I pull away, licking her sweet slickness from my lips.
Fuck! She tastes incredible.
Renata’s hands fist the sheets, her muscles are coiled and taut, her face is a mask of agonized pleasure.
I use my thumb to press on her clit, while I continue to pump my thick digits rapidly, slamming in and out of her greedy, wet hole. Digging her heels into the mattress, she rides my fingers, pushing into them as though her life depends on it. Her inner walls continue to pulsate against me, gripping and milking my fingers hard.
This is a long climax! Maybe she’s having more than one?
I’m in awe.
I continue to drive my fingers in and out of her in frenzied strokes, pushing in as deeply as possible with each thrust. Only my large knuckles prevent me from going in further.
Renata’s burning hot core still doesn’t stop. I’m gripped by intense pleasure as she squeezes me again and again in a series of short, sharp contractions.
The ferocity of her orgasm triggers my own passionate release—taking me completely by surprise.
“Renata!” I call out in a harsh, breathless cry.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears and my chest heaves. With one hand on my pulsing cock, I stand up. Roaring my ecstasy, I immediately ejaculate over her mound, hips and thighs.
Renata shakes and trembles with uncontrollable aftershocks from her powerful release. The sheets are stained dark from her arousal, the evidence of her climax and mine.
Spent, my legs can barely hold me upright. Panting, I brace them, forcing myself to stand strong. Time passes while I remain there, staring at her while trying to catch my breath. Her body quivers, her pulse visibly throbs in her neck. Her lungs rise and fall rapidly. She’s panting too.
I watch the racing pulse in her neck slow, and her breathing become steady. I enjoy seeing her twitches lessen, then stop.
Renata’s eyes are closed. Her features—temporarily twisted with the excruciating pleasure of release only moments before, have utterly relaxed. A small satisfied smile now curls her lips.
She’s so beautiful.
Once more, I’m spellbound. There is nothing shameful about what we’ve just done, in fact, it was awe-inspiring. I feel as if her intense pleasure fired my soul. Was that an example of ‘making love?’ It certainly wasn’t sex as I’ve known it.
It was some sort of magic.
For a moment, I wonder if she’ll write or visit me if I become incarcerated. It’s a stupid thought, one I immediately reject.
I’m not going to jail. Not now. I can’t leave. For as long as she’s willing to stay with me, I need to be with Renata.
Chapter 21.
“Compassion? Ah, a most selfless emotion. Have you observed how those who have suffered seek to lessen the suffering of others?”
— André Chevalier
~~~
Renata Koreman
I happily sit on Grant’s bed in the afterglow of my orgasm, contentedly watching him dress. He has a firm, tight ass, narrow hips, broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted muscles. Check out those guns! His biceps are huge. I love the corded strength of his arms.
Is Grant built, or what? His colorful tattoos enhance the devastating effect he has on me.
I wonder if that tough, solid, body of his comes from his being in the service. There’s nothing soft about him. Does he go to a gym now that he's no longer in the military? Is he a daily exercise freak? He must be to maintain that physique. Man, it really shows.
Lord, he’s gorgeous!
Grant bends down to pick up his shirt from the floor. He turns toward me, shooting me a playful smile. My heart trips, missing a beat or two. His left cheek and a tiny spot on his neck are rippled by thick, pinkish scars that pull and pucker slightly when his lips curve upward.
Earlier, I could tell that smiling made him self-conscious—but he’s not self-conscious now. Relaxed and at ease, he can be himself with me. My heart warms because I helped caused this change in Grant. Knowing that I helped him makes me melt into a puddle of pure happiness.
“You got dressed pretty quickly,” he murmurs.
I smirk. “I did.” Lifting a hand, I tuck a wayward lock of blonde hair out of my face and behind my ear. “I wanted more time to watch you.”
“Really?” His smile broadens, transforming his features. “Was it worth it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say in a flirty voice, breathless just from seeing his smile. “Very.”
