Stained Glass Shards

31.

The most delightful sound, after not hearing from him for months, is a slap on my bottom. Not only his hand but his pelvis and thighs connecting with my flesh. I needed this—him to be loud and vocal with his desires, making up for not calling and sharing his voice. In turn, my sounds and cries filled him, letting him know that I missed him profoundly. The guttural noises prompted him to heighten his movements, eliciting the pain and pleasure that always brought us to our peak. And after so much time apart, quietly listening to our slowing heart rates and breath, he'd tweak my nipple, then run his hands down my torso to feel my skin prickle under his expert touch. He arrived at my mound and pressed, massaged, and pinched the bundled nerves of my clit until my cries and jagged breathing resonated in the small room.

--Iliana Gardner, Stained Glass Shards

ELYCE

My new book was three-quarters to completion. The inspiration had struck, and I'd settled into a rhythm of writing from morning until night. The only times I paused were when Ritter was visiting. He would give me some writing time but then would stop me to eat, watch a movie, or exercise in the building's gym. He didn't force me to leave the building, knowing that my presence outdoors was fodder for the paparazzi to stalk me around Boston. The few times I had ventured out, I ended up fleeing back to the safety of my apartment.

There was nothing I needed from the outside world that I couldn't obtain from a delivery service. My only minor concern was the lack of vitamin D from sunlight. I was fortunate to have access to the apartment building's rooftop deck. With the warmer temps, I was able to get some sun as I wrote on my laptop. The words flowed as I got the best of both worlds without subjecting myself to the mess Griffin had created around us.

Us. Such a giddy feeling being in love. There was purity among the muck.

All our responses and motions were already filed, and we were scheduled for a deposition. As Zipper had explained, I would be subjected to the Bulldog attack of Griffin's attorney. For an entire day, or more if necessary, our entire private life would be questioned, mostly to prove my book was non-fiction.

Ritter was extremely supportive despite the mess I'd created for his business. He reassured me it had not affected his firm, that he'd been busier than ever, acquiring more clients due to him finalizing the contracts of the small independent video game maker. He'd been traveling more than ever, opening up an office in Detroit to work with the booming tech industry in the city. His travels had limited our visits. On occasion, weekends were relegated for me. I accepted his working during our time together. I kept myself busy whenever he was on the phone or answering an email.

It was a comfortable work experience with him in the room. He trusted me enough to discuss confidential matters while on conference calls. I loved how he'd smile at me as he'd pause to listen to the other party. He would squint, hiding his big, blue eyes behind impossibly thick, dark lashes. To be funny, he'd mime choking, drilling a pencil through his head, or gagging on his fingers. I'd laugh silently until I'd admonish him for not concentrating on the task at hand.

It was perfect.

As perfect as it had ever been. Or ever could be with a man. I didn't know if I had matured, or if I'd finally found the right one. Admittedly, dating a man five years older was proving to be a new experience. For the better. Ritter knew how to treat a lady, and it was evident that he was ready for this—for us.

He had made assertions about us before. With each subtle declaration that he wanted us to be together, I knew something was coming. I couldn't identify what it was. It could have been as simple as asking me to move to New York City. I was optimistic it would be an office opening in Boston, an office he'd oversee, making a permanent move.