Keep Me (Beggar's Choice #3)

by Lily Morton

  Nethertheless, I look at him intently and nervously voice my fears. “I don’t think that I can trust you again Bram, not with my feelings. I can’t trust that you can do serious and I’m sorry but I can’t trust you with me.”

  He flinches and then seems to stiffen with some new resolve and looks at me with the most seriousness that I’ve ever seen. “Angel that’s my fault. The way that I’ve always behaved and the fact that I don’t let people in easily, it’s not surprising that you see me like this, but please give me this chance. Please give me the chance to show you the way it could be.”

  I open my mouth to say I don’t know what because a part of me still sees this as just pretty words. He’s never wanted or tried to get more, and he’s run scared every little step along the way. I fear so much him breaking my heart because if he goes back on his word after raising my hopes I think it will break something in me irreparably. However, another part of me is greedy. It wants to be just me and him again so much and has missed him so desperately, and it’s this side in the end that speaks strongest to me and makes up my mind.

  He reads my decision instantly, of course he does, and a jolt of what looks like relief runs through his body and I realise to my shock that he’s trembling, a deep tremor running through his body. “You’ll see,” he says enigmatically and then with a lightening change of topic he jumps up extending a hand to help me up. “Well babe it’s time to get changed because we’ve got plans.” He smiles. “Well I’ve got plans.”

  “What plans?” I ask suspiciously.

  “We’re going away together,” he says simply, grabbing his navy Gant jacket from the sofa and throwing it on. I stand staring at him and he huffs and clicks his fingers. “Come on, chop chop babe. Private planes don’t wait around for anyone. Well they might for me.” He stares into space for a second and nods. “Yeah they’d definitely wait for me.”

  “Hold on Forgetful Jones. Where exactly are we going and how long for?

  “A month,” he grins. “But the where is a secret.”

  “A month!” I shriek and he winces.

  “Yeah about that. The universities are on holiday now aren’t they?”

  “And if they’re not?”

  He looks flabbergasted for a second and then snorts. “Fuck off, you nearly had me then.” He pauses and then shoots me a look. “Are you mad?” he asks worriedly and I stare at him for a second making him shift on his feet, but then I let go and smile widely at him.

  “I can’t think of anything better than being somewhere with you.”

  He stares at me and then steps forward, his long fingers tracing my lips leaving tiny trails of fire. “There’s that smile I love,” he says softly. “There’s my girl again, finally.”

  I stare at him transfixed by his expression but then he steps back and another worry surfaces. “Oh my God I haven’t packed and I’m not sure that I’ve got anything suitable to wear anyway. Are we going to a hot or a cold place, or are we staying in England because then I’ll just need a raincoat?”

  He holds up his hand to stay my flow of chatter. “Babe it’s sorted. You’re packed and ready to go.”

  He gestures to a couple of what look suspiciously like Mulberry suitcases, some garment bags and a vanity case in the corner of the lounge. I hadn’t noticed them before and they’re standing next to a battered case and holdall which are obviously his. “How?” I start and then recognition dawns. “Elen. But how did she manage to pack my clothes without my noticing, and hang on, they’re not my suitcases. I only own one for a start.”

  He smiles. “Yes about that. The suitcases are new. I got her to buy them for you. And the reason that you didn’t notice your clothing was gone is because everything in there is new.”

  “What?” I ask ominously and he holds his hand up looking firm.

  “We haven’t got time for one of your utterly charming independence homilies, and how you will never succumb to the wicked lure of me buying you things. We are on a time restriction.” He smirks. “Just so you know though Elen went out for me with my credit card under strict instructions to buy you everything that you’ll need for a month, from expensive lingerie and sexy nighties to hideously expensive designer gear. My only stipulation was that everything had to cost a fucking fortune and that she had to cut the labels off and lose the receipts.” He stops, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “Your move oh thrifty one.”

