by Haley Pearce
The first spank didn’t even register at first. I felt the sharp, satisfying pain, then a moment of shock. When I felt my ass begin to sting I realized what had happened. I wrenched my face toward Girard and saw him raise his opened palm again. I knew that I should have felt hurt, or violated, or something...but all I could think in that moment was that I wanted more. I smiled at him as he drove deep into me, telling him that it was OK.
He grinned back and brought his hand swinging down to meet the bare skin of my ass, just as he reached the peak of a particularly deep thrust. The world turned to liquid around me and I was swallowed up by the thrill, the sensation of it. That intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure was going to drive me absolutely mad. Girard was rocking into me with all his might, matching every thrust with a firm spank. I gave up trying to control myself and howled out into the fire-lit darkness. The spanking stopped as Girard began to drive into me with abandon; faster, deeper, faster, deeper—
The warm spray covered my back as Girard came gushingly. My surprise soon gave way to pleasure as I felt his cum spread across my naked skin. I fell forward onto the mattress, spent by Girard’s fucking. He collapsed beside me, smoothing my hair out of my face. My hands were still bound beneath me, and I smiled at him through the haze of pleasure that was hanging thickly around us. A long moment passed, the only sounds were our wheezing breath and the crackling fire.
“You liked it?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Yes,” I said, “Oh, yes.”
“I’m so glad,” Girard said. “I was so worried that you’d be driven away.”
“Driven away?” I said, slightly out of breath.
“Once I showed you this part of me,” he said.
“Girard,” I said, rolling onto my side to face him. “That’s crazy.”
He unfastened my restraints, and I pulled myself toward him on the bed.
“Why crazy?” he asked, tucking a stray lock of ash blonde hair behind my ear.
“You’ve shown me a secret, guarded part of you. One that I get to share. Not just witness, or tolerate, or ignore...I get to be a part of this,” I told him, holding his intent gaze. “I’m so lucky.”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me toward him, enveloping me in a crushing embrace. We stayed that way for a long while, soaking up each others’ gratitude. I’d been so concerned all day that he was turning cold on me, placing work and business before us. But I’d had it all wrong. He had been distant to avoid hurting us, because he thought I wouldn’t want this part of him. It was exactly the opposite, though. I loved this part of him, and I wanted to be privileged to it. It was a privilege, one that I was very happy to have bestowed upon me.
“Come on,” he said, picking himself up off the bed. “I could use a shower.”
I let him lead me back through the house, laughing as we passed my discarded layers of clothing thrown all about. “You owe me a dress,” I said playfully, as we walked by the ripped garment.
“So I do,” he said. “Why don’t we go shopping for a new one on Sunday.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, the sudden weight of impending sorrow slammed into me. “Girard,” I said quietly, “I’m leaving on Saturday.”
We were standing naked on the stairs of his town home as he realized. “Oh,” he said simply.
“What does ‘oh’ mean?” I asked.
“It means...that’s a bit of a difficulty, isn’t it?”
“That’s an understatement,” I said.
“Well, you’re not going back, are you?” he said.
“Of course I am,” I said, incredulously.
“But that only gives us a couple of days together,” he said.
“I suppose we’d better make it count, then,” I answered.
He smiled at me, but there was a sadness hanging over us now, a dark looming cloud. I hoped that he would find some way to keep us together in the end. We could figure something out, we just had to. But for that moment, a shower was all that either of us could think of. We flew up the rest of the stairs to the master bathroom. I was hardly surprised to see that it was as ornate and beautiful as an ancient bathhouse. Girard walked over to the hot tub-sized bath and began to fill it with hot water. I looked around the room as the mirrors began to steam up. Jars and vials lined the shelves, containing creams and salts and oils. I couldn’t believe that I got to spend time in the midst of such opulence. My idea of indulgence, where cosmetics were concerned, had always been 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. This was too much.
“Come on,” Girard said, lowering himself into the tub. I happily stepped in after him. The water was scalding hot, but it felt so good on my sore body. It was a satisfying soreness, earned from a satisfying activity, but the relief of it was sweet, as well. Girard lay his hands on my shoulders and began to rub them. I nearly became one with the water, he had me melting so. His strong fingers dug into the knots in my shoulders, filling me with the deepest sort of painful bliss.
“So much tension...” he said.
“I believe it,” I said. “I don’t have a very stress free life.”
“I could give you one,” he said, kneading the tightness between my shoulder blades. “If you lived here with me, you’d never have to worry about anything ever again.”
“And what about my life in New York?” I said. “My school, my friends, my career?”
“Study in France, make friends in France, build you career in France,” he suggested. “Easy.”
“Not so easy,” I said. “Not at all.”
“I know,” he said sadly, “I just don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I said. “But what can we do?”
