The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty

"Really?  What would you have said if I'd asked you on Thursday?" I lift my glass to my mouth. 

He thinks about it a moment. "Thinking about sex. Or wanking.  Or wanking whilst thinking about sex," he chuckles softly, running his free hand over his mouth.

I just about manage to cover my mouth so as not to spit my wine all over the dinner table as I laugh.  Did he actually just admit to that over the dinner table? It's not funny anymore when the image of him pleasuring himself floats into my mind and I feel my cheeks heat and my mouth dry up.  Good god what an image.  

Aidan keeps his eyes on mine as he begins to stroke himself with my foot. I cast a quick glance around the restaurant, suddenly scared that someone might be watching us. However the place is busy and oblivious, and the dark green tablecloths hang low on every table, relaxing me.

"So, I was thinking you should take me to the Irish pub on the way back, buy me a Guinness," I tell him.  We'd passed it on the way here and he'd grumbled something under his breath that sounded like 'every corner of the shitting world' which had made me smile. 

He groans and rolls his eyes. "Seriously?  Irish pubs are the worst places on earth, Eloise, trust me."

"They are?"

He nods. "Yes, except in Ireland.  Then they're just pubs."

"I don't care," I pout.  "I still want to go to one, I've actually never been inside one before," I tell him.  "I've always wanted to. I want you to take me," I sound like a petulant child.

He smiles. "They aren't magical places, you know that right? They're dark, normally full of drunks and they sell the same kind of alcohol we have back at the house." He fixes me with a pointed look and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. 

"We don't have Guinness back at the house," I point out.

He sighs. "Fine, we'll go inside and I'll buy you one pint.  Then we're going home. Where I'm going to do to you what I've wanted to do to you all night."

I smile, flirtatious. "Which is?"

He leans over, reaching across the table to take hold of my hand which he begins stroking in soft feather-light touches.  When he speaks his voice is low and rough, and his accent thick.  "Bend you over that fancy dining table, shove up that too short dress and fuck you, hard." There's a blatant, brazen look in his eye that almost makes me moan out loud. Instead, I bite my lip. He drops his eyes to my lips and licks a tongue across his own. "Where the fuck is that dessert?" He growls, glancing towards the serving station. 

The dessert comes a minute later, and apart from two small bites which he feeds me, Aidan polishes the entire thing himself in four spoonfuls. And he didn't want a dessert. It's the messiest I've ever seen him eat.  He pays using his credit card, leaves an overly generous tip, and then pulls me out of the restaurant.

The town is busy with lots of people milling around, and diners eating out on tables set out on the pavements. The chatter, laughter and the clinking of wine glasses signalling that it's Summer upstate.  It's a quaint little place, Lake Placid, with lots of low wooden structured buildings and houses with wrap-around terraces. Pretty and picturesque.  As I always do when I go somewhere new, I try and mentally bank as much as I can about how it looked and felt right now.  Then I realise it isn't necessary because I'd been doing that anyway. I didn't want to forget a thing about any of this.  For later. After.

"You think my dress is too short?" I ask as he pulls me up the street behind him. As ever, his long bouncy strides make it hard for me to keep up with him.