Keep Me (Beggar's Choice #3) (30 page)

Every night we sleep together in the same bed and he draws
me near and cuddles me but that’s it. Apparently wooing isn’t meant to include
nooky at the onset he informs me in a scholarly way, and so we carry on
according to whatever convoluted plan is ticking away in that busy brain of
his.

A few days later we fly to Rome. It’s chaotic and I fall in
love with it from the start, with the narrow streets and the fact that an
architectural marvel is around every corner, hidden away like treasure.

We check into our hotel first and after showering and
changing we make our way out. Apparently the staff will unpack our clothes and
deal with any creases - how the other half live.

We make our way out of the hotel and it’s so bright that I
pause to slide the white Ray Bans that I’d found in my case down over my eyes.
Bram pauses to talk to the concierge who hands him some keys while Bram tucks
some money into his pocket as the man gives him a very gratified smile.

“Bit of dealing on the side?” I mutter and he grins at me,
his teeth shining white in his tanned face. He looks utterly gorgeous dressed
in beige cargo shorts and a sky blue, short sleeved shirt, but more than that
he looks utterly laidback and relaxed. It’s a look that suits him but not one
he wears very often. Bram has perfected easy going but to someone who knows him
there’s always a lot of watchfulness underneath.

“Better than that,” he smirks, taking my arm and steering me
gently over to where a gleaming navy blue Aston Martin is sitting. He presses
the keys and deactivates the locks and I slide a glance at him only to find him
grinning, his tongue caught between his teeth. “Alys my puritan love you have
to admit that sometimes having money is awesome.”

I shake my head at him not quite managing to hide a smile
and go to open the door, but he stops me quickly. “No, stay there.”

“Why?”

“Because you look utterly beautiful love. I need a photo.” I
look down at myself. I’m wearing a short white cotton, belted dress with little
lace inserts which shows off the length of my tanned legs, and I’ve teamed it
with a pair of Gucci, burnt orange, ballet flats and coiled my hair back in a
very sixties style. “Smile,” he hollers and I make a Halloween grimace at him.
“Darling that’s
beautiful
,” he shouts. “But if the wind changes you’ll
stay that way.”

He clicks away happily, something that he does all the time.
As soon as we go anywhere out comes his phone and the clicking begins. It’s
quite endearing but also a little alarming to someone that isn’t used to her
picture being taken. I’d asked him the other night if he was putting the photos
on Facebook but he’d demurred, saying that they were going on a private account
that only friends could see. I’d been slightly worried because at the time he’d
been taking a few pictures of me naked on the bed with my legs spread and I’ve
never been that friendly with anyone. However, he’d smirked and said that
those
pictures were only for his eyes.

An old couple descend the steps of the hotel carefully and
Bram calls out to them, “Excuse me but could you take a picture of us.” I roll
my eyes at him and he grins before handing the man his phone and showing him
where to press before loping back and throwing his arms around me. “Smile,” he
says grinning slightly maniacally and I can’t help but laugh.

“Beautiful,” the older woman calls in fluid, Italian
accented English. “You are a beautiful couple. You take care of your wife
signore.”

“Oh, we’re not married,” I smile, coming forward as Bram
takes his phone back with thanks to the man.

She smiles knowingly at Bram who grins back and I’m sure
that he murmurs ‘not yet’ but he’s facing away so I can’t be sure.

“I’m surprised you haven’t broken out into hives,” I say
cheerily as we get into the car and settle into the soft, white leather seats.

“Why?” He darts a confused look at me as he starts the motor
with a throaty purr. He caresses the steering wheel. “Fuck that’s the best
sound.” He pauses, staring into space. “Well, apart from the noise that you
make when I stick my tongue in your pussy.”

“Bram!” I protest, giggling.

He smirks. “That
is
the best noise ever. Anyway, why
would I break out into hives?”

“That lady thinking that we were married. I thought you’d
have an allergic reaction.”

He stares at me hard, all humour gone and what looks very
much like hurt in his eyes. “Alys I believe in marriage, surely you know that,”
he says in a steady voice. “I believe in true love and forever love. Of course
I do. How could I not?”

I’m horrified at the thought of hurting him. “Oh Bram, I was
only joking, but you must admit that you just don’t look like a marrying man.
You’re so blatantly single.”

