Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2) (25 page)

He smiles. “Humour me.”

“He loved anything red. He had
loads of red t-shirts.”

“What colour hair did he have?”

“He was dark haired. His
favourite band was either The Stone Roses or Massive Attack. Favourite food –
sweet and sour chicken,” and on it goes. Halfway through our chat I’m surprised
to find that my cheeks are wet with tears, but when I wipe them away he looks
at me chidingly.

“Don’t be ashamed to cry
sweetheart. You’re honouring him by shedding tears, and I don’t think that
you’ve talked enough about him. He’s stuck in death for you love, you need to
bring him into your life instead.”

I nod and stroke his face. I
haven’t talked about him like this since he died and although I wish for
nothing more than that he and Sid could meet, this is the next best thing. “He
would have liked you,” I say suddenly, and he smiles sadly.

“I wish to fuck I could have
known him baby.” Then he smiles. “Did he laugh like you? That belly laugh when
all your eyes crease up.”

“Good God no, he was too cool to
laugh at that age.” I laugh without thinking but before I can feel guilty he
asks me another question. He continues doing this while he lifts me out of the
bath and dries me, while he slathers me in body lotion and dries my hair. Every
time I cry he simply wipes the tears away and asks another question, and I
remember things that I thought I’d forgotten years ago, long forgotten childish
misdemeanours which make him throw his head back and give his husky laugh.

He inserts me into bed and climbs
in next to me immediately drawing me close to him, his chin resting on my hair,
and then he asks me another question. We talk for what seems like forever until
the sky lightens outside the cocoon of our hotel room, and when we stop talking
my throat is hoarse and Sid’s neck is wet with my tears, but as I fall asleep
with him stroking my hair tenderly I realise that I feel lighter than I have in
years, and I also feel closer to Sam than since he died.

When I wake up the next morning I
stretch amongst the warm sheets. Sid’s side of the bed is cold and there’s no
sign of him in the suite. I lie back down against the pillows and tentatively
examine myself to see how I feel. It’s been so painful for so long that it’s
always been like touching a broken limb, but today amazingly it’s different.
The hurt hasn’t gone and I doubt that it ever really will, but it’s a bit more
distant now and it’s been replaced by all the memories that Sid conjured up
last night.

As if I’ve summoned him with my
thoughts the door opens and he walks in bringing the cold smell of outside with
him. He’s dressed in dark jeans with a pink and grey checked flannel shirt and
a black jacket and looks very edible, but it’s the bulging bags that he’s
carrying that draw my attention. “Been shopping?” I ask lightly, feeling
stupidly shy and he jumps.

“Jesus, I thought you’d still be
asleep.” Dumping the bags on the floor he strides to the bed and leaning over
me he cups my face in his hand. “How are you feeling?” he asks tenderly, his
blue eyes examining my face closely. I nuzzle into his hand and smile.

“A lot better thanks to you,” I
whisper and he closes his eyes for a second, something like pain passing over
his face.

“Not thanks to me,” he says
harshly. “It’s thanks to me that you had that happen to you.” He moves as if to
pull away and I grab his face between my palms feeling the harsh rasp of his
stubble.

“That had nothing to do with
you.” I’m firm now. “That was all down to
her
.” I don’t want to mention
her name in this quiet moment between us.

“She’s the way she is because of
me.”

“Really, because that wasn’t what
I heard last night?” He stills and I realise that he doesn’t know what he let
slip last night. I nod once. “We don’t need to talk about it Sid, but I know
now and I think you can safely say that the drugs and Leah are down to her not
you.” He sighs and looks away for a second, and I realise that he may never
truly believe this because he has such an overdeveloped sense of
responsibility. I change the subject. “What have you been buying?” I ask the
question lightly but to my surprise he looks even more nervous.

“Well,” he says slowly. “I did
some thinking last night while you were asleep and I remembered something I
heard in therapy once when a girl in my group had lost her husband. Anyway,
once I started thinking about it I had to do something and … if you don’t like
it then we can just forget about it.” He’s rambling now and I’m intrigued.

Putting my hand on his arm I
caress the veins running under his golden skin. “Show me,” I prompt, and he
swallows hard before going over to the bags which he rummages through before
extracting a bulky object wrapped in soft, yellow cloth.

