GLASS_ A Standalone Novel - Arianne Richmonde Page 0,54

just grabbed his ass and thrashed my hips up at him. He was on an ego trip. Wanted to hear how desperate I was for him, and I didn’t want to admit it, although once he started rubbing his thick erection against my clit, massaging his huge cock up and down, I was squirming for more.

“Please fuck me, Daniel. Pleeease.”

He kept up his torture until I was on the edge, desperate to come. He kissed me—a deep, long kiss that spoke of sex and lust, and dare I say it? . . . love. And then the actual words that I’d been fantasizing about for years spilled from his lips right into my mouth:

“I love you, Janie. I do.”

Why couldn’t I believe him? I wanted to . . . but feared what he said was in the heat of the moment, a moment which I needed to accept for what it was . . . hot sex.

“Tell me you love me,” he goaded. His ego-trip again. What he’d told me about not being ready for a relationship flashed through my brain. But I craved this; to be able to disassociate the sex from my psychological need for him.

I shook my head in the negative—I knew getting love and sex mixed into one lethal cocktail was a big mistake. “Just fuck me,” I answered, my tone unintentionally cold.

“You really want to fuck, Janie, is that it?” Then his raspy voice softened and he added, “You want to fuck or you want me to make love to you?”

“I want you to fuck me really hard,” I whispered into his mouth, this beautiful mouth that was on me now—lips on mine, tongue inside me, eating me alive.

He plunged himself inside me on the word “fuck” and started pounding hard, filling me up with his size, groaning with each stroke. This was hot.

I hooked my legs around his thighs and my arms around his torso to give myself leverage. He was fucking me like I was a whore, grinding into me ruthlessly, groaning about how hot and tight and wet I was. I suddenly couldn’t handle it. Not one bit. I wanted to be his plaything but there was no way I could go along with it.

“Please stop!” I cried. Tears were streaming down my face.

He did. Immediately. Then he pulled out, which was even worse. I felt bereft and lonely and started sobbing hopelessly. But he gathered me into a hug, so close against his chest I felt the steady rhythm of his heart.

“So stubborn, Janie. So, so stubborn, it’s a joke!” He kissed the tip of my nose and my forehead, and squeezed my sobbing little body tight, cocooning me inside his muscular arms. “We don’t have to play this silly game, you know,” he said, “we can talk all this through.”

I cried a good deal more, feeling like a fool to think I could handle Daniel Glass and his huge great cock without getting emotionally involved. Of course I couldn’t just fuck him. Impossible. I wanted his soul. Which was also impossible. I was screwed up in the head. And way too needy. The situation was useless.

“I love you, Janie,” he said unexpectedly.

I looked up at him in disbelief. He was trying to make me feel better, which was sweet of him, but “love” was a strong word and one I was sure he wasn’t truly ready for.

“You’re convinced I’m still in love with Natasha Jürgen, aren’t you?” Weird . . . to call his wife by her full name.

“It’s normal,” I said. “It’s only been—”

He cut me short, “We were going to get divorced, you know.” He carefully wiped away my tears with his thumb.

I looked at him, bleary eyed. “But you were crazy about each other.”

“That’s what the papers say, but in reality? Our marriage was a sham.”

“What?”

“She betrayed me, Janie. She had a lover.” He punched out the word lover.

Impossible! Who, in their right mind, would chose another man over Daniel! No, no! He had it wrong; his own paranoia—jealousy perhaps—for being married to such a blonde bombshell.

“I doubt it,” I said, a wry, knowing smile playing on my lips. Impossible.

“Janie, I’m not making this up, it’s a fact.”

I breathed in his scent: sex, soap, a musky Daniel Glass smell that was unique to him. “Who? Why? Why did she have a lover when she had you?”

“I couldn’t offer her what she needed—or wanted.”

“But the baby!” I gasped, “Natasha was pregnant.”

His eyes flashed sharp—a flinty, gleaming pain. “How