GLASS: A Standalone Novel Read online

  “I’ve heard about it, but I didn’t think it had opened yet.”

  “It’s press night tonight. Will you come with me?”

  “Are you kidding? I love Natasha Jürgen’s work.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “My address is—”

  “I know your address. I’d prefer to come and collect you, that way I can be sure you won’t show up late.”

  “You know where I live?” I ask, butterflies circling my insides like a spring storm.

  “You are my employee, I have details about all the cast. See you at seven, Janie. Go home, get something to eat and have a nap. You look a little tired.”

  My eyes linger on his worked-out torso, which I see rippling through his T-shirt, his muscles flexing as he picks up his papers and puts them into a briefcase. He knows where I live! The thought of it sends a shiver up my spine. He’s picking me up at my apartment!

  His voice is husky when he says quietly, “See you later, Janie. Remember, get some rest.”

  MY TINY STUDIO is my untidy but perfect nest. It’s full of clothes and full of plays. I cannot read novels of any kind or guilt sets in. Just plays. Tennessee Williams, Clifford Odets, Shakespeare, Jean-Paul Sartre, David Mamet . . . you name it, I’ve read them all.

  I take off my dress and get into the shower, watching my reflection steam up. I wash my long, chestnut-brown hair and dump half a bottle of conditioner on my fingers, threading them through the tangles, running my fingers through the knots. I look at my face. So little, my body so tiny. I feel like a bird. It’s true, I need to eat more. Stop snacking and give myself proper, nutritious meals. My eyes look unusually large and puppy-dog brown, perhaps because I have lost all this weight. Is my part getting to me? I have never felt so vulnerable, never so submissive to a role. I feel as if I have a hole in my heart and the only person that can fill that hole is him. I ache for Daniel Glass. Finally, finally, I have a chance. He has asked me out!

  I get out of the shower, rub some aromatherapy oil on my wet skin and massage my legs. When I reach my thighs I see Daniel in my mind’s eye and imagine his abs pressed against me. The tingle in my groin reminds me I need to release myself—it’s been too long. The weeks of torture as I see him in rehearsal every day; the temptation as I watch him work, listen to him direct me in his cool, sexy voice. My instructor. My master. I can’t hold it in any longer.

  I rummage in my bathroom drawer and reach around for my little “rabbit” and turn it on. I haven’t used it for a long while and never would have thought of buying one, but I won it at a friend’s bachelorette party. Its rumbling vibration has already got me feeling ready. I’m wet again. Every day I’m that way. Every day, seeing Daniel, hearing him boss me, tell me what to do and command me as my director has me turned on like a switch. I am his submissive. I am his slave. Even though it’s my job to do what he tells me, and even though he is kind, I’m still his puppet—his marionette dancing to his tune.

  I bring the rabbit in between my thighs and place it on my clit. Aah, oh wow, this feels sexy. It’s making me quiver. I rub it around in different places, behind me, now, at the back of my entrance, and then up around the front again. Oh yes, I see Daniel’s huge erection, at least how I imagine him: hard as a rock. He’s fucking me now. From behind. Oh 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 brushes past my opening.

  “So wet, Janie. So fucking sexy. You make me rock hard. I don’t know if I can stop myself fucking you. My cock’s throbbing, can you feel it? Throbbing beneath your tits. It wants to ram itself inside that tight little pussy of yours.”
His finger is stroking my entrance now. I’m soaking. I can hear soft yielding noises coming from inside me as Daniel runs his finger along my pussy.

  “Get ready, Janie – brace yourself.”

  I feel the paperback slap my behind. Not too hard, but it does sting. Then he softly strokes the lips down there and slips his finger inside me. The smooth with the rough. All I can think about is Daniel ramming his erection into me. Hard.

  “Ready, you naughty little girl who doesn’t feed herself properly and who goes to bed with wet hair. One, two . . .”

  I tense as the book slaps down on my butt again, this time harder. I cry out.

  “Again?”

  “Yes,” I moan. This is so erotic.

  He whacks me once more, and this time it hurts. “Enough?” he asks me.

  “More,” I murmur, wanting to be brave.