He was silent for a long moment, and I lost myself in his deep touch, the way his fingers were releasing years of strain and tension as if it were nothing. I leaned back against him, and felt something press against my back. My eyes shot open—was he really ready again?
“Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help it.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
His hands left my shoulders and slid around my body. They wrapped around my tender breasts, his fingers brushing against my nipples. He pulled me to the side of the tub—there was a seat in the wall, and we sank down onto it together. My back to his chest, I closed my thighs around the shaft of his member. He groaned, his groin still sensitive after what had transpired downstairs.
“Can I slide down onto you?” I asked, as he kneaded my breasts.
“Yes,” he said, “Do it.”
I raised myself on his lap and slowly lowered myself onto his cock. We moaned in unison as he pressed up into me. The warmth of the bath surrounded us as he rocked gently against me. We took our time, had no aim other than to enjoy each other. His hands left my breasts and found their way down. I groaned as he began to rub that spot, sending sparks of pleasure out through my entire body. The deep press of him, coupled with the quick, precise flicks of his fingers...it was going to send me over the edge again.
I braced myself on the edge of the tub as the pressure grew and grew. Girard rubbed me fast and hard, and in a moment, I was lost again, swept up in a powerful, shaking orgasm. I trembled on him, folding into his body. He caught me in his arms and held me there as I came. He slowed his rocking, and I realized that he wasn’t going to come. He’d only been interested in my pleasure. I turned to look at him, astounded. I didn’t even know that men were capable of that. He pulled me to sitting on his lap like a child might. I settled down on his knee and threw my arms around his shoulders. Girard was smiling at me, pleased with himself. I had to admit, he had every reason to be.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “Maybe you should go back to New York.”
“What?” I said, hurt by his sudden reversal.
“For now, I mean,” he went on quickly. “It seems like the right thing, don’t you think?”
“I...well...” I sputtered. I wanted to go back to New York, sure, but I wanted him to want
me in Paris, with him. “I guess so.”
“Madison,” Girard said, looking into my eyes, “I have an idea.”
“Do tell,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure this is rather clear to you by now, but,” he took a deep breath, “I love you, Madison.”
I stared at him, my eyes wide. For a second, I didn’t even process what he’d said. But I felt it, felt the sentiment land and resonate through me.
“I love you too,” I told him, and knew instantly that truer words had never been spoken.
“I’m so glad,” he smiled, “Because if you didn’t, you’d probably never agree to marry me.”
“Huh?” I said, already reeling with his confession of love.
“Well, I love you and you love me. We should get married.”
“Girard,” I said, “Are you proposing to me?”
“I am,” he said, pulling me against him.
“Oh...” I breathed, stunned into wordlessness.
“So,” he said, “What do you say?”
“What do you mean, what do I say?” I cried, a wide smile breaking across my face. “Yes! Of course, yes.”
“Not so fast,” he said, “This marriage would be conditional on your being absolutely, one hundred percent faithful to me. I mean it. No other man, not ever. One instance of infidelity, and it’s all over.”
“Well...duh!” I cried inelegantly.
We wrapped our arms around each other, our laughter echoing against the tile walls and bouncing back at us. I hadn’t even given myself time to think about my answer—it had just been there, waiting to be said. I’d deal with my confusion and the terror at having made a huge commitment some other time. Then, there was only Girard, his body, his arms, his tender eyes and his heart that beat for me. It was all I wanted in the world.
“We can pick out a ring tomorrow,” he said into my hair. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I splashed some water at him, bringing on a fresh wave of laughter. The last twenty four hours had been the most exciting and trying of my entire life, and I had the feeling that things were only going to get more wild. But as long as Girard was there beside me, I didn’t much care what came my way.
* * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
* * * * *
“What. Is. That,” Ashlee said.
I smiled at my friends across the cafe table. Their eyes were locked resolutely on the rock glimmering on my ring finger. I’d gone a little overboard in my selection of the engagement ring. The piece was a princess cut diamond with a fine filigree setting.
“Surprise,” I said with a laugh.
“He asked you to marry him?” Dara breathed.
“Last night,” I said, “I had no idea it was going to happen. I don’t even think he knew it was going to happen.”
“Jesus Christ, Maddie,” Ashlee said, “We told you to hear the guy out, not spend your entire life with him.”
“Aren’t you guys happy for me?” I asked, a little hurt by their lack of enthusiasm.
“We are,” Ashlee said, “But Maddie...have you thought this whole thing through?”
“Of course,” I said, though it was something of a half-truth. In the moment, I really hadn’t weighed the question at all. I was reeling from Girard’s lovemaking, caught up in a thousand conflicting emotions...I’d simply gone with my gut instinct. But it felt like the most honest decision I had ever made in my life, and the two people who knew me best didn’t seem to want to get behind me on it.
“Madison,” Dara said, “Not twenty four hours ago, you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with you.”
