Broken Glass (4 page)

“Is this what you want, Janie?”

I nodded.

“It’s all yours.”

I sat up and brought my trembling hands up to his hips. I slowly unfastened his fly as his cock flexed beneath the fabric of his pants. I laid my hand on his mountain and sucked in a sharp breath. It was rock hard and even bigger to my touch than I expected. “You’re huge,” I said. He was.
Huge
.

He clenched his eyes shut and parted his beautiful mouth as my fingers nervously grappled with the stubborn fabric. I hadn’t done this up until now, and I was shaking. I’d had one serious boyfriend in my life and he had never asked me to undress him. Finally, the pants slid off Daniel’s hips. My gaze fixed on his boxer briefs—my next hurdle. The bulge was even more enormous—the outline of his throbbing crown reaching up to his navel in a thick solid arrow—and I shuddered, wondering how it could possibly fit inside me. I hadn’t had sex for so long, I could hardly even remember how it all worked. Would this be painful? My ex didn’t have this kind of equipment—then again, I had never felt so ready for anyone in my life as I did now.

I touched his ridge with my lips, then nibbled him there, my teeth sinking tentatively into the combed cotton of Daniel’s boxer briefs.

“Fuck, Janie,” he groaned, opening his eyes and casting his gaze down at me. I continued to nip along the long, thick shaft, too scared to take off his underwear and reveal his mammoth erection in the flesh. He made my mind up for me, by pulling off his boxer briefs so his cock sprang free. He grasped it in both hands. “I’d fucking love it if you took me in your sexy mouth. Open up.”

I did as I was told, and he eased himself into my mouth, a deep guttural groan emanating from his throat as he did so. I felt a rush of moisture shoot between my thighs, and my clit started to pound with longing. I had never felt such an ache or yearning before, and I feared it—I could sense myself losing control. He started languidly fucking my mouth, his hands clawing my hair as he guided my lips up and down his massive length.

“I want thizz inthide of may,” I gagged.

He stopped mid-plunge and said, “You’re sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He slowly pulled out. “Fuck, you’re sexy, Janie, “you make me fucking ravenous for you. You’re sure?” he asked again. I nodded. “Because I could hurt you without meaning to.”

What he said unnerved me, but I licked my lips, which he took as a cue to condom-up. He rolled the thing on and I wished we didn’t have to use it. It spoiled the aesthetic nature of the scene—no wonder you never saw them in the movies. Still, I had to be careful, just in case his blonde bimbo denial was a bald-faced lie.

He went down on his knees again and yanked me toward him, edging open my thighs so I was splayed out wide. He prized them even further apart. Lying on top of me, he rested the crest of his massive dick at my entrance, tickling me teasingly, gently prodding me but not entering.

“Please, Daniel.”

“Please what?”

“I need you inside me.”

“How much? How much do you need me, Janie?”

I moaned and writhed about, bucking my pelvis as close as I could get so his cock pulsed inside me a touch. But he drew back, his willpower strong. He wasn’t about to enter me in a hurry. “Tell me you need me.”

I didn’t say a word, 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 do you know about that?”

I was about to say ‘Wikipedia’ but realized how stalkerish that sounded. “Rumor, I guess.”

“Well rumor was right. She was pregnant with another man’s baby.”

“I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t sorry, I was secretly gleeful. Maybe now I could lay to rest the ghost of the perfect, stainless, impeccable Natasha Jürgen. I still couldn’t believe he had his facts right, though. “How do you know it wasn’t yours?”

“They did a paternity test, a DNA test on the dead fetus, at my request.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, meaning it this time. The word ‘dead’ hit it home to me. A poor innocent baby: dead.

We lay there together, our pants around our respective ankles after our disastrous coupling, listening to each other’s heartbeats and finding solace in a new-found friendship based on trust. I wasn’t the only one who had a heart made of glass. The idea that Daniel could be damaged, vulnerable, and wounded by someone, had not ever occurred to me. That’s why he wanted to know if I was in love with him. Not to feed his ego, but to ensure himself that my feelings were genuine. I saw him in a whole new light.

He continued to open himself up to me, revealing his past, his hurt and grief—never for a moment feeling sorry for himself, though, but more like clarifying why he hadn’t felt ready for another relationship. Natasha dying had made things even more complicated, he explained. Emotions bubbled over, he said: guilt, anger, sadness, a sense of failure. He told me how Natasha had wanted a glamorous lifestyle and he’d deduced—after she took up with a billionaire, Argentinean polo-player—how she must have married Daniel primarily for his money, but then felt let down when he didn’t provide the swanky lifestyle to go with it.

