His To Shatter (15 page)

We broke away from each other, and Girard
smiled down at me. He didn’t want to rush me, I could tell. “Would
you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, “Do you have any wine?”

“I do. Follow me,” he took me by the hand and
led me further into the house. We stepped into his state-of-the-art
kitchen, and he quickly produced a bottle of red from the cabinet.
He poured us each a modest glass and handed one over to me. He
raised his wine and smiled at me, and said, “to whichever god felt
it was his duty to bring us back together.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I grinned. As I lifted
the glass to my lips, I realized that my fingers were trembling. As
excited as I was to be alone with Girard like this, I couldn’t deny
that I was a bit nervous about the outcome. He would obviously know
more about sex than I did. Even the times I’d had sex it had been
pretty vanilla. Marc had only ever been interested in his own
pleasure, so all I had to do was lie there while he had his way
with me. Something told me that sex with Girard would be far more
engaging than that. I took another sip of wine at the mere thought
of it.

Girard was looking at me intently, as if
trying to puzzle out my thoughts. I noticed that he wasn’t really
drinking the wine he had poured himself.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” I asked.

“Oh, probably not,” Girard responded. “I
don’t really drink.”

It was music to my ears. My father had been a
huge drinker, and it had all but torn our family apart. I thanked
my lucky stars that Girard wasn’t overly interested in booze. I
suppose he had poured himself a glass as a courtesy to me. I was
indeed grateful for the liquid courage. Now that I had a better
handle on how much I drank at once, I could enjoy it. Savor it. The
wine was very fine, aged and complex. Of course Girard had
excellent taste in wine, whether or not he drank it often
himself.

Those deep eyes of his were boring into me
from across the kitchen counter. I could feel my whole body being
drawn to his, like there was a magnetic force at work between us.
How could one man have the power to render me so senselessly
lustful? I’d never been this way before, not with anyone.

I think that some part of me knew that
whatever happened between Girard and I would be significant in more
ways than one. I downed the final sip of my wine and set the glass
down on the counter. I realized, with a brief wave of
self-consciousness, that I had no idea how to continue. I’d never
seduced a man, nor had I been seduced. I was entirely in Girard’s
sway. He would have to show me the way in this new chapter of our
story.

* * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

* * * * *

He straightened up and took one swinging step
after another towards me. I leaned back against the kitchen island
as he approached, steadying myself. My heart was pounding in my
chest like a timpani, and my breath was coming faster and faster.
Girard stopped in front of me, placing his hands on either side of
my body on the counter. As he leaned in against me, I could feel
that bulge in his slacks, that urgent and pressing hardness. It
felt so good to have him hard against me, right in the place where
I wanted him most.

“Madison,” he said, looking so far into my
own eyes that I could feel his gaze on my heart itself, “I want to
be perfectly clear with you now. I want you. I want to make love to
you until the sun begins to rise. From the moment I saw you on that
subway train, I knew that one day I needed to take you. To make you
mine. I want to touch you, to feel you open to me. I want to feel
myself inside of you, pressing into you as deeply as I can. Is that
something you want, too?”

My mouth fell open, wordlessly for a long
moment. Finally, I managed to whisper “Yes.”

“Good,” Girard said, “I was hoping that’s
what you would say.”

His mouth was back against mine in half a
breath. His firm lips brushed against mine, and my mouth opened to
him. His tongue slid and rubbed against mine, exploring every
corner of my mouth. I brought my teeth down on his bottom lip,
unsure of where that impulse could have originated. He drew in a
sharp breath as I nibbled his full lower lip, and I felt myself
hoisted into the air. My ass came down against the cool marble
counter where Girard placed me. I gasped at the sudden flight—I
hadn’t expected anything like it. But the force that Girard had
shown me made that throbbing need between my legs beat more
aggressively than ever. I pulled myself to the front of the counter
and spread my legs so Girard could stand between them. He stepped
into me, and I could feel his long erection right against the thin
cotton of my panties. I could feel myself soaking the flimsy
garment through, and wondered if he knew how wet he was making
me.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me
closer. I dug my fingers into the linen shirt and let my head fall
back in ecstasy. He brought his mouth to the tender skin of my
throat, kissing up and down my neck, letting his lips linger here
and there. I rocked against him, writhing beneath his searching
mouth. I let go of any ideas I had about how this was supposed to
play out. I couldn’t formulate a single thought while his arms were
around me. My desire for him drowned out everything else.