Grant laughs, a joyous sound that makes my heart soar.
The French would call our carefree interaction, le jeu de la seduction—the game of seduction. This form of flirting isn’t always about getting someone into bed. Instead, it’s an acknowledgment of a person’s manner, clothes or perhaps their beauty. It’s a way for even complete strangers to put smiles on each other's faces and warmth in their hearts.
In my case, though, I am trying to get him into bed!
Grant pulls up his zipper. The sound is an erotic rasp that makes my stomach flutter. His bedroom smells of sex and the unique musky male scent of him. I love it.
I know the real Grant now. I’ve seen the man he can be, the man he would have become without the toxic interference he experienced as a child. He’s all tough, brooding alpha male, yet he’s generous and kind too.
I understand him and he understands me.
What is this glorious bond we share? It’s a strange and remarkable thing. My heartfelt desire to be near him isn’t simple lust. I adore André, but it’s not the same. Not even when I was younger and imagined myself to be wildly in love with him.
I've never experienced anything like what I feel for Grant.
We’re so alike, both tortured by our past.
He needs me.
My thoughts return to something André once said. I have chosen to place two damaged people together in the hope they may heal each other. André is a genius. His plan is working.
Grant bravely told his secrets, first to André and now to me. I admire him so much. Continuing to look across the room at this complex, compelling man, I stand up preparing to leave. I still can’t take my eyes off him. I’m with Grant in his home, looking after sweet Briley—and I’ll be here for months!
I couldn’t possibly be any happier than I am right now.
Grant finishes dressing. His head lifts, his gaze meets mine. He’s standing perhaps ten feet away from me yet it seems like no distance at all. A jolt of electric attraction sizzles between us.
Does he sense how perfectly we fit together? Is it love? Or need? Or is it something else? Whatever it is, it’s much more than chemistry.
Smiles are plastered across our features as we gaze at each other for a long, long minute. I wonder if the naked yearning I see in his expression is the same as the one on my own face.
I never, ever want to let him go.
“So, what’s the plan, Batman?” he finally asks.
I instantly burst out laughing.
Grant flushes—he actually flushes with embarrassment.
Incredulous to hear such a silly expression from his normally all-too-serious lips, I repeat his question, “What’s the plan, Batman? Really, Grant?”
He shrugs. “I had a childhood friend years ago who used to say that. I’ve no earthly idea where it came from just now.”
“You’re happy,” I say, a statement of obvious and absolute truth.
“Yes,” he says simply.
My heart leaps and there it is again, that miraculous sense of connection. Yes. One little word that communicates so very much. I can read the world into that one word. Grant is saying that he was scarred and scared. He believed he was a monster—unloved and unlovable, defensive, isolated and alone.
He doesn’t feel that way now.
Yes, he’s happy. Yes, he cares for me. Yes, he’s grateful.
Moments pass while his intense, slate-blue eyes meet mine. His hooded gaze drinks me in, worshiping me, cherishing me… adoring me.
Sex shattered G
rant’s world, robbed him of trust and caused him a lifetime of shame. Two days ago, I’d felt shredded by his pain. I wanted to banish the sorrow and soul-destroying guilt from his eyes.
This Grant is no longer uncertain or ashamed. He’s opened his heart and learned to like himself. His acceptance and appreciation feels very much like love.
I clear my throat of the well of emotion that has lodged there. “Well,” I say, shifting restlessly and attempting to sound normal, “I thought we might try some basic touching.”
He frowns and I immediately sense his barriers rise.
I grin. “But first, let’s get something to drink and I’ll go check on Briley.”
With a long-legged stride, Grant exits ahead of me, leading me out of his bedroom. I love the look of his taut buttocks and the muscular shape and length of his thighs. Damn, even his walk is sexy.
My stomach flutters. I doubt I'll ever get enough of this man.
