The Story of Me (9 page)

“Why, what do you need it for?” My voice must sound more panicked than I intend. I hear him chuckle, and he leans forward and bites my bum cheek gently.

“Chill, little girl, I just want to help you relax.” He runs his palm gently over my arse and whispers in my ear, “I promise not to touch this.” He squeezes my bum cheek hard. “Not till you’re ready for me to. Could be tonight, could be next week, but I’ll make sure you fucking love it when I do take it.” Fuck, I’m melting. I push my pubic bone down into the bed to try to get some friction. “Now, oil, where will I find it?”

“Bathroom,” is all I can manage to get out. He’s suddenly gone and I try to gather my thoughts. I’m shaking from head to toe and my head is pounding. I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I just need to get this first time out of the way, and I couldn’t have picked anyone better than Roman. He wants nothing from me; there’s no illusion of love, and I like him. I couldn’t do this otherwise. The days of cold, calculated sex are long gone for me. I need a connection, but the fact that what I feel for him isn’t intense or overwhelming me is probably a good thing. I like him a lot, but I have no plans for a long-term relationship with him. He’s only in town till February, and I’m thinking of going back to England before Christmas, maybe as soon as next week. He’s hot to look at and he’s a great bloke; he’s kind, considerate, and from what I can tell without being obvious, he has a decent-sized dick. He’s hot. He seems to know what he wants with regard to sex, and he’s hot, did I mention that already? So bingo, I just need to get this done and not become a blubbering mess during the process.

The bathroom light goes out and he comes back over. What he does next instantly makes tears sting my eyes, because it’s so tender and intimate; he scoops all my hair up onto the top of my head and secures it with a scrunchy that he must have gotten from the bathroom. He kisses across my shoulders then straddles me, sitting across the tops of my thighs. I hear the cap flip and the squishing sound of oil being squeezed from the bottle. The smell hits me instantly; baby oil. It reminds me of my nephews and nieces, of home, of Sean and of Beau, and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed.

“Relax, Georgia; relax those shoulders,” he whispers right in my ear, and I feel goose bumps travel up my spine. He gently massages the oil into my shoulders, rubbing it in with his fingertips and thumbs. Sometimes it’s almost painful, but mostly it feels amazing. I rest my head down on the mattress and let myself drift away. His big hands move over my ribs, down to my waist, gently coaxing the tension out of me, easing away the stress and making me ache with desire. Every so often as he moves, I can feel his cock or his balls brush against me and I wonder what it will feel like to have him inside me. He moves lower down the bed, pushing my legs apart. He massages each of my feet, then up the back of each of my calves, further up the backs of my legs. Every now and then, he rains down little kisses, licks, nips and bites over my body. His hands finally reach my bum again, and he drags a finger all the way through the middle; all the way down but stops short of pushing it inside me. His body covers mine, and I feel his cock resting at my arse crack.

“Turn over,” he whispers in my ear. My limbs feel heavy as he eases off me, giving me the space to turn onto my back.

There’s barely any light in the room, just what’s shining in from the street below, but it’s enough to make out his outline as he kneels between my legs. He lifts my leg by the ankle and kisses all the way to the top of my thigh, then he repeats the action with my other leg, but instead of kisses, he drags his teeth over my delicate flesh. This time, when he gets to the top, he doesn’t stop. He swipes his finger through me while resting my foot up on his shoulder. When he gets to my opening, he moves his finger in a circle, and we both know from the slick sounds it makes that I am wet and wanting him. He bites down gently on the inside of my ankle, just above the bone and my hips buck forward. His eyes meet mine, and even if it were pitch dark in that room, I would still see them; they shine like diamonds.

“What do you want, Georgia, hmm? My fingers or my cock?” He moves his free hand and begins stroking himself as I watch. “Or do you want something else? Shall I find a toy? Shall I fuck you with something else so I can sit here and watch you come? What would you like?”
Fuck
. My mind is racing. I want all of those things. He pushes his finger inside me and the words just jump from my mouth.

“All of it, everything, your cock, your fingers, whatever you want. Fuck me with anything, fuck me anywhere, Roman, with anything; make me come and make me forget.” He pushes another finger inside and curls them, stroking inside me, right over my G-spot. He presses his thumb down onto my clit at the same time as he slides a finger, or maybe two, into my arse and I’m done. My orgasm rips through me, tears me in half. I call his name, my hips buck and my legs shake. It’s violent, almost painful, and it doesn’t want to stop. Just as the waves turn to ripples, he moves and slides his cock inside me, circling his hips; I feel full and stretched.

