by CD Reiss
“Please,” I said again.
“Not yet.”
“Jesus, Jonathan. What do you want?” My sex ached for him. It didn’t feel empty. It felt full to bursting, a throbbing, pounding hunger filling my skin.
“I want you to want it,” he said.
“I do. My God, I do.”
In response, he pushed harder, increasing the pressure without entering me. “No, you don’t. Not enough.”
I knew what he wanted, and I was willing to give it to him. “Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be anything you want. Just don’t—”
He drove his dick into me with a ferocity that shocked me and turned the last word into a cry. He stopped for a second, as if he’d been shaken by the violence of his initial thrust.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Don’t make me beg again.”
He buried his face in my neck and fucked me, pushing inside, pressing his body against my clit, his cock rubbing with each stroke, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then he stopped.
“What?” I groaned.
“You want to come?”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
“Beg for it.”
“Fuck you.” I pushed his chest. I was on fire, so close to orgasm, nearly unable to think complete thoughts. He pushed himself in me once, then stopped. It was a burst of sensation between my legs, then nothing. I looked up at him. He was enjoying himself, and he could keep going as long as he needed to.
“Please. Fuck you.”
“Close.” He stroked again, a taste of what I could have. He went slowly, too slowly, moving enough to keep me hot, but not enough to get me off. I put a hand between my legs and he grabbed both my wrists, holding them against the mattress with all his weight, rocking his hips back and forth just a little.
I had never felt anything like that. It wasn’t an orgasm, because I had not an ounce of release, only the firing nerve endings and blasting heat between my legs. I was sweating everywhere. Tendrils of hair clung to my face, but his hands held mine down,.
“I want to come,” I groaned.
“I want you to come.”
“Let me. Please.” I said it so softly I didn’t even think he’d hear me. “Please. Please. Please…” With every please, I got more desperate and more quiet. On the last plea, he pulled out of me and pushed back in, all the way, and then again, until everything went hot red. I said his name over and over, going limp everywhere, and still the orgasm went on and on. His mouth was at my ear, and I could hear his groan as I finally stopped coming. His arms wrapped around me, tightening as he came, a guttural ahh rattling his throat with each slowing thrust.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered into my neck.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed my face from my chin, to my right cheek, to my forehead, and back down my left cheek, and to my chin again. His eyes flicked to his watch.
“Sun rises at 5:38 a.m. You’re mine for four more hours.”
“I don’t think I can take four more hours of that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” He rolled off me, and we just stared at the ceiling, letting our breathing get back to normal.
I had never experienced anything like that, not with Kevin and certainly not with Darren. I didn’t know I could sit on the brink for that long or just how many brinks there were. I didn’t know I could give someone else control over what I felt.
It felt as though, after that orgasm, I should have to sleep for hours, or I wouldn’t want sex for at least a month, but neither was the case. I was energized, and I wanted it again.
“Where are you flying off to tomorrow?” I asked.
“Korea. I’m putting a hotel up in Seoul.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Uh oh.”
“Your house. You have all the original everything in here, and the hotels are, like, white and chrome.”
“This house was built for a family a hundred years ago. It was a home. People want to feel like they’re away from home when they go to a hotel.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“I thought you were going to bail on me.”
“I got held up talking to my manager. Ex-manager. Jerk-off.” I tucked my head on his shoulder and ran my fingertips up and down his chest. I couldn’t keep my hands off him.
“This the guy who disappeared?”
I propped myself up on my elbows and kissed his shoulder and down his chest. I could still smell some of the dusty cologne past the sheen of sweat built up from our sex. “This guy from WDE was at Frontage and called him. He wants his boss to see me. But I fired Vinny, and now he won’t give me the contact.”
“Why’d you fire him?”
“Because he’s an asshole. I’ll find a way to get Testarossa to take my call myself.” I worked my way down his stomach, over his hip bones, with my lips and tongue. I was aroused all over again. He put his hands on my shoulders.
“WDE? That’s Arnie Sanderson, right?”
Arnie Sanderson owned WDE and was the single most inaccessible person in the world. Even his own clients had to make appointments to get a call, and regular schlub WDE clients, who were some of the top paid people in entertainment, never met the guy.
“Arnie Sanderson. Yeah,” I said. Jonathan’s dick was hard again already.
“I’ll call him for you.”
“I’m not about to suck your dick so you’ll make a call for me.”
