Abuse

by Nikki Sex

  A small frown creases his brow and he shakes his head. “My beliefs were based on warped experiences—things I learned from a sexual predator as a child. I never wanted to be like my father, so I was unable to enjoy sex. Yet, with you, sex isn’t a selfish act. It’s about meeting your needs. When I began to appreciate how much pleasure I was able to give you, everything changed for me. Then I could finally enjoy it. It finally felt right.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I say, thrilled by his revelation.

  “Yes,” he agrees, continuing to meet my eyes. “Realizing that changes everything.”

  What a revelation. It’s pretty simple, really, and it makes perfect sense—especially when viewed through the eyes of a child. Grant’s analytical rationale about sex seems to go something like this: My dad is bad and my dad enjoys sex. I don’t want to be like my dad, so I can’t let myself enjoy sex.

  He would have come to conclusion quite early in his life and then forgotten about it—burying it in his subconscious mind. That one important decision concerning a pivotal, everyday subject was lost to him.

  It wasn’t that Grant thought sex was a sin. He came to the decision that enjoying sex was sinful and wrong.

  I remember André said, “All people, whatever they are doing, no matter how crazy or irrational it seems to you… it is how they need to act—from their perspective. I do not justify or rationalize an individual’s behavior—no. I simply tell you there is always a reason.”

  Satisfaction warms me.

  Grant learned something important about himself. Will this mean he can now enjoy sex without guilt? I certainly hope so.

  I don’t understand the twisted smile on his face. I watch as a storm of emotion is gathering inside him, filling his thoughts and altering his features. His blue-grey eyes are strangely bright.

  Are those tears I see welling up?

  What the hell?

  A sharp pain stabs my chest. Instinctively, I rub the heel of my palm over it, attempting to ease it. Crying is a natural form of release. If Grant cries, it will be a good thing, I tell myself.

  Then why does the mere thought of his pain break my heart?

  Grant’s breath quickens, his chest heaves. Some unidentifiable emotion emanates from him. I have no idea what it is, but I do know he’s sitting on a wealth of feelings.

  It’s overwhelming him.

  It’s overwhelming me! I’m pinned by the stillness and strength of his gaze.

  “I've watched TV and movies,” he says quietly. “I've heard people brag about the pleasures of sex and I’ve seen some of them fall in love. I knew these things are supposed to be 'normal.’ Apparently, they can and do happen… to other people.”

  Afraid to speak, I simply nod.

  Grant swallows and I watch his throat work.

  “I thought that part of me was gone, or broken beyond repair,” he says, in a deceptively calm voice. “I never dreamed I’d ever be able to love a woman, or enjoy sex. Until tonight, sex was a necessary evil I endured when I was too weak to fight my carnal urges. It never gave me any real pleasure.”

  A moment of raw fury flares in his eyes. “I hated myself more and more each and every time I gave into it. Whenever I had sex, I felt like a monster, as evil as him.”

  I stare at Grant, unable to break free from his gaze.

  “You asked me, what happened? I discovered I can enjoy sex,” he says huskily. “Why? Because it’s good and right when it isn’t self-serving. If there is a God, he or she never intended for sex to be a selfish act. It can’t be wrong to make love with someone you care about… with someone you love.”

  Love?

  Does that mean he loves me?

  My heart stops… then it begins to race.

  My mouth is so dry. I say nothing. I can barely continue to meet his gaze. I want to look away, but I simply cannot. I’m captive to the adoration I see in his eyes.

  If I’m not careful, I think I might begin to cry!

  Jesus, poor Grant has surely seen enough of my crying jags for a lifetime. When did I become such a crybaby? I'm supposed to be a professional! I need to have some semblance of self-control!

  It’s now my turn to be speechless.

  Although Grant is aware of my strong reaction to his words, it doesn’t stop him or even slow him down.

  “Renata,” he says quietly. “I realized touch comes naturally to a man when he’s making love to the woman he loves.” He pauses, but continues gazing into my eyes. “I love you, Renata.”

