Abuse

by Nikki Sex

  Unfortunately, neither Betty Jo nor André see fit to share this plan with us.

  Meanwhile, I’ve been left running our real estate business. Who would have thought that would work? I largely deal with correspondence, advertising and ‘the buck stops here’ kind of stuff. Luckily Alex is only a phone call away.

  I have to admire all of the time and effort my brother has invested in this business over the years by managing this madhouse. Apparently, he’s as much of a wheeler, dealer as our father was.

  I’ve given up my guns, as I’m a hell of a lousy shot with only one eye. Consequently, I’m in the process of selling my shooting range to one of my managers, a friend of mine.

  “Hey,” Renata says, suddenly standing behind me in my office.

  I spin around, grinning widely. A blast of raw, overwhelming emotion hits me when I regard her standing there. I’ve barely seen her all day. Her blonde hair is pulled back, she wears little make up, while her generous lips shine with gloss. A joyful smile flashes in her eyes, around her mouth.

  I can hardly believe it. This incredible woman loves me.

  “Hey yourself,” I manage in a low, rough voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

  I adore the flattering tight navy skirt suit she’s wearing with the perfectly tailored blue blouse that matches her eyes. She’s so damn sexy. She has an elegant manner of dress, something she attributes to shopping with André.

  “I made the sale!” Giggling adorably, she throws her hands in the air. “How cool is that?” She does a little happy dance.

  “Of course you did.” I blink, stunned by the sound of her laughter. She makes my chest ache with pure joy. I always want her to be happy.

  When I was forced to take over the business, Renata saw how lost and out of my element I was. Thoughtful as she is, she wanted to be there for me to help in every way possible. Boy, did my lady go above and beyond, more than just rising to the occasion. She took the fast-track to earn her real estate license through weekend and weekday courses.

  Untrained at first, she came to work with me every day. By asking questions, observation, fielding walk-in customers, directing them to the right consultants and generally making my life easier, she quickly learned the ropes. Renata made a less than ideal (more like dreaded) situation something I look forward to each morning. Sharing my workdays with her, watching her confidence grow and seeing her throughout my day has made this change in our circumstances fun.

  “The Robertson’s are lovely people,” she gushes jubilantly. “I knew exactly what they wanted. Mrs. Robertson is such a doll. Once I found out about their little girls, the need for a good school and a fenced in backyard for the family dog, I knew exactly the house to show them.”

  Given her shyness growing up, it’s surprising to watch how completely she’s turned her inhibitions around. She's come into her own, right before my eyes. Her weekly self-defense classes helped. Renata started those after I gave her that spanking that triggered life-changing epiphanies about pain. André and I are delighted.

  An abrupt image of her beautiful bare ass sears my brain. My fists clench, my dick twitches. I’d like to get her over my lap again. We’ve been so busy and overwhelmed emotionally and otherwise, since that momentous night, we haven’t managed to revisit the whole ‘anal experience’ idea.

  After my meltdown, she's going out of her way to be extra patient, waiting for me to bring up the subject (so to speak). She let me know loud and clear she's more than just OK with the idea.

  I still haven’t told her the details of exactly what I want to do. Will she be disgusted? I wish I knew.

  So, now the figurative ball's in my court, where it's remained for a while. With so much stress and raw emotions running high with my complex family situation, I haven't been ready to take that plunge.

  I’ll get up the nerve eventually. Maybe...

  Renata hasn’t given up on becoming a psychologist, she’s only doing this real estate gig on a temporary basis for me. She says she pretends she’s counseling her clients. Not surprisingly, they love her. That works for me as long as she doesn’t get counseling and sexual surrogacy mixed up!

  Meanwhile, she’s indispensable, not only for support, but as a first contact saleswoman. Memorable to prospective clients through her fresh approach, people are drawn to her honest charm. Still relentlessly ‘helping’ she doesn’t think of her commission. She sees her job as ensuring the right home ends up with the right client.

