Abuse

by Nikki Sex

  I get us drinks, hot chocolates. I also made a ton of brownies today, which go down well. A good chocolate high and sugar rush would cheer anyone up.

  I ask, while chomping on a brownie, “So the thing is, this jealousy you felt… it was from yourself as a child. A child’s point of view, correct?”

  “Yes, definitely,” he says, swallowing his brownie. “When I think about it. I guess I was shocked. It felt like a kick in the gut. But what’s there to be jealous of? Being manipulated, toyed with and violated ten ways till Tuesday? The jerk was a complete asshole. I’m sorry I ever got any attention from him.”

  “Good. I'm glad to hear that. Can I tell you a story about myself that’s relevant to this conversation?”

  “Of course.”

  “As a child, I felt worthless, unloved and rejected.”

  His blue-gray eyes soften. He immediately takes my hand and squeezes it. Grant’s so damned sweet. He doesn’t say anything, but I know what he feels. Sympathy and understanding shine from his gaze.

  I smile. “Consequently, as an adult I’m extra sensitive. I try to be aware of this, because I know it’s a trigger. It doesn’t happen so much anymore.” I grin. “Except perhaps when your sister's around. The thing is, when triggered, I still fly right back into my past. I turn into a complete mouse, and I see everything as I did when I was a hurt, scared and abused child.”

  Frowning, he processes this, then nods.

  I continue, “That’s why, when dealing with these kinds of triggers and emotions, I try to examine everything in two ways. I look at it from my current point of view as an adult, as well as through the eyes of myself back then, when I was a child. It helps me to separate them, do you see? As kids, you and I were both hurt and deprived of basic things. Because of that, our view of the world is different when we look from the past. Logic isn't a factor for a child.”

  He tilts his head. “So, you’re suggesting I think about this stuff in two ways—as an adult and as how I would've felt and thought when I was a child?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “As a child, if I'd known about my father’s ‘others’ I would’ve felt jealous, bitter and betrayed. That’s all there is to it. As a child, he was a shithead, but he was my shithead. That’s crazy, isn’t it?” he asks with a sheepish grimace.

  “Not at all. I applaud your honesty. That's how it is for a child. Your relationship with your father was a big part of your life and identity. Of course, you'd feel that way. That’s how it was back then. Everything you said and did followed a script to assist your survival. It gave you the illusion of having some control, when you were actually powerless.”

  I shrug. “You were his favorite and you used that, because you had so little else. Without your father’s influence, you would've never acted that way. That self-serving personality isn't really you. We survivors need to be careful of childhood behaviors popping up in our adulthood. Why wouldn’t these actions and feelings surface in the present? They're ingrained within us. We were trained to act and feel this way as kids, simply to survive.”

  He sighs. “The whole subject of abuse depresses me.”

  “But is it your responsibility?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

  He grins. “No, it isn’t. You’ve told me I’m not to blame so many times, I dare not suggest such a thing.”

  I grin back at him. “No shame, either. This is not your fault! It’s important to examine your past behaviors, simply to take them off automatic pilot, if nothing else. But never feel bad about it, honey. Everything you did was a solution to the problem of constant manipulation by an adult. Feel better now?”

  He nods.

  “Anything else you want to talk about?”

  “One important question,” he says. “Don’t answer me immediately—think about it, first. I’ve been freaking out because I’m happy. It sounds crazy, but in my heart, often I just don’t believe I deserve to be happy.”

  “Grant—” I interrupt.

  “No, let me ask my question. Is there anything I could do or say that would make you leave me?” He shakes his head. “I need to know this, so I can be careful. I can’t lose you. I can’t screw this up. I don’t think I’d have the heart to go on if you left me.”

  I tilt my head, surprised by the emotion and vehemence in his voice. I don’t know what to say. My silence causes him to continue to explain.

  “My childhood, my sins, my secrets, the war, these scars—none of those things have the power to break me.” His gaze is intense. “But you do, Renata. I couldn’t live with myself—I’d be lost if I did something stupid and made you leave.”