  “No. You’ve been punished enough. I need to kiss it all better now.” He cocks up my leg. Turns me around so I am no longer sidesaddle, so to speak, but straddling him with my face down, still looking at the floor, but my thighs splayed on either side of his legs. My butt is high in the air and he lifts it up to his face.

  “Got to lick this tight little pussy,” he says in a low voice, and his tongue starts to slowly, deliberately circle my clit.

  I’m groaning and crying out with pleasure as it flicks about me, teasing me, darting its way in and out, and I begin to writhe with bliss. His thumbs are splaying my lips open as his mouth is sucking, then blowing between my legs. Softly. I’m throbbing and pulsating—the feeling is incredible. Then he lies back on the bed and pulls me right on top of his face.

  “Unbutton my jeans,” he commands, and I fumble desperately around his crotch, frantically unbuttoning his fly opening. I feel his hard bulge and it makes me gasp. He swirls his tongue around my clit again and I hear myself meow like a cat.

  “Push yourself up on all fours,” he directs, and I maneuver myself above him. I’m pulling his pants down to his knees, and open up his boxer briefs without taking them off. I free his erection through the soft combed-cotton and take him in my mouth, rimming my tongue around the soft head of his crown.

  “I always loved the number 69,” he says with a laugh.

  I run my lips along his smooth length, kissing as I go. I have only ever done this once before. But it was different then. This time I have Daniel Glass on the tip of my tongue. And like glass, it can be dangerous—it scares me.

  “You’re so big,” I breathe.

  He spins me around again by my waist as if I’m a doll, and I’m now on top of him, facing him, my lips on his lips. He has me staring into his eyes. “I want you to ride me,” he demands. “Ride me hard. I want you to come around me until your delicate little body can’t stand it anymore.”

  He presses his hand into his jeans’ pocket and pulls out a condom packet. “Put this on me, Janie.”

  “I don’t really know how,” I reply.

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve never done this before. You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  “Of course not, I’m twenty-one,” I protest.

  “Well you never know,” he says with a crooked grin. “You could be religious . . . or something.”

  “I don’t think you’ll find many virgins over the age of eighteen,” I say, as if I’ve had all the experience in the world. The truth is, I have only ever had sex with one boy, and that ended a year ago. But I don’t want Daniel to know that. I want him to think of me as worldly.

  He pushes me off him. “Come to think of it, you’re too young, Janie,” he mumbles. “What was I even thinking?” But the mumble is to himself. He kisses me softly but then says, “No, Janie, no, I can’t do this to you. You’re too young. Too vulnerable.”

  Hot. Cold. I can’t stand the torture.

  He’s killing me softly with this kiss, Killing Me Softly with his words, the tune swims in my mind—all I want is him. All I desire is Daniel Glass inside me, even if that glass cuts. Even if it wounds me.

  “Please,” I beg. “Please. I need you. You’re my director. In every way. I’m so crazy about you, it hurts. I come to work every day obsessing about you, desiring you in every movement I make, every step I take. Everything I do is for you, Daniel.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Tell you that you’re a god to me? That even if you hurt me sometimes, I love you anyway? That I can’t get you out of my mind? Nor night nor day. I love you, Daniel Glass. I love you.”

  “Let’s just lie side by side and hold each other, Janie darling.”

  He called me darling. I’m in a swoon.

  “Be still, Janie.”

  He kicks off his jeans and pulls them, and his boxer briefs, away from his toes until we are lying naked, side by side. His body is beautiful. Worked-out but not overdone. Smooth like caramel, faintly tanned but not too bronzed. His lips are curved, the corners lifting upwards as if somebody is pulling invisible threads. His skin is clear and unblemished, his nose straight with the tiniest bump that makes him look like a Greek statue. He tells me I’m too young for him, yet I feel his hardness pressed up against my skin. I let my hands wander south and feel him there. He groans. He doesn’t push my hands away.

  “I love you, Daniel,” I say again, and every cadence in my voice speaks the truth. I would die for this man.

  “I love you, too, my little Juilliard star. You’re precious to me. You shine like a diamond, half cut, half polished. You’re special, but not everyone has seen how bright you’ll shine. But they will. I’m going to pull that out of you. Coax it out. I’m going to make you weak, yet strong.”

  “How?”