“Open it,” he says softly,
thrusting it into my hands.

It’s heavy and I weigh it in my
hands and then pull off the cover slowly to reveal… “It’s a box,” I say
stupidly, looking at him where he’s standing by the bed wringing his hands
slightly.

“Yes I know that, oh Mistress of
the Fucking Obvious,” he chides lightly, and then settles himself next to me. I
run my hand over the polished oak wood lightly.

“It’s beautiful.” Something about
the moment makes me talk quietly. It’s made of light oak and large, about the
size of a boot box, with its top and sides intricately carved with flowers and
leaves and hearts.

He touches one of my hands
lightly, his head lowered and focusing on the movements of my fingers. Then he
looks up, his eyes so fiercely blue that I gulp. “It’s a memory box.” His voice
is a low rasp. “The therapist told this woman that it helps some people who’ve
lost someone. You put things in it that remind you of the person that you’ve
lost, and then the memories are safe and you can pull them out whenever you
want.”

He dives off the bed, and
gathering the carrier bags he empties the contents over the bed. Reaching out I
touch a bundle of red fabric and look at him enquiringly. “Red for his
favourite colour,” he explains, holding up a t-shirt bearing the slogan
Zombies
hate fast food!
I smile. “You mentioned that he liked cheesy t-shirts,” he
says, shrugging and pushing it into my arms before going back to the items.
Rooting through them he pulls out a bottle of CK One. “His favourite
aftershave. You can spray it on the t-shirt and smell it.” It joins the t-shirt
in my lap as does a packet of Hubba Bubba chewing gum which Sam loved, a
postcard of Steve McQueen his favourite movie star, strawberry chapstick and a
bottle of Paul Mitchell Awapuhi shampoo which when I open the lid and sniff,
reminds me achingly of coming into our bathroom at home after Sam had showered,
when the scent was heavy on the air.

I sit still caressing the things
in my lap staring at him. He’s remembered every memory that I gave to him last
night and given them back to me, but somehow with the pain lifted from them. I
feel so unbearably touched - no one has ever listened to me the way that Sid
does, as though everything I say is important to him, like I’m giving him a
gift by sharing myself with him. I realise that I’m crying when he exclaims in
horror. “Oh sweetheart no,” he groans, reaching out and rubbing his fingers
roughly over my tears. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Fuck, you can throw
everything away if you want.” He grunts in surprise as I suddenly launch myself
into his lap and smother his face in salty kisses.

“Thank you,” I say wildly. “Thank
you so much,” and he sags in relief falling back on the bed and taking me with
him so that I lie full length on him. He strokes my back tenderly. “You must
have been shopping for ages,” I remark and he smiles.

“A while.” Silence falls but it’s
comfortable and we lie there together, warm in a patch of sunlight as his fingers
tap out an invisible tune on my back.

“Thank you,” I murmur softly.
“You always know exactly the right thing to do for me.”

He starts and laughs. “That’s the
first time anyone has
ever
said that to me. I’m usually the one doing
the wrong thing.”

“Not for me.” I sit up slightly
and look him full in the face. “For me you do just the right thing.”

He caresses my face, his
expression serious. “I hope to fuck I carry on with that then Nell, because
everything I’m doing is totally instinctive with you. I can’t think straight
around you long enough to plan anything.”

“Don’t worry so much.” I touch
the small wrinkle of worry between his eyes.

“I can’t help it Nell. When it
comes to you it matters.
You
matter, so it’s important that I get it
absolutely right because it kills me if I think about hurting you.” He stills
as if in surprise and for a moment we just stare at each other while we let the
gravity of the moment sink in, and then as if synchronised we reach out and our
mouths meet in a luscious, soft kiss full of unspoken feelings. I moan and run
my tongue over the fullness of his bottom lip and he gasps and then pulls back
slightly, his hands already wandering over my back and pushing the sheet down
to bare me as the quiet moment morphs into heat. “Are you sure baby?” he
whispers, pressing light kisses to my lips. “It was such a traumatic night
sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything. We can just lie and cuddle.”