  Damn my hormones!

  At this point, I simply can’t help it. I burst into tears.

  Grant pulls me across his lap and cradles me like a child. Once again, he holds me close and soothes me with soft words. Tenderly stroking my back, he calms me. At least this time it doesn’t take me quite as long to regain control of myself.

  “You… you think you love me?” I sniff. I can hardly believe it, despite the truth I see in his eyes and in his actions.

  “I know I do,” he confidently asserts.

  “I love you too, Grant and it’s so crazy! We’ve only known each other for a short time!”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, is that your professional opinion? Frankly, I don't care if it is. If our loving each other is crazy, I don’t want to be sane.”

  I stare back at him.

  “Please, don't worry. No matter how I feel about you or us, I don’t expect you to stay with me, Renata,” he says, trying to reassure me. “I’m such a pathetic mess—I can’t see why you would…”

  “Grant,” I break in, cutting off his completely incorrect assumption, wanting to put his fears to rest.

  “Shh, shh.” He stops me from uttering another word by putting his finger to my lips.

  “You've brought joy and hope into my life. I’ve never known such a sense of acceptance and belonging with anyone but you. I can tell you every unspeakable, shameful act and I know you’ll understand. You won’t judge me, hate me, belittle me or use it against me. You accept me, not because of who I am—but because of who you are.”

  Grant’s high opinion shocks me into momentary silence. What is he talking about… because of who I am?

  I’m a crazy woman who’s afraid of everything—except being one on one, helping a client.

  “You’re the one who is amazing, Grant,” I finally manage to say. “Your bravery, your openness, your determination to face your childhood.” I shake my head. “Your strength absolutely blows me away."

  His adoring smile melts my heart. “I never thought I could feel like this. I can be strong because of you. I can expose myself and face my fears because of you. I can never repay André enough for all of his help, but also for putting me into your hands. I’ll always be grateful to him for that, Renata, because you make me strong.”

  When I see the peaceful look on his face, my breath catches.

  Grant needs me.

  I need to be needed—I always have. But this time it’s different, because with Grant, I need him too.

  I’m crying again, but somehow, it’s all right.

  Overcome with joy, I impulsively throw my arms around him, nuzzling into him and wetting his neck with my tears. He embraces me, stroking and patting my back as he did before. I cuddle into him, breathing him in. His heart thumps slow and steady under my ear.

  I love the feel of him. I love the smell of him. Strong and male, he’s the scent of comfort, sanctuary and understanding.

  I love him.

  When I’m with Grant, I’m not burdened by anxiety or low self-esteem. I don’t feel guilty, blame myself, or feel like a failure. Around him, I begin to believe perhaps I’m valuable and not completely crazy.

  In fact, I feel something I don’t recall ever feeling before.

  With Grant, I finally feel whole.

  Chapter 46.

  “So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.”

  —The Sound Of Music

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinsonr />
  It’s Monday morning, 6 a.m. After a perfect weekend, I wake up in my home with Renata’s warm body beside me.

  Every time I wake to find her in my bed, I’m shocked, astonished and ridiculously pleased all over again. It feels good to have her near. I’ll never get used to it and I’ll never let her go—if she’ll agree to stay with me.

  I used to avoid intimacy.

  Connection of any kind unnerved me, hitting every trigger I had. No one really knew me. I couldn’t afford to let anyone become close. That way, my secrets were safe and if I felt alone in my self-imposed isolation? Well, that was just too damned bad.

  I’m not lonely anymore. Now, I share so much. Except for my guilt over my brother’s abuse. Except for the fact that Alex killed my father.

  Late last night, Renata woke me up. I was roused, or more precisely, aroused—with her sensual, determined caresses. It was clear she needed me, wanted me, or both.

  Of course, my obliging cock became achingly erect instantly.

  We rolled onto our sides in spooning position, my chest to her back, with my erection pressed firmly against her buttocks.

