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  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.

  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

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  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 su
pposed 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.

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  Chapter Fifteen

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  “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.