by Haley Pearce
Suddenly, I felt myself being swept into the air. Girard had me cradled in his arms and was whisking me out of the living room, down the long hallway. He all but kicked down the door we came to and carried me through the threshold. My mouth fell open as I took in the suite’s master bedroom. An enormous king bed stood against the wall, covered in a dozen cloud-like pillows. The sheets were of the finest silk, and there was a stunning view of the river through the window. Just as I was about to speak, to say how amazing this all was, I shrieked suddenly as my body flew through the air. I landed on the bed with a bounce, and realized that Girard had thrown me down, quite roughly. The show of strength and dominance brought a wicked grin to my face. This was the side of Girard I’d been truly longing to see again.
He stepped toward me, unbuttoning his shirt. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as his firm, smooth chest was revealed an inch at a time. I wanted to cover his skin in kisses, every inch of his beautiful self. But I knew well enough to wait on his instruction. I wanted him to tell me exactly what he wanted, and I wanted more than anything to give it to him. Girard cast aside his shirt and let his eyes wander all over my body. I was sprawled out on the bed where I’d landed, and I couldn’t help but arch my back when his eyes fell upon me.
“Get on your knees,” Girard said firmly. I scrambled toward the edge of the bed and stood on my knees before him, awaiting further instructions. He came closer to the bed, and my fingers ached for wanting to reach out and take his hardness between them. “Take me out,” he said, as if reading my mind. I hastened to do so, whipping open the buckle of his belt and slowly, reverently, reaching into the front of his pants. I groaned as my hands closed around the pulsating thickness of him. I drew his member out of its fabric sheath and, for a moment, simply took in the long, hard beauty of it.
“Take me in your mouth,” he said softly. I looked up at him sharply, a tiny moment of reluctance rippling between us. Girard didn’t know it about me explicitly, but I’d never actually given a blow job before. Not once. I refused to with Marc, my college boyfriend, as a matter of principle. It had seemed degrading at the time, but now...Now I found myself wanting to taste this amazing man, to take him inside of me this way. Drawing in a deep breath, I lowered my lips toward Girard’s throbbing cock. He buried his hands in my hair and pulled, ever so slightly, just enough to sting. I cried out at the delicious, subtle pain and, not knowing what to expect, lay my parted lips lightly against the swollen tip of Girard’s member.
The taste of him melted across my tongue, and he let out a deep moan of satisfaction. My appetite was whetted, and I knew that I needed more. I opened my mouth wider and took in the entire head, letting my tongue dance against it. Girard’s fingers tightened in my hair, and I relished his grip. I took as much of Girard into my mouth as I could, his member filling me up in this new, illicit way. I wanted more of him, and wrapped my lips around his wide, pulsing shaft. Moving my head backwards and forwards, easing him ever further into me, I rested my hands against his muscular thighs. I let my fingers trace his skin, moving up and up until they brushed against his balls. He let out an deep moan as I cupped them in my palm, all the while running my tongue up the length of him. He seemed to be growing harder by the minute.
Girard laid his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back onto the bed. I was surprised, and fell back heavily, looking up at Girard’s glistening member, his steady gaze. His chest was heaving with desire, and pride flowed through me, knowing that I’d done this to him. As quick as lightening, Girard grasped my hands with strong fingers and pulled me toward him. As I reached the edge of the bed, he flipped me over onto my belly, my legs fell off to the floor. I steadied myself on my own two feet, bent over the bed before him. Before I could glance back, I felt Girard lift the hem of my teddy, revealing my ass to him. I gasped as I felt his fingers trace down along my back, over my buttocks, and down toward that tightest of holes. I’d never been touched there before, not even by him, and I must have stiffened under his hands.
“Is this OK?” he asked, tracing little circles around my asshole.
I was surprised when little waves of pleasure coursed through my body as he rimmed me. It seemed so wrong, so taboo...but it felt so good. “It’s OK,” I whispered, “It’s...It’s great.”
He rested two fingers against me there, rubbing me gently. “Someday,” he growled, “I’m going to fuck you just like this. I’m going to slide into you right here,” he pressed his finger firmly against my asshole to punctuate his point. “It will probably hurt you the first time, but you’ll come to love it.”
I believed him.
“But tonight, I don’t want you to feel anything but absolute pleasure,” he said, and felt the tip of his member pressing against the sopping wetness of me. He hovered there, just beyond me, and I gasped as he reached under me to lay his fingers against that throbbing button of ecstasy. I moaned as he rubbed me there, kneading and flicking me toward orgasm. I grabbed handfuls of silk and felt him finally, at long last, press himself into me. Feeling him fill me up was like coming home again.
Girard rocked his hips, driving further and further into me with each pass. As he filled me up with his long, probing hardness and stroked the center of my pleasure, I felt myself careening into unknown heights of bliss. Bent over on the bed, totally in his hands, I gave myself over to my pleasure. Girard’s member slid further up inside me, so deep that I thought he’d burst out under my ribs. He drew back and, as he flicked that spot with expert fingers, drove his member back into me, straight into that aching, delicious spot just behind my navel.