He stares hard at me. “I haven’t been
that
man for a
very long time,” he says finally, making sure that I can see his lips and I can
hear a hard edge to his voice. “It’s
because
I believe in true love and
marriage that I’ve never done it. I’d just never found what I needed until …”

He pauses and I shift almost unconsciously forward. “Until?”

He jerks as if he’s said too much and smiles slowly. “Do you
really
want to have that discussion now?” I sit back almost relieved
because he’s right. I’m enjoying this time too much to clutter it with doubts
and worries and second guessing him. “Thought so,” he murmurs and puts his foot
down moving the car smoothly off the forecourt.

“Pick some music,” he commands, handing me his phone and I
flick through the encyclopaedic list of songs on his iTunes before finally
selecting the ‘By the Way’ album by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. ‘Warm Tape’
flows out of the speakers and he gives me an approving glance. “Nice choice.
This is my favourite album of theirs.”

We’re silent for a while but it’s comfortable as it always
is with him. For such a lively person he’s remarkably at ease with saying or
doing nothing, his only prerequisite he told me yesterday was that it was with
me. However, I’m still concerned by that flash of hurt I saw earlier but I
don’t know how to ease it. “Where are we going?” I settle for asking, and then
grip both hands on my seat and try unsuccessfully to muffle a scream as we pull
onto a section of road with four lanes, all of which seem to be occupied by
drivers who seem suicidally inclined to force their way into the lane furthest away
from them.

“Oh my God,” I shout, braking impotently with my foot, and
he laughs hard, all traces of seriousness gone.

“It’s not a dual controlled car you know?”

“I know,” I snap and then screech and brake again as a man
in a blue Fiat pulls sharply in front of us about an inch away from our bonnet.
“I can’t help it.”

“Well relax, I know what I’m doing. Close your eyes if you
want. Driving in Italy is a bit of an acquired taste.” I relax slightly as I
watch him. He’s so confident in whatever he does as if he simply expects his
body to do as it’s told and it will. So different from my slightly colt like
awkwardness. I’d shot up in my teens and the sudden increase in my height
seemed to throw me a bit off balance.

I look out of the window as he points out various monuments,
amazed again at their juxtaposition to chaotic modern life.

I don’t know how much time passes until we drive up a steep
incline and he parallel parks smoothly in a small village square dozing in the
sunshine. “Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re on one of Rome’s seven hills, the Aventine.” He gets
out of the car coming round to open my door for me. He’s strangely old
fashioned like this in that he opens doors and even walks on the road side of
the pavement when next to me.

“And what’s here?” The square is empty apart from some
waiters setting up tables in a restaurant and a cat sleeping in the sun on a
car roof.

“Not here. We’re going up the hill.” He takes my hand and
pulls me up the steep slope until we come into a square. Behind old walls are a
series of sun baked buildings lying sleepily in the early morning sunshine.

“This is one of Rome’s best kept secrets. This is the Priory
of the Knights of Malta.” Instead of going towards the building however he
pulls me towards two very high wooden doors with ornate silver handles that are
set into crumbling marble walls. I try one of the doors.

“Oh it’s locked,” I say in disappointment and then glance
quickly at him not wanting to hurt his feelings. “Oh well never mind. It’s such
a beautiful square.”

He grabs my head gently under the coil of hair and pulls me
forward to kiss me on the forehead and I can feel his lips curve into a smile
as he does this. “The gates are nearly always locked darling, that’s the point.
Now do you see the keyhole?
That
is The Aventine Keyhole.” I nod. “Press
your eye to it and tell me what you see.”

Looking at him slightly doubtfully I do as he asks and then
gasp in amazement because through the keyhole, framed by a natural archway of
green trees, is the most picture postcard view of the dome of St Peter’s
Basilica sitting in the distance like a fat honeypot. It’s a perfect view not
just because of the subject, but because it’s almost like a secret, coming as
it does by looking through a keyhole. I’m unbelievably charmed and turn to him
smiling widely. His eyes seem caught on my smile for a second until I laugh and
then bend down again. “It’s so clandestine,” I say softly. “Like we’re spies
and it’s our secret.”

I look up at him as he leans against the door still holding
my hands firmly. “Do you want to look? You can’t leave without seeing it. It’s
the most beautiful, surprising thing that I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” he says enigmatically, staring at me and making no
move to the keyhole. It takes me a second to get his meaning and then I blush,
overcome by the moment and being with him. More and more often lately an almost
intense happiness rushes through me, sometimes when he does nothing more than
smile at me, and I have to keep reminding myself not to get used to it.
However, this voice which was so strident a few weeks ago, is now faint and
almost unheard.

