True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

‘Because she was weak. Because she was afraid of him, or afraid of losing him.  I don’t know.  All I know is that she turned a blind eye.’  Finally, he looks up.  ‘She drank a lot.  She was worse than useless.  She didn’t care.  I have no feelings for her.’

Although the words are flowing now, his eyes seem to have darkened with memory.  I can practically see the pain.

‘We should stop.’

He shakes his head.  ‘I want to finish.’

‘But …’

‘You need this, Maya.  And I’ll give you anything you need.’  He picks up his bishop and takes my queen.  ‘Now ask a question.’

I fumble through my head, searching for something to ask, but it’s impossible.  His words have set my heart into overdrive, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed by what he’s doing for me.

‘I can’t think of one.’

‘Then allow me.  How did I cope with all this shit?  That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?’

I nod.

‘I spent a lot of time at the beach, hung out in the woods.  When I had to be at home, I stayed in my bedroom … when I had a bedroom.’

‘And when you didn’t?’  I slide my bishop across the board, taking a second pawn and much to my surprise, putting his king into check.

‘I was eight.  He gave my bedroom to Sophie.  I had a mattress in the outhouse, a duvet, a pile of clothes.’

‘Check.’

He pushes his king forwards.

‘I didn’t have many clothes and I grew out of them quickly.  They weren’t washed that often.’

I stare at him, in awe of the fact that he’s talking freely now, no prompts needed.  His shoulders seem to have relaxed, as if he’s unburdening himself little by little.

‘Your move, Maya.’

I try to focus on the game.  Sensing an opportunity, I move a knight, forcing him back into check.

‘Check.’

He studies the board, silent again.  Perhaps I should try another prompt.

‘You said they didn’t feed you.’

‘At first they did.  And then it was some of the time.  Eventually, I suppose they just saw it as a waste of money.  So I took things from packed lunches at school, stole from the local shop.  I got quite good at that.’  Suddenly, he seems to have divorced himself from his own words.  Fully focussed on the board, he’s working through scenarios, only half conscious of what he’s saying.  ‘Layla used to slip me something every now and then.’

‘Is she the one who found you?’

‘Yes.’

So, why rip up her card?  Why shut her out?  Those are the questions I’d really like to ask, but it’s not the right time.  I’ll have to go with something else.

‘I can’t understand why the school never picked up on this.’

‘They did.  A couple of times.  A letter, a warning about my appearance.  My mother made an effort for a few weeks and then it all tailed off again.  She did just enough to keep Social Services off her back.  And in the meantime, he took it out on me.’

He surveys the board.

‘School,’ I whisper.

‘What about it?’

‘You said it was a nightmare.’

‘It was, but kids are kids.  They make fun of anyone who’s different.’

‘But my sister made it worse.’

‘She didn’t know what she was doing.  She didn’t know the truth.  She was just a part of it.’  His voice is breaking now, cracking at the edges.  ‘There were a whole load of things that drove me to …’

He comes to an abrupt halt, glancing up at me.  He doesn’t need to say any more.  We both know what he’s talking about now: how he lay down with a razor blade and waited for the pain to stop.  I reach out, noticing that my own hands are shaking, and take a hand in mine.  Turning his palm upwards, I gently run my fingers over his wrist.

‘No scars.’

With a sigh, he offers the other hand.  I take it, examine it, but in the gloom, it’s difficult to see anything.

‘You wouldn’t know it’s there, but it is.’ He straightens his lips and stares at me.  ‘You’ve beaten me.’

‘What?’

He nods at the board.  ‘Check mate.  You get to go home.’

‘How the hell did that happen?’  Letting go of his hand, I scrutinize the board.  Yes, he’s totally right.  There’s nothing he can do.  I’ve backed him into a corner.  When I look at him again, I catch a hint of despair in his eyes, and I’m not having that, not after what he’s just done.  Reaching out, I topple my king.

‘You can’t do that,’ he complains.  ‘You know the rules.  You’ve won.’

He reaches out to topple his own king.  I grab his hand just in time.

