Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (24 page)

“I can take it.”

“Fine then. Turn around.”

I let go of my skirt and faced away from him. He put his palms on my ass, then moved closer and drew them up my back until his newly erect penis was pressed against me. He unzipped the simple black dress and pressed his hands to my shoulders in such a way as to turn me around to face him.

“Take it off,” he said.

I let the dress slip over my shoulders and onto the floor. I stood in the black garter, black heels, matching lace bra, and a wet pussy. I stepped out of the dress and pushed it to the side. He watched me, and I could almost see his brain working. He stepped back to me and kicked my legs open with his foot, then stroked my forearms, down to my hands. He laced his fingers into mine. His eyes were not unkind, but hard and focused.

“I’d fuck you senseless,” he said, “but I never got more condoms.”

“You’ll make it up to me.”

“What did she say to you?” he asked.

“I asked her how she broke her wrist, and she said, ‘Jonathan can be rough sometimes.’”

He made a little snort that might have been mistaken for a short laugh if the rest of his face hadn’t been so hardened. “First of all, that’s a typical Jessica contextual lie.” He moved my hands behind me. “Lean back.” He held my arms steady so I wouldn’t fall, until my back was arched enough for my hands to lean on the back of the love seat. His body curved with mine, his breath on my shoulder as he drew his hands up my arms. “It’s true as a statement, but false in context. Second of all, she doesn’t know from rough. You, my darling, got me rougher than she’s ever seen.”

He stepped back from me, an artist working on a piece. I stood, legs apart, back arched, arms behind me leaning on the back of the sofa. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and turned on. He’d called Jessica a liar, and one with her own brand of lying. I noted the change in attitude. He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed up, arching it further, exposing me to him, and forcing me to look at the ceiling.

“She lives in Venice, on the water,” he said as he lifted my bra, exposing my tits so he could stroke the rock-hard nipples. “And she was waiting. As soon as I drove up, she was in the doorway. She hadn’t acted happy to see me in two years or more. And yes, I thought about you, but I figured, only a few hours had passed. If I needed to get out you’d understand. Or not. I wasn’t on ethically shaky ground.”

A drizzle of wetness dripped down my leg.

“She hugged me and pulled me into the house. I kept asking her what was wrong, and I mean I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there was so much shit missing.”

“Her boyfriend left and took his stuff,” I said.

“I was happy. I was excited. I felt like I’d won some kind of war.” He reached down to part my thighs more than I thought physically possible, his finger grazed the drip. “A war of patience. She poured us some wine and as soon as she started talking about how great she felt that he was gone, I knew something was wrong.” He brushed his wet finger against my lower lips, and I tasted myself. “This is turning you on.”

“What you’re doing. Not what you’re saying.”

“She put her hands on me. I can’t tell you how long I waited for her to touch me again.” He put his hand between my breasts and moved it down my belly, touching the diamond in my navel and circling it before he drifted down to my crotch. He brushed against my pussy only long enough to feel the dampness then moved to my thighs again.

I moaned and pushed against him.

He pressed his hand flat between my legs letting me do the work of grinding against him. “And I kissed her. I admit it. I couldn’t have stopped myself. She said, ‘Make love to me Jonathan, like you used to.’ So I threw her on the couch.”

I scrunched my face because I didn’t want to show I was upset. I wanted to enjoy him and his touch and not hear what happened that had kept him from making love to his ex-wife. Had she pushed him away at the last minute? Or had the boyfriend walked in? I didn’t care anymore. “I don’t want to hear it,” I said, staring at the exposed beam on the ceiling.

“Too late.” He picked up his glass of Perrier and placed it on my chest. “Don’t let this fall.”

I couldn’t look at him or the glass would tip. An icy cold patch formed at the center of my sternum.

He kneeled between my legs. “She smelled like I’d always remembered. Like cut grass.” He kissed the inside of my thigh, licking away the juices from my pussy as he made his way upward. “And I thought, ah, I remember this smell. And I was kissing her, but…” He stopped and kissed my clit once. “I realized I didn’t want her. And the cut-grass smell?” His tongue went from my pussy to my clit and back.