“Fuck, Georgia; fuck, that feels good.” I panic for a few seconds, wondering if I feel different, if I feel hollow inside to him, barren, like something is missing. But the way he’s moving, the noises he makes, the words he says, it must be feeling as good for him as it is for me. He slides, grinds and pushes against me, and I instantly feel another orgasm building. His hands slide under my arse cheeks; he drives deeper and it’s like an explosion as I come again. It’s different from the first, but just as good, and it peaks again as I feel him pulse and explode inside me, his head hovering above, his eyes still locked on mine.

“Baby,” he whispers with his final thrust, his arms giving way as his weight comes down on top of me, our bodies slick and sweaty but still joined. “Shit, Georgia, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” My head spins and my stomach drops;
was it that bad?
“Are you safe? You on the pill? I’m so sorry. I never do that, never.”
Shit.
We didn’t use a condom.

“I… it doesn’t matter,” I say, moving in a way that makes it obvious he needs to get off me. He slides out of me and I get up and walk to the bathroom, but he’s right behind me and spins me around by my shoulder.

“What’s wrong? You are on the pill?” I shake my head slowly, and for a few seconds, he looks panicked, then his jaw tenses and his eyes widen.

“I can’t have children,” I whisper quietly. I’ve never said it out loud to another person before. His head tilts to the side and his ice-blue eyes soften their gaze on me.

“What?” He frowns as he speaks. I look down at the floor, and as I try to compose an answer in my head, he leads me by the hand, pulling me back into bed. This time, we get under the duvet and he pulls me into his chest for a cuddle.

“D’ya wanna tell me about it?” I do. Don’t ask me why, but I do, so I take in a deep breath,

“When we…” I struggle for a few seconds.

“You don’t have to, Georgia; I just thought you might wanna talk.” I nod my head against his chest. I would like to talk, but I don’t want to cry. I really
don’t
want to cry.

“It was the accident. When we…” It’s a stupid thing; I never know how to phrase this statement, not even to myself, in my head. Did
we
, Sean and I, lose Beau? Or, did
I
, just
me
, lose Sean and Beau? Because technically, Sean was still alive when Beau was pulled dead from my womb. “My womb, my uterus, was ruptured during the accident. That’s how my baby died, and then…” My head feels dizzy just talking about this, but I want to explain. I want to say it aloud, to another person. “I had to have an emergency hysterectomy as they couldn’t stop the bleeding.” I think he’s stopped breathing while I’ve been talking; he’s holding me tightly and is absolutely still.

“Fuck, Georgia, I had no idea. That’s just so fucked.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea.”

We lay wrapped around each other in complete silence for a while, until eventually, we must both fall asleep.

I blink a few times before finally forcing my eyes open. The sun is shining behind the blinds at the window and I can smell coffee. I stretch and realise I’m a little bit sore between my legs, and I can’t help but smile. I can hear Roman moving about in my kitchen and my smile gets bigger. It’s like he’s been sent just to help me, and he’s exactly what I need right now; he’s uncomplicated—what you see is exactly what you get with Rome—and he’s a blinding fuck. I woke up in the night to feel him inside me. He was so gentle, with soft little kisses from his lips, gentle strokes from his fingertips, and neither of us said a word until we came. I sighed his name; he called out mine. I don’t remember him pulling out of my body, because we were still joined when I fell back to sleep.

I reach across to my phone and check the time; it’s eleven am. I wonder if Jim will still be awake, and I shoot off a text anyway.

Deed is dun!!!

XXX

I smile to myself, imagining her reaction. My phone rings just as Roman walks through the door carrying a cup of coffee in each hand. He’s wearing just his boxers, and I can’t take my eyes from his body for a few seconds.

“You gonna get that, George, or just let it ring?”

“Huh?” is all I manage.

“Your phone, it’s ringing.” He gestures towards the phone in my hand with his chin; I look down just as it stops ringing. I take my coffee from him, and he climbs into bed beside me just as my phone starts up again. I can see it’s Jimmie but I’m not sure what to do with Roman sitting right next to me. Before I do anything, Roman takes the phone from me.

“G’Day, Georgia’s phone, Roman Peterson speaking, can I help you?” He puts the phone on loudspeaker so I can listen, and I hear Jimmie’s shriek from where Roman has the phone held out in front of him. He pulls a face and moves it further away quickly. I snatch the phone from him.

“Jim?” I can hear what sounds like Jimmie and Ashley both cackling down the line.

“Oh, my God, George, that accent!”

“Go you, George! Did ya blow on his didgeridoo?” I turn to Roman and shake my head; the girls are so loud, but he’s just grinning, his eyes sparkling as he does.

“Are we gonna have a sensible conversation, or shall we just speak tomorrow?” I ask. My heart aches a little at the thought of them together on a Friday night. I wonder if the boys are there, too; if they’ve had a cosy night in, all together, a couples night, with all the kids running around like crazy and me, not a part of it. I have no one to be a couple with; I have no crazy kids to run around, no husband—not a living, breathing one anyway. The good mood I woke with vanishes in an instant. I hate feeling jealous and bitter, but sometimes, it just sneaks up and takes over my head and my heart. I end the call, turn my phone to silent, put it down on the chest of drawers and drink my coffee.