‘I’m not playing by the rules tonight.’  I smile at him.  ‘I’m staying.’

I open my eyes and blink at the skylight, surprised to find that I’m being greeted by the sun.  For a handful of seconds, I wonder where I am, and then confusion gives way to contentment: I can already smell him, feel his arm behind my neck, hear the deep, regular rhythm of his breathing.

Careful not to wake him, I roll over to find him on his back with his head turned towards me, not a trace of tension in his features.  Reaching up, I trail a finger down his face, wondering if last night’s revelations have left him feeling this way, but the truth is I have no idea.  After we showered in silence, holding each other under the streams of water for an age, he took me back to bed and made love to me until we finally drifted off to sleep on the cusp of dawn.  And through it all, hardly saying a word, there was a new reverence in his eyes, a new tenderness in his touch … a deeper connection between us.

I move the finger downwards, opening my palm, running it gently over his chest, across the smattering of hair and up to his shoulders, enjoying the firmness of his muscles, the softness of his skin.  I’ve obviously been too preoccupied with his physique to notice the change in his breathing.  When my eyes return to his face, a small smile has crept into the corners of his lips.

‘Feeling me up?’ he asks, eyes still closed.  ‘You’re a pervert.’

‘You created the monster,’ I remind him, snuggling up against his chest.  His arms close around me and we spend a minute or two in silence, enjoying the simple experience of being together.  It’s interrupted by a ring tone.

I give a start.  His arms tighten.

‘That’s your phone.’ While he brought his mobile to bed with him, I left mine downstairs on the coffee table.  ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘No.’  Slowly, he reaches over to the bedside cabinet, picks up the mobile and focuses on the screen.  ‘Norman.’  Silencing the call, he drops the mobile and looks at me.

My stomach lurches and my heart begins to thud, and I’m hardly surprised.  His hair’s a glorious mess and he’s still half-asleep, and my God, I could eat him.

‘It might be important.’

‘It’s never important.  Not with Norman.  He can wait.  Come here.’

He pulls me in, bringing my face right next to his and without any persuasion at all, I move further.  Determined to be on top this morning, I straddle him, placing a hand to either side of his head and letting my hair tumble over his face.  With a broad smile, he cups my right breast, kneading gently, pulling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing a ball of warmth to fizzle into life between my thighs.

I lower my lips to his, kissing him lightly, teasing him, moving to the edges of his mouth, along his chin, across his cheek.  Impatient for the endgame, he reaches to the back of my head and draws me closer.  The kiss deepens, tongues intertwine, and I sense his other hand against the small of my back, pushing me in to his morning erection.

‘You’re wet already,’ he murmurs into my mouth.

‘It’s a nice way to start the day.’

‘And now that you’re moving in,’ he smiles, ‘you can start every day like this.’

‘What makes you think I’m moving in?’

‘Oh I don’t know.  A little game of chess.’

I try to sit up straight, but I don’t get very far.  I’m clamped into place by his hands.

‘Hang on a minute,’ I protest.  ‘We made a deal.  I beat you.’

‘And then, rather strangely, you conceded defeat.’

‘I said I’d move in if you beat me.  You didn’t.’

He screws up his nose.  ‘You’re being pedantic.’

‘And you’re being pushy.’

‘So, that’s a no then?’

‘Of course it’s a no.  There’s plenty more talking to do yet.’

The grip on my hair relaxes.  I sit up.  He grimaces.

‘No more big talk, Maya.  Please.’

I gaze down at his face and begin to crumble.  There’s something so innocent, so child-like about his plea that I just can’t refuse.  And besides, after last night, I’m not entirely sure that I’m ready for any more heavy-duty conversation.  Perhaps we should lighten things up a little.

‘Not today,’ I reassure him.  ‘We did enough of that last night.  I think we can move on to the small talk today.’

He rolls his eyes.

‘All the little things.’  I take his chin in my hand.  ‘The window dressing.’

As if I’ve just asked him to drink straight out of an unflushed toilet, a frown takes hold of his face.

‘If we must.’

Before I know what’s going on, I’m flipped onto my back, my hands pinned into place above my head, and now he’s straddling me.  Jesus, this man can move at the speed of light.