I moaned again, louder. He pulled me open. The air itself was a physical pressure on me, and I wanted him, just this once, even if it would be the last time.

“The cut grass smell wasn’t love. It was gratitude. I felt like I was kissing one of my sisters.” He gave my clit a suck, a fast, light thing that got a cry from me. “Then I thought of you, and I knew I had to get out of there. That was the end of that.”

With that, he put his tongue on my clit, breathing hot breaths, wiggling his tongue until I thought for sure I was going to tip the glass. I felt gratitude, too, and it smelled nothing like cut grass.

“Kissing is cheating,” I said. “Even if you had to do it to get over her.”

“Yeah. But I figured if I got my lips on your cunt before I told you, you’d forgive me. I think we walked in here with the same strategy.” He slid his fingers into me. “If that glass drops, I stop, and you go home with a baseball.”

“I don’t forgive you.” Cold condensation dripped off my chest and down my sides.

“I know.” He pushed his fingers in as deep as they’d go and used his other hand to expose the hard nodule at the top of my cleft. “You have a beautiful cunt, Monica.”

I had not a second to think about how that word was foul and disgusting from anyone else’s lips before he put his tongue to my clit and all thinking disappeared. Three strokes with the tip and a suck. Four strokes and a longer suck. Pushing fingers in and out, stretching me, while he licked me again, then he jammed his fingers all the way in and gently used his teeth on my clit.

“Oh,
God
,” I shouted. The pain was sharp but immediately followed by a pleasure I’d never experienced, as if the nerves were exposed raw by the bite and made more alive by the gentleness that followed.

“That a good ‘oh, God’ or a bad ‘oh, God’?”

“Great, good, fucking
God
.”

He did it again, pressing his teeth a little harder and adding a suck to the grind of his teeth. The pain and pleasure coexisted, moving from opposite poles to the center of me. I writhed enough to shake water from the glass and onto my belly, but not tip it.

He sucked my clit through his teeth, and I filled his mouth with stars.

“I’m coming. Fuck. Jonathan….”

He moaned into me, and I knew that meant I was allowed to come. And he didn’t stop or pause long enough for me to stop the freight train of my orgasm. I tried to keep my body still, but toward the end, as the sucking felt as though his mouth was pulling every last bit of pleasure from me, I lost control of my body, and the glass tumbled, rolling along the floor. My back arched even more. The top of my head wound up on the loveseat cushions, and Jonathan stood to keep his head between my legs. He kept sucking even after I tried to push his head away, his pussy-wet fingers holding my thighs.

He moved his mouth away when I was a hot, shuddering mess. I breathed heavily, getting my bearings again. He put his hands around my waist and lifted me to standing. I still couldn’t speak. He lowered my bra gently, then picked up my dress from the floor. I fell on him, and he laughed, holding me up.

“You all right?”

“I don’t think all my parts are attached.”

“You look just as perfect as you did ten minutes ago.”

I breathed into him for a second, taking in the new, musty scent. “I don’t think I have the coordination to get my clothes on.” I got my bearings, feeling sexually satisfied in a way I knew wouldn’t last. I could be ready for another go in minutes.

Jonathan found the neck opening of my dress and lifted it over my head.

I wiggled my arms through the sleeves. “What did she do for you that you’re so grateful about?”

“I’m about to be cryptic,” he said.

“Great.”

“I went through some stuff when I was younger, and I was treated like it all happened
to me
. I was this victim. She showed me that I was responsible. She gave me my manhood back. That too heartwarming for you?”

I caught the sarcasm in the last sentence, but also the defensiveness. I turned my back and moved my hair out of the way so he could zip me up.

“How did she break her wrist?” I asked.

He slowly zipped up the dress. “I said I was sorry and that I couldn’t do this with her anymore, this whole dance we’ve been doing. She ran out after me and tripped on the walk. Fell on her wrist. I couldn’t get my doctor on the phone, so I took her to the ER and waited with her. The only four words she said to me? ‘Is it that girl?’”

“She was talking about me?”

“I assumed so.”

“What did you say?”

“I lied.”

I turned around. “You said I wasn’t a girl?”

He smiled. “I said you were nothing to me. I think I used the word dalliance.”