  I clear my throat, utterly flattered by the compliment, yet disturbed by his open, unrestrained passion and defenselessness. It’s too much responsibility.

  I could destroy him.

  “OK,” I say. “Give me a moment, let me think about it.”

  Grant’s insecurities break my heart. My chest aches, my eyes burn, but I say nothing. He asked me an honest question. I’ll give him an honest answer.

  I know he would never cheat on me. I suppress a smile at the thought. Hell, it was hard enough for me to get him into bed.

  As I consider every possibility, a distinct memory flashes in my mind of my mother… and my father. I realize at that moment, there’s only one thing that would break things irretrievably between us.

  “Have you ever beaten a woman… or a child?” I ask.

  Shocked and appalled by the idea, his mouth falls open as he gapes at me. “No!”

  “As long as you don't cross that line, you’ve nothing to worry about.” I give him a wide smile. “You’re going to be stuck with me forever.”

  My response appeases him. We fall into an instant, spontaneous embrace. He hugs me so hard, for an instant I have trouble breathing. This is not a sexual cuddle. This is him, holding on for dear life to an anchor in a storm.

  I’m the anchor.

  Grant needs me. To him, I’m essential. Overwhelming emotions tear through me, shock, pleasure, surprise, joy. Somehow, I manage not to cry.

  At this point, with tacit agreement we ignore each other’s overpowering feelings. Instead, we downplay everything, turn on some music and go back to normal activities. Briley’s asleep, so I read while he catches up on his daily journal. Later, we play ‘catch and kill’ and ‘hide and seek’ with Mitten, focusing on him for a while.

  When we return to bed, Grant’s bossy bedtime dominance takes a back seat. Instead he makes love to me, slowly, sweetly. He treats me with a reverence I’ve never known.

  A day that had been so disturbing for him, ended well. All is right in our world. We slept through the night, both at peace.

  Until the next morning.

  That’s when he receives a phone call from his brother, calling from the police station. Alex has been arrested for the murder of their father.

  Chapter 37.

  “Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.”

  — Pema Chödrön

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson

  I finish my morning exercise routine, shower and jog downstairs to the kitchen to find Renata. Whatever she’s making for breakfast smells delicious.

  I find her at the stove, her back to me. She gasps when I quietly slip up behind her. Placing my hands on her hips, my fingers brush along her curvy ass. Her long, blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, so I nibble on the soft nape of her exposed neck.

  Blood shoots into my cock so hard and fast it makes my head spin.

  Renata does this to me, she drives me crazy. I constantly work for control around her. No matter how demanding I am, she always meets me halfway, eager and ready to go. We have unbelievable sexual chemistry. It's wonderful … and brutally addictive.

  “Mm darlin’, something smells good,” I murmur, glancing down at the skillet. “Yum. An omelet. What’s in it?”

  “Cheese, red onion, spinach and tomato.”

  I turn my head, focus on her long, sl
im neck. It’s very kissable, so I start by kissing over her pulse and the edge of her jaw. My hands roam up her flat belly and ribs to palm her soft, yet perky breasts.

  “Grant, you goofball! I’m cooking here. Talk about a serious distraction. My panties might not be the only thing to go up in flames if you keep this up.”

  I snicker at her humor, then nuzzle behind her ear. Her sigh of pleasure makes my dick twitch.

  “Mm,” she moans. “To avoid a house fire, you might want to wait until I finish cooking.”

  “I’m testing your skills,” I say in a breathy rasp as my mouth, teeth and lips inch along the column of her neck. The smell of coffee, breakfast and her feminine scent fills my senses. I palm her breasts, her nipples are now hard and erect. She gasps deliciously when I pull on them with forefinger and thumb.

  “Is it true women really can do multiple things at once?” I ask.

  “Um… multiples?” She snickers. “Oh, yeah, for sure. It’s never just one when it comes to you.”

  “Oh, you are such a bad, bad girl,” I murmur, gently nibbling on her ear.

  “Mmm,” she hums happily.