“I know, but really I had it all wrong!” I said.
“Yeah, you told us,” Ashlee said, “I just feel like maybe now is not the best time to be making a big decision like this. I mean, look around. This is the most romantic place in the world. And Girard is a hot, rich, sex machine. Your judgment might be just a little clouded, don’t you think?”
“No, Ashlee, I don’t think,” I said harshly. “In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever acted impulsively? Or irrationally, even? I don’t let myself get swept up in things. Not ever.”
“You haven’t in the past,” Dara said, “But I think this is the first time you’ve ever been in love with someone. Am I right?”
“Maybe,” I said, “But so what?”
“So it’s a whole different story when you love someone,” Ashlee said, “It does things to you. It can even blind you.”
“I don’t understand this at all,” I said, “I called you two here to tell you my amazing news, to ask you to help me plan, to be with me through it, and all you have for me is disapproval? What are you afraid of, exactly? If anything, I’d be the one accused of using Girard in this relationship. What ulterior motive could he possibly have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” Dara said, “Just...be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, “I’m used to taking care of myself.”
I left a few notes of currency and walked away from the table. If Ashlee and Dara were going to be unreasonable, I didn’t have to stick around and deal with it. I strode away from the cafe just as Girard’s town car rounded the corner. He’d been waiting for me so that we could pick out a new dress together, to replace the one he had destroyed during his lustful conquest. The car stopped beside the curb and I opened the door myself, well aware of the fact that Ashlee and Dara were watching from afar. Girard was waiting for me inside the car, and noted my furrowed brow.
“What happened?” he asked, “Weren’t they pleased?”
“They’re just overprotective,” I said. “Let’s not talk about it, OK?”
“OK,” Girard agreed, pulling me by the hand to come closer. “I have a few excellent boutiques lined up for us to look at.”
“I honestly won’t know the difference between dresses,” I reminded him, “It’s not really my think to get super excited about clothes.”
“Fair enough,” Girard said, “I’ll just have to pick it out for you.”
“Taking control, eh?” I winked.
“You bet,” he smiled.
* * *
The rest of the week with Girard flew by. I moved my few belongings to his town house so that we could spend every waking moment together. There were times that he had to excuse himself for work obligations, but apart from those stretches, we had our blissful solitude.
Our joint solitude had been breached once with another unexpected visit from Monica. She’d walked in, caught the sunlight glinting off my ring, and turned to stone in the foyer. Girard was about to tell her the story of our engagement, but she’d turned on her heel and stalked back out, slamming the door so hard behind her that the chandelier rattled dangerously. I took it as a sign that she wasn’t very pleased with our engagement, but what did she matter to us?
The day of my flight back to New York came far too soon. Girard drove me to the airport, and even gave Dara and Ashlee a lift as a gesture of good faith. They’d given us a moment alone before the final boarding call, and it was nearly impossible to release Girard from my embrace.
“Don’t worry,” he cooed, “I’ll be there in a couple of weeks, back by your side.”
“I know,” I said, “I didn’t think it would be this hard to say goodbye.”
“It’s not goodbye,” he reminded me, “It’s ‘see you soon’.”
I gave him a deep kiss and hurried onto the plane. I didn’t look back, knowing that it would be too hard to see him fade into the distance. I found my seat on the plane next to my friends and stowed my luggage. Absentmindedly, I pulled out my phone to check for messages one last time. I smiled to see that there was an email to me from Girard.
I opened the email and frowned at the greeting. “Hey Mason,” it read. Girard must have sent me an email intended for someone else by mistake. I was about to shut off my phone when the rest of the message flitted across my consciousness.
“Hey Mason,” it read, “Looks like I fo
und a way to take care of that pesky American citizenship. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now. Details to follow — G”.
“Miss?” said a voice above me. “Miss you’ll have to turn off your cell phone. Are...are you OK?”
But her words were drowned out by the pounding in my ears. Hot, salty tears rolled down my cheeks, splattering against the offending message. Everything I’d invested so much faith in fell away from me, and I realized what a fool I’d been. He’d tricked me. That son of a bitch had tricked me. And even worse...I’d fallen for it.
The engine began to rumble beneath us, and the plane sped down the runway. I glanced through the airplane window and caught a final sight of Girard—framed in the airport window, waving to me.
That fucker.
* * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
* * * * *
The entire journey back to New York swam by in a haze of sorrow and shock. From the moment I last glimpsed Girard waving goodbye to me from the Paris airport to the moment my head hit the pillow back in my old Lower East Side apartment, I can’t remember anything clearly. I all but blacked out on the plane—immune to attempts by my friends to draw me out of my silence. I didn’t cry, that much I know to be true. I was beyond the point where tears could come close to expressing my anguish, my shame. And all this over a stupid email.