I screamed as I came against his manhood, writhing on the bed beneath him like a butterfly pinned to a cork board. As sensation and bliss exploded inside of me, I heard Girard groan, felt his member pulse inside of me. He erupted into my waiting body, and I could feel his seed spreading through me, coating me completely. He bucked against me as he came, giving every last drop of himself over to me. We rode each other until we were spent, savoring every moment of this connection. Finally, his motion began to slow, and he fell onto the bed, pulling me up beside him. He wrapped his arms around me as we lay like spoons, his heart hammering against my ear.
We rested there for what felt like a day, basking in the afterglow of the best makeup sex anyone’s ever had. Eventually, our heart rates returned to normal, and we were left with the sweeping, comfortable feeling of utter contentment. Girard tucked my hair behind my ear and kissed my cheek tenderly. The way he moved between gentle and forceful, all the while taking such good care of me, was almost too much to be believed.
“There is a second part to your present,” he whispered in my ear.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning into his kisses.
“Something to go over the teddy,” he said. “Go look in the closet.”
I rolled reluctantly away from him, wishing that I never had to be more than a hair’s breadth from his body. I crossed the room toward the closet and pulled open the doors. Hanging before me was a floor-length ivory wedding gown. It too was vintage, from the 1960’s if my guess was right. the fabric was heavy silk brocade, with a full pleated skirt and three-quarter sleeves. A delicate floral pattern stood out on the bodice, and the plunging neckline would rest right on the points of my shoulders. I stared at my wedding dress, and knew immediately that this was “the one”. The dress I’d always dreamed of but had never before been able to see in my mind’s eye. Girard had found it for me.
“Do you like it?” he asked, standing behind me.
“I love it,” I said, surprised by the happy tears that came to my eyes. I’d never been a very materialistic person, and it wasn’t the beauty of the dress that overwhelmed me. It was Girard, in all his thoughtfulness, in the way that he knew me so well.
“You can’t try it on just yet,” he said, wrapping his arms around my torso. “It’s bad luck for me to be here when you do.”
“Fair enough,” I said. A chime sounded through the hallway, and I looked at th
e door, puzzled. Girard smiled at me.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took it upon myself to order room service,” he said.
“You certainly prepared extensively, not knowing whether I was going to come with you or not,” I said jokingly.
“I was hopeful,” Girard said. He threw his shirt back on and went to let in our food, closing the door behind him. I peeked through the bathroom door and saw that it was as luxurious as the rest of the suite. A huge bathtub with golden taps was practically calling my name. I couldn’t wait to get in there with Girard. He cracked open the bedroom door, and a delicious scent came wafting in with him.
“I hope you like filet mignon,” he smiled.
The meal we shared together was exquisite—Girard had really pulled out all the stops. From the fine cheeses to the decadent desert, everything was absolutely perfect. We polished off every last crumb, having worked up quite the appetite together. Full and satisfied, we climbed onto the couch together, cuddling in a cloud of happiness. The evening stretched out before us, full of possibility. We were together again, and we could take on the city however we liked.
“What next, my dear?” Girard asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “To be honest, sitting here with you is the only place that I truly want to be.”
“I know,” Girard answered, “Imagine that. With the whole city of New York spread out before us, this is more than enough. Just sitting here.”
“I would never have thought it was possible,” I said, “Not before I met you.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Girard said.
“Let’s just stay here,” I suggested, “I don’t know if you saw, but this place has a killer tub.”
“I did see,” Girard said. “And god knows, we could use a good soak.”
I stood up from the touch, fingering the edges of my teddy. With a meaningful look, I sauntered down the hall back toward the master bedroom. Gerard was on my heels in no time. It was certainly shaping up to be an evening for the record books.
In the course of that night, no surface was safe from our insatiable bodies. Girard had me in the bath, on the kitchen counter, up against the glass walls of the living room for peeping eyes to see. We slept like rocks against each other, and rose late the next day. I decided to stay with Girard at The Trump for the last few days of summer before class started. I couldn’t think of any better way to seal off such an amazing time in my life.
I gave Girard a sweet, lingering kiss once we’d finished our coffee and croissants and headed back downtown to fetch some of my belongings. I’d suggested the subway, but Girard wouldn’t hear of it. He put me in a cab and headed back up to the room for an important conference call. He may have been away from the office, but a job like Girard’s required constant attention, it would seem. I wondered if I’d ever be able to persuade him away from the world of big business. I’d never had much in the way of luxury, and I knew that he hadn’t come from wealth either. I dared imagine us in a little home in the French countryside, growing old together as our little house became populated with a child or two. Or three. Thinking of how beautiful our kids would be had me grinning like an idiot in the backseat of the cab. I let my imagination run free—would they have blonde or black hair? Light eyes or dark? I hoped that they would all look just like Girard, all balance and composure, all perfection.