  When my curious fingers delved between her legs, they found Renata dripping and ready for me. I lifted her leg to give myself better access and when I pushed inside of her, she gave a soft, feminine sigh of pleasure.

  We surged together in the darkness, the sound of our ragged breathing loud in the silence. Not a word was spoken by either of us—nothing needed to be said.

  We took each other slow and easy, then fast and hard. When we were done, we immediately fell back to sleep.

  Had it really happened? It felt like a dream.

  How did I get to this wonderful place in my life? Karma? Maybe I deserve happiness. If so, I must have done something really good.

  I look at Renata, lying there so peaceful in her slumber. Pale skin, long blonde hair, long eyelashes and freckles on her cute little nose. She’s adorable and perfect and the most important person in the world to me.

  Renata was up last night with Briley, so I hope she remains asleep for a while longer.

  I slide out of bed silently, dress in shorts and a tank top. I keep to my daily regimen of one-hundred pushups, fifty squats and a hundred star jumps. Then I put on the coffee and go out for my run.

  When I return, Renata greets me at the front door with Briley in her arms. I stare at her for a moment, just taking her in and gauging her mood. Her eyes sparkle—there’s an element of excitement about her. Is she happy? Turned on? Both?

  I’ve noticed when she’s in ‘nanny mode,’ she dresses ultra-modestly, always in slacks. Over the past weekend, Renata wore skirts and dresses—sexy clothes that enabled easy access so I could get my hand up and into her panties. But it doesn’t matter what she wears. I always want to jump her.

  I grab my towel and kick off my shoes. Briley appears to be sound asleep.

  “Hey, handsome,” Renata says, with a wide grin. Sweet and feminine, her voice rolls over me like a loving caress, while her heated gaze rakes me from head to toe.

  “Hey, yourself,” I say, bending to kiss her.

  Her lips are warm, smooth and taste of coffee. My heart kicks up with both excitement and anxiety at the thought of deepening the kiss. I think I know what’s worrying me about having my mouth on hers—yet, that can’t be the reason. If it was, kissing wouldn’t bother me anymore.

  André warned me that sometimes in life, a person never, ever figures out the reason why. Sometimes, it just is what it is. I guess I’ll have to find a way to move past this fear in order to address the problem.

  “One of these days we’ll spend hours kissing,” she informs me, well aware of my unease.

  I shrug and half-smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

  She grins. “You got that right. I love kissing, and right now you smell like a sweaty, sexy man.”

  I say nothing, but we both glance down at our sexual impediment—the sleeping child in her arms. Either she’ll put him to bed, or not. She’ll have to give me a more obvious hint if she’s looking for sex.

  My cock twitches, I’m already erect and “up for it,” as usual.

  Renata has plans for me to become more hands-on with Briley. I draw the line at giving baths and changing diapers. If he was a girl, it might be different. As it is, there’s no way I’m going there.

  When I tell her that, she simply says, “OK,” complacently. In time, I know she fully intends for me to get past this particular hang up of mine. Whatever. That will be a battle postponed for another day.

  “What are you so excited about?” I ask, toweling off.

  She laughs happily. It’s a wondrous, enchanting sound—another appealing trait of hers I never want to live without.

  “You remember me telling you about Mr. Brand, my grade school teacher who was so kind to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “He wrote me the best letter,” she gushes. “He was so pleased to hear from me. I’ll let you read it after your shower and you can help me write a reply. He’s even sent photos. I’ll put Briley to bed so we can shower together.” She gives me a playful wink. “After that, we’ll talk about it over breakfast.”

  A slow smile tugs at my lips.

  There’s the rather obvious hint I was hoping for, thank God.

  I preferred the dark, but I’m already getting over that. If I had it my way, neither of us would ever leave my bed. Quite honestly, I don’t want to freak out Renata with my overwhelming lust for her.

  Is my body trying to make up for lost time? Right now, I’m utterly insatiable. I feel as though twenty times a day wouldn’t be enough.