‘I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.’  His lips skim across mine and then, without warning, he pushes himself up from the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ I demand, flummoxed by the move.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’  With a wink, he makes his way over to the wardrobes.  Sliding open the door, he pulls out a drawer, rummages around and retrieves the leather cuffs.  ‘Kink.’  He sidles back over to the bed, holding the cuffs in the air.

Oh shit, my brain gurgles, you’re in for it, lady.

‘You’re not going to torture me into moving in.’

He climbs onto the bed and kneels next to me.  ‘Give me your hands.’

‘I mean it, Dan.’

‘So do I.  Hands.’

Within seconds, I cave in.  While every last part of my body lights up with excitement, I offer him my wrists.  With a smile of satisfaction, he wraps a cuff around my left wrist, concentrating intently as he buckles it up, moving on to my right wrist when he’s satisfied.  Finally, he motions towards the headboard and knowing exactly what I have to do, I lie on my back and raise my arms, watching as he manoeuvres himself above me, tugging out the straps and fixing the cuffs in place.

‘Seriously,’ I breathe, my pulse quickening.  ‘You’re not forcing me into it.’

‘That’s not my intention.’  He checks the bindings and looks down at me, his eyes hooded.

Starting at my clitoris, a tremor of lust passes right through me.

‘So, what is your intention?’ I ask, my voice uneven.

He traces a finger across my cheek.

‘Small talk is eminently dull.’  The finger moves further, down the side of my neck, causing me to close my eyes and groan.  He pauses at my sternum.  ‘Legs apart.’

Immediately, I follow his order, watching as he repositions himself.  Lying next to me and watching out for every single reaction, he runs the same finger from my chest downwards, stopping to circle my belly button, slowly, lazily.  ‘However, I clearly need to discover the tiny, irrelevant facts about you.’  The finger travels further down, across my left thigh.  ‘And you need to discover the tiny, irrelevant facts about me.’  While he gazes into my eyes, he brushes the finger across my pubic hair.  ‘So, I might as well have some fun while we’re at it.’  Lightly, he traces a path around my labia, pausing to press against my clitoris, sending a flutter of want deep into my loins.

‘What?’ I gasp.  ‘You’re going to ask about my favourite sandwich while you’re …’

‘Doing this?’ he grins, sliding the finger into my vagina.

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, Miss Scotton, you’re so wet.’  He bites his lip.  ‘Now, what is your favourite sandwich?’

I almost laugh.  Almost.  But it’s pretty much impossible with Dan’s finger causing all sorts of havoc inside.  Waiting for an answer, he begins to massage me, but not for long.  Removing the finger, he replaces it with two, gently thrumming them against the inside of my clitoris while his thumb squeezes rhythmically at the outside.  I take in a deep breath, fighting the need to moan again.

‘Ah … I don’t know.’  I can barely think already.  A knot of warmth has formed deep inside.

‘Cheese or ham?’

‘Oh shit.  Prawns.  Prawn salad.’

‘Duly noted.’  He picks up the pace, pushing a little further inwards, knowing exactly which spots to hit.  ‘Mine’s a BLT, by the way.  Favourite drink?’

Assuming a serious face, he waits for an answer, but I just can’t give him one.  The knot has doubled in size, and now it’s pulsating outwards.  Suddenly, I seem to be close to hyperventilating.

He helps me out.  ‘Oh, that’s a no-brainer.  Dry white wine, preferably in a pint glass. And mine’s a decent whisky.’

‘Stop.’

‘No.’

Lowering his mouth to mine, he kisses me deeply, and while he’s otherwise engaged, I take advantage of the situation, moving my legs together, just a little.  I need to come, and it needs to be soon, and closing the gap can only help matters.  Breaking the kiss, he shakes his head.  Oh bugger.  He’s noticed.  And I have no choice: obediently, I part my legs again.

‘Favourite meal.’

‘This …’  The fingers probe further.  In an instant, my brain turns to mush.  It’s a miracle I manage to finish the sentence.  ‘This is … childish.’