I can feel Roman’s eyes on me but I don’t look at him; I can’t right now. I’m too busy hating myself for being jealous of my two best friends.

“You okay?’ he asks from beside me, and I nod as I finally turn towards him.

“They’re drunk. It’s pointless trying to talk to them when they’re like that.”

He nods his head slowly. “And you’re jealous and wish you were there, drunk, with them.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement and I nod as big, fat tears plop onto my cheeks.

“They’re my best friends; I don’t want to be jealous of them. I love them, but they can laugh and get fucked up. I want that. I want to be able to do that, but I’m not ready to go back and do it with them, and if I go back…” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and look at him, while trying to catch my breath. “If I go back, it’s all fucking real again; it’ll all be in my face and I just… I’m not ready yet. I need more time away from it.” I don’t know if he understands a word I’m saying, as I’m sobbing and choking and coughing as I
speak. I put my coffee cup down and can see my phone is lighting up again and again as Jimmie tries to call me back.

Roman reaches around me and answers my phone once more, “She’ll talk to you tomorrow. We’re fuckin’, stop ringing.” He throws my phone on the bed, and I can’t help but smile at him. “You know, George, you can’t run away forever. You’ve got family back in England who love and miss you, and you being jealous and all that...” He pulls his head back as he looks at me. “None of that makes you a bad person; it just makes you human, darl.” He gets off the bed, heads in to the bathroom and throws me a toilet roll. “Blow your nose,” he orders as he lies back down. I do as he says and then turn and curl into him on the bed, grateful for his company.

“I don’t want to stay here forever, but I don’t want to go home before next weekend. I promised Jodie I would go to the opening of the new club she’s been working on, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. It’s the anniversary, the first anniversary and I shouldn’t be out clubbing, dancing and enjoying myself. I shouldn’t be alive. I should have died with them, or instead of them.”

Every guilty thought that’s been running through my head seems to spurt from my mouth like projectile vomit. I’m lying in the crook of his arm, my head on his chest, while his fingertips make circular patterns on my bare back. He says nothing and just lets me vent. His actions and his presence soothe and calm me.

After letting out a long sigh, he says, “Tonight, I’m taking you to meet some friends of mine. They’re a little different, but I think it will do you good. I think it will take you out of your comfort zone and help you forget. We will get totally fucked-up and have a much better night than you ever could’ve had with your mates.” He pulls on his bottom lip with his index finger and thumb. “Okay, so maybe not better, but different; you up for that?”

I nod.

“Okay, I’m up for some fucked-up-ness.”

“Then it’s fucked-up-ness you shall have.”

We talk a little about my plans and he asks me if I would consider staying until February. I really don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If I do decide to stay, I don’t want him thinking I’m staying just for him, because I’m not. If going home in February suits me, him being here until then is just an added bonus. I like him; he’s good company and the sex is great, but that’s all there is to our relationship. I’m under no illusion that this is a long-term commitment for either of us. He’s my stepping stone; he’s helping me heal and move forward, and for that, I will always be eternally grateful. As fucked-up as it sounds, I can’t help but keep thinking how much Sean would like and approve of Roman, too. If it had been at all possible for the pair to have met, I think they would’ve gotten along well.

* * *

Roman leaves around three that afternoon, telling me to be ready for seven; we’re going for dinner first and then on to a beach party his friends are throwing a few miles down the coast. Apparently, we will stay over tonight, but it will just be on the beach. He will bring a couple of sleeping bags; no tents required as it’s so warm, but I might want to bring something comfy to change into later. This is what he must have meant about taking me out of my comfort zone, but he has no idea that I’ve spent weeks on a tour bus with Sean, roadies and backing musicians. Camping on a beach for one night is going to be no problem for me.

I decide on a long, floaty skirt for the evening, with a gypsy-style, cheese-cloth blouse, and dress it up with beads and bangles. I simply stick a pair of flip flops on my feet, laughing at all my designer heels I have sitting in the wardrobe that I brought over with me. Out of the twelve pairs sitting there, I think I’ve worn one pair, on two separate occasions.

I leave the apartment and head down to the bar, where I said I would meet Roman. I order a drink and sit up at the bar talking to Jess, one of the waitresses, when I notice a couple looking at me from a corner table. I try not to look as I don’t want to encourage them, but every time I take a peek, they are watching me.

I knew this moment would come. I’ve been here for over two months, now but as the peak Christmas period gets closer and more tourists come to the bar, I always knew there was a chance someone would
recognise me. I turn on my stool as I feel someone beside me, a million different thoughts running through my mind as to what to say to these people, but it’s Roman who I make eye contact with. He smiles at me with both his mouth and those sparkling eyes of his.