  Her body softens against me, yielding. Kitchen sex is clearly OK by her. I glance toward the kitchen table; it’s been cleared from the night before. I remember the sound of objects crashing to the floor yesterday and smile. Today, there’s not a thing on it.

  My attention to Renata’s neck, ears and throat is like flicking a switch. For her, these areas are ‘fuck-me-now’ and ‘I-don’t-care-what-else-is-going-on,’ erogenous zones.

  If I bent her over I know she’d be wet and willing. The accompanying visual on this fantasy nearly makes my eyes cross.

  With a happy, aroused sigh, Renata throws her head back against my shoulder. “Well, I don't see any actual flames… yet. How am I doing? Am I passing the test?” she murmurs.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Stiff the moment I saw her, I grind my erection against her ass. Still teasing and devouring her neck, I ease open her bathrobe. Her perfect cleavage peeks out of a cream colored silk nightie.

  Cream. Oh, yeah.

  Licking my lips, I make a sound of lust from deep in my throat.

  My hands continue stroking the fullness of her breasts. They look and feel so good, so tempting. My mouth waters, I want a taste. When I take her nipples between my forefingers and thumbs, twisting and tugging, she gasps—then she moans.

  “You pass every test,” I say huskily.

  My aching shaft throbs and twitches eagerly. Almost shaking with desire, I’m in complete agreement with my cock. We both want inside of her… right now.

  “Should I turn the stove off?” she murmurs. “Should we eat later?”

  What a silly question.

  The kitchen counter is the perfect height. Earlier visions return of bending her over so I can see her wet, swollen lips and delectable ass. I’ll keep her legs firmly together for a change, my thighs outside of hers. She’s super tight like that. I imagine her silky warmth already.

  As I'm about to seal this deal, my phone rings. As this is something it rarely does, I frown, irritated by the timing.

  Her eyebrows arch mischievously. “Is my innocence to be saved by the bell?”

  I snort. “Not a chance. You stay right there, this won’t take long.”

  Renata’s eyes sparkle. I’m so glad she finds my need for dominance and control a turn on. I growl and grab the source of my irritation. Caller ID informs me it's André. This kind of interruption I can handle.

  I answer it with a big smile. “André!”

  “Oui, oui, it is I. How are you, my friend?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Bon. I am calling to let you know. This week, I intend to come to Dallas to see your Detective Bronowski. I am personally delivering the evidence the police have subpoenaed. Do you wish for me to visit with you both while I am there?”

  “We’d love to have you. Absolutely.” I glance at Renata, she nods and smiles her agreement. “You must come to stay at my house, with us.”

  “Merci, I would be honored to do so.”

  We discuss prospective dates and some details about his arrival. He tells me he’d like to meet the rest of my family, which takes me by surprise. Alex will be fine, but my mother? Or Betty Jo? To say I have reservations is an understatement.

  I suppose if I tell my mother André is the bastard prince of some European King, she might be nice to him. For her, money isn’t everything. Connections, family and money are everything.

  I can’t imagine any woman not being nice to André—he charms everyone. On the other hand, my sister hates all of my friends on principle. That isn’t a problem usually, especially after Betty Jo strangled Renata.

  Now I hate her back.

  By the time I hang up, Renata has our meal spread out and ready, so we dig in to the tasty omelets. Briley was up at five this morning, demanding an early breakfast. Now he’s gone back to sleep. Apparently teething, the poor little guy's been having a tough time.

  Since we’re alone, my cock and I view this as the perfect opportunity for satisfaction. Two heads are better than one, and both of mine are smugly united in their goal.

  It’ll have to be an extra quick, quickie since I need to get to work. First, we’ll enjoy our breakfast. Then I intend to pound myself inside of Renata.

  Again.

  That particular activity has become one of my favorite things to do. Talking, laughing, cuddling and just being together also make that list.

  “So,” she says in a conversational tone. “Don’t you think it’s time you and I discussed your sexual fantasies?”

  I’m in the middle of sipping hot coffee when she casually mentions this. Her comment almost makes me choke. I swallow hastily, clear my throat and cough a couple of times.

