Abuse (19 page)

“Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

~~~

Grant Wilkinson

André bailed on me, the ass hat. What do I do now? I’m alone with this beautiful, barely clothed woman—my
therapist,
of all things! I feel as if I’ve jumped out of a plane without a parachute.

Or more accurately… I’ve been pushed.

Renata’s eyes never leave my face as she steps nearer until she’s standing right in front of me. She's so close; I can almost feel her body heat. My chest rises as I inhale her scent.

Even with my boots on and her barefoot, I’m only a few inches taller than she is. Her lips are near to mine. Unable to even blink, I stare at them. They’re so inviting. I can hardly believe it, but I feel the urge to kiss her. I never want to do that.

I don’t kiss. It’s a courtesy, really.

Monster! Pervert!

She raises a hand toward me. I should back away, I should stop her but I honestly find I’m unable to move or speak. Just the sight and scent of her causes every muscle I have to tighten.

I’m dumbfounded when her fingers carefully feather over my facial scars. They brush along my eye and cheek, trailing down along my jawline and chin.

Soft. So soft and gentle.

I simply can’t believe she’s
touching
me.

I’m hypnotized by her.

In awe and wonder, I try to make sense of her expression, but I can’t. Is it kindness? There’s understanding in her eyes. When I look at her, all of my anger fades away.

What’s going on? Something’s happening here. Whatever it is, it’s constricting my chest and making it difficult to breath.

The unbelievable sensation of her tender caress upon my scarred skin is intense, powerful and well beyond divine. How can someone so lovely accept something so ugly?

A fine tremor begins in my body. I’m shaking and I can’t stop. A tight knot deep inside me—one I didn’t even know I had—begins to loosen.

Other than doctors or nurses, no one except me has ever touched my injury.

Damn it all to hell.

What the fuck is wrong with me? A kind and beautiful woman is willingly caressing my face. She’s tenderly stroking my hideous scars without an ounce of revulsion.

She sees me.

She’s touching
me.

Why then, do I feel like crying?

Our eyes meet and I bite back a groan. This woman is killing me. I can almost read her thoughts behind those amazing blue eyes, I see her emotions—there is no pity, no horror. She isn’t hiding anything. Renata isn’t disgusted. What does she see that I can’t?

Too good for me. Far too good for me.

A burning fist of sexual desire coils deep in my gut and groin. I imagine opening her robe, moving my hands down her body and over the curve of her butt. I long to throw her down on this bed, and thrust myself inside of her. I want to take her again and again, until frustration, guilt and angst disappear.

God, I want her.

I want to bury myself until I’m mindless—until I’m purified by her goodness. I need to drive into her body until the raging voices of conscience, hate and self-loathing are gone.

God, I need her.

My cock aches and my blood boils with hungry, burning desire. Heat. Longing. Lust. Our eyes lock and a blast of sensual energy passes between us. Wordlessly, everything I am demands to know, will she have me? I read her answer in the naked desire that shines in her blue, blue eyes:
“Yes.”

My whole world stops. The stillness is profound. I’m only aware of
her.

Why does she want
me
? Doesn’t she see how broken I am? How can she stand my scars? It’s then I notice that she’s trembling.

I don’t believe it.

This can’t be real.

With shaking fingers, Renata opens her robe, pulling it off and dropping it down at her feet. I manage to curb back the moan that comes from deep within me. As I suspected, she’s buck-naked. She has a classic Scandinavian figure; slim arms, large, high breasts with soft pink nipples—luscious curves in all the right places.

Desire heats my blood and pounds throughout my body. My breath sounds harsh to my ears. I stare as she stretches her arms out towards me.

I’ve never witnessed anything so beautiful in my life.

My barriers lower, my resistance fails. It’s wrong, but I don’t care anymore—if she’ll have me, by God, I’ll take her.

“Come to me, Grant,” she whispers, as she offers herself to me.

I have absolutely no control of my own reactions.

I hear a strange combination between a growl and a sob as I pull her into my arms. Just as I’d imagined, I grip her ass and she parts her legs. Cupping her buttocks, I lift her to me, pulling her soft sex against my aching cock.

Accommodating and willing, she wraps her legs around me while her fingers dig into my shoulders. My chest rises as I inhale deeply. God, she smells divine.

I love the long, slim, length of her, and how we’re nearly the same height. She tries to press her lips against mine but even though I long to, I can’t. Instead, I bury my face in her damp hair that curls around her neck and shoulder.

No kissing on the mouth.

I’m completely unprepared for my own response—unprepared for this rapid, all-consuming longing of body and soul.

I’m a determined man who has resisted the attentions of many young ladies over the years. Beautiful women who thought they wanted me. Women who had no idea
who
or
what
I am.

It’s strange to discover such powerlessness at Renata’s proximity. I’m weakened by her kindness—or strengthened—I don’t know which. I do know I can’t fight this urgent, aching desire.

Freely, I give myself over to the gentle power of this pure and perfect woman. It’s a kind of surrender, a willing admission of defeat.

I’ve never known such a roaring tidal wave of need.

We fall on the bed and I cover her with my body, pressing my hardness against her softness, crushing her breasts against my chest. I brush her hair out of the way, so I can run my tongue and lips along her neck. Nuzzling against her earlobe, biting, kissing, licking, I latch on to the place where I feel her pulse throbbing.

Renata moans invitingly, low in her throat.

I don’t take my clothes off when I have sex; I never have before. I grab a condom, unzip my jeans and groan with relief as I free my aching cock. I can put a condom on with my eyes shut, mainly because I’ve only had sex in the dark before. The light in this room hides nothing.