“You look beautiful and you smell even better,” he says quietly into my ear, breathing me in as he speaks. I look over his shoulder at the couple who’ve been watching me and see the woman reaching for a camera.

“Thanks, Jess,” I call out quickly, “Let’s get out of here.” I grab Roman’s hand, tilt my head low and drag him out the door.

“You hungry, darl?” I walk around and jump into his truck without speaking; the couple haven’t followed me
, but I just want to get out of here now. “George, what’s wrong; you okay?”  I look across to him and realise he hasn’t started the truck yet.

“Sorry, I think someone just recognised me, and I needed to get out of there.” He gives a slight nod, starts the engine and we drive off in silence.

After a few seconds, he asks, “What’s the problem then; why don’t you want to be recognised?” I have a bit of a headache after the surge of adrenalin I experienced at the bar, and I rub my temples as I answer.

“I don’t care about being recognised. People are generally really kind when they talk to me, but it’s what’ll happen if the press then find out I’m here. I can’t… I don’t want them here; this is my place, my place I can just be me. Just Georgia, not Maca’s wife, not that poor girl who lost it all, not Sean’s widow, just me.”

The thought of the press invading my sanctuary terrifies me. I’m not ready for that; I’m not ready to face the world yet. I wind down the car window and let the warm evening air blow against my face. I’ve had meltdowns since I’ve been here, but right now, I suddenly feel like I’m about to have a full-on anxiety attack. Roman pulls the truck over onto a layby at the side of the beach, jumps out and comes around to my door to open it. I’m trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to remember everything all the different shrinks I saw after the accident told me about dealing with an anxiety attack.

The road we’re on is so quiet; I can hear the waves lapping. Roman holds my face in both his hands and keeps his eyes on mine, rubbing his thumbs gently over my cheekbones.

“Breathe, baby, just breathe. Listen to the water, keep your eyes on me and just breathe.” I swear to God, this man is unbelievably attuned to me, or he just knows how to handle someone having an anxiety attack. I don’t know and I don’t care; all I know is he is exactly what I need right now.

He nods slowly. “You okay?”

I nod back at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Georgia. Don’t ever be sorry for the way you’re feeling. You wanna tell me about it?” My mouth is dry and my lips are sticking to my teeth.

“I need a drink.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back as I look at the way the skin around his eyes crinkles on his suntanned face. “Why you smiling?” I ask him.

“You fucking amaze me, George. I don’t think I would survive what you’ve been through, and all you have to say in that cute little accent of yours is that you need a drink.” He kisses me full on the mouth and desire stirs in me. I think it’s the remaining adrenalin still looking for some release from my body, or it could just be that I’ve just been kissed by a well-fit bloke and I’m just a horny slut.

“Fuck me.”

“What?” He frowns as he asks and moves his head back so he can look at me better.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes sparkle and he shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you yet. I want you to wait until we get to where we’re going later.”

I’m totally confused. “Why, what’s gonna happen later?” He bites down on his bottom lip, and I know he’s debating whether he wants to answer my question. I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows, giving him my best, ‘well I’m waiting’ look.

“How open-minded are you, Georgia? I mean, I’m assuming being married to a rock star, you’ve seen and done more than your average person? I know you drink. I know you smoke weed, but how much further have you ever gone? Have you ever completely lost control?” I don’t really know what he means, so
I stay quiet as he continues. “These friends of mine we’re going to see tonight, they live a bit of an alternative lifestyle. There’s about twenty of them. They all live together, and when I say together, I do mean
together
. They all live and sleep with each other.” He looks over my face for a reaction, but I don’t think I give anything away. “They’re mainly artists, musicians—you know, hippy types—but they are all good people.”

“How’d you know them?” is all I can think of saying. This sounds more like Jackson and Emily’s thing, but hey, if it’s Roman’s as well, then who am I to judge?

“I met a girl at a bar I was playing at when I first came back from England, and she was living with them; I went and stayed for a few weeks.” My belly grumbles loudly and he smiles his crinkly-eyed smile. “Let’s go and eat. We’ll talk over dinner.”

* * *

By the time we pull up at the beach house a couple of hours later, I’m nervous and excited. We park at the front of the large home and then walk down through a side access. There’s no fence along the back of the property; it opens straight out onto the beach and the ocean. Roman has brought a six-pack of beers and a bottle of wine with him, and he carries them inside a cool bag in one hand and holds onto one of mine with the other. There’s a large bonfire burning, and someone is playing a guitar and singing. There are people sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets or just standing in groups talking. I stumble a little on the sand, too busy people watching and not looking where I’m going; Roman slows and looks at me.