touched his face with light as air caresses of her lips and fingertips. She paused and Aidan opened his eyes to meet hers. He saw shyness and a touch of insecurity in them.

"It's OK. Come here," he whispered against her lips.

Her eyes closed on a wave of relief and, inexplicably, gratitude. She wanted him. Not ravenously as she had earlier that evening, when passion had swept them up into its fury then spit them out when it had run its course. No. This was different, a craving not to be ignored, to be sure, but a softer, gentler hunger.

She kissed him again, softly, lingeringly, glorying in the feel of his soft lips against hers. She pressed closer, opening her lips on his and receiving the sought for response from Aidan as he opened to her. French sipped at his mouth, her tongue darting out to test the texture of his lips, delving into his mouth to rub against the varied textures to be found within.

Aidan fought against the urge to drag her more closely to him and deepening their kiss. He wanted all of her. Now and always. He held back, though, determined to let her take the lead. He kissed her back with the same pressure she exerted, conducted explorations of his own. He wished he could somehow absorb her; that he could join with her more deeply than any lovemaking could allow.

French sealed her lips to his, finally deepening the kiss. She felt her body blooming, her skin becoming heated as arousal coursed through her. Not breaking the kiss, she pushed him to his back, pressed her torso to his and straddled his legs. She molded her body to his, feeling her softness melt around the harder planes and angles of his body. She couldn't resist grinding her pussy against the bulge that was growing inside his boxers. Aidan's hands tightened on her ass as he felt the heat of her through the thin cotton pajama bottoms she wore.

Leaning up, French stripped out of the tank top she had worn to bed and tossed it to the floor. Lowering herself, she pressed her breasts to his chest. She captured his lips with hers in a fiery kiss, their tongues tangling together, breaths mingling. Aidan's hands bracketed her waist, slid up and down her back, caressing her smooth, warm skin. He moved them down and, cupping her ass, ground up against her mons. French gasped at the sensation of him, of his cock pressed hard and rampant against her pussy.

Breaking the kiss, Aidan rolled her over and onto her back. He lay alongside her, took her mouth in a gentle kiss, his lips a mere whisper on hers. His hands roamed over her, lightly caressing her breasts and the sensitive places on her neck. French pressed upward, needing to feel more of him, impatient with his teasing. Reaching up, she tunneled her fingers into his thick hair, pulled his mouth more tightly to hers.

Aidan groaned in submission, let her deepen the kiss. They devoured one another and the flames between them flared even higher. His hands firmed on her flesh; he palmed her breasts, massaging them, molded the supple flesh in his hands. Her nipples were hard nubs, sensitive even to the air in the room that brushed across them. Aidan pulled away from her, watched his hands as they played across her breasts, took in the sight of her body responding to his. He lowered his head, his tongue licking out to flick her nipple teasingly. He traced his tongue around her areola, purposely avoiding the nipple. French gasped, arching her back in her search for more. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she guided his mouth to where she wanted it. Aidan curled his tongue around the tightly furled peak and French's sigh of relief turned to a gasp as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. As he sucked, he ran his tongue roughly across her nipple. She felt a rush of desire that pooled between her legs at the velvety feel of his tongue.

French reached down and shimmied out of her pajama pants as Aidan continued to dance attendance on her breasts. She draped her leg over Aidan's, ran her hands down the sides of her body. She spread her legs wider, caressed her inner thighs and up, up until she reached the hot, wet folds of her pussy. She spread the lips open with one hand and used the other to dip in and capture her thick wetness. She slicked her fingers up to her clit, traced light circles around it. She felt her pussy muscles ripple and knew she was on the verge of coming. She wasn't ready for that yet, so she took her hand away from her clit, moved it down further to play in the wet delta between her thighs, lightly exploring her flowering sex, smearing her juices all over.

She moaned, shuddering at the sensations that coursed through her body. Aidan lifted his head from her breasts and whispered,

"Touch yourself; I want to watch you..."

A thrill of arousal rushed through her. She had never had anyone watch her pleasure herself. It seemed a wicked, wanton thing to do and that fact excited her. Aidan moved down, kneeled between her spread legs, spread them even wider so her pussy was open. He gazed down at her, seeing her wet lips spread explicitly, glistening in the darkness of the room.

French felt shy all of a sudden. She felt completely exposed, vulnerable. She tried to close her legs, but, of course, couldn't because Aidan sat between them. Her inner thighs clamped around his legs where he knelt between hers.

"Don't. You're beautiful; let me look at you," he entreated huskily. He placed his hands on the insides of her thighs, caressed as he gently pushed her legs up and open. She lay before him, legs splayed obscenely. She quivered as she felt the impact of his intent gaze on her pussy. Her inner muscles tightened, rippled in anticipation. Aidan reached out, rubbing his fingers through the wet between her legs. French's hips arched into the caress.