“And I’m not making the call so you’ll suck my dick. So, now that we’ve cleared that up, can you get on with it?”
I looked up at him. He smiled from ear to ear and put one hand under his head. I licked his dick’s length with the flattest part of my tongue. When I got to the top, I slid the entire length of it down my throat.
He breathed a deep ahh and said, “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Los Angeles High School of Performing Arts,” I said. “They taught me how to open my throat to sing. Then Kevin Wainwright taught me how to put his dick down it.”
He laughed. “I’d like to thank LA Unified and Kevin Whatever for this moment.”
I couldn’t help but grin, which kept me from engaging in the task at hand. “I like you, Jonathan.”
“Feeling’s mutual, Monica.”
21
Chapter 21
We collapsed from exhaustion around five thirty a.m. Two hours later, I woke up with a sore sex and a dry throat. Jonathan’s arm was draped over me. His breath came in heavy, slow rhythms. I looked at him sleeping, closely inspecting him for the first time. His copper-colored lashes fluttered under soft brows. Faded freckles dotted his nose. He was truly beautiful, and seeing him with those eyes, I realized I could easily fall for this man. I was walking on a precipice even letting myself stare at him for this long.
I slipped out from under his arm and went to find my clothes.
My dress and underwear were draped over a chair by the door and smelled like last night’s whiskey and fresh porch air. I slipped into them and went into the kitchen for water.
I looked onto the backyard, with its dark green furniture and bean-shaped pool, sipping my water. I ran over the night in my mind, which was hard, because after a certain point, it just became a blur of skin, sweat, and orgasms. I must have said his name a hundred times, starting with me begging him to fuck me and ending with an orgasm he’d delayed eternally. When he finally let me come, it must have lasted fifteen minutes.
The first time he had thrust into me with such force, it was almost like he wanted to shut me up. Like he was saying, “here, take it, but please stop.”
Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be anything you want. Just don’t—
I was going to stay don’t stop, but in a different circumstance, when the love of your life was walking out the door, you might say don’t leave.
The buzz of a phone brought
me back to my senses. I was making stuff up. The phone buzzed again. I didn’t know if it was mine, but I located the source on the kitchen counter, plugged into the wall. Jonathan’s phone, and it was facing up.
The caller: Jess.
Ex-wife.
Fuck.
I threw the rest of the water down my throat and put the glass in the sink. I had to go. I didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever that was.
“Good morning,” he said, sleep all over his face, T-shirt stretched over his perfect body.
“I took the glass from the rack and got water from the little thing in the fridge door. Didn’t even open it.” He shrugged, and I relaxed. He didn’t seem to feel invaded.
“Can I make you coffee?” he asked. “I can scramble eggs if you want.”
“No, I’m okay.”
As I rinsed the glass, he came up behind me and kissed my neck, fingering my zipper. “How about another go?”
“The sun is up,” I teased. I wanted another go. On the counter. On the floor. His lips caressed my earlobe, and I leaned my head back.
He slipped the dress’s zipper down. “You need to beg again. You’re good at it.” He kissed my back. I wanted to. I wanted to cry for it, one more time, before he became a memory. He pushed my dress off my shoulders with a perfect touch that rode between firm and light, a touch on a collarbone, maybe, like the one caught on camera from his wedding day.
“Your phone rang,” I said. Stupid. Another go would have been nice, but it was too late now.
“It’s always ringing.” He reached inside the dress and caressed my breasts, nipples hardening at his touch.
The phone buzzed. His lips left me, and I knew he was looking at it. His hands fell, and a palpable chill filled the room. I cleared my throat.
“I think I need to take this,” he said, zipping me back up.
“Sure,” I whispered. “My shoes are upstairs.”
I walked to the door, and when I looked back, he was popping the cable from the phone. His hands might have been shaking. I couldn’t tell.
I scooped up my shoes from the bedroom floor and went back to the kitchen. He was on the patio, elbows on his knees, looking at the flagstones with the phone pressed to his ear. His hands gestured, but I couldn’t hear him. It wasn’t my business.
“Good-bye, Jonathan,” I said before I slipped out the front door.
* * *
Jonathan and Monica’s story continues in SUBMISSION.
GET BOOK 1 - SUBMISSION
GET BOOK 2 - DOMINATION
GET BOOK 3 - CONNECTION
* * *
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