I hooked my ankles behind Girard’s back,
stunned by my own bravery. I never knew I could be at all
adventurous, sexually. Girard tightened his grip around my body and
pulled me forward off the counter, taking me fully in his arms. I
wasn’t a big girl, per se, but I was no waif either. Still, Girard
held me as if I weighed nothing. I brought my mouth back to his as
he began to carry me out of the kitchen. As our tongues twisted
around each other, I realized that we were heading for the stairs.
This was it.

Girard all but flew up the twisting
staircase, and I clung ever more tightly to him. I could
practically feel the lust coursing through his veins, and his
entire body seemed to be growing in my arms. He was focused, and
powerful, and I wanted him more than ever. He strode down a long
hallway at the top of the steps and kicked open the door at the end
of the stretch. I peered into the room and made out a huge, king
sized bed standing at the far end. The entire space was made of
ornately carved details and stately furniture. It was the sort of
room that women far more sophisticated than I were used to. I could
hardly believe that I had found my way there, let alone in the arms
of such a man.

He carried me straight to the bed, laying me
down on the soft, downy comforters and pillows. I smiled as I
luxuriated in the plushy layers—I half expected him to prefer a
stone slab to sleep on, manly as he was. I watched as he closed the
bedroom door and made his way over to the wall. With the flip of a
switch, a fireplace I hadn’t noticed roared to life. The flickering
light cast deep shadows across the room, and I felt my breath catch
in my chest as each muscle and feature of Girard’s body was
accentuated beautifully. His cheek bones and jaw line were in high
relief, his muscles defined one by one.

“You’re amazing,” I whispered, as he walked
slowly toward me.

“I’m just a man,” he replied, letting his
fingertips trail along my bare knees. I let my legs fall open once
again as he stood before me. “Madison,” he went on, his fingers
traveling the tender lengths of my inner thighs, “I just want to
make sure...”

“Yes?” I asked breathlessly, as my need for
him was stoked by his touch.

“You’ve been with men before, haven’t you?”
he asked.

That wasn’t what I was expecting him to ask.
“I’ve been with boys,” I answered.

He grinned at me in the flickering light.
“Very well,” he said. “Then I will consider this a great
honor.”

I gasped as he pushed me back against the bed
and lowered his body onto mine. As his lips found my throat once
again, I could feel the hardness of him pressing against my inner
thigh. It was driving me mad to have that thick, earnest pressure
so close to where I wanted it. I dug my fingers into his back and
felt a moan escape my throat. The sound surprised me, and egged
Girard on all the more. His body was covering mine, enveloping
mine—I’d never felt more secure, more cared for, in all my
life.

He took my hips in his powerful hands and
flipped me over on the bed. I gasped at the sudden movement, but
found that the authority with which he handled me only turned me on
more. I stretched out before him, completely at a loss as to what
he might do with me. But in that moment, I didn’t care. He was free
to do whatever he wanted, and I knew that I would gladly follow.
Girard kneeled over me on the bed and slowly, deliciously, untied
the red ribbon around my waist. The sound of my dress’s zipper as
he slid it open sent chills of anticipation dancing through me,
mingling with the hot lust I felt for him.

“Take it off, now,” Girard growled. Those low
tones in his voice were staggeringly sexy. I wiggled out of my
white dress and sat before him at the center of the bed. His eyes
raked along the length of my body, dwelling on my breasts, encased
as they were in the finest lacy bra I owned. He drank in my bare
stomach, the length of my legs, the tumble of my hair that had been
so carefully done at the beginning of the day. In that moment,
sitting bathed in the firelight in the home of the most gorgeous
and charming man I had ever met, I felt truly beautiful for the
first time in my life.