Aidan took her hand, guided it to her pussy, encouraged her to touch herself. Their eyes met and Aidan caught the look of uncertainty that flickered in hers. He leaned over her, kissed her deeply, fanned the flames of desire. He moved his mouth to her breasts, sucked her nipples. French gasped as heat flooded her and a new wave of wetness crested under her fingers. Slowly, she began to massage the lips of her pussy. Aidan felt the movement of her hand where it was pressed between them and levered up, resumed his position kneeling between her thighs.

French quelled the feelings of embarrassment and vulnerability she felt at having him watch her and gave herself over to the experience. She decided to let go, to abandon her inhibitions and allow Aidan to enjoy her the way he so obviously wanted to. She spread her legs wider, caressed her inner thighs. She brought one hand to her mouth, wet her fingers, suggestively licking and sucking. She slicked her wet fingers over her hard nipples, while her other hand worked her pussy with motions that mimicked the hand at her breast. Her hips rolled against the movement of her hand; her eyes closed as pleasure rocketed through her.

Aidan watched her, his cock aching for attention. She made the most erotic picture he had ever seen. The musky scent of her aroused sex assaulted his senses, had him craving a taste of her. He felt her gaze on him and tore his gaze away from her pussy to meet her eyes. They were heavy-lidded and glazed with passion. She taunted him silently as she speared a finger into her core. She added a second finger and fucked herself as she massaged her clit with her other hand. Wet, squelching sounds filled the room, along with their labored breathing.

Aidan's gaze refocused on her hands where they worked her pussy. Her breath quickened even as her movements became faster and firmer on the sensitive flesh between her thighs. She could feel her pussy squeezing her fingers in increasingly intense spasms. She was so close. She could feel Aidan's heated regard and it spurred her on.

"Oh, Aidan..." she whispered huskily, "I'm so close... I'm about to come."

Aidan's eyelids flickered, his jaw tightened as he watched her. Not taking his eyes from her, her removed his boxers and knelt between her splayed legs again. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his rigid cock. He wanted to be inside of her in the worst way, but was riveted by the sight of her, writhing in ecstasy under the ministrations of her own hand. He stroked his hard length as he watched her, knew from the look on her face that she was on the very edge. He felt the muscles at the base of his cock pulse. He stopped the up and down motions of his hand and quickly applied hard pressure at the base of his cock with his fingertips in an effort to stave off his orgasm. He closed his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths as the pleasurable pulses continued and was gratified that he'd managed to stop himself from coming. Barely.

French tumbled headlong into her own orgasm. The sight of Aidan kneeling between her thighs with his hard cock in hand, fighting the rush of his own pleasure, had given her the tiny impetus she had needed. She arched her back, her hips rising and falling rhythmically, shuddering and moaning as the spasms of her pussy gripped her fingers. She continued the motions of her hands, one on her clit, two fingers of the other buried as deeply as possible inside of her, throughout, pressing orgasm on top of orgasm upon herself. Finally, the pulses slowed and she relaxed into the bed. She traced languid caresses over her inner thighs, up her flat stomach to her breasts, where her nipples were still engorged.

Opening her passion-drunk eyes, she focused her gaze on Aidan. He was stroking his cock avidly, his fist tight around it. Up and down, his hand massaged the thick length. French felt her arousal re-ignite and stabilize at a low simmer. The sight of him masturbating was incredibly erotic. He was the very epitome of masculinity -- the muscles of his arms flexing with his motions, his large hands manipulating his flesh, one on his cock, the other deeper between his legs cupping and stroking his balls. She was entranced by the difference in the way she touched him and the way he did it himself. He handled himself almost roughly, whereas she was always gentle with him, afraid that she would be too rough.

Filing that piece of data away for later use, she maneuvered until she was on her knees in front of him. Pressing herself to him, she kissed him. Their tongues mingled, their mouths were hot and wet. French reached down and placed her hand over Aidan's on his cock. He looked down, watched their joined hands stroke him. His head fell back and he groaned. Taking advantage of the exposed line of his neck, French kissed him there, openmouthed, teeth nipping, her tongue soothing the sharpness of the bites.

Pulling away from him, she turned around and got on all fours. Looking over her shoulder at Aidan, she moved backwards so that her pussy was lined up with his cock. He accepted her silent invitation and rubbed the head of his shaft against the wetness between her thighs. Spreading her legs a little wider, he suddenly plunged into her. Her pussy clutched at him as she adjusted to the sudden fullness. Feeling the pulse of impending orgasm begin again at the base of his cock, Aidan held still inside her, thinking of anything but how sweetly her hot, tight, wetness surrounded him.

French became impatient and began to push back against him, fucking herself on his cock. He grabbed her hips, slowed her down. He stroked in and out of her with slow, measured thrusts, watching as his cock speared into her. The lips of her pussy clung to him exquisitely as he fucked her. He caressed the smooth skin of her back and ass, then leaned over her back to reach for her breasts. He cupped the fullness of them, squeezed her nipples between his fingers.