His To Shatter (16 page)

As I rode out the waves of my utter ecstasy,
I could feel Girard shifting out of his slacks. When I could
finally see straight, the sight that awaited me was almost too
incredible to believe. He was kneeling above me again, but without
a stitch of clothing on his body. My eyes widened as I took in his
long, throbbing member. I could scarcely believe the enormity of
it, the sheer size as it stood straight and thick, pointing
directly at me. For the first time, I understood how beautiful a
man’s body could be. Never before had I thought I could find a
man’s member to be so enticing. But one glance at Girard’s
handsome, ample package and I knew that I had to feel him inside
me. Luckily, it seemed as though that was exactly what Girard had
in mind.

He lowered himself on top of me, supporting
his weight on strong forearms. He looked down at me intently and
opened his mouth to speak. “Madison,” he said, “Understand that I
will always listen to what you want, and try to give you as much
pleasure as I can. Now, my tastes in the bedroom can run a little
rough. If anything upsets you or turns you off, tell me so.”

“OK,” I breathed, glancing down at his
pulsating member.

“But tonight,” he went on, “I don’t want to
be rough. I don’t want anything but to be here with you, to feel
togetherness in this moment.”

“Yes,” I cried, the need for him starting to
overwhelm me, “Please, I want you—”

But my words were cut off as I felt the tip
of Girard’s manhood resting against the wetness of my sex. He
stayed there for a moment, groaning as we finally touched in the
way we’d both been dreaming of. Then he brought his fingers once
more to my hair, grasping at it just hard enough. He met my gaze
and held it, refusing to look away. And with that, he plunged into
me, slowly spreading me open with his powerful cock. I gasped as
his thick member slid into me inch by inch. I’d never had a man so
well hung before, and we had to negotiate as he slipped further and
further inside of me.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, as he bucked
his hips against mine, thrusting deeply into my body. All the
while, as he made his way in, he never looked away from my eyes.
Finally, with a powerful push, I felt Girard fill me completely. It
was almost too much to believe, the way that he filled every single
inch of me. For a moment, he held me there—reveling in the feel of
him inside me. Then gently at first, he started to buck into me. I
leaned into his thrusting hips, moaning as he drove ever deeper,
filling me ever more. I could feel him in the deepest parts of me,
parting me on his staggering manhood. For the life of me, I thought
he’d burst through my body, slicing me open on the force of his
passion. His grip tightened in my hair, and I cried out in
simultaneous pain and delight.

“Madison,” he growled, “I’m so close...”

“Girard,” I breathed, digging my fingers into
the shapely muscles of his ass, “Girard I want...I want...”

“What do you want?” he asked, driving himself
deeper and deeper into my eager and trembling flesh.

“I want you,” I said, “To come inside me.
Please.”

A smile twisted at his firm lips. “No
problem,” he said, and brought his mouth to mine. As he planted his
lips against my own, he began to thrust faster and faster,
pummeling me with the force of him. My head began to spin as the
sensation mounted, and I realized that I was going to come again.
Girard slid his tongue deliciously against mine as he reared back
and drove his member into that tender place inside of me. I
screamed out in ecstasy as Girard erupted inside of me. I felt the
quick pulse and sudden burst of cum as it streamed into my body,
filling me even further with him. I bucked my hips against him,
wanted to catch every drop that I could. In a haze of sensation, we
came together finally, and spent ourselves as one.

Girard collapsed on top of me, and I nuzzled
my face into the hollow of his shoulder. Our chests heaved
together, our hearts beating wildly against each other's. We lay
there for what felt like an eternity, the only sound in the room
apart from our breathing was the crackling fire. Finally, Girard
rolled to the side and pulled me against him, my back to his chest.
We lay there on top of the covers, folding into each other as if
we’d been built for it. Sleep crept up on me, and claimed me for
its own. I didn’t resist the pull of slumber, and heard Girard’s
breathing slow to a steady hum as he drifted off as well.

