Stained Glass Shards

6.

It's an odd feeling to see the man you're in love with on the cover of a magazine, holding within the crook of his arm a woman who is not you, the typeface alerting you that he is in love with a young actress, a colleague who is partnered to play his love interest—and who is considerably more appealing than you. Do you call him to inquire about the rumor? Or do you let it fester inside your heart until you feel like you'll implode from the combustible anger building within? "He doesn't love her," you'll state loudly, to no one in particular—because no one knows about you. You'll notice that her lipstick has marked his cheek and the collar of his crisp, white shirt. "He doesn't love me," you'll counter to soften the blow of his eventual admission that maybe, just possibly, he does love the beautiful ingénue who fits so neatly beside him, warming the spot he only reserved for you when you were alone—in your studio, after months of waiting. Always waiting. "'Remember, you're only 'friends'," you'll finish, affirming that no matter what he felt for you—like or love—similar to the lipstick on his collar, he's indelibly stained on your heart.

--Iliana Gardner, Stained Glass Shards

ELYCE

After a sleepless night, at least for me, Ritter awoke me with a delightful massage, warming and molding me to receive him. I've always loved waking up to sex.

Morning sex with a gorgeous man redeemed an awful night.

I moaned and purred as he stroked my core and plumped my breasts with his strong fingers and vigorous suck from his eager mouth. I gripped his biceps as he entered me, and grew wetter with each naughty thing he said to me.

"God, I love your tight, wet pussy, Sweetness."

"Does it feel good?"

Groaning and thrusting, he panted and growled his pleasure.

"More? Faster? Slower?"

"Yes," I said to all. When he laughed, I felt the rumble of his body on my center.

We found our mutual release—quick, but no less satisfying.

While he was invigorated, I wanted more sleep and turned to the side to snuggle within the warm, white sheets.

"Up and at 'em, Sweetness," he said with a slap on my naked bottom.

"Oww!" I cried.

He laughed as he walked to the bathroom, and I watched his perfect visage fade away.

By the time I'd exited the bathroom from my own shower, makeup, and hair prep, Ritter had breakfast served on the table, awaiting me. He smiled broadly as he poured me a cup of coffee, which was fuel for my work and the only way I started my day.

Ritter had carved out time in the schedule for me to have at least an hour of writing before we had to leave for our meeting.

As I ate my smorgasbord of breakfast delights, I typed as much as I could on my next novel, another standalone erotic romance, but a far departure from the dark manuscript I'd written about Griffin.

This book would be lighter...more hopeful.

When I turned to watch Ritter scowling at the screen and typing furiously, I had no doubt that he'd changed the entire plot of my future.

He looked so manly in his white t-shirt and boxers. He had shaved the neat five-o'clock shadow he'd been sporting since I met him. The newly shaved flesh resembled the sculpted chin of a marble statue. When he looked up at me, I remained captivated by him. He didn't break my spell, allowing me to use him as my muse.