Shards of Glass by Arianne Richmonde Page A

against my legs, and seeing its solid ridge wedged against his slacks, I noticed that he was big. Very big.
    “You were between a rock and a hard place,” I joked.
    “Not funny, Janie. It was humiliating.”
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
    “We need to talk.”
    “We could meet tomorrow. Star’s got a meeting so I’ll be alone all afternoon, you could pick—”
    “Now. We need to talk now.”
    “Well, I can’t sleep so . . .” Can’t sleep because of you, I wanted to add, but I bit my lip to stop myself.
    “Stop biting your lip and twiddling your hair, it’s—”
    “A bad habit,” I said, finishing off his sentence.
    “I wasn’t going to say that actually.”
    “How did you know I was twiddling my hair?”
    “Because I know you.”
    No, you don’t, you don’t know everything. “What were you going to say then, if it wasn’t to tick me off?”
    “I’ll tell you when I see you. Where are you?”
    “At Star Davis’s house on Pacific Coast Highway. I’m in her backyard, listening to the crashing waves, staring at the stars in the sky. The real stars, not movie stars.
    “I’m on my way over.”
    “What if I refuse to give you the address?” I taunted.
    “I know the architect who built her house and I went to see it once, and I’m staying with friends who happen to live near you, just up the beach a ways.”
    “That’s convenient.”
    “Yes, it is. Very.”
    I could hear measured panting. “Why are you breathing heavily? What are you doing?”
    “Jogging along the beach. I’m on my way. Won’t be long.” The phone went dead.
    What did he want to talk about? Never had a person instilled such fear and desire all at once in me. He would berate me, tell me that he didn’t want to work with me ever again, that what I did was cheap and tacky. God, I hated being an actor sometimes. The DNA of insecurity—part of a thankless job. Insecurity manifested itself in a myriad of ways; prickly behavior, promiscuity, bitchiness, cockiness, and often alcohol or drug abuse. I knew that Star once had a drug problem. Twice, three times actually—she kept relapsing. No actor gets off lightly, even when they’re famous.
    I looked back up at the starry void and must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Daniel was leaning down stroking my hair. I opened my eyes. I knew it was him because I could smell his familiar, masculine scent. His clean musty aroma that made me weak every time he came near me.
    “So beautiful,” he whispered.
    “What?” I wondered if he was referring to the starry sky but he was looking at me directly.
    “You woke a sleeping bear,” he said. “You know that expression, Let Sleeping Dogs Lie? The Swedish talk about bears, not dogs. You should have let me sleep, Janie, but you woke me up.”
    “When I responded to your text message?”
    He chuckled. “No, when you kissed me and gave me a raging hard-on. You woke up my senses.” He took my hand and brought it to his crotch. “Feel how hard you’ve made me again.”
    I breathed into his face, “Oh God!”
    “I’m going to have to fuck you, because you’ve asked for it. It’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? To get fucked by me?”
    I could feel his enormous erection through his jeans. It was almost intimidating. Almost. “Yes,” I whimpered. “I’d like to deny it but that’d be a lie.”
    He leaned in closer and planted a light kiss on my forehead. “Not the innocent little girl we all thought now, are we?”
    “No,” I murmured.
    “You’re a fiery little tiger beneath that schoolgirl body, aren’t you? I bet you’re wet just thinking about how hard I am and how much I want you. Are you wet?”
    He pressed his face against mine and kissed me, driving his tongue into my mouth and licking it, biting my lip softly, all the while groaning. His groans sent currents of lust through my body, hardening my nipples.
    “Oh God,” ––I breathed into his lips—“Daniel.” I flung my arms