“Am I a dalliance?”

“Not for me. Not anymore.” Looking pensive, he smoothed my dress. “But you see what she did when she thought you were. Made a special trip up to the Stock just to hurt you. If she knew I think about you all the time… well, she’s possessive. Even after she left me she made it a point to find out who I was with and what I was doing with them. I thought it meant she still loved me, but actually, it means she’s crazy.” He kissed my hands, then my cheek. His face smelled like my pussy. “Do you have a few more minutes?”

“Some. I’m going to record something in a few hours. I set it up so we couldn’t be together too long.”

“Clever girl.”

“Well, now I just want to eat you alive.”

He turned me back around and kissed me. The taste of our tongues was a mix of sex and sweat. I fell into him, a groan rising in the back of my throat. I wanted him again, and again.

He moved his mouth to my nose, my chin, and spoke into my cheek. “I need to wash up. Can you meet me downstairs in the bar?”

I
 carried a toothbrush in my bag because I knew, at the very least, his dick would be in my mouth, and I didn’t want to hit the high notes at DownDawg Studio with blowjob breath. I washed my face, readjusted my dress, and slipped on my panties. They made my pussy feel gagged, but if any part of me needed to shut up for a minute, it was the sopping cup of sensation between my legs.

He was waiting at a small table near the window, a bottle of Perrier and two glasses ready. He saw me come in, and I noted the appreciation in his gaze.

“How long do I have?” he asked. He scooped a couple of beige pistachios from a porcelain bowl. A metal bowl sat next to it, a couple of empty shells nesting inside.

“About ninety minutes. No time for another round.” I sat. Our chairs faced the windows and were so close our knees touched.

“That’s fine. I just want to talk to you.”

“You smell different,” I said.

He smiled. “The last cologne… Jessica got it for me for Christmas seven years ago. I had something new made up north. Do you like it?”

“It’s the other side of you.”

He removed the meat from a nut and placed it to my lips. I glanced around. The bar was empty except for Larry, who was wiping glasses to an optic shine. I took the nut into my mouth like an offering.

“Which side is that?” He looked at me with those tourmaline eyes, his copper hair glinting at the edges from the afternoon sun.

I didn’t know if I was allowed to fall for him, since he’d shed Jessica like an old skin. I didn’t know if I was allowed to believe she was gone, or if that much had changed between us. “The side that makes me beg.”

“You like that side of me?” He cracked another pistachio, tossing the shell into the metal bowl with a
plink
.

“You can’t tell?”

“I want to make sure you’re not tolerating it for other reasons.” He placed the nut to my lips again.

I took it, letting the wet part of my lips graze his thumb. “If I were, I’d just lie about it.”

“True.”

“What do your instincts say? Am I a liar?”

“You’re as real as anyone I ever met.”

He turned his attention to the pistachios, popping another one open and dropping the shell with a
plink
. He ate that one, then another.
Plink, plink
. “I had business in San Francisco, but also, there’s a woman up there.”

The cold metal feeling that went up my spine must have made a sound loud enough for him to hear.

He glanced up at me and spoke in the voice he used when he was telling me to put my hands behind my back. “Wait. Let me finish.”

That calmed me enough to remove the ice from my veins. “Go on,” I said.

He fed me another nutmeat,
plinking
the shell with his other hand. “Her name is Sharon. We’ve been fucking on and off for a couple of years. We’re very honest with each other, and she likes some of the same things in bed that you and I have done, but she’s more experienced with it. When I got there, I saw her, and I told her about Jessica and you. I ended it with her, of course. Judging from your face you needed to hear that?”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be possessive.”

He smiled. “You’re fine.”
Plink
. He put his face close to mine and brought his hand under my chin, a thumb on one cheek, and pressed lightly opening my mouth.

My eyes went half-mast and a burst of pleasure blossomed between my legs.

With the other hand, he fed me the nut. “I want you, Monica. I want you on a regular basis. Constantly, actually. I don’t think about much else.” He let go of my cheeks and brushed his thumb against my bottom lip before taking his hand away and letting me chew. “I’m on the brink of being completely infatuated with you. I need to know if you feel the same.”