  Renata tilts her head and stares at me with a sexy, teasing glint in her eyes. I swear to God, that woman can read my mind.

  She stares at me intently. “I want to lick off some of your sexy sweat before we shower.”

  ~~~

  This is the second time we’ve had sex in the shower and each time it gets better and better.

  Renata finishes showering first, so when I dry off and come downstairs, she has a breakfast of oatmeal, toast, bacon and orange juice ready and waiting. Renata knows Mitten and I love bacon. Southerners say, Bacon is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.

  “Thank you, Renata, this looks great. You didn't have to go through all that trouble. I can make breakfast.”

  “I enjoy cooking,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it. You do plenty around here. I don’t feel as though cooking is my job or anything.”

  “I’m not a very good cook,” I admit.

  She laughs. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too.”

  Mitten sits with us at the table. That cat has better table manners than most people. We began eating and Renata gives me a printed copy of Mr. Brand’s letter. I just start reading it when my phone rings.

  It’s 7 a.m. and usually, only my mother calls at this hour. Frowning, I check my caller ID and am surprised to find it’s Sally Ann. Sally Ann has always had a crush on me, but she has never once phoned me. I can't imagine why she'd phone at all, much less understand why she’d call me this early.

  “Hello?”

  “Grant?” she says softly. “I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but Danny and I really need to see you this morning—hopefully, right now. If it’s not too great an imposition, may we come over?”

  “You’re both welcome anytime,” I say, knowing Renata won’t mind.

  “Is Renata there now?”

  I smile. “Yes, Renata’s here, why?”

  Renata tilts her head and arches one eyebrow. She wants to know who’s on the phone.

  “Oh,” Sally Ann says, “that’s good. I’d like to see her again. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “No, of course, I don’t mind. I’ll leave the door open for you. Briley’s asleep, so y’all come on in, but don’t ring the doorbell.”

  “Fine. We’ll be over there in fifteen minutes,” she says and hangs up.

  When I tell Renat
a about our unexpected visitors, she is as surprised as I am. We finish eating breakfast, tidy up and put on a fresh pot of coffee.

  Neither of us can imagine why they want to stop by here at this hour, yet we aren’t the least concerned.

  If we did know why they were coming over, we certainly would be.

  Epilogue

  “Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed…”

  — Lyanla Vanzant

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson

  “Knock, knock?” I hear Sally Ann’s soft, feminine voice coming from the entryway.

  “Come on in,” I say, walking toward the front door with Renata.

  Sally Ann is dressed casually in designer jeans and a silk blouse that matches her electric blue eyes. The woman looks stunning no matter what she wears.

  It’s the presence of her brother, Danny that surprises me. The last time I saw him he was a scruffy wreck. Today, he’s in smart dress slacks and a short sleeve shirt. If he was wearing a tie, he’d look as though he was going to a job interview.

  “You look well, Danny,” I say, genuinely pleased to see him.

  Danny smiles and shakes my hand with a firm, dry grip. The male version of his sister, he’s also attractive, unless he’s suffering through a major depressive episode, which as far as I can tell, is most of the time. Right now, however, his expression is bright, and his mood is upbeat.

  “I feel well, thank you,” Danny says, still smiling at me. “I appreciate your letting us come over so early, Grant. I urgently need to talk to you.”

  “No problem, let’s go into the living room.”

  We all take our seats and briefly engage in small talk. Mitten immediately gravitates to Sally Ann, jumping up on her lap to her adoring coos and pats. Renata prepares coffee for everyone and joins us. There’s a slight lag in the conversation, as Renata and I wait to see what was important enough to bring them here at this early hour.

  We can hear the sounds of Briley waking up over the baby monitor, so Renata excuses herself to go check on him. Sally Ann stands up as well.

  “If it’s OK with you Renata, can I go with you?” she asks uneasily. “Danny has already told me what he wants to talk to Grant about.”