Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2)

by Lily Morton

  “It’s one of Sam’s picks,” I say quietly. “It must have got in the case by mistake and I never knew.” He touches it gently and I twist to look at him. His hair and face are damp and he’s so gut wrenchingly beautiful that it hurts. “He had loads of them,” I offer and he nods. He’s a guitarist so he has loads too, they’re always scattered all over his hotel rooms in pretty, multi-coloured piles. He runs his hand down my cheek tenderly.

  “Will you tell me about him?” he asks softly.

  “I don’t want to think about that night,” I protest, and he demurs immediately.

  “I don’t mean for you to tell me about his death lovey. That’s all you see at the moment. I want to know about him. Tell me about his life. What did he like? What was his favourite colour?”

  I consider. “That’s such a girly question Sid.”

  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.

  The whole episode seems so dreamlike and different that it takes me a while to realise what the difference is until it hits me like a thunderbolt – this isn’t fucking anymore, this is making love in all its different aspects - raunchy and near the knuckle, tender and wild and always, always safe. He must feel the jolt that runs through my body because he raises his head from where it has been nestled in my neck and looks at me. We stare for a second as his narrow hips move smoothly and then the tenderest expression crosses his face. “Nell,” he whispers in an awed voice, and that’s all I need because I’m powerless to stop my climax as it rushes through me like liquid sunshine. He growls deep in his throat and then cries out and I feel the warmth of his release flood me.

  We lie for a few minutes with my legs wrapped tightly around him, feeling the slip of his semen as it slides out of me and over him, until finally with a reluctant sounding groan he pulls out of me. He immediately draws me into his side so that he can run his hand through my hair which has become a habit with him lately. A rogue sunbeam dances on the crisp bedclothes tangled around us. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers, and we do without saying a word about how our bodies just had the courage to say something that our mouths aren’t brave enough to do.

  Later on when we’ve woken, showered and dressed I pack my memory box carefull
y while he watches me solemnly, occasionally reaching out to nuzzle my cheek with his lips or stroke my hair. We’re just about to leave the room when I stop him and hand him the box. He looks at me queryingly. “Is it too heavy love?”

  I shake my head. “No. I want you to look after it for me, the way that you did my violin. That way I know it’s safe.”

  He swallows hard. “You don’t have to do this baby. I know you’re trying to make me feel better about what happened, but not like this.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better Sid. I’m trying to make myself feel better.”

  “But how can you trust me with this after what happened?”

  “You mean what happened in the securely locked hotel room that your psychotic bitch of an ex-girlfriend got into because her stupid best friend got the key and let her in?” He stares at me so I continue. “Because from where I’m standing you had nothing to do with what happened. That’s all on those two. So if you don’t mind, I’d like you to look after something that’s precious to me because I know it’ll be safe with you. I trust you with me Sid, so I know that I can trust you with this.”

  For a second I’m sure that I see the sheen of water in his eyes and then he blinks and it’s gone, but he pulls me to his side and with one hand around my waist he kisses me thoroughly, and in his kiss I get the thank you that’s he’s sending me.

  Twelve

  After this the weeks slide by in a kaleidoscope of shifting images of countries seen from the windows of the tour bus, but there’s a big difference and it lies with Sid and I. It’s almost as if that night freed him in some way because he’s been a different man since. He still attempts to control everything but he’s easier now, quicker to laugh and more physically affectionate towards me than he ever was before. He no longer pulls away every time he’s caring towards me as if correcting himself, and he’s starting to show a surprisingly sentimental side for such a hard man.