Page 90 of Tears of Gold

I march back into the sitting room where Reggie is sat at the coffee table, his flash silver fountain pen scratching over his yellow paper.

“I didn’t tell anyone because he told me not to. He whispered in my ear, made me believe his twisted words. He made me believe that I wanted his touch, but I never did. I never bloody did, okay?”

Reggie’s face stays blank but when his eyes meet mine, I see an understanding there. Deep in the depths I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. Neither does Eli. They want to set me free. “Come and sit down, Faith, and tell me exactly what he said.”

I only last another hour. The dark secrets and truths don’t want to be free; they don’t want me to bring them to life with consonants and vowels. As soon as I say goodbye to Reggie and shut the front door, I dash up the stairs to the bedroom and into the en-suite, switching on the shower and turning the temperature up. My body shakes with uncontrollable shivers. A sob is caught in my chest cavity, neither moving out in the flow of tears or dissipating back to my stomach. It’s stuck there not allowing me to breathe. I pull at my clothes, leaving them on the floor, and step under the steaming jets. Then I cry. Shuddering and curving under the water I sink into a crouch, balling myself up as small as I can go.

He’s there. His hands lifting me, anchoring me to his body. Still clothed, his shirt is wet, droplets of water rolling off his hair and eyelashes. I wrap my arms round his neck and cling onto him for my life. He holds me. Just holds me, not saying a word. And I love him more than I ever thought possible, more than my heart, half black and bruised ever thought I could.

I cry until time no longer has a meaning, but the hot water still rains down and his arms still hold me tight. “Let it go, Faith.” His lips skim my cheek, his hand pulling my hair away from my face so he can meet my gaze.

“Love me.” I can’t say anything else.

“I always do.”

“Love me now.”

His face flickers with a frown but then he moans low, his gaze hardening. Tilting his head, he moves closer, his lips grazing mine, softly at first but then harder as the hunger that exists between us takes over. His knee pushes between my legs and my fingers work the buttons of his soaked shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders. Teeth nibble up my neck and he uses a hand to lift my chin so he can press his lips all the way along my throat. His other hand undoes his trousers and I help him push them down until he’s free and we are skin on skin, nothing but flesh and water. He turns me, spreading my legs and I want him so bad the heat between my legs hurts. Running his erection between my butt cheeks, he places his hand on my hips, pulling them back towards him. I splay my hands against the tiles to balance. Then he’s in me, sliding in to the hilt, filing me with the one thing I want more than anything else. Him.

I shudder as he slips in and out, filling me deep and slow. My forehead falls against the tiles as I arch my back pushing my hips back towards him. One of his hands palms my spine and my breasts ache as they swing with the motion of him driving into me. A deep moan escapes me, followed by another, until every time he pushes deep within me I elicit a verbal response. His pace quickens and I climb higher and higher.

“Faith,” he grunts my name. “Come for me.” His hips circle faster and faster and I climb and climb unwilling for the glorious sensations to ever end.

But they do and I spiral over the edge, shuddering as I relinquish all my weight onto the wall of the shower, until his hands grab me and turn me towards him, his lips crashing into mine. Soaking wet, he sweeps me into his arms and walks us out into the bedroom where he pushes us under the covers and wraps himself tight around me.

Neither of us say a word.

We don’t have to.

Twenty-One

“We need to organise dinner, we are having people over and I simply refuse to offer them Dolmio.”

“Faith, everyone loves your pasta and a jar of sauce.” Eli is tracing gentle circles across my stomach; he’s been doing it for hours while we have a lazy Saturday morning in bed. I need it. I’m tired; pregnancy and emotional overload are wreaking havoc on me.

In the back of my head is a small voice telling me I should be creating something, up in the attic, doing what I should be doing, but I can’t find the will to make it up the stairs.

“What do you think the baby is doing in there?” He lowers himself down so his lips are below my belly button. That burn instantly kindles between my legs.

“I think it’s floating because it’s only just growing its arms and legs.”

He lifts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “Have you been researching?”

“Maybe a bit. Now can you come away from down there, you are making me want you all over again and we need to get out of bed. What will Miss Beesley say?”

A devilish spark flashes in the blues. “What will she say when she hears you screaming my name?”

“Eli,” I warn, but it’s no use. His fingers trail lower, his lips following their path and I submit myself to everything he has to give me.

Eli is in what I would call the utility room, but I’ve been assured it’s a storeroom by Miss Beesley, when my phone rings. Pulling it out of my back pocket I look at the screen.

“Tabs? You okay?”

The crying that answers my questions speaks for itself. “I’m sorry, Faith.”

“Sorry for what? Don’t sit there crying, why don’t you come over? Eli is trying to work out where to put my kiln. He has a measuring tape out and all sorts.”

She doesn’t laugh, although I think the situation’s amusing. Sexy and amusing. Who knew that could be a thing? He smirks at me as I check out his arse in low slung denim.