His To Shatter (24 page)

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 the 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.

* * * * *

Chapter Twenty One

* * * * *

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.”

###

* * *

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.

* * *

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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