A million thoughts vied for attention as I
fell into a heavy, sated sleep. But I couldn’t humor a single
notion other than that I had to be the luckiest woman ever to walk
the earth. To have a man such as this, even for one night, was more
than I could have ever dreamed for. I had spent so many years
distrusting and dismissing men. Had I finally met the one who would
change everything for me? It was yet to be seen, but the dream of
it comforted me as I finally fell asleep.

* * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

* * * * *

I was pulled from my heavy slumber by the
irresistible smell of French press coffee. As I rolled over, the
memory of the previous night hit me like a wrecking ball. I
remembered Girard lifting me effortlessly, carrying me to his bed,
stripping me down and taking me for his own. I remembered the firm
hardness of him as me impaled me on his manhood, parting my eager
flesh beneath him. Filled with renewed desire, I rolled over toward
him, only to find that I was alone in the massive bed. I sat up,
rubbing sleep from my eyes, and cast about the cavernous space.
Realizing that he must have gotten up before me and prepared the
coffee that was tantalizing my senses, I pulled myself up out of
bed. Grinning, I retrieved Girard’s linen shirt and tucked myself
into it. I pulled on my lacy panties and ran my fingers through my
hair as I traipsed down the grand staircase toward the kitchen.

As I stepped into the sunny foyer, I caught
sight of Girard in the kitchen. His shapely, shirtless back was to
me, and I could see him fixing something for us to eat. For a long
moment, I stood there staring, unable to comprehend my good
fortune. If I woke up now and realized this had all been a dream, I
was going to be one seriously unhappy camper.

“Good morning,” I said, surprised by how
comfortable I felt in Girard’s home.

He turned and smiled as he caught sight of me
in his shirt. “Good morning, Madison. Do you like butter on your
toast, or jam?”

“Butter,” I replied, sitting on a stool
before the kitchen island on which our affections had begun the
night before. “Thank you so much for doing all this.”

“All what?” he asked, placing a gorgeous
platter of bread, cheese, and fruit down between us.

“This,” I repeated, gesturing toward the
spread, “I’m not exactly accustomed to this kind of treatment.”

“Well,” Girard said, “That’s because you’ve
only been with American boys.”

I grinned at him as he handed me a mug of
steaming black coffee. He sat down across from me and snatched up a
slice of warm French bread, spooning a heap of blackberry jam onto
it.
Look at us
, I thought,
just hanging around like an
old married couple
. I half expected him to whip out the morning
paper, but it seemed that he only had eyes for me. It was
incredible.

“Do you have plans for today?” I asked,
helping myself to a slice of apple.

“Not if you don’t,” he replied. “Do you think
that you can stand another day in my company?”

“I think I can manage,” I laughed. “Where
should we start? I’ve been dying to see some of the more historic
landmarks. I know it’s kind of touristy, but—”

The sudden scratch of keys in the front door
interrupted my words. I watched Girard’s brow cloud over as the
lock was overturned in the foyer, and the heavy front door swung
open. I whipped around on my stool and felt the hair on the back of
my neck stand up. Standing in the open doorway, looking for the
world like she’d just stepped off the runway, was Monica.

Her features went from composed to livid in
three seconds flat as she took in the scene unfolding in the
kitchen. Stepping into the townhouse, she slammed the door behind
her and strode toward us. By the look on her face, I half expected
her to try and hit me. She surely could have tried, though I
resolved to snap her skinny wrist if she did. But instead of
assaulting me, she ignored me completely and crossed the room
toward Girard, stabbing a sharp-nailed finger into his bare
chest.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she
demanded.

Girard knocked her hand away with a roll of
his eyes. “What are you doing here, Monica?”

“What am I...? You have a meeting with Archer
and Harriet in half an hour.”

“Oh,” he said, nonplussed, “Right.”

“Perhaps you would have been more prepared if
you’d deigned to pick up your cell phone even once last night. But
I see you were otherwise engaged.”

I looked between Monica and Girard, unsure of
what I should be contributing to this moment. I was rather put-off
to see that their fighting looked like a lovers’ spat. I allowed
myself to entertain the notion that I’d been putting off since I
met them on the subway all those months ago. Was Monica more to
Girard than just an assistant? I looked her up and down, noting her
thin frame and amazing wardrobe. If push came to shove, could I
really compete with this tempestuous beauty?