  I put my hands on my hips ready to launch into a lecture but he steps close, turns me round and smacks my arse, ignoring my horrified or attempted horrified squawk because all I really want to do is laugh. Unfortunately this is my default position with him no matter how irritating he’s being. “Enough talking, go and change and don’t bother packing toiletries. She’s bought very expensive luxury make up, perfume and toiletries for you as well.”

  I turn to face him. “This is a lot of effort for a month of wooing based on a slutty song.”

  “You’re worth it and it’s not a slutty song. It is, repeat after me. Our Bullet Point To Do List.”

  I dart up the stairs with his laughter ringing behind me wondering where the hell this song is going to take us.

  ***

  Ten hours later I know as I stand outside the imposing structure of the Sacre Couer Basilica at midnight. It towers over us in all its white brick byzantine glory lit softly by low lights. “It’s beautiful,” I breathe craning my neck to see the huge windows, and Bram smiles, gently grabbing my shoulders and turning me 180 degrees. “Oh my goodness,” I sigh. The Basilica is the highest point of Montmartre and down below us Paris is spread out like a patchwork quilt lit by fairy lights.

  “It’s the best view isn’t it?” he murmurs, throwing his arm around me. “I try to come here every time that I’m in Paris.”

  I look up at him as a breeze ruffles the brown gold of his hair and I catalogue the stubbled chin, the sharp cheekbones and the sludgy depths of his eyes. Catching me off guard he looks sharply down at me, but instead of one of his usual flippant remarks he just smiles and pulls me closer giving a low murmur of contentment.

  “It’s been a lovely night,” I offer and it has. We’d spent the evening eating hearty Boeuf Bourguignon, drinking red wine and laughing together at his tour stories at a little restaurant in Montmartre that was low lit and redolent with the scent of garlic and herbs. When we’d eaten he’d grabbed my hand and we’d wandered the little cobbled streets enjoying the warmth and watching portrait artists ply their trade in the square. We’d then ducked into a little bistro and enjoyed piping hot French coffees with brandy and heavy whipped cream. Then he’d taken my hand again and we’d climbed the steep steps to here.

  He smiles down at me catching a stray strand of my hair which the wind is playing with and tucking it back into my updo. “It’s not over yet,” he says and steers me over to the steps leading up to the Basilica. There’s hardly anyone around at the moment apart from a few couples standing staring at the skyline as we’d done. “Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks and I smile.

  “You may have mentioned it a few times.”

  “Well you do.”

  “Well you and Elen can take the credit for that.”

  I’m wearing a sculpted, Donna Karan, red sheath dress with nude, Christian Louboutin, Mary Jane heels and I’ve pulled my hair back in a braided updo. The sheer potential cost of the outfit had made my head swim when I put it on, but Bram’s reaction when he saw me made up for it. I do feel beautiful but I actually think that’s less to do with the clothes than with him and the way that he looks at me.

  He huffs. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear babe. I can guarantee that dress only looks good because it’s on you.”

  I break into a peal of laughter. “Bram that’s such an old saying. Can I be witnessing the great lady killer of the western world in action? Say it’s not so.” Then I pause. “Where are we going?”

  We’ve got to the top of the steps and he moves us round to the side ou
t of sight of the other couples. “What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously as he stands stock still just looking at me, then he smiles with just a quirk of his full lips.

  “Just looking at you a stòr. Can’t believe I’m finally here with you after everything.”

  I smile at him but it dies as he moves closer taking my arms softly and bringing me into him. At the first touch of his hard body I gasp and the sound seems to drift between us amplifying the sudden charge of electricity which arcs between him and me. His eyes darken and as if in slow motion he lifts his hand and cups my face, touching the contours of my face like a blind man.

  “Alys,” he breathes and then lowers his mouth until it rests against mine. For a long second he rests his lips against mine moving gently but the kiss stays innocent. Then his tongue licks over my bottom lip and I gasp opening my mouth and his tongue slides in and against mine. He tastes of brandy and coffee and something sweet that’s just him.