He turns to face me as I move toward my bedroom where Briley is sleeping. “What would you like? Orange juice? Coffee? Something else?” he asks.
I blink. For one long moment I envision a comprehensive example of the something else Grant could provide. Something hot. Something dirty, something raw, primal and really, really raunchy.
Knock it off, Renata! Sheesh! Can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for three minutes?
“Coffee sounds wonderful,” I manage to choke out, “but it might keep me from sleeping.” Tilting my head, I add, “Do you have any graham crackers? I’m in the mood for graham crackers and milk.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
Briley’s sleeping soundly on his back with one tiny hand near his mouth. I stare at him for some time, soaking him in. What will he do with his life? There’s so much potential in this little person before me.
I listen for his almost silent breathing and my nostrils fill with his sweet smell. It’s the clean scent of innocence, new life and endless possibilities.
When I walk downstairs and into the kitchen, Grant already has graham crackers out on the table and is pouring milk into two glasses.
“How’s Briley?” he asks, as he puts the milk back into the fridge.
“Fantastic,” I reply. “Drug issues or not, his parents must be loving. An unloved child could never settle in as easily as he has.”
I take a bite of a cracker and smile at him. “We should take a moment to debrief. I thought our foray into sexual intimacy went pretty well.” I arch an eyebrow in a teasing manner. “I’m not complaining, at any rate. What do you think?”
Grant doesn’t reply. Instead, he slowly and carefully dips a cracker into his milk, takes it out and eats it.
We grin at each other stupidly until I do the same, dunking my cracker into my glass. Unfortunately, my timing's off. Both of us laugh when my graham cracker falls apart into the milk.
“Do you want another glass?” he asks.
“Never!” I protest, using the indomitable voice of a warrior. “Soggy, graham cracker milk is a hazard but it’s an important part of the whole experience.”
Amused by my declaration, the corners of Grant’s mouth tug up with humor. We do that electrically-charged mutual staring thing again. It’s remarkably intense, this link we’ve forged together.
Finally, he takes a deep breath. “I think our liaison tonight went well,” he begins and there’s a rarely seen playful look in his eyes. “With more practice, I believe that I might even learn to be good at it.”
“Reeeeally?” I say, drawing out the word. “Even better than that? Because what we did… that was pretty damned hot.”
“Oh, definitely,” he says.
He grins in a smug, horny male, ‘I want lots and lots of sex,’ manner. I’m grinning the same way, except in a horny female manner.
“I don’t know how much more I can take,” I tell him, “well, without risking spontaneous human combustion.”
Laughing, Grant slouches back in his chair, draping himself over it invitingly. My inner channel clenches and moisture wets my thighs. Already aroused, my body moves from a pleasant sensual buzz to instantly being primed and ready for him.
Oh, Lord, this man is so damned beautiful. I want him so badly. Here. Now.
But I’ll be good.
“You know,” I say, shaking my head. “That tongue of yours…”
“What?” he looks at me, intrigued.
“Well, it was… very… talented.”
His eyes widen, but he says nothing.
I let my gaze travel over his chest, arms and shoulders. “You’re strong all over, so I was wondering.” I tilt my head and shoot him a mischievous look, “Can you do push-ups with that tongue?”
Our eyes lock for a long moment, then we both laugh out loud.
Chapter 22.
“Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky, but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable.”
― Brené Brown
~~~
Renata Koreman
“You have a bit of a dominant streak in you,” I tell him. “Were you aware that you were bossing me around?”
“Yes.”
“Do you usually do that?”
“Never—not like that.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate on his statement. Often, a therapist can just shut her mouth and people will tell her things. Human nature tends to make people want to fill the vacuum of an uncomfortable silence with speech. Sadly, that particular technique doesn’t seem to work with Grant. He likes silence.
I quickly realize that I need to avoid asking him ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions. They don’t get him to talk. Stifling a sigh, I decide to change my approach.