Girard was kneeling across the bed from me,
and never let his eyes leave me once as he began to unbutton his
linen shirt. Little by little, his muscled chest was exposed. I
groaned as he shrugged off the garment and let me drink him in. The
firm, panes of his pecs were smooth and fine, his abs so distinct
that I could have counted them in the dark. His arms were
incredible, all toned and sculpted. But it was his eyes that truly
ensnared me—those deep, dark, beautiful eyes that had first won me
over that day on the train.

“Come here,” he said, “On your knees.”

I dropped to all fours, delighted by his
direction. This was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I found
that it wasn’t a chore to give over to Girard, it was a privilege.
I wanted him to tell me what to do, to teach me everything he knew
about making love. I was his to command, and came to him willingly.
I crawled across the bed toward him, the firelight smoldering in
his eyes. I could feel that hot wetness between my legs growing,
that epicenter of my pleasure aching with need.

When I reached him, Girard ran his fingers
through my messy ash blonde hair. The look in his eyes was a
million things at once—hunger, and affection, and need, and
control. Suddenly, I felt his fingers tighten in my hair, just
enough for a tiny ripple of pain to flicker through my body. He
brought me down slowly to the mattress, grasping my hair all the
way. I looked up at him in wonder, shocked to find this force so
sexy. He spread me out before him, and I held my breath, waiting to
find out what he had in store for me next.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached around my
back and unhooked the clasp of my bra. As he lifted away the lacy
garment, I could feel my nipples harden with desire. Girard tossed
the bra across the room and brought his hands to my breasts. I
sighed as he wrapped his hands around them and let his thumbs flick
against my erect nipples. My back arched under his caresses, and I
closed my eyes in bliss as he kneaded and teased me. A sharp pain
made me gasp as Girard pinched my nipples—and I was pleased to find
that I liked it. I leaned into him, and he twisted those twin peaks
with just the right amount of force to set me writhing beneath him.
I had no idea that a little pain amidst the pleasure of sex could
be so exhilarating.

In my bliss, I gathered my courage and
reached for that tempting bulge in Girard’s slacks, but he slapped
my hand away. I blinked up at him as he straddled my body and
cocked an eyebrow at me. “Not so fast,” he said softly. His fingers
found the thin fabric of my panties, and he let them brush against
the soaking wet cotton that rested against the most private part of
me. I could hardly breathe as he stroked me through my panties, and
gasped as he brushed against that one spot I’d only ever felt
stimulated once in my life. He slid the garment down my legs,
taking his time. Then, I was entirely naked before him, stretched
out beneath his powerful body, his for the taking. With a deep
breath, I spread my legs open as far as they would go. I opened
myself to him, my entire self. I decided in that moment not to hold
anything back.

Girard’s fingers danced along my body,
beginning once against at my breasts. He squeezed and lingered,
stopping along my torso and ribs, the points of my hips, letting me
grow wetter by the instant. He traced circles against the flesh
just above that little patch of hair, and I lifted my hips to meet
him. I needed to feel his touch, I needed him to feel me
there
.

I cried out softly as he traced his fingers
along the length of my slit. His stroking fingers spread me open,
and the feel of him there was almost too much for me to handle. He
rubbed the wet, throbbing whole of me, laying expert caresses as he
went. I felt him poise two fingers at my eager opening and finally,
deliciously, plunge them inside of me. The room spun as he pushed
himself into that silky flesh, flexing those strong fingers inside
of me. Just when I thought that his touch couldn’t be more
intoxicating, he lay his thumb against that throbbing, hard nub. I
let out another cry as he began to rub me there, filling me with
his fingers at the same time. That unfamiliar pressure built and
built in the very core of me, and I knew there was no stopping it.
As he bore down, kneading and flicking and thrusting into that
spongy spot behind my navel, my body erupted into a shattering
orgasm. My legs trembled uncontrollably as I howled out my
pleasure, coming into his capable hands.