  I tangle my tongue with his and he murmurs incoherently and slides one hand under the loops of my hair caressing the soft skin there, while the other hand slides down my back and around to cup the sharp bone of my hipbone and pull me into him where I can feel the hard thrust of his body.

  At first I think that he’ll crush me into him like he did the last time that we kissed so that he could feel everything. However, this time he uses that hand to keep me slightly away from him so that it can’t escalate and we can’t grind against each other. Instead we kiss for what seems like forever and when we pull away our lips are swollen and our breaths are coming quickly, but it’s still the sweetest kiss that I’ve ever been given. Innocent and knowing at the same time, and loaded with some deep, unspoken emotion.

  Resting his forehead against mine he breathes in deeply keeping me close in the circle of his arms, and we stay like that for a long time while the lights of Paris twinkle and shine. Finally, he gives me an extra squeeze and moves back to grab my hand. “Back to the hotel,” he murmurs and I nod unable to say more.

  We catch a taxi back to the hotel. We’re staying at the Buddha Bar Hotel which is a boutique hotel off la Rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré. It’s surrounded by restaurants and museums and entering it is like going back to 1930’s Shanghai with the entrance way decorated by battalions of Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling and bathing everything in their rich, red light. The colours are echoed throughout the hotel in imperial yellows, jade greens and scarlet lacquer, and when we’d checked in I’d told Bram that I felt like I was inside a kaleidoscope.

  We walk hand fast up a very imposing curving staircase decorated all in white and grey but each landing shows a peek into a jewel coloured hallway. When we enter the room I take a second to appreciate its beauty. We’re staying in their historic suite on the second floor and it’s a unique mix of Parisian and Asiatic styles, with the icing on the cake being a long balcony overlooking the Rue d’Anjou. I’ve never stayed anywhere like this but Bram takes it for granted having probably stayed in hundreds of rooms like this where you actually get a choice of pillow models from a list. That had tickled me earlier because it made it sound like they were offering up Naomi Campbell for a head rest.

  I wander over to the window looking down at the busy night time scene and then I sigh as he walks up behind me, his reflection showing me that he’s taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. He’d put on a navy, three piece suit and it complements the lean, hard angles of his body while the stark colour draws attention to the sharp bones of his face and the fullness of his lips. He draws me back against him.

  “How’s Paris?” he murmurs in my good ear and I twist in his arms throwing my hands behind his neck and nestling them in the warm waves of his hair.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I announce and he grins pleased. “This is so beautiful Bram. I’ve never stayed anywhere like this, but it must be costing a fortune.”

  He shrugs carelessly. “Not really and you’re worth it. After all this is part of our mission.”

  “Our mission?” I echo and then I laugh. “Oh my God you kissed me in Paris. You’ve ticked a box.”

  He smirks and I sense something coming. “That was a kiss, you’re quite right love, but there are so many different types of kissing.”

  “There are?” I parrot, feeling heat run through me as he lifts his hands and starts to undo the zip on the back of my dress.

  “Oh yes. There’s light kissing.” He drops airy, butterfly kisses on my lips ignoring my instinctive move to deepen them. He trails them across my cheekbones leaving tendrils of fire as his busy hands continue pulling the zip down. Then I wriggle and snort as he licks my ear and nuzzles the lobe. “Ticklish kisses too,” he breathes into my ear and I giggle again.

  “What other ones are there?” I gasp and he smiles with a carnal twist of his mobile lips.

  “Ah Alys you’re such a willing student.” He steps back slightly and my dress falls open and he gasps as he pushes it off me, looking with open hunger at the pretty underwear that I’m wearing. It’s a bra and panties set from Agent Provocateur and they’re a scanty mix of sheer mesh and raspberry coloured lace. “Fuck, that’s a sight,” he whispers. “Remind me to buy Elen a present.”

  I go to answer but then groan as his fingers touch the lace and he rubs it deliberately over my nipple which immediately hardens as if seeking more touch. “You like that?” he whispers. “What about some mystery destination kisses?”

  “What are they?” I grab onto his arms and feel the hard muscles strung taut.

