Accuse

  A slight hint of red colors his cheeks. He shifts and then sits up, leaning against the headboard. I bite my thumbnail, hoping I haven’t screwed up his easy-going mood.

  Grant’s eyes lock on mine. “I’ve spent the last two weeks reading books and watching YouTube videos about sex. I specifically wanted to know how to please a woman in bed.”

  “Really?” I say surprised, inching up in order to sit beside him.

  “Really.”

  I lean over and kiss his cheek. “And I thought the swing set was your best idea ever. No one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift. But, when you compare it to what you learned through your research…” I sigh.

  His eyes narrow as he studies me, waiting to hear what I’ll say next.

  “Well, I’m not kidding. Nothing can top what you did to me tonight. It was epic.”

  Grant raises his eyebrows and smiles. “I have every intention of topping that.”

  “You do?” I grin. “Better than what you’ve done already? Then I’m a very lucky girl.”

  He shrugs off my compliment, but I can tell I’ve pleased him. His gaze meets mine. “What we did tonight was the most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life. I didn’t know anything could feel that good.”

  “Me too. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll go again.” My eyes widen when I look down at the sheet that covers us. “Oh, look at that! You’re making a tent.”

  Grant snorts. “I’ve had a constant hard-on ever since I met you.”

  A bubble of laughter escapes me. “So, I’ve noticed.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You would,” he accuses me, with a playfully, pained expression.

  I laugh. “True, but then I try to never let beauty, in all its forms, escape me.”

  Grant smiles.

  “Your cock is particularly gorgeous. The fact you’re hard for me, flatters the hell out of me.”

  Grant takes my hand, raises it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. Totally buzzed, we smile at each other while energy, chemistry, electricity, biology—in fact, an entire library of invisible, sexy, scientific stuff flashes between us.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I say.

  “OK,” he says, as he releases his grip on my hand.

  “Do you remember that first night at your house, when we played Truth or Dare?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “After you made me come—which was incredibly hot, by the way—we had a conversation. We were sitting at the kitchen table, having graham crackers and milk.”

  “Yes.”

  “You climaxed and I climaxed, and then you told me you didn’t feel the need to run away. Do you remember? “

  “Of course I do.”

  “Tell me more about what you realized then,” I say. “You said something about pleasing me, what did you mean by that?”

  He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, pursing his lips.

  He’s thinking, but it’s different this time. I can almost read his mind by observing his body language. A powerful cascade of thoughts are rushing through his brain. I see he wants to tell me something important, and yet, at the same time, he also doesn’t want to tell me—or he doesn’t know how.

  Either way, his inner battle is obvious to me.

  “For me, sex was a necessary evil,” Grant finally says, without looking at me. “It was all about my urges, my cock, my release, me.”

  “I understand.”

  A long period of silence passes while Grant gathers his thoughts. He still won’t look at me.

  “Something happened when we were together,” he eventually says, with a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but I think I do now. Sex has always seemed shameful and self-serving. I’ve come to understand my father was an egotistical, yet charming sociopath. I was only a child, but I loved him. It tore me up to discover he’d been selfishly using me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “That kind of betrayal hurts deeply. It also makes trust nearly impossible. You must have come away doubting everyone and everything.”

  “Yes,” he says, frowning. “I never wanted to be like my father.”

  I instantly want to reassure Grant he could never be like his asshole of a father, yet I manage to keep my mouth shut.

  André’s warning echoes through my mind: Your attention must be on him! Your focus on him! Listen, look and learn from him.

  Telling Grant what I think would be the wrong thing to do.

  Right now, Grant is distracted. He’s sorting through his thoughts and experiences and trying to get things straight in his mind. A good therapist would recognize these signs and wouldn’t interrupt this process.

  I’m not a faultless therapist, but I do have my moments. Consequently, I calmly look at Grant with mild, attentive interest.

  And say nothing at all.

  Chapter 45.

  “Courage doesn’t happen when you have all the answers. It happens when you are ready to face the questions you have been avoiding your whole life.”

  ― S.L. Alder

  ~~~

  Renata Koreman

  “My father loved sex,” Grant finally says, exhaling slowly in a long breath.

  “Oh?” I say, encouraging him to tell me more. I’m not exactly sure where he’s going with this, not yet, at any rate.

  “Well, don’t you see, Renata?” he says, sitting up straighter and turning toward me. “I was so confused. I jumped to all the wrong conclusions because of the fucked up lessons I learned from him. To my mind, sex equaled selfishness, equaled dirtiness, equaled sin, humiliation, secrets and shame. I equated all of these things as one, grouping them together in my mind.”

  His fingers gently cup my face, caressing along the line of my jaw before dropping back down to my hand, where he lightly traces designs that feel lovely on my skin. He pulls away suddenly and looks up at me.

  I can barely meet his gaze, his captivating eyes are filled with reverence, awe and wonder.

  “It’s not like that with you,” he says in a low voice. “I care about you, so very, very much. When I’m with you, it’s completely different. There’s no sin in sex and no shame either.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thank you. I’m so glad you feel that way,” I manage to choke out.

  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 f
ace. 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 Wilkinson

  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.

  Ho
w 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.”