He straightens as if he catches my thoughts and reaches our
hands which are still clasped together up to my hair where he tangles our
fingers in a loose curl. Then he curves both of our hands around my face. His
hands rest on top of mine and there’s something so protective in their
positioning and their touch is so gentle that when he moves my hands to cup my
own cheekbones it feels like they’re his and he’s touching something valuable
to him.

“Alys,” he breathes. “
A chroi
,” and then bending
forward he kisses me softly. There’s no heat in it. It’s just a simple almost
childlike kiss but there’s a lot of feeling in it, and standing in that sunlit
old square listening to the distant chimes of the church bells I know that I’ll
remember it forever.

He held my hand in Rome.

Alys

We stop for lunch at an old restaurant and then drive
further out into the countryside taking roads seemingly randomly, driving down
winding lanes towered over by flat top pine trees like forest green umbrellas.
‘Gravity’ by Embrace is playing on the stereo and I’m stuffed full of mushroom
risotto and a gorgeous Tiramisu so I drift for a while.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I finally murmur, and he
looks startled as if he’d been deep in thought.

“I know where we are roughly but I’m taking the scenic
route.”

I look up at the sky which while I’ve been drifting has
filled with broiling dark clouds. “Looks like we might be in for a storm.”

He nods, looking suddenly gleeful. “It’s a summer storm
a mhuirnín
. Rome’s famous
for them - lots of heat and spectacle and then gone leaving everything
steaming.”

“Bit like you over the last year,” I can’t resist saying and
he glares at me. “What? Bram it was funny.” I pause. “Too soon?”

He nods fiercely and then his expression breaks and he grins
widely as rain suddenly comes down hard making a huge racket on the car roof.
He clicks the indicator and pulls the car over, tucking it safely well into the
side of the road under a low hanging tree and out of sight of any passing
drivers.

He turns the engine off and turns to me, and suddenly the
sound of the rain seems to amplify the silence between us making the car seem
to hum. He smiles widely but it’s got a wicked cast to it.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously. “Is there something
wrong with the car?”

He smirks. “No of course not. You seem to have forgotten the
point of our visit to Rome, Alys.”

I sit up straight. “I haven’t. You ticked one off today
Bram. You held my hand.”

His gaze softens and then turns almost carnal. “Well I’m
about to tick another box.”

“What box? You held my hand in Rome, it’s done.” He stares
at me expectantly as I run through the lyrics in my head. To be honest I could
recite them in my sleep now, and then the sound of the rain grabs my attention
and I stare at him open mouthed. “You
wouldn’t
?” I say shocked. “I
thought we were going to ignore that bit.”

“Come on O’Neill,” he says briskly. “No welshing on a bet.”

“We didn’t bet!”

He seesaws his hand. “You say potato I say potarto, now get
naked. We’ve got a rainstorm to run naked in.”

“What
here
?” I squeak as he exits the car and runs
round opening my door. Reaching in he tugs my sunglasses off my head. “You
won’t need those,” he says throwing them onto the dashboard and then pulling me
out. “Come on or the storm will be over.”

“Well we can’t have that,” I shout as he climbs over an old
wooden stile and then lifts me over, but I’m starting to laugh and he knows
that he’s got me.

We’re standing in a large meadow filled with waist high
wildflowers in brilliant shades of red and purple. “Strip,” he orders, putting
his hands behind his head and pulling his shirt straight over his head in that
uncomplicated way that men strip. I gulp as the rain instantly slides down his
tanned, muscular chest, slipping down the funnels of his six pack and catching
on the sharp edges of his hipbones. I come to myself when he gestures bossily
at me. “Come on darling, you’re falling behind,” he hisses, and then kicks his
shoes off and drops his shorts followed quickly by his boxer briefs.

“Oh my God,” I squeal as my gaze is caught and held by his
cock, but when I try to grab the tab on my zipper it’s a struggle and he tsks
and comes behind me to help me. I feel the wet, hard warmth of his body and
then he slips his hands inside my dress, sliding them up my back and then over
my collarbone, catching the edges of the dress and pushing it down, the
slowness of this negating his expressed need for speed. He stills when the
dress catches on my hips and then drops to the ground and he catches sight of
my underwear.

