Grayson (14 page)

“I have to fuck you hard, Angie,” he rasped against my ear. “I need you too desperately.”

“
Please…yes!
” I whispered, dying now. I could already feel another orgasm buzzing just below the surface.

Grayson reared up, his grip tightening on my hips. The first hard slam had the table rocking, but then it was as if an earthquake valued ten on the Richter scale hit the room. Grayson powered into me fast, each time hitting hard and driving deep. It was all I could do to hang on. Unfathomable pleasure burned me with a blistering heat as he pounded into me. Our coupling was raw and hedonistic, and the pleasure was as sharp as a razor’s edge.

I was shocked to hear the animal noises erupting from my throat. I pushed back, my slick walls strangling him and begging for more. He sawed in and out of me, grunting and groaning his pleasure, saying words that I wasn’t even sure he was aware of. Words that warmed my pleasure and made it bubble inside me until I was bursting with it. He called me his savior, his every pleasure, his heart—and I lost it. I came in rippling waves of a joy so resplendent that I lost focus of the world around me.

“
Fuck, Angie! You’re mine! My heart! My peace! My everything! All mine!
” 

His cock sank deep to the root, owning me, filling me. His fingers dug into my hips with a punishing grip as he convulsed behind me, grunting fiercely. His cock swelled and stretched my passage as he shot his semen with hard jerky contractions.

He collapsed on my back, his skin slick with sweat, and I was seriously worried that the table would collapse, but I couldn't move. Harsh breaths hissed out of his lungs, stroking the back of my neck and feathering my hair. After a minute, I tried to flex a muscle, any muscle to see if I was still fully functional.

“I’m afraid the table might break,” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming.

He brushed hair away from my neck and kissed a damp spot, sending tingles down my back.

“I’m sure you’d just put it on my list of things to fix.” I could feel him smiling against my neck, and although my body was fixed—quite nicely I might add—my heart was still carved into pieces.

He stood up and pulled me off of the table, holding me as I tested my limbs.

I watched him discard the condom into one of the garbage bags. I pouted, staring at him. “You know, I’m still mad at you.”

I didn’t want him to think he’d gotten away with putting me through a week of hell, of not knowing if he was truly okay.

“Still mad?” He swung his gaze to me, incredulous. Laughter danced in his blue eyes. “After what just happened between us?”

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to a man to think that good—great—
okay, freaking fantastic sex
, would fix everything.

He regarded me with a lopsided grin and said, “Yeah, I could really feel your anger as you were screaming for me to pound you harder.”

My jaw dropped in shock. I couldn't believe he’d just said that!
This man was outrageous!
My eyes rounded and I gave him a playful punch on his chest.

“I did not!”

“Let’s see...” He screwed up his face, grinning. “I guess when you said, ‘Fuck me, Grayson,’ you really meant, ‘Oh, Grayson, I’m so mad at you!’”

I kept hitting him as he laughed and raised his palms in his defense. What made it worse was that he mimicked me in a high-pitched girly voice, which sent me into unwanted hysterics.

He continued, “Or, when you said, ‘Harder, Grayson, harder!’ you really meant, ‘I’m really pissed right now!’”

“You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever known!” I declared with a huff, pushing him backwards into the upholstered chair.

He was a big man and he no doubt allowed me to topple him, but I was surprised when he grabbed my waist and pulled me down onto his lap.

“I’m serious, Grayson.” I faced him, cradling his handsome face between my palms. “I was sick with worry.”

He regarded me seriously, hooking my loose hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry, Angie. I’m not in a good place sometimes. I really do care about you. Perhaps more than I should. I’m twenty years older than you are. You’re young, beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of you—”

“Please, don’t give me that age difference bullshit.”

I cut him off, not willing to let him use our age disparity as an excuse for why we shouldn’t be together. It didn’t bother me.

“Does it bother you?” I asked, holding my breath.

He gifted me with a small smile, and then shook his head. “No, but you—.”

“No buts. We are the only two it should matter to.”

He sighed and kissed my knuckles. Concern darkened his face. “The big thing, Angie, is my mental health.”

I took a deep breath, needing to clear my head. I felt so much for this man that I didn’t want my emotions to rule my thoughts. I wanted to use logic and reason. “Grayson, there are many people who live with schizophrenia. About two point five percent of Americans and one percent of the world, actually. I know it can be disabling, but many people who have schizophrenia are able to work and have families, and are successful. John Nash, a brilliant mathematician and Nobel Prize winner had schizophrenia, as well as Charles Bolden, a famous Jazz musician, and Peter Green, the guitarist for Fleetwood Mac.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

I nodded slowly. “I also know that your case is mild. You lived a highly functional life before…before your accident. An emotional trauma like that can cause an exacerbation of symptoms, especially when you’re not taking your medication.”

He quietly studied me and I tried to read his expression. I loved when he looked at me that way. It was something like awe and disbelief mingled with a tender reverence. It was as if I was his universe and all the answers were held in the stars of my eyes. How I wished that were true. Grayson was still a huge enigma to me. It was hard to get to know him when he kept locking me out of his world. I understood his behavior to an extent, especially given the fact that he’d lived in isolation for so long. It was only in these rare moments that I thought I caught a glimpse of his heart.

“I’m also a nurse, remember? I’ve taken care of patients with severe schizophrenia. I know how bad it can be.”

“My father had a severe case. It waxed and waned. Although my mother loved him deeply, it was still very difficult for her. It was difficult for all of us.”

I swallowed hard, remembering what Jack had told me about his father.