“I’ll be ready, don’t you worry,” Girard
said. “Really. I’ll meet you at the office.”

“You sure you don’t need me to dress you?”
Monica spat.

“Go,” Girard said. “Now.”

Monica turned on her heel and stormed out of
the town house. At the door, she turned and called out, “Do try and
keep your cock in check for the next couple of hours. I know how
hard it is for you, especially with a new toy laying about.”

She slammed the door behind her, leaving
Girard and I alone once more. He was positively simmering with
anger, glaring at the door as if he could bore a hole in it and
vaporize Monica where she stood. Still, his anger didn’t do much to
put me at ease, given what I’d just witnessed between them.

“She’s got a temper, huh?” I offered.

“Temper?” Girard spat, “She’s got a bad
fucking attitude and an ego the size of Belgium.”

“Why do you keep her around, then?” I
asked.

Girard gave me a long, solemn look. “It’s a
very long, very boring story, I assure you.”

That did the exact opposite of reassure me,
though. What was their long history? I began to fear the worst, but
knew I couldn’t come out and ask him. I settled for the middle
ground. “Why does she have keys to your house?” I asked.

“Monica runs my life. Isn’t it obvious?” he
said, rather callously. His tone cut through me a bit, it made me
feel like just some girl sitting in his kitchen after a one night
stand. And worse, he didn’t even seem to notice that he’d been
unfeeling. “I’m sorry we’ll have to part ways for a few hours. I
entirely forgot about this meeting. I hope you’ll let me make it up
to you?”

I smiled as best I could and said, “Sure.
It’s fine. I’ll go get dressed. And maybe you could give me
directions back to my apartment?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “I’ll send
for a driver.”

“Oh. OK,” I said, and slid down off my stool.
As I hurried back upstairs to throw on yesterday’s dress, Girard
snatched up his ever-present phone and started barking orders into
it in French. I readied myself quickly, and heard the sound of a
purring engine outside the front door before I’d even made it down
the stairs. Girard met me at the door and took a moment to look
into my eyes.

“I will make this up to you,” he said
intently.

“OK,” I answered, unable to shake my doubt.
“See you soon.”

“Very soon,” he insisted, and opened the door
for me. I blinked in the early morning light and made my way to the
town car idling on the curb. The driver helped me inside, and I saw
Girard framed in the doorway as we pulled away from the town house.
I waved back feebly and sank back against the soft leather seat. My
mind raced at a thousand times faster than the car.

What in the world was I supposed to make of
Girard’s relationship with Monica? I no longer had any doubt that
she thought of him as far more than an employer. Her eyes were full
of contempt for me each time she leveled them my way, and there
could only be one explanation for that. How was I supposed to
compete with someone so conniving, so ambitious, so gorgeous? It
was plain to see that she had some kind of control over him.

And how could I ever come to reconcile that
with everything that had happened the night before? The love he had
shown me, the way he’d taken charge of my body...it was all so new.
So raw. I felt hot tears spring to my eyes as I watched the city
fly by my window. Whether they were tears of sorrow or joy, I
couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Perhaps it
was the singular sensation of falling in love with someone who was
far too good, far too special to be true, in the end. Perhaps I was
already mourning the loss of Girard, before he was even mine to
keep.

* * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

* * * * *

“The whole world is divided for me into two
parts: one is she, and there is all happiness, hope, light; the
other is where she is not, and there is dejection and
darkness...”

I felt a lump start to grow in my throat as I
bore into the copy of
War and Peace
that Girard had given me
as a gift. Somehow, that beautiful afternoon we’d spent together
seemed like the distant past. In reality, it had only been the day
before. I was back in my apartment, having been kicked rather
unceremoniously out of Girard’s town house and carted home by his
driver. Back up the steps to my tiny studio I schlepped, my head
positively reeling. I flopped down onto my bed, grabbing
War and
Peace
en route, and hadn’t moved since. From the way that the
sun was streaming through the window and dappling on the hard wood
floor, I could tell that hours had passed.