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

by CD Reiss

  “What are you having?” Darren asked, somewhat less comfortable in a suit and tie than Jonathan. He cast his eyes down to his phone.

  “Whiskey rocks. Who’s texting? Kevin? Is he okay?”

  “No.” He tapped the bar then shook his head as if a fly had landed on his hair. “No, I mean it’s not Kev.”

  “Okay?”

  “Adam has landed.”

  “Is he coming?”

  Darren rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Well, if he’s here and he came to see you, you’d better think of something fast. Like a piece of pie or a cookie. You don’t want him to waste the trip.”

  Our drinks came with a flirty glance from the bartender to me. He had arched eyebrows and full lips, reminding me of Kevin..

  Christian Rondo, one of the artists who had helped us that afternoon, introduced us to Donna Santonini. Meeting her made me blush because not only was her work unforgettable, it was also pornographic and arousing and high-minded, all at once. I loved her, told her so, and met seven other people in the next ten minutes.

  My customer service smile was getting a workout. Everyone thought I was with Darren, and we fell naturally into a brother/sister routine we’d honed since we broke up. The musicians took a break, silencing the background noise. Our klatch of artists didn’t notice. We just kept talking about getting shafted, fucked, disrespected, kicked in the ass. Stuff we all had in common.

  And Kevin. We talked about the missing status of Kevin Wainwright.

  I felt Jonathan’s hand on my back. Even through my dress, I knew his touch. His fingertips just grazed me, and I wanted to melt under them.

  “That dress makes me want to destroy you,” he said in my ear.

  I faced him, and I noticed his hand left my back. I felt suddenly cold. “Missed your opportunity last night.”

  “I’ll take you when you’re ready and not a minute sooner.” He pressed his lips together, looking at me as if he’d swallow me whole once the moment of readiness came. “I have someone here who swears he’s heard your voice on some scratch cut one of his acquisitions people brought him.”

  I looked behind Jonathan and found the guy I thought was Harry Enrich talking to three other people I didn’t recognize. “The president of Carnival records?”

  “Eddie’s boss.”

  Jonathan and I stood together, looking at each other, no words passing between us. I saw the blue flecks in his eyes and the laugh lines at their corners.

  “I could introduce you,” he said. “Or you could remind him of the cut he heard.” He glanced at the empty piano, then back at me.

  “I could prove I’m not Bondage Girl?”

  He nodded. “The song can be what you want. Sing it.”

  “You’re releasing it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I sang something else?”

  “Your call. I’ll never hold you back again.”

  “Jonathan.” Leaning into him with my eyes half-closed, I whispered it so softly, I doubted he even heard me.

  “Go,” he whispered just as softly. “Take what’s yours.”

  He stepped back, and I felt at once totally alone and totally powerful.

  Eleven steps to the piano.

  I could do the new song, “Crave/n/” He’d recognize my voice, maybe, but I’d be Monica.

  Six steps to the piano.

  But if I did “Collared”, he’d know who I was right away.

  Bondage Girl.

  Two steps, and limited time to get the song out before the musicians came off their break.

  I slid onto the bench and started with a B-flat scale, then my fingers decided the song for me.

  twenty-nine

  MONICA

  The hotel carpet silenced my feet. The sconces lining the hall cast warm light on the wainscoting, and the elevator got smaller in the distance as if it was stepping away from me. I felt as though I was walking down the center aisle of a church after receiving a benediction that actually conferred a blessing.

  I touched his door when I walked past it. Just once and exactly in the center. I slid the keycard through the reader. The green light flashed, and I opened my door.

  A single lamp lit the living area, and the first thing I checked was the door between our rooms. It was closed. I touched it, pressing my whole hand to the wood, then I knocked. I breathed three times before the door opened.

  Jonathan stood there, jacket open, tie undone, shirt open halfway. A glass of whiskey with a single ice cube hung from his fingertips. “How did it go?”

  “You left.”

  “It was your moment.” He leaned in the doorframe, but his bare feet were still on his side. “Which song did you pick?”

  “I did ‘Collared,’ but different. Less bondage. More sweet.”

  He took a sip of whiskey. “And?”

  I looked for a negative reaction and saw none. “They demanded another. So I did ‘Craven.’ Went good. Real good. I wish you were there.”

  “I’m here now.”

  He was, in all his straight-shouldered, commanding, controlled beauty. Right there in front of me. Close enough for me to smell whiskey and leather.

  “I’d like to go to Seoul with you,” I said without thinking. Even as it came out of my mouth, I knew it was the right thing. I felt a press of tension flow out of me in a flood from the rightness of it.

  Jonathan looked at the floor, and I couldn’t see his face. Had he changed his mind? A little tension returned until he picked up his head and looked at me. His smile went wide, and he touched his chest.

  “Goddess.” He looked as though he wanted to say more but didn’t have the words.

  “I have to figure out what to do about work. I might lose my job.”

  “I can smooth it over with Debbie.”

  “Do not.” I held up my finger. “It’s my responsibility.”

  “You’ve made me very happy.”