Ignoring my complaint, he leans down, taking my right nipple between his lips and sucking slowly, gently at times, harder at others.  Tingles of pleasure cascade throughout my breast, and I’m lost.  I hear a long, low moan and I know that it’s mine.  Finally, after what seems like an age, he lets go.

‘This is small talk,’ he reminds me.  ‘You asked for it.  Favourite meal.’

‘Spaghetti,’ I gulp.  ‘Puttanesca.’

‘What a coincidence.’  He smiles brightly.  ‘Now, let’s see.’  He lowers his mouth to my left nipple.  Sealing his lips around it, he repeats the process while the fingers continue to work me into a frenzy down below.  I’m barely conscious when he raises his head again.

‘Tell me something.  Where’s your favourite place for a holiday?’

‘No,’ I cry.

‘Oh come on, Maya.’  The fingers begin to circle now, exploring the depths of my muscles.

‘I don’t know.’  My voice jumps through the air.  ‘Cornwall,’ I splurt.

‘Cornwall?’  The fingers move deeper still, rubbing against my g-spot.  ‘Nowhere a little more exotic?’

I catch my breath and force out the words, one by one.  ‘I’ve … never … been … abroad.’  I gasp, and then I pant.  He presses his thumb against my clit, sending a super-charged bolt of energy through my nerves.

‘Never?’  He eyes me, quizzically.

‘Never.  I’ve got a passport.  Lucy … Lucy made me get it.  Never used it.’

‘Then we shall have to rectify that situation.  I’m going to take you away, Miss Scotton.’

Oh, bloody hell.  That’s not good news.  A stinking rich man wants to whisk me away to an exotic location and that can only mean one thing … because stinking rich men just don’t do ferries.  I might be teetering on the edge of sexual oblivion, but I really do need to sort this one out.

‘Not on a plane.’

‘Yes, on a plane.’

‘I … I can’t do planes,’ I stammer.  ‘Big scary things.  Shouldn’t fly.  Witchcraft.’

‘You and your fears.’  He chuckles.  ‘You’re going to conquer them all.  I’ll take you to
my
favourite holiday destination.  Bermuda.  In fact, I’ll take you next week.’

Fighting back a floodtide of spasms, I raise my head.

‘What?’

He removes the fingers and gets onto his knees.

‘Find your passport.  Favourite song.’

My head flops back.

‘I don’t know.  I like Elbow.’  While my crotch takes a break, I wrestle my lungs back under control.

‘I like arse.’

‘Dan, that’s not funny.’

Manoeuvring himself between my legs, he turns his attention to my labia, parting the folds gently.  Oh good God, I know what this means: he’s about to go in again, only this time with his tongue.

‘Woman,’ he says quietly, running his thumb across my flesh.

‘What?’

‘Woman.  John Lennon.’  He slides the fingers back into me and I let out a breath.  ‘I love that song.  You should listen to it.’  He lowers his head to my crotch and while his fingers continue to work their magic, his tongue begins to swirl against the bundle of nerves at my clit.  The warmth begins to rise again, pulsating, radiating, consuming every muscle, every nerve, every last bit of me.

‘Holy fucking fuck,’ I groan, digging my head back into the pillow and closing my eyes.

I hear him laugh.  ‘I like this small talk thing.  It’s not so bad after all.  Film.’  His tongue goes back to torturing me.  My insides crackle.  My muscles tense.

‘
Jane Eyre
,’ I pant.  ‘
Jane Eyre
.  Orson Welles.’

‘Romance?’  He looks up, his hair a tangled mess.

‘Yes.  Oh, romance.’

Slowly, he withdraws the fingers.  Slowly, he pushes them back in again.

‘The rich, powerful, domineering man.’  He watches me closely as I writhe under his touch.  ‘Unexpectedly tamed.  The happy ending.  I think that might be my favourite too.’

He swirls the fingers some more, slowly, patiently.  He’s in no hurry.  Again, he pushes deeper, and I convulse.  Taking hold of my thigh with his free hand, he presses a reminder into my flesh.  I have to stay still.