“Not my style,” he said.

And I, being so in love with him, found this inconceivable, but I also found it inconceivable that men had cheated on Marilyn Monroe. The human heart is hard to fathom; people’s behavior can be bizarre.

Everything made sense to me now. The reason for Daniel pulling back, diving into the pool, that time, to cool himself down after our kiss. He wanted me, but didn’t trust himself not to hurt me. The film had acted as a catalyst to pull us together, something he hadn’t been entirely ready for. He had been left a broken man. Maybe too broken to fix. I didn’t want to be his rebound.

“Do you still feel angry with Natasha?” I asked. Wounds like these left scars.

“It is what it is,” Daniel said, not giving anything away. He got up and put his clothes back on. I watched his every movement, gauging his mood, second-guessing his thoughts.

My doubts crept back, nestling in my gut like an incurable virus. I pulled up my panties and then my jeans. I felt less vulnerable dressed. “Were you crazy about her?” I asked warily, not wanting to hear the answer, yet not being able to tear myself away from this insidiously fascinating subject: Natasha Jürgen.

“I guess I was dazzled by her, but the truth is we were incompatible from the word go.”

“Is that why she went looking elsewhere?”

“No. Her relationship with Ricardo had started before we were even married.”

I felt a stab to my chest on Daniel’s behalf. “
What
? That’s insane! What was she
thinking
?” Heat rushed to my ears. Fury at her cruelty.

“She wanted to have her cake and eat it too. Ricardo was married—you know what those Latin American Catholics can be like—and his wife wouldn’t give him a divorce. Natasha was his lover and he took her all over the world—private jets, super yachts, helicopters, Gstaad and Mustique in winter, Patagonia in summer. His wife momentarily grabbed his attention back by getting pregnant. That’s when Natasha married me. She swore it was over between them, but it wasn’t. Her goal was to win him back, give him a son so she could recapture his heart, once and for all.”

“She sounds like a real number,” I said, “using you that way. And the baby? Could they tell what it was?
Was
she going to have a boy?”

“It was a girl, apparently. Lost her poor little life at the same time as Natasha—no oxygen to the brain, nothing could be done to save either of them.”

The way he said it sounded as if he missed Natasha horribly. “Did you love her?” I asked outright. Again, the seed of jealously replanting itself. Ready to sprout.

“I loved the person I thought I knew. But it’s hard being in love with a lie.”

My heart beat fast as I prepared my next question. I had to know. “So where does that leave us?”

He pulled me into a tighter embrace. “It leaves us free from lies,” he told me. “Free to really get to know each other, to learn to trust one another, and to work together professionally without fear. Do you trust me, Janie?”

My pulse pounded, more blood rushing to my head. Total trust? That was a tall order. I decided to be honest. “I’ve spent all this time being so in love with you, Daniel, and terrified about you hurting me, so trust is something you’ll have to earn from me. Does that make sense?”

He cocked a small, resigned smile. “It makes perfect sense.”

“Could you be faithful to me?” I quizzed, my eyes searching for the truth in his answer.

“I’d never do to you what Natasha did to me, so yes, I can be faithful. I’m not the cheating kind, anyway.”

“You swear, then, that it’s just gossip about you screwing all those Natasha Jürgen lookalikes?”

He roared with laughter, the skin at the edge of his blue eyes creasing with mirth. “Natasha Jürgen lookalikes? I can assure you the real thing was bad enough, I won’t be seeking more of the same. Who started that crazy rumor?”

I didn’t want to put Star and Jake in the middle of it, so I didn’t let on. I thought of Cindy Spektor, whom I had also silently accused. “That’s what people say, that all the women were blond, busty, Natasha Jürgen lookalikes.”

He was still smiling. “Just for the record, she wasn’t that busty in reality. She had a lot of help in the wardrobe department.”

“Oh.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Janie, and, no, I’m not into huge breasts. I happen to love yours just the way they are, so don’t get it into your head to go all Hollywood on me and change yourself.”

Although his compliment bolstered me up, my head was still immersed in Natasha like a submarine submerged in water, refusing to come up for air. “She may have been far more beautiful than me, but I can top her in the loyalty stakes.”

He took both my hands in his and kissed them. “Janie, why, why, why, have you no idea how ravishing you are? Isn’t it completely obvious when you look in the mirror each day?”