“Did you feel the urge to run at any time?”
“No.”
“Tell me, how did you feel?”
He smiles. “Comfortable.”
“That’s fantastic,” I say. “What an excellent start. Good for you.”
He smiles. I smile. More silence.
“Hmm,” I say. “Anything else to add?”
“No.”
I snort, showing my irritation. “I feel as if I’m pulling teeth here, Grant. Pretend I’m André for a minute, will you? We were just intimate, sharing sexual activities that were new for you. I could have hit upon negative triggers. Give me some more feedback, will you? What do you think André would want me to know?”
Grant sighs heavily and leans back in his chair. He averts his gaze, seemingly studying an oil painting in the living room. I’ve observed this behavior before. A lot. This is the Grant who fully thinks things through before he speaks.
“Sex has always felt dirty and disgusting to me,” he says. “It's been that way for as long as I can remember, so I expect it. But with you?” He shrugs. “Well… it wasn’t...
Unfortunately, I’m drinking milk when he says this and I almost choke. My gulp and sudden burst of laughter causes me to do a spit-take, spraying milk all over the table.
Grant jumps up to get the kitchen towel, which I grab from him and put over my face to smother my loud giggling.
He glares at me, obviously not seeing the humor I see.
“I’m sorry!” I say, once I pull myself together and wipe up the mess I've made. “Honestly. Thank you… I think.” I snicker some more. “It’s just that your comment was so flattering—in an ass backwards sort of way. What a compliment!
I sit up straight and imitate André’s voice and accent, “And how was sex with Renata, Grant?” I switch to Grant’s Texas twang, “Oh, well, it wasn’t dirty or disgusting, not like I thought it would be.”
Grant’s lips twitch into a smile as he finally understands how humorous his statement was.
“Excuse me, I honestly didn’t mean to interrupt you, but that sure tickled me. Please continue. You were telling me something.”
Grant frowns and once more averts his gaze as he thinks. Suddenly, he shoves his glass of milk out of the wa
y and leans toward me. To my surprise, his expression changes. His eyes lock on to mine and his face transforms into a look of… what? Wonder? Realization?
“I was able to get into it and enjoy it because my attention was focused on you,” he says, abruptly ardent. “I connected with you. I wanted to please you. It made everything we were doing seem good and clean and right somehow.”
Wow! What a tribute.
I maintain my composed expression—at least I hope I do. “Thank you,” I reply.
Could I be as important to him as he is to me? Does he know how much I care? My breath catches and my stomach flutters. My gaze falls to the crackers. Maybe I’ll have another one. I’m not hungry, but it will distract me.
I look away from him because I can’t quite face the intensity I see in his eyes.
I have a huge crush on Grant. I love the man, but I don’t think it's right to talk to him about it. Hell, I don't think it's right to even feel this way. It certainly crosses professional boundaries.
André’s advice echoes in my mind. Focus on him. Be in the present. Be the counselor. This is not about you.
I can't confess my love. Especially, not yet. Certainly not just now. His issues must come first.
Grant gives me a faint smile. “Can I ask you a question?”
I relax, glad to change the subject. “Sure.”
“Why were you so turned on? I mean, without us touching each other, we really just pleasured ourselves. What’s with that? Are you usually so…um,” he frowns in concentration, searching for the right word. With a sexy, wry smile he finally says, “passionate and ah… excitable?”
I grin. “You mean horny?”
He looks at me sheepishly and laughs. “Yes!”
“Well, first of all, my period's due tomorrow, and honestly, I’m always ultra-horny right before my period. I swear, even fire hydrants look good to me then!” I quip.
Grant stiffens.
Have I shocked him by mentioning the unmentionable? He hasn’t had much experience with women, but I’m not going to treat him with kid gloves on this subject. A woman’s monthly cycle is a part of life, so I refuse to ignore the obvious or dance around the truth. Since we're going to be living together for a while, he might as well get used to it.