I’d never have allowed it, except my scars don’t disturb her.

She touched my scars.

That one generous act cut me wide open. It’s as if I’m exposed, heart and soul. It feels incredible, yet I’m vulnerable and raw. What is this exquisite pain? This agonizing ecstasy?

Her skin is warm, smooth and silky; her scent is all woman.

I feel the stiffness of her nipples even through my shirt. Her swollen breasts are fantastic. I fondle and squeeze them, finding her nipples with my thumbs. Fascinated, I rub them back and forth. When I do, her breath burns hot against my neck as she shudders in response.

“Yes, yes,” she murmurs, her hands exploring my back, my shoulders and stroking my hair.

I kiss and nibble her neck but I won’t last long. “I’m sorry, I won’t be gentle—I can’t be gentle,” I gasp in a hoarse voice.

“You can’t hurt me. I want you. Take me, Grant. Take me now.”

Blood is drumming in my ears. My entire body is superheated and sensitized. It’s scorching hot, this erotic fever I can’t contain. I concentrate on getting inside her. Never have I felt such overwhelming desire. I move a hand between her legs, my fingers moving against her folds and spreading her open for me.

“You’re so wet,” I say, stunned.

Can a woman fake that? I have no idea. The prostitutes I’ve been with used a clear kind of gel.

“Oh, um,” she squirms deliciously under my hand. “Please,” she whimpers.

I’m surprised by the sounds of arousal she makes because they seem so real. I can almost believe this isn’t a job and she actually wants me—scars and all. Is it possible? It doesn’t matter. I won’t stop. Right now, she belongs to me.

I close my eyes for a brief moment and pretend she truly wants me.

I pretend she’s mine.

This unexpected desire to possess her is dark and primitive. I ruthlessly push inside of her, stretching her and filling her in one smooth thrust—calling out with the intense pleasure of it.

As I do, Renata gives a soft breathy groan that sounds loud against my ear. My dick jerks inside of her—I almost climax. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pant raggedly while I regain control.

More blood shoots into my cock. I swear I can feel my dick swell. Even more shocking than the exquisite sensation of pleasure, is the absolute
relief
that floods me in scorching, sensual waves.

I need this. I need her.

She’s hot, and tight, and our bodies intertwine. Her legs and arms wrap around me as if she’ll never let me go. Her slender form quakes under me, as I draw my hips back and savagely push myself inside of her, balls deep once more. She gasps and quivers deliciously, so I do it again.

Pushing into her, pulling back out, slamming back into her
hard
and
deep.

In and out.

In and out.

Faster, faster, faster with force and strength—I fuck her exactly the way I want to, the way I
need
to. I cover every part of her, driving one way, then another, listening to her sexy gasps—her erotic moans of pleasure.

I’m relentless—I can’t hold back.

Again. Again. Again.

For once in my life, my mind is free of bullshit.

She’s light to my darkness. Beauty to my ugliness. With each plunging thrust, I feel as if I’m cleansing my soul.

Strength. Rhythm. I’m inexorable. Harder and harder, I grunt each time I drive into her, slapping against her soft flesh with my thighs and hips. I feel ferocious—like a wild animal in a violent male rut. I can’t get deep enough. I can’t push myself into her hard enough, or far enough.

This is more than primal, animal need.

I’ve never known such intimacy. I feel wanted, powerful and complete. This, right here and now is the best a man can be.

I can think of nothing except the redemption and wonder of
her.
Passion and lust blind me. Every sense I have is in
this moment.
There’s nothing else, only
here
and
now
and
her.

Chest heaving, we’re both panting and sweating. Excruciating ecstasy or euphoria… words cannot describe it. How can such a purely animal activity feel so spiritual and divine? Being in this woman’s arms makes sense.

It’s the only thing that’s
ever
made sense.

I’m fit and healthy and I haven’t had sex for over a year. I’m in no hurry to finish, yet the feel of Renata’s young, firm body bucking and writhing under my own overpowers me. I don’t doubt her arousal anymore. If I wasn’t wearing clothes, I’d have scratches all over my back and chest. As it is, I’ve lost buttons on my shirt.

The heady smell of sex, the sensation of driving deeply—my hips pressed between her soft thighs, her gasps, loud moans, murmurs and cries of her pleasure and my own—it all adds up to an explosive peak.

Renata cries out loudly. Her internal muscles clamp down hard upon me in tight, rhythmic spasms.

My cock jerks in a hard wet pulse.

I feel the sudden sensation of cramping, then an erotic blast of release. Throwing my head back and thrusting my hips forward, I climax. A powerful rush of exquisite pleasure flows through me as I empty myself inside her.

“Renata,” I call out thickly, in a joyous, mindless shout of possibility.

Every part of my body pulses in spasms; buttocks, back, shoulders, thighs, balls and cock. I’ve never known such a maelstrom of sensation. I’ve never experienced such bliss.

Every thought I have is gone completely.

My heart pounds and my chest heaves, rising and falling. I’m totally spent. After a night of no rest, rocked by the force of this never-before known physical and emotional release, I collapse almost to unconsciousness.

Why did she accept me? What does she see? Being with her is earth shattering. More like
life
shattering. Or
life changing.

I’ll never be the same man again.

I’m drunk on this woman—intoxicated and addicted already. Better than the finest whisky, she offers me much more than oblivion. Renata gives me the first real sense of peace I’ve ever had.

Lying on her soft warmth, our bodies joined together, sleep pulls at me. Languid and content, I willingly surrender to its restful embrace.