I stop him with the simple method
of putting my lips on his and pushing my tongue in to tangle with his. The
groan he gives indicates that he’s down with my plan, which is confirmed when
he pushes me onto my back and covers me, his lips seeking out the side of my
neck under my ear in a spot that he has learned switches me on like a light
bulb when it’s kissed. He returns to my lips with a groan and we kiss
languorously for minutes until he pushes back, stripping his clothes off in a
messy rush and then climbing back onto the bed, his muscles working smoothly.

Suddenly feeling energised I push
him onto his back where he lies in a graceful sprawl, and before he can move I
straddle him, rubbing against the hard length of his cock. He gasps and closes
his eyes tight for a second as I slide against him, painting his length with my
wetness. I stare at him as I move, noting the dark eyelashes batting against
his cheekbones, the kiss swollen lips and the long, golden arch of his torso as
he pushes upwards rubbing his cock along my slit, and I’m consumed by the
desire to really know him.

Acting on the impulse I lean
forward and kiss the centre of his chest where some sparse hairs grow, and then
slowly work my way across, pausing only to lick and suckle at his nipple which
rises instantly to a stubby peak. He groans and pushes his hands into my hair
holding me against him so that I carry on, and then he gasps as I bite lightly
at the nub before freeing myself and moving onward. In these quiet minutes I
map out the length of his body in kisses, licks and bites, as if I’m an
explorer while he lies acquiescently beneath me, charting my progression with
sighs and low groans. Doing this I learn his body in a way that I have never
known another. I learn that he has a birthmark at the back of his knee shaped
like Switzerland, that if I rub my hands firmly up the muscle of his thighs
into his groin it makes him moan, and that if I lick and suck at his neck and
ear he convulses under me. All these things I commit to memory, but none more
than so than when I pause over his cock which is rigid and angry looking with
moisture seeping from the slit and basting his length.

Looking up at him, at his head
thrown back against the pillows I think that I will remember this moment for
the rest of my life. I want to cherish him, to give him tenderness that I don’t
think he’s ever known with a woman, but at the same time I want to own him
physically so that he’ll never lie with another woman without thinking of me.

As if sensing my regard he raises
his head with some difficulty and for a long second we stare at each other as
his chest rises and falls quickly. He opens his mouth, his cheeks flushed, but
before he can speak I bend forward and run my tongue around the bulbous tip,
collecting the liquid there on my tongue. I give him time to see it there
before I swallow making him groan, and then I lie across him feeling the
hardness of his body and his muscles clenching as I take him into my mouth and
suck. The pre come is salty and bitter on my tongue and this close I can smell
his citrus and spice smell mixed with the rich earthy scent which is truly him.
His cock is big and I’ve never been one for deep throating so I settle into a
motion of sucking the first few inches, fluttering my tongue in and out of the
slit while jacking the rest of him off into my mouth. He utters a loud grunt and
tangles his hands in my hair holding me to him.

“Yes,” he gasps. “God yes that’s
amazing. Keep going love.” He raises himself up onto his elbows pushing himself
deeper into my mouth, and pulls my hair sharply. Obeying his unspoken command I
look up at him framed between his legs, his cock shuttling into my mouth. We
stare at each other and his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black.
Maintaining our stare I suck harder and then track one of my hands down into my
pussy while he watches with salacious enjoyment. Screwing my fingers in I feel
the wetness coating my fingers, and once they’re nice and wet I reach up and
run them over his balls and then along the taut strip of skin behind them until
I reach the tight, puckered hole further back. Staring at him as his lips twist
into almost a sneer I gradually work one finger in, wriggling it around softly
while continuing the heated suckling, and I know that I’ve hit the jackpot when
my fingers touch a spot that makes him throw his head back and his whole body
contort into a tight arch under me. He uses the hand on my head to pull me off
him while he gasps and shudders.

“Not like that,” he gasps. “I
need to be inside you,” and pushing me onto my back he mounts me and slides
inside in one slick move. We both moan and as if synchronised we stop and look
at each other, the only motion our chests pumping for air as we pant. “Slowly,”
he says in a whisper. “I want this to last,” and then he begins to move in a
gentle slide so different from before. Now there is none of the frantic fucking
that we normally have where we’re consumed by the need to get inside each
other’s skin. Instead, we move against each other in the warm, lemon light
exchanging soft sighs and groans, feeling him move in and out of me like the tide
as our hands roam over and into each other’s bodies.