“Fuck Alys. I’ve never seen a woman look as good as you in
underwear.” He twirls me round to face him and then just stands there staring
at the La Perla set of bra and panties that I’m wearing. They’re the skimpiest
things that I’ve ever worn, being constructed of a few wires and blush coloured
see through lace, and I know that my nipples and pussy are almost lewdly
presented. Judging by the way that his cock has filled and is now visibly
throbbing against his belly button I know that he approves.

He runs his hand down his face and then shakes his head
despairingly. “No, they’ve got to go. I hate it but they’ve got to go. Madonna
decrees it.”

I smirk at him unclipping my bra and throwing it at him. I
then slide my hands into the sides of the panties wriggling until they fall,
and then stand proudly naked in front of him. We stare at each other as the
rain washes over us and then I laugh suddenly, throwing my hands out and
twirling, taken over by the madness of the moment. “This is bloody
crazy
,”
I shout and he throws his head back laughing loudly and clutching his sides.

“Come on,” he shouts. “Let’s do as Madonna tells us.” I let
him grab my hand and in the middle of a wet field in Rome we caper about like
escaped lunatics, laughing helplessly. I tilt my head back looking up at the
purple sky, feeling wild and untrammelled. Rain fills my mouth and I feel my
hair start to slide down my back. Seeing this he comes towards me and I still
at the sight of him.

His hair is plastered to his skull dark now, and all his
muscles and sinews appear in stark relief. I can see the marking of his tattoo
and it looks almost black in this light, but I’m distracted by how utterly
beautiful and perfectly proportioned he is. I can see the length and power of
his legs in all their glory, and the tight line of his pelvic muscles which
draws the eye down to his cock which is still hard, the head an angry red. He
looks wild and free and like something from the old Roman myths.

He moves behind me and gently he removes my hairpins
dropping each one onto the ground, and when my hair falls loose down my back he
groans and gathers it together forcing his face into it. I stand still feeling the
hard body towering over mine, and then I turn slowly in his arms his hands
letting my hair go reluctantly. I clasp the sharp edges of his hipbones sliding
my wet body against his and we both groan, me at the incredible warmth of his
wet body and him at the slip and slide of my hard nipples against his midriff.

He pulls my chin up to look at him and then groans at
whatever he sees in my expression but instead of kissing me he pulls back
slightly and begins humming, and then the fool spins me and begins a slow dance
in the middle of the field.

“What are you
doing
?” I giggle while wondering when
he’s going to break this sexual stalemate we’ve got going on between us at the
moment. I know that he has his reasons but I don’t know what they are, and I
don’t know how long I can keep lying in his arms without climbing on him and
eating him up like a monkey with a banana.

Then I blink as the tune registers. “Is that T Rex’s ‘Cosmic
Dancer’?” I ask flabbergasted and he looks down at me grinning, rain bouncing
off his face.

“It is. How did you know?”

“My mum liked them.”

He smiles. “Mine too,” and then humming loudly he whirls me
totally naked around a field full of wildflowers as he sings in his low, husky
voice the words to the sweet but melancholy tune, and I feel small suddenly in
the face of how much I love him.

The thought makes my step falter and he stops, peering down
at me. “What is it?” he starts and then jerks. “Shit!”

“What?” I squeal as he pulls me flat into the field rolling
on top of me amongst the waist high weeds. I laugh. “Bram, this is so sudden.”

“Ssh,” he hisses and I jerk as I hear the sound of voices.

“Oh my God,” I squeak as I watch a party of pensioners in
their bright, cotton clothes emerge from a path quite near us and then stand
hovering looking doubtfully at the rain. I glare at him. “You made me get naked
and do this. The song never included OAP observation.” He’s shaking with
laughter now burying his face in my shoulder, and I pinch him hard feeling him
jerk. “Can they see us?”

He lifts up slightly and peers through the green. “I don’t
think so,” he whispers. “Besides don’t old people have poor eyesight?”

One of the women exclaims and says in a loud American voice,
“Who does all that clothing belong to?”

I glare at Bram. “Oh super!” and he snorts.

Luckily at that moment we hear the sound of an engine which
from their exclamations of relief must belong to their bus, and they pick their
way down what is obviously a path and then we’re alone again, the only sound
the dwindling sound of the rain and our breathing. I wriggle protestingly under
him making him groan loudly and jokingly. “Oh shut up. I’ve got a thistle on my
bum.”