  “By making love to you. I’m going to have to fuck you, Janie.” He pulls me close to him and I slip on his huge erection with ease, my wetness surrounding him like a knife cutting into oozing butter.

  He starts making small thrusts as we lie side by side and he kisses me, his tongue darting into my open mouth, greedily sucking me, licking me. It feels . . . ooh, so . . . so good. I claw onto his muscular ass with my nails, leveraging my body to ease myself up and down him. I want him in . . . deep.

  “You, Feel. So. Good. I. Love. Fucking. You,” he growls, plunging his way in harder. He’s above me and has my ass in his hands, lifting my buttocks up with each thrust. He’s controlling me, dominating me, totally fucking me. In out, in, out. Aah, it feels incredible, all my nerves are on fire. I’m soaking wet. I’m like this tiny thing and his huge hard cock is taking over my body. Whole. Each time he slams it in, he pulls me tight towards his groin. We are one, our hips meeting as close as is physically possible.

  “I love you, Daniel.”

  “Sweet little tight pussy,” he says groaning. “Making. Me. So. Fucking. Hard!” Each thrust is punctuated by a word. His voice is raw. I have this powerful man weak with desire and I feel hot. He rolls me over in one sudden pull so I’m now on top of him. His erection has slipped out with the movement so I guide it back in with my two hands. The pressure of his cock slapping against my clitoris has me screaming with pleasure and, as I push it inside me, I feel myself coming—the rush and spasms making me climax in two places, my clit and deep down within me. My tits are smacking his chest, my nipples rosy and firm, my nerve-endings electric.

  “That’s right, baby, come hard, come around my cock, oh yes.”

  His tongue is inside my mouth, exploring every last bit of me, his eyes intense as he cries out. I feel his erection thicken and stiffen even more. My body trembles and quivers as he explodes inside of me. “I’m coming Janie, I’m coming hard.”

  His mouth is on mine, tongues wrapped about each other, orgasms uniting in one golden shimmering firework.

  I hear my cell ring. What the—

  I bolt up with a jerk. My hands are pressed between my legs. Now I know the meaning of a wet dream. There’s sweat all over me. My bed is empty. Daniel Glass is nowhere to be seen. I grab my cellphone and look at the time. 6.55 p.m. Holy smoke! I can still feel the tingle
s pushing through me, my post-orgasmic body shot with a thunderous bolt. I press ANSWER.

  “I’m outside your apartment building.” It’s Daniel. His voice is clipped. Urgent.

  “I’ll be down in a second.”

  “Don’t be long,” he warns. “I don’t want us to be late. Curtains go up at eight sharp. I’d hate to let my fiancée down.”

  His words are groggy syllables in my head. “Your f . . . fiancée?” I stammer.

  “Yes, didn’t you know? Natasha Jürgen is my fiancée. We’re getting married in two weeks. Don’t want to be late for her greatest performance yet.”

  His sentence cuts through me like splintering shards of glass.

  He adds, “You need to see Natasha act; you could learn a lot from her. Now get your heinie down here, Miss Janie Juilliard. Right now, or we’ll be late.”

  “Coming,” I blurt out, realizing the irony of what I just said.

  1

  OBSESSION IS A DANGEROUS THING. You can call it infatuation, or even love, you can call it whatever you like, but it is a sickness. Even Shakespeare knew that. Especially Shakespeare. Daniel was my every thought, my every movement. He consumed me. He eked his way into my nightly dreams, where we would be in love. Not unrequited love, but tangible and equal—both of us crazy for each other, simultaneously. Then I’d wake up empty. This happened every night. Over and over again.

  That evening, when he took me to the theater, when I watched Natasha Jürgen’s performance in awe—and envy—was humiliating. A slap in the face. They were going to get married. He was in love with her: a glamorous, worldly, thirty-five-year-old. I was out of her league. She had long blond hair, breasts that any woman would kill for. She was a beautiful, Teutonic force of power, with legs that went on forever, and a bewitching smile. She commanded the stage. I wept at her performance, sad tears, happy tears. I was bowled over. It felt that it was the most catalytic moment of my life, because observing her made me more determined than ever to hone my craft; become the actress I knew I was born to be. Little did I know that a far more life-changing moment was yet to come.