  “What?” I gasp.

  “Oh, c’mon,” she says with a knowing expression. “You’ve been holding back, Grant. You have some—no doubt—delicious, naughty thoughts you’re hiding. I want to know what they are.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Then, I want to do them with you,” she adds cheerfully.

  My gut twists.

  If she only knew. What if I tell her and she thinks I'm disgusting?

  Renata's light, pure and perfect, and I’m… not. Sure, I’m controlling in bed, but she seems to like that. I always treat her with the love and reverence she deserves. I don’t want to tarnish her beauty and perfection with my filthy desires. What could she know of the dark, dirty crap I try not to think about?

  I came down for breakfast, certain we'd enjoy a fast, fun romp. Nothing was going to deter me. André's call was only a brief distraction. Yet, with that one statement, my happy self-assurance turns to panic.

  I take a deep breath, let it out on a sigh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “Some fantasies are meant to remain just that—fantasy. Hell, if people acted on every impulse, the crime rate would skyrocket. Otherwise I’d have already had someone kidnap Betty Jo and dump her in an Australian desert by now,” I finish with a teasing chuckle, desperately attempting to sidetrack her.

  Renata smiles but says nothing, she doesn’t even laugh. I thought it was funny. Clearly, she’s serious about wanting to know everything.

  Fuck. How do I get out of this potential disaster?

  I take a deep breath, hold it a few beats and blow it out. “Some of my thoughts… they’re perverse,” I admit.

  “Even better! Those fantasies are what we really need to talk about. Relax. It’s just sex. No inhibitions, no shame.” She looks so earnest.

  I narrow my eyes, shake my head. A lifetime of religious teachings flash through my mind. I’m a grown man, but images of the fires of Hell still have the power to frighten me.

  “If I tell you,” I clear my throat, “you’ll think less of me. Maybe you’ll think I’m disgusting. What if you don’t want me anymore?”

  “I’ll always want you.” Renata’s huge open smile covers her face. “Hey, I’ve got kinks
myself. I adore mirrors—watching you take me would be hot as hell. Threesomes with either sex are fun for me, too. You don’t see me beating myself up for my quirky kinks, do you?”

  Somehow I keep a straight face while she confides these unexpected fantasies. Mirrors? Threesomes? The vision of me having sex with Renata and another woman flashes into my mind. How hot would that be?

  I can’t think of that right now.

  “Listen,” she continues, “if you have something that’s truly a shocker, I won’t go there. But I can’t think of anything I couldn’t deal with unless, you want me to er… bring a barnyard animal to our bed?”

  “Hell, no! That's disgusting,” I exclaim, cringing and swallowing hard.

  Shit. She pulled that out of a hat. Was that her attempt at a joke? She must be joking. Thank God I'm not that screwed up.

  “If that was something you really wanted to do, I couldn’t, not even for you. Sorry, no animals,” she says with a laugh and a blithe ‘no big deal’ shrug. “But it wouldn’t stop me from loving you or wanting you, nothing could. Nothing, as in, it's not possible.”

  I’m not convinced.

  “This kind of sharing isn’t something to do with just anyone, but hey, we’re in this for the long haul. We’re going to be married, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Unless she decides I’m a pervert and wants nothing to do with me.

  She crosses her long legs. “Anyway, who knows where weird fetishes and kinks come from? Let's not keep secrets from each other, especially sexual secrets. I want you to accept every part of yourself. When it comes to thoughts and feelings, anything goes. Everything should be able to be talked about. Nothing is off-limits."

  Holding my gaze, she speaks from her heart.

  Easy to do when she doesn’t know the facts.

  "Curiosity and wanting to try new things is normal and healthy as hell,” she continues. “There's really no point in repressing erotic dreams or interests. That simply adds bricks to walls that'll grow between us. Communication is how we get together, grow together, and stay together over time. We should be brave enough to divulge to each other what we’d like to experience in bed. So go ahead, tell me,” she encourages. “Honestly, whatever it is, I can handle it.”