He rolls off me landing in all his sprawling glory,
unashamed in his nakedness as he laughs his head off. Finally he rolls onto his
side looking at me and lifts a hand to brush my hair off one shoulder watching
it fall in fascination. We stare at each other and the silence lengthens and
fills. “Alys,” he murmurs. “I …”

He pauses. “What?” I ask breathlessly.

He stares at me for a long second and then whatever intent
he had is gone as his expression clears of everything apart from a sort of
wonder. “I have so much fun with you. I never knew it could be like this.”

“It? What’s ‘it’?” I ask but he’s rolled to his feet
stretching and he doesn’t answer me.

“Come on. I want to go back to the hotel and get this mud
off me, and then I’m taking you out for dinner and I want to throw six coins in
the Trevi Fountain.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” I let him pull me to my feet. “I
thought you only threw one to meet the one that you’ll marry.” My knowledge is
solely gleaned from old Hollywood films.

“No,” he says earnestly. “I already know that. Three coins
to come back to Rome again.” I stare at him until he elaborates. “Three for me
and three for you. I won’t come here again without you. It wouldn’t be the
same.”

He says nothing more so I allow him to dress us, standing
patiently as he fusses over my hair and zips me up properly, and I have to say
that expensive hotels are absolutely excellent at ignoring the fact that two of
their guests have returned covered with mud and soaking wet. That is the sort
of thing that really should be included on Trip Adviser.

We stay for another few days in Rome seeing all the sights,
wrapped up in each other and our bubble. On the last night he instructs the
maid to pack our cases for the next morning and goes out for a bit. When he
returns he has two holdalls in his hands. He opens them on the bed and stares
hotly at me where I’m leaning against the bathroom door brushing my teeth.

“What?” I ask through a mouthful of froth.

“That nightie,” he sighs.

I look down at the chemise slip with a split right up the
thigh. It’s silk with a grey and white blossom print and is adorned with salmon
pink lace. “This old thing,” I say mockingly and then gurgle as he lunges at
me. I just have time to throw the toothbrush into the sink before he’s on me.
He lifts me easily next to the sink and then pushes my legs open folding his
way in between them until his crotch is nestled next to mine. He’s rock hard.
Smiling at me he offers a towel and I wipe the froth away obligingly.

“Finished?” he asks mock concerned and I nod and then moan
as he takes my mouth hungrily, licking into it with a tortured sound. We kiss
ravenously and his hands roam, the calluses catching on the silky material as
he makes restless movements.

I pull back gasping. “How much longer can you go on like
this?” I ask in a husky voice and his eyes close for a second. Then he opens
them, the colour almost a sludgy green.

“Not long,” he manages in a thick voice. He reaches forward
sliding one long finger under the lace of my panties and into my hot wetness.
“Fuck I’ve got to get in there,” he groans and I wrap my arms and legs around
him.

“Don’t wait,” I whisper. I want him so much but to my dismay
he pulls free and stands panting.

“Not yet.”

“
Bram
,” I whine. ”How much longer? God I want you so
much.” I’m beyond pride at this point as my only thought is centred on the
deep, wet throbbing inside me.

He groans, tugging his cock sharply at the base through his
jeans like he’s trying not to come. “It’s got to be perfect. That’s the plan.”
He walks out of the bathroom and I jump down following him and watching as he
runs his hands repeatedly through his hair as he stares out of the window, his
back moving sharply with his breaths.

Silence falls and eventually I take pity on him. “Why have
we got more bags?” A thought occurs to me. “Oh God you haven’t bought anything
else for me have you?”

He laughs out loud the tension melting away to show a face
full of affection. “You really are a rare and singular woman. No, the bags are
for the clothes that we’re going to need for a day and a night.”

“Where are we going?” I ask excitedly.

He smiles, hugging me close and then setting me back.
“You’ve got the travelling bug. That’s brilliant. We’re driving to Verona and
then catching The Orient Express to Paris.”

“
The Orient Express
,” I whisper in awe. “I watched
‘Murder on the Orient Express’ a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, well that isn’t a travel guide,” he says hurriedly.
“But I think being with me is much more exciting than stupid, old murder.”

“I could do both.” I eye him cheekily and he laughs.

“You’d miss me too much.”

I throw my arms around him startling both of us because most
of the overtures for touching so far have come from him first. “I
would
miss you,” I say fiercely and he falters, closing his eyes for a second before
pulling me close. We sway for a second and then he puts me to one side.