  I had a snide response at the ready, but instead I said, “I’m glad.” The ice in his glass clinked, and I looked at it wistfully. He held it out. I parted my lips, and he raised the glass to them and tipped a little liquid in, his fingertips at the bottom so they didn’t touch my face. The whiskey stung my tongue and burned my throat. Hot and cold swirled in my chest at the same time.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I should be getting to sleep.”

  “Of course,” he said, stepping backward into his room.

  “Not like I’m tired or anything.”

  “Right.”

  “But there’s this no touching rule, and if I spend another second with you, I’m going to lose my mind and try to take your clothes off. I’m tired of being the one with no self-control around here.”

  He just looked at me, up and down, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I knew that look; Jonathan calculating the game, imagining all of its possibilities.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Your choice. We wait until we get back to L.A. We talk. We agree you never turn your back on me again unless I cheat on you or hurt you, neither of which will happen. We rush off to Korea, and I’ll probably have you on the plane or in a car or something. I don’t even know. Or the other option, and this is a terrible idea...”

  He stopped.

  “Go on,” I said, a little excitement building between my legs.

  “Right now, you agree never turn your back on me again unless I cheat on you or hurt you.”

  “And?”

  “When this ice cube melts, the no touch rule is rescinded.”

  I cleared my throat and looked down. My hands were at my sides, fingers twitching as if I was playing a stringed instrument. “Jonathan.”

  “Monica.”

  “I can’t imagine a situation where I’d turn my back on you again. At least, not for us being who we are. I won’t deny it again. I won’t pretend it’s anything but what it is or that I’m not submissive to you sexually. If you fuck or even kiss someone else, we’re throu
gh. And if you hurt me or if you’re careless with me, I really will walk.” I softened my tone and leaned towards him. “Barring that, I’m yours. You own me. You always have.”

  He stepped into my side of the doorway. He was so close. All I had to do was lean forward, and he’d have to catch me to keep me from falling.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go then, Monica. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “When this ice cube melts, I’m going to make love to you so slow, everyone in this hotel is going to know my name. It won’t be play. It’s going to be dead serious.”

  “Okay.” I peered into his glass. That ice cube looked huge.

  “Then it’s playtime.” As he’d done on our first night, he took his glass and pressed the coldest bottom part to my nipple. He didn’t touch me, only the glass did. I hardened through the dress, parting my lips so the ah could come out. “I’m going to tie you down and take every part of your body until I’m satisfied. It will hurt, goddess, and you will beg for more.”

  “Promise?”

  “You’re not scared?”

  “Actually, I’m kind of really turned on.”

  He drank the rest of the whiskey and lodged the ice cube in his mouth. He put down the glass and leaned toward me. The ice touched my lips, and he dragged it across them, dripping cold water down my chin. I opened my mouth and took the cube, but he didn’t let go. Both of our mouths were lodged on that cube, me at six and one and him at five and two. A low groan escaped my throat. I ran my tongue along the bottom of the ice, trying to get it to melt faster. His face was so near, and the cube so cold and big between us, I felt both the closeness and distance acutely.

  He yanked his jacket off, taking me with him. I grunted but didn’t let go. He undid his cufflinks, tossed them aside, and went for his shirt buttons. I saw the laughter and pleasure in his eyes as I tried to twist my head to watch, but couldn’t.

  I undid the clasp behind my neck that would release the halter. The bodice dropped, and it was his turn to groan and try to twist his head. My turn to laugh around that god damn hateful ice cube. I unzipped the side of the skirt as he shrugged off his shirt, the yanking pulled our mouths in different directions. Our muffled laughter was a symphony.

  Cold water dripped down our chins, and we sucked on that cube, willing it gone. The dress dropped to the carpet, revealing the white lace and satin garter with the big gold rings. He gasped and said something that sounded like it could have been “oh my God.” He held his hands over my hips, as if he wanted to caress me, but the ice cube still existed. It was shrinking, but the no touch rule kept him inches above my skin.

  His belt clanked when he undid it. His zipper buzzed. He held his head so I couldn’t look down, and the cold, amused look in his eyes told me how much he enjoyed my frustration. Bastard. He leaned down to pull off his pants, and I bent with him.

  He was naked. I was in garter and heels. The ice cube was half its original size. He pushed forward, still not touching me, until I got the hint and walked backward, connected to him at the mouth. Step by backward step, through the living area and into the bedroom. I backed up to the bed, and he dropped on top of me, hands on the mattress on either side of my head. The ice cube was down to a sliver, and he slid his tongue into my mouth. I gasped, finally feeling a piece of him against a piece of me, even if the ice made him cold. I’d take it. Anything. My skin was hungry for his touch.

  I don’t know when the ice actually disappeared down my throat, but his mouth on mine became more of a real kiss, more a dance of breaths and movements. I dared to touch his chest. When he didn’t pull away, I groaned into his mouth. His skin against my hands, the bumps of his nipples. The ribs at his sides. The hardness of his hips. The line of hair on his belly.

  Before I could get my hand between his legs, he shifted down and took my nipple in his mouth, sucking it between his teeth and sending pulsing shivers down my body. I wove my fingers in his hair, pulling him to me.