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Chapter Twenty One
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The cab dropped me off in front of the apartment on Clinton Street and I trudged up the stairs once more. I could hear voices in my apartment as I fitted the key into the lock. As soon as I stepped into the room, Ashlee and Dara came flying at me. Through their hugging, flapping arms, I could see Kyle sitting coolly on our couch, looking at me with distaste.
“Could you at least tell us next time you get whisked away like that?” Ashlee said, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“I got wrapped up,” I said, “I’m sorry.”
“We were worried about you,” Dara said, stepping back from me. “The frog could have kidnapped you, for god’s sake.”
“Don’t call him ‘the frog’,” I said. “And how could he kidnap me? We’re engaged.”
“You’re an idiot,” Kyle said meanly.
“Kyle,” Dara said.
“Don’t ‘Kyle’ me,” he said, rising from the couch. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with this guy, Madison?”
“Kyle told us you went off with Girard,” Ashlee told me, “And...about what happened between them.”
“That was your own damn fault,” I shot back at Kyle, “If you weren’t such a territorial weakling, Girard wouldn’t have had to do that. You can’t just mind your own damn business, can you?”
“Not when one of my best friends is in danger,” Kyle said.
“I’m not in danger when I’m with Girard,” I said, “That man has literally saved my life, Kyle. What have you ever done for me?”
That one hurt him, I could tell. “I’d like to think I’ve been a good friend to you, Madison,” he said, “I’ve always told you the truth, I’ve always had your back.”
“Then why don’t you have my back on this?” I asked, “Why are you trying to dismiss the best thing that has ever happened to me?”
“What about that email?” Dara put in tentatively.
“That was a bad prank,” I said, “That Monica woman wrote it.”
“Of course,” Ashlee snorted, “Jealous bitch.”
“Maybe that’s just a story he’s feeding you,” Kyle said, “Have you ever stopped swooning over him long enough to consider that?”
“Girard has never lied to me,” I said fiercely, “I trust him implicitly.”
“That’s a mistake,” Kyle insisted, “You don’t know anything about this guy. You only met him—”
“Enough!” I shouted, “Enough! All of you. Listen to me, now. You all know that I’ve not had an easy go of it, especially where men are concerned. You know that most guys repulse me, that I can see through someone’s bullshit in a heartbeat. Why are you convinced that I’m wrong this time? The one time my gut it telling me that this guy is perfect, you’re calling my judgment into question? It hurts like a bitch that you don’t think I know what’s best for me. I do know Girard, and he knows me better than any of you even do. There is nothing left between us, no lies, or secrets, or skeletons. He makes me happy. He makes me feel complete. Now can one of you tell me what’s so wrong with that?”
My three friends all drew breath to speak, but the sound of our apartment buzzer interrupted them. I turned to eye the little box. Had Girard followed me home? Maybe he wanted to make amends with my friends, or something. “We’re not done here,” I said to the trio, and hurried out the door to retrieve Girard from the doorstep. It was big of him to come down here and deal with a bunch of twenty-somethings who were acting for the world like pissed off terriers.
I pulled open the front door with a smile for my husband-to-be. The grin fell away from my face, though, as I saw that it wasn’t Girard who was waiting for me. Two men in police uniforms stood before me, stony-faced.
“Madison Cleary?” the taller of the two asked, peering down at me.
“Y-yes,” I stammered, my heart pounding. What where they doing here? Had something happened to Girard?
“Ms. Cleary,” the shorter man said, “We need to ask you a couple of questions about your relationship with Girard Remi.”
Oh my god, I thought. Oh no, oh no oh no...My mind produced horrible images of Girard hit by a car, shot in a drive-by, taken hostage in a bank robbery.
“You do know Girard Remi?” the tall cop asked.
“What’s going on?” I managed to squeak, wishing they would get the horrific news over with.
“We have an arrest warrant for Mr. Remi, as soon as we can locate him in the city,” the short man said.
“Arrest?” I parroted, completely lost. “So he’s not dead?”
“No, Ms. Cleary,” the tall one
said, “Mr. Girard Remi is being arrested on charges of murder in the first degree.”
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About The Author
Haley has always been a dreamer and a hopeless romantic. Her love for literature began when she was very small and she can still remember her trips to the local library as some of her fondest childhood memories. She knew at a young age that she wanted to share her passion for storytelling and one day become a writer.
Haley writes stories about capable, intelligent, and resilient young women who overcome incredible odds to finally find the love they truly deserve. Her characters are deeply personal and often reflect some of her own insecurities and deepest fears. Haley's stories are about the beauty of the human spirit, the struggles that we all face, and the universal truth that you can't do anything alone.
Haley believes that learning to trust, to submit yourself completely to another person, and to love unconditionally are the most virtuous lessons that can be learned. These major themes encompass the entirety of her passionate storytelling.
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Thank You for Reading! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it.
Connect with me and find my other work online at:
www.HaleyPearce.com
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