GLASS_ A Standalone Novel - Arianne Richmonde Page 0,4

yes. I let the rabbit enter inside my slick opening and ram it up me as if it were Daniel, then bring it out again, letting it vibrate about my clit. I turn up the power. It’s almost thumping me, and I feel the blood rushing inside me, and spasms make my entire body tremble. I lean against the wall. I’ve reached a climax but I still don’t feel satisfied. I need flesh and blood.

I need Daniel himself.

I collapse on my bed, hair still wet, and close my eyes. I think of how he likes me vulnerable, weak, yet he says I must look after myself and be integrally strong. What a paradox. How am I supposed to do that? I stretch out and doze off.

I hear my cellphone go. It feels as if I’ve been napping for five minutes, but I see that it’s five-thirty. I pick up, my head groggy. “Yes?”

“It’s Daniel.”

“What?”

His voice is almost a growl. “Daniel Glass.”

“I know who you are,” I say with a giggle.

“Are you going to let me in? I’m outside your door.”

“How did you know the elevator code? How did you get through the main door?”

“A neighbor let me up. The one who lives on the fifth floor.”

“You’re early,” I complain.

“Just let me in, Janie. There are some things I need to discuss with you.” His voice is commanding, urgent. Am I nuts? This is my wildest fantasy! Why am I procrastinating? I jump out of bed and straighten myself up in the mirror. My smudged makeup is dark around my eyes but it does look a little sexy. Too late, anyway, there’s no time. I grab my silky Victoria’s Secret robe and go to answer the door.

He’s standing there. His jeans are the way they always are. A bit loose but showing off his strong legs, his cute, tight ass. He’s a little unshaven, Funny, I didn’t notice that earlier. How can a five o’clock shadow spring up that fast?

“Bad girl,” he says, moving towards me, into my apartment. He shakes his head. “Bad, bad girl.”

“What did I do this time?” I ask nervously.

“Sleeping with wet hair. You’ll catch a cold. Did your mother never warn you against that?”

“She . . . she . . .”

“I’m going to have to punish you for that, Janie, you know that, don’t you?”

“Punish me?”

“You need to learn to look after yourself. You need to learn a lesson. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“But I’m not dressed, I—”

“Your nipples are hard again. I can see them through that skimpy blue robe you’re wearing. Is it because you’re cold that your nipples get hard all the time or is it because of me?”

“I can’t believe you said that, I can’t believe—”

“Believe it, Janie. I’m here, aren’t I? I came over, didn’t I?” His body is close to me now. I can feel his breath on mine, sweet, slightly heavy. His eyes are undressing me. Oh God, help me, my knees are buckling beneath my feet.

“I’m going to have to spank you and then—”

My lips part and I want to say something—to protest—but I hear a faint moan emanate from within me. He looks about the room and settles his eyes on my bookshelf.

“David Mamet?” he asks with disbelief. “Steven Berkoff, Tracy Letts?”

“My favorite playwrights.”

“You like rough, crude characters then, Janie? Like a little aggression, do you, fucked-up, tough-guy characters, tortured souls?”

“Tortured souls have always fascinated me.”

“And you think I’m tortured?”

“I don’t know, you could be . . . I guess,” I splutter.

He takes the paperback, Speed the Plow, from the shelf and examines its cover. “She was a little bitch, this character. Unusual for David to write a female role. His wife played the part, did you know that?” Daniel sits on the edge of my bed, with the book in his tight grasp. “Come here.” He taps his knees.

I walk over to his side. He gently pulls off my robe and I stand there naked. His large hands cup my butt. “Always been an ass guy, myself. Love your perky tits but it’s that ass that gets me going.”

He strokes my behind softly. I hear myself moan again. My nipples are like bullets. Suddenly, he bends me over his knee like a child. My eyes are now on the floor, my ass doubled over his strong thighs, which I feel beneath me. My fingers cling to the fabric of his jeans. He’s making circular motions with his hands around my butt, and his finger

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