  “Oh, God, Jonathan. Take me. Please.”

  “Not yet.” He moved to the other breast. “Slow. We’ve waited too long to rush.” He slipped a finger under the garter belt, backing away to look at it. “And what you’re wearing. It’s magnificent.”

  He leaned back and drew both hands down my thighs over the belts and straps, pressing my legs apart with a gentle push. I opened for him, showing him how wet and ready I was. He kissed between my thighs. Licked. Sucked. I tried to push his head to the center, but he worked the other thigh until I was a pulsing, undulating mess. He looked up at me, pausing, his mouth hidden behind my sex.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

  He put his tongue on me, and my back arched. He backed off until I calmed, then he licked me again in earnest.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, reacting to the gunshot of pleasure in my crotch. He spread me open and lightly ran his tongue over my clit while watching me. His heat ran from my knees to my waist and was about to regroup under his tongue. “I’m going to come unless you stop.”

  “Come then,” he said. “Won’t be your last time tonight.” With that, he put his thumb in my cunt and licked my clit in earnest, pressing his second finger on my ass, massaging it without entering it. He was telling me something, and I was listening. He sucked gently on my clit, and a little harder, and a little harder again until he yanked a fast, violent orgasm out of me. I pushed against his mouth, holding the back of his head.

  When I was done, he kissed inside my thighs again and worked his way back up to my face.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “My pleasure.” He took my hands and pulled them over my head, pressing down with all his weight. “Open your legs for me.”

  I did.

  “Bend your knees.”

  I pulled my legs up as far as I could. He looked deeply into my eyes, nose to nose, and slid his cock into me. I was sensitive and wet, and I felt as if a lightning rod had been lodged into my pelvis. All fiery sensation, and slow. He moved as if he was underwater.

  “How is that?” he asked.

  “Like I’m going to come again. I feel everything. Every inch.”

  He pushed in, still holding my hands, rocked his hips, then pulled out. He repeated his movements at that pace until a little nugget of frustration built in my belly.

  “Faster,” I said. “Can you go faster?”

  “You mean like this?” He pulled out and pounded me, slamming against me. Five times. I cried out, reaching the next level of pleasure.

  Then he stopped, letting my hands go.

  “Exactly like that,” I said.

  “No,” he said with a smile. “Can’t. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t be an asshole.”

  But his smile told me he had every intention of being an asshole, and worse. The underwater pace continued. I felt like a balloon was opening up inside me, squeezing all pleasure and sensation out, but he just moved on top of me, rocking, kissing my neck, dragging his lips across my cheek, until he gazed into my face.

  “I want you to feel me,” he said. “I want you to see this side of me, how I feel about you.”

  I touched his face. “I know.”

  “Goddess. You’re beautiful. Let me be yours.” His face lost a little of its control, tightening and loosening at the same time.

  “You know I love you,” I said.

  “Oh, fuck. I’m there.”

  “Yes.”

  He increased the pace incrementally, but it was all I needed. The balloon expanded, and I came, pushing my hips forward and taking all of him inside me. My orgasm was slow as the fuck. I felt every second of it as the ball of fire moved from the backs of my knees to the base of my spine, collecting around his cock before it shattered. I kept my hands on his face, feeling the muscles clench as he came. We cried out together, a stream of names and curses and unspellable pulsing vowel sounds. We prayed to whatever god we believed in, because feeling like that meant that there had to be a God, and heaven, and earthly bliss
. We rolled onto our sides, still pumping together, emptying the last of our orgasms inside each other.

  There was only breathing for a minute after that. He kissed my fingers when I put them near his mouth. I’d wanted him for weeks, yearned for his touch even when he was miles away. Having had him, I could only say I wanted him again.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re rolling over and going to sleep,” I said.

  “I have promises to keep this evening.”

  “Ah, the owning me.”

  “Every part of you.”

  “When do we start?”

  “Give me a minute to change from vanilla guy to kinky guy.”

  I rolled on my back and laughed. Vanilla? Jonathan? The thought. He turned and stroked my chest, fingers reaching for a nipple. He fondled it hard, then pinched until it hurt. I gasped, and he twisted it until my face contorted and I breathed through my teeth. Then he let it go. I groaned as the blood rushed back.

  “God help me,” I said.

  “Go run a bath, goddess.”

  I faced him. “Yes, sir.”

  The bathroom had been merely functional up until then, and the tub had been of no use to me. Though I’d appreciated its size, the curves of white porcelain should be used for sitting and soaking for hours. It had a control panel with buttons for the temperature and the chrome water jets. I ran it hot, because that was how I liked it. Steam rose and fogged up the mirrors. The hotel had provided some scented tubes. I considered each one and decided on the least flowery.

  I took off the garter, dropping it on the floor in a pile of white lace and satin.

  “It smells like a bordello in here,” Jonathan said from the doorway.

  “Do you hate it? I can start over.”

  “No. I like it. I want you relaxed.”

  I stood by the tub as it filled, the swirl of arousal between my legs matching his more visible excitement. I didn’t feel relaxed, necessarily. I felt as if I was tiptoeing on the head of a pin.