Burn (Songs of Submission #5)(27)

“I’m protecting you.”

“Bullshit. How about the sadism staying in the bedroom?”

I balled my fists and stared at him, trying to transmit how offended I was. The showerhead dripped three times. Plink plonk plink.

He moved so fast I didn’t even see it, but I felt it in the shifting of the air. I flinched as though I was about to get hit. His hands grabbed the sides of my face, and his mouth came to mine, his tongue parting my lips forcefully. I opened them once I was over the shock. His tongue touched mine. It may as well have touched my clit, my cunt, my ass, such was the intensity of the feeling. Between the song and the adrenaline rush, the chemicals in my body were set to respond, rushing blood and fluids between my legs. I put my hands on his neck, moving my face against his. He pushed me against the glass of the shower.

I pressed my pelvis against him, grinding against his dick. He felt good. Better than good. He felt right. I wanted him. I wanted his chest against mine. I wanted his hands to grip my ass. My ni**les hardened for him, as if drawn millimeters closer by sheer magnetism.

Grabbing my hair as if for leverage, he pulled away. “Monica,” he gasped, eyes closed, lips grazing mine.

“Jonathan, please.”

“I shouldn’t even be in here.”

“Yes, you should. It’s fine. We’ll just do it now. Figure the rest out later. I’m screaming inside; you have no idea. I don’t feel like myself. It’s like something in me is sleeping until you show up. When you do, it turns into a wild animal in a matchstick cage.”

He pulled away. “You drive me crazy.”

I felt him leaving even before his body moved. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t let you.” He dropped his hands. “I’m sorry. I just lost control when I heard you singing. But you can’t come back to me just because we’re naked in the same room. I can’t…” He looked at the floor, then back at me. “Jessica’s the tip of the iceberg. You being afraid—it hurts in my bones.”

“I know,” I said, resigned to him walking out of the bathroom without f**king me blind. “I’m the one sleeping on her best friend’s couch.”

I snapped the robe off the hook. It was warm, white, and plush as hell, yet when I put it on, it offered no comfort.

“Just go,” I said. “I can’t even look at you.”

He paused, looked at the floor, then he spun on his heel and strode out without looking back.

CHAPTER 22.

MONICA

Two in the morning.

No word from Kevin.

I heard not a peep from Jonathan’s side of the door. I touched it once before bed. At one-thirty, I sat on the floor with my back to it, looking at the ridiculously opulent suite. Everything was done perfectly, and nothing was fixed.

I knew who’d put the cameras in the house. Maybe I could go home, or maybe knowing it was Jessica would make it worse. What the hell was she trying to do? Make a public scandal? If so, why now? Why with an anonymous waitress she’d tried to take into her confidence? Who did it and when was it done?

I wished I hadn’t found out. All the questions I’d tried not to ask because they were upsetting came to me in a flood, and I couldn’t sleep. I repositioned myself on the floor, pulling cushions from the couch. I was about to open a work of art in a museum, and at early o’clock in the morning, I found myself curled up in front of a locked door, my mind going in circles.

In between those questions and stumbling blocks over my house, I had to ask myself if I wanted that man in my life. Due to my prolific musical output over the past Jonathan-free weeks, I knew he was a work-stoppage waiting to happen. He knew it. That was why he’d walked out in wet underwear rather than take me right on the floor.

I really did wish I hadn’t touched him that first time. I wished I hadn’t taken that monkey of a bet that night at Frontage. I wished I hadn’t met him at the Loft Club after his trip to Korea, and I wished I hadn’t forgiven him for kissing Jessica. I had had every opportunity to take control of my life, but I didn’t.

I watched the sky go from navy to royal, to cyan, to baby