“You must have loved him very much. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about him.”

He gave a shallow nod, his finger making trails on my skin. “I did. But in the end my love couldn’t save him.”

I listened intently, holding my breath. His words saddened me. I wondered if he would discuss his father’s death, but as usual, his words tapered to a resounding silence. I leaned in close, feeling the warmth of his body. The last thing I wanted to do was force him to relive painful memories, so I doused my niggling curiosity.

“You enjoyed traveling with him?” I asked instead.

“Yes.” The tiniest smile turned up his lips. “We were happy. He was happiest when he traveled. Unfortunately, there came a point when it became impossible. Near the end of his life he spent most of his time in and out of the hospital. Getting released and coming home to this house was the only thing he lived for. Here he could surround himself with the things he’d collected over the years.”

He sighed heavily and looked into my eyes. “My disorder may have been mild, but it’s still something I deal with every day.”

I studied his face. “What’s it like for you, Grayson?”

His chest expanded and collapsed slowly. After a thoughtful silence, he said, “It’s a struggle to achieve balance. It can be a futile search for the absolute truth or an endless certainty of lies. I’m constantly sifting through my thoughts, analyzing them, looking for the truth. It never stops.”

“Is that why you don’t go out?” I remembered him saying that he didn’t like people, but now I wondered if it was more than that.

He paused. “People make it worse. The noise is endless. I can sometimes hear their thoughts.”

I nodded silently, trying to wrap my brain around his words. Living in one of the most crowded cities in the world probably didn’t help his symptoms.

He frowned deeply. “It’s often like having a nightmare with my eyes open. Is this something that you want to deal with, Angie?”

I nodded firmly. I’d given this very issue much thought over the past week. I wasn’t giving up on Grayson as long as he wasn’t giving up on me. I tilted my head and regarded him.

“Why don’t you take your meds?”

He paused for a second, twisting his beautifully shaped lips. “The side effects. They make me feel dull, drowsy, disconnected, as if I’m experiencing the world from underwater. I don’t feel alive. I want to
feel
things.” He brushed a finger across my cheek. “I feel
so
much with you, Angie.”

I gave in and kissed the lips I’d been admiring, lingering at the gentle curve at the bottom. Eventually, I pulled back and smiled at him. My heart soared. I know he hadn’t confessed his undying love, but he
did
have feelings for me. I folded my heart around that thought, sinking it someplace deep inside.

I remembered the side effects of the antipsychotics that some of my patients had experienced: dry mouth, sedation, apathy, and even Tardive Dyskinesia, a disorder where patients suffered from sudden involuntary movements. I also knew that the medications had come a long way in the last few years.

“There are many new drugs available now. Plus, a doctor will be able to titrate the dose to minimize the side effects.”

He still seemed troubled. “No.”

I was surprised by the harshness of his tone.

“But, Gray—”

“I said
no
! They’re not…safe.”

His dark brows furrowed and he looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. Another dead end, but I could read the signs clearly on his face. He didn’t trust the pills. I wasn’t entirely surprised he was wary of taking his meds. I remembered that many of the schizophrenic patients I worked with were afraid that their drugs were really poison and that they’d be harmed if they ingested the pills. It was part of the paranoia associated with the condition.

“Antipsychotics can help significantly with thought disorders and ideas that are... distressing.” I took a deep breath, thinking about his belief that Charles had been climbing the outside walls, trying to get in through the window. I also thought about his extensive book fort. “Ideas that may not be based in reality.”

He trailed a finger down my cheek. “You know your shit, Nurse Roberts. I can see why you got a sixty-five on your exam.”

He grinned and I punched him playfully in the ribs. I could tell I wasn’t getting through to him. I knew how stubborn Grayson could be when he had his mind set.

I hesitated, and then confessed, “I spoke to Jack about you.”

His expression dulled, but he didn’t look angry. “What did the old boy have to say?”

“That you’re harmless. He wants you to be happy. He said the house is yours and you shouldn’t be worried about losing it.”

The muscles of his face tightened, alarm usurping his expression.

“Charles knows nothing about my conversation with him, and Jack agreed to keep it between us.” I added quickly and watched his face relax.

He was quiet for a long time, and I didn’t think he’d respond. “Jack is a good man. We were friends. That’s why when my wife was alive we made him executor of our estate. He controls certain things.”

I nodded. I understood a little more now about why this house was so important to him. Jack had said he’d never lived anywhere else.

“Jack got an offer on the house a year ago. He declined it. He knows how much I want to stay here. I’m safe here. The buyer then went to Charles. Charles came to me with the offer, but again, I declined it.”

I shrugged. “You have every right to. Jack said that no one can take it away from you. It’s your house, right?”

He nodded, but didn’t offer more. Maybe Charles had tried to convince him to sell and that was where his anger and systematic delusions stemmed from. It seemed his fears about his son were all in his head. I didn’t like Charles, but he clearly wanted to make sure the house was clean and safe. Although my mind was flooded with questions, again, I didn’t want to press. I was glad he was finally sharing with me, and the last thing I wanted to do was to push him away.

I also didn’t want him to know that I’d spoken to Jack about Peter, his father. Hopefully in time, he'd feel comfortable enough to discuss more of his past with me.

I relaxed back onto his chest and we sat for a long time basking in post-orgasmic lethargy and talking quietly. Well, I did most of the talking, and Grayson listened and asked questions. I told him about the graduate program I was enrolled in part time and about my job as a nurse at the hospital. We touched a little on my family, and I was surprised that he had so many questions about my parents.