  I couldn’t be more proud of her. She's proud of herself, too. She should be with all she’s achieved.

  “Darlin’, you sure are something. We should go out to dinner to celebrate. How does that sound? I’ve booked a place for us at Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek. It’s pricey, but perfect.”

  And romantic… which is what I want tonight.

  “Wonderful. I’m super hungry because I skipped lunch.”

  “I’m hungry, too,” I agree, slanting her a look, but I’m not talking about food.

  I pull her into a warm embrace. God, she smells and feels so damn good. I could eat her up. Not surprisingly, physical contact with her gives me an instant hard on. It’s a burning, pulsing need I attempt to ignore.

  Today is October 3rd, Renata’s birthday. I’m pretending I ‘forgot.’ Maria, our housekeeper, has decorated the house, as per my instructions. A heady thrill of anticipation runs through me as well as an inner chuckle. I can barely wait to get her home and see her in her birthday suit.

  Not to mention the surprise I have for her.

  “Hmm,” she says, placing her hand on my cock, rubbing it through the cloth of my suit. “It sure feels as though you’re ready to celebrate.”

  “Hell, yes.”

  We’re interrupted by my phone ringing; it’s my brother.

  “Hello?”

  “Grant, are you in my office?” Alex says, slightly breathless, clearly excited.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Renata there?”

  “Yes.” I grin at her.

  “Good. Close the door and put me on speaker phone.”

  “OK.”

  I promptly ask my secretary to hold my calls, and I shut the door. “Right, we’re both here and alone,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Did I ever tell you how my lawyer sleeps?”

  “What?”

  “First, he lies on one side, then he lies on the other.”

  My brother laughs uproariously over his silly lawyer joke. Renata’s eyes light with amusement, while I shake my head ruefully. I admit it’s an improvement on the joke he texted me earlier. It said something like, ‘Quick, send an alligator… and make it snappy!’

  His laughter is so light hearted, I can’t stop grinning. Always the corny jokes with my little brother. I glance at Renata, who has her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. Alex’s breezy, untroubled sense of humor has always tickled her. It's the opposite of my own tendency to be too serious.

  “Alex you goof! You called to tell us a joke?” I finally ask.

  “I have news.”

  “So I gathered, smart ass. Get on with it already.”

  “I just found out the police dropped my case.” His voice is full of delight, so excited.

  “Seriously? This isn’t a joke?” I ask, filled with hope.

  “No joke, honest,” Alex says, “but it sure as hell made me laugh and put a smile on my face.”

  “That’s fantastic! Did the D.A. tell you why?”

  “They’ve arrested Betty Jo instead,” he says this sounding not quite as cheerful, but not upset or distressed.

  “Ah.” My gaze meets Renata's in a moment of clear understanding. My sister must've finally done the right thing and turned herself in.

  “Betty Jo called last night and told me her strategy,” Alex says. “She didn’t want you to know anything about it until it was a done deal.”

  “OK.”

  “Would you believe that yesterday our sister sold her story to the Dallas
Morning Herald for $250,000? She says it’s to offset her legal fees. Consider yourself forewarned and be prepared to run into gangs of nosy reporters. The Herald’s going to run a series of articles about child abuse, incest and… um, our father.”

  “Wow.” I’m floored by this news.

  Like all Wilkinsons, Betty Jo was taught to be secretive. Never one to share her feelings, her experiences or any aspect of her life, this is a total departure for her. Did André put her up to this?

  Jesus. I hope my mother is able to cope. With Mother’s constant prattle about how important it is to come from a ‘good family’ and her concern about her social standing in the community, how will she ever live this down?

  “Sky must be really happy,” I say. Now no one can complain about her public schooling or her ‘trailer park trash’ pedigree anymore.

  “Oh, we both are,” he assures.