  He lowers his head and licks a slow path down my neck and onto my collarbone where he nuzzles, breathing open mouthed as I squirm with lust. “Mystery destination kisses always lead to somewhere but it’s a surprise,” he breathes, and then his mouth lowers over my bra and those talented lips open over my nipple and start to suck.

  “Oh!” I gasp feeling heat spread like lightning from my breasts to my pussy as if the two are connected with invisible lines. One hand finds my hip and pulls me into him where I can feel the sharp thrust of his cock, while the other expertly undoes my bra clip. He pulls back allowing it to flutter to the floor and for a second he just stares at me.

  “Fuck Alys you have the most beautiful tits that I’ve ever seen,” he says reverently, reaching out to cup them. He shapes them in his hands, instinctively knowing that a sliding touch along the lower slopes will light me up like a candle, and then he pulls me sharply to him as if his patience has finally snapped and starts to lick and suckle my breasts as if his life depends on it.

  I writhe against him feeling the strength of the muscles in his long legs, and when he lifts me up suddenly my legs immediately wrap around him and I cry out as my extremely wet panties meet the hard thrust of him. For a long moment all that I can hear is the sound of my choked, guttural gasps and the occasional grunt which comes from him as he uses his tongue and teeth on me until I think that I might explode.

  I know that I’m climbing the slope to climax quickly but before I can get there he forces me away from him, lowering me to the floor and holding me at arm’s length while his hands caress my shoulders, sliding over the soft skin as if he can’t help himself. I look at him, at the flush on his cheeks, the swollen lips and the eyes that now look almost black with his blown pupils.

  “Wait,” he gasps, visibly reining in his control. “I haven’t given you the best kiss yet love.”

  “What is it?” I moan and then gasp as he picks me up and throws me onto the bed, jumping up and straddling me before I know it. He stares down at me resting his weight on his hands, and then nuzzles against me like a big cat. Then he pulls back slightly and just looks at me before bending and running his hands down my body in one long, voluptuous caress. I arch under his hands, all self-consciousness gone.

  “You’re so beautiful Al. I want to be inside you so much.”

  “Do it,” I moan. “I’ve missed this.”

  He hesitates, his eyes suddenly sharper. “Did you think about it?”

  I know
what he’s talking about and I have no shame now. “Every night,” I whisper and his eyes close as if in some great relief. When he opens them they’re shining in the low light.

  “Me too,” he says and it’s like a vow. “I thought of it every night. I know that you might not believe me but it’s true. I never forgot. It was the best night of my life.”

  I look at him. “I’m sorry that I made you think that it was nothing to me when it was everything.”

  He shudders looking suddenly vulnerable. “Why did you say it was nothing then love?” I don’t say anything but his gaze sharpens anyway. “Did you mean what you wrote, that it was because you thought that’s what I wanted to hear?”

  My throat gets thick at his hopeful expression and I settle for nodding. “I’m sorry but I thought you wanted easy.”

  “Never with you. God I can’t believe how much time we’ve wasted” he says gently but his face looks somehow lightened as if a burden has got lighter.

  I still have no idea where we’re going but I’m so tired of holding myself away from him, never letting him get close so I open my arms to him, but I’m amazed when he sighs. “Not tonight,” he murmurs, adjusting himself with a deep groan.

  “What? Why?”

  He looks down at me chidingly. “Alys have you forgotten my bullet points?”

  “Yes, but you’ve kissed me in Paris, now come down here and fuck me there too.”

  He groans out loud. “Alys honest to God you are fucking killing me.” Then his eyes gleam. “Anyway I haven’t kissed you the way that you should be kissed in Paris.”

  “How is that?” I mumble getting an inkling and swallowing hard as he reaches down and slides my knickers off with a wicked, dirty grin leaving me in just my heels.

  “Baby I’m going to French kiss your pussy.”

  I groan throwing my hands over my face as he slides down until his face is level with my pussy, and then he pushes my thighs wide apart and there is something about the deliberateness of the action that is so arousing.