  “This morning, Betty Jo went in and confessed to manslaughter to the District Attorney, with her psychiatrist and lawyer in tow. Her lawyer told the D.A. he’s not interested in a plea bargain. The man wants Betty Jo to explain what happened with her father at trial—he believes the jury will be sympathetic. Her lawyer came on so strong the D.A. is even more determined than ever to settle out of court. If it keeps on like this she’ll probably only get community service.”

  Alex begins to laugh. “Man, I wish I’d been there.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “One last bit of good news,” he says. “You don’t have to do my job forever. Stick around for a few days to hand things over, but I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

  “Yes! Thank God.” I clear my throat. “How do you think all of this negative publicity will affect the family business?”

  “Honestly?” Alex laughs long and loud. “I predict that our sales are gonna skyrocket.”

  Chapter 67.

  “Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them—we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.”

  ― Brené Brown

  ~~~

  Renata Koreman

  Tonight Grant and I go out for a long, leisurely dinner at Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek. Candle light, great food. It’s intimate. Perfect. We’re both overjoyed Alex is coming back to work.

  That will relieve the pressure Grant’s been under.

  We take over three hours to eat—which feels like maybe thirty minutes. Why? Because it was fun! We were both utterly absorbed in each other, laughing, teasing and simply talking.

  I asked Grant what would be a perfect day for him. Of course, I was a large part of his long, interesting answer. We discuss things we are proud of. I name three things I admire about him; he does the same for me.

  We chat about skills we’d like (him, to speak French; me, to get up the courage to speak well in public.) Then we discuss silly supernatural abilities. I’d like to be able to be invisible, he’d rather be able to fly. We discuss mind reading at length. Do we really want to know what other people think of us?

  Grant says he would rather not know, which surprises me. He’s the courageous one. For me, I think it would be fun… but then again, maybe not.

  Our open conversation is a subtle pleasure; it slips up on me, building into true joy. We both speak without guarding our innermost thoughts, or censoring our ideas. Such lack of inhibition is rare for me.

  It’s a tremendous relief to be with someone, where it feels safe to be totally myself.

  We finish by asking each other, ‘If you could have dinner with anyone in the world since the beginning of time, who would it be?’

  This runs into a ridiculous list of possibilities. I tell him I’d like to meet Princess Diana, but I wouldn’t be up to hearing any sad stories.

  Grant says he’d like to see Hitler, just to ask him what in the hell was he thinking? He admits he’d also like to beat the stuffing out of the guy. He certainly has no thought of sitting down to dinner with him.

  In the end we both opt for the fun people who'll make us laugh, or stun us with their life experiences. We decide on Gandhi, Martin Luther King, or David Attenborough, Shakespeare and Jane Austen would also be interesting and entertaining.

  Grant would like to meet Abe Lincoln and Daniel Boone, an American folk hero. Also Leonardo da Vinci. I think of J.K Rowling, Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin and Mark Twain.

  “What is it?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening with concern.

  The pensive look on my face must give me away. I sigh and finally say, “I’d really like to have dinner with my mother. If I did, I'd ask her to forgive me.”

  His eyes flash. “Renata—”

  I raise a hand and cut him off before he can protest. “I know, I know, Timmy’s death wasn’t my fault, but in my little heart of hearts I can't help but feel guilty. Mom always told me to look after my little brother. I'd like to talk to her anyway, to ask her why she never left dad.”

  “I suppose she felt trapped.”

  “But why didn’t she ask for help from her brother, Uncle Robert? I’d also like to have a chance to say goodbye. I’d love to see Timmy, too—but if I saw him I’d never be able to let him go.”

  He grips my hand, thoughtful and sympathetic. “I’d like to meet your mom,” he says. “I’d tell her that her daughter is the most amazing person in the world. I’d let her know that even if I could choose from every single person, living or dead, there’s no one I’d rather have dinner with than you, Renata.”

  I burst into unexpected, happy tears at his earnest pronouncement. Jesus, when it comes to one liners, Grant really has the goods.

  During dinner, we laugh, we tease, flirt, smile and surprise one another. Casually touching each other here and there, with innumerable small glances, each one communicating more than words.

  When our words run out we simply look into each other’s eyes and say nothing. Hopelessly sappy, every moment we seem to fall more deeply in love.

  Simmering sexual need builds between us throughout dinner, buzzing in the background, but it never takes over. We both want to savor this time together.

  After we eat, I expect the staff to bring out cake and ice cream and start singing, ‘Happy Birthday to You.’

  No one does.

  Is Grant aware it’s my birthday today? If not, I’ll have to tell him. When he finds out he’ll be annoyed at the missed opportunity. But maybe he’s planning a surprise? Both André and Dianna chatted to me earlier today on facetime. Surely one of them would have mentioned my birthday to Grant?

  “I’ve had a lovely evening, Grant,” I say as his car purrs into the garage.

  “Me too.” He shifts into park, the engine switches off, and all is silent. He turns toward me with a huge smile. Reaching out, Grant tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. When he does a surge of sensual electricity runs thorough me, head to toe.

  “You look so beautiful.” His voice is deep, his smile makes me want to melt into a puddle of happiness.

  “Wait right there.” He climbs out of his car, shuts his door and comes around to open mine.

  I know how to open a car door, but it’s in Grant’s nature to be a gentleman. As it happens, I adore these courteous acts of service. It makes me feel feminine and special.

  Excitement and anticipation has built within me to almost fever pitch. Talk about the perfect poker face! Does Grant know? Or doesn’t he know?

  The warm solid press of his hand slides low, to the small of my back as he carefully guides me into the house as though I’m a priceless treasure. God, just one touch and he makes my whole body burn.

  Whether he’s aware it’s my birthday or not, happy birthday sex is in the cards tonight.

  When I walk into the kitchen I see a chocolate birthday cake with pink writing on it sitting on the kitchen counter, a pink envelope, as well as a dozen pink roses. Pink rose petals are scattered around the kitchen. Thrilled, I throw
my arms around him.

  “You remembered!”

  His gaze is intent. “When it comes to you, I remember everything.”

  I open the envelope and shriek in delight. Inside are two business class return tickets to Paris! We’re going in three days’ time for a whole week! I plaster myself against him, my breasts to his rock-hard chest, my hips to his thighs.

  He’s firm already, which is no surprise. Grant always seems ready to go. Even after a climax, his cock barely softens.

  “Thank you so much,” I murmur my face against his neck. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

  “I know.”

  Lips parted in surprise, I pull back and look at him.

  “You told me that months ago,” he explains.

  He bends his head down and kisses me. Taking immediate advantage, he claims my mouth. One firm palm slides to my nape, his thumb strokes my jaw. The other rakes through my hair, twisting, lightly gripping and pulling. God, I find that sexy!

  “Mmm,” I moan, yielding completely to his demands.

  Tongue stroking mine, he tastes, he plunders, and before I know it, I’m ready to have sex right here on the kitchen table.

  Again.

  Grant breaks off the kiss, his hands slide to my waist. Pulling back from me, he regards me face to face. His intent, lust-darkened eyes make my stomach flutter.

  “You haven’t seen the rest of your presents,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

  I turn toward the kitchen counter. I hadn’t noticed before, but the sprinkling of rose petals trails out of the room. Where are they going?

  I grin and start to follow. “Oh, treasure hunt, hey? Neat.” I turn to give him a saucy look. “I hope this string of pink leads right into the master bedroom.”

  He laughs, a wonderful sound, lighthearted and pleased. There was a time when I never heard him laugh. Now, such joy comes naturally.

  I take his hand and pull him along the rose petal path. I find them scattered along the carpet, trailing up the stairs.

  “Ah, this looks promising,” I say in a teasing tone.

  He says nothing, but I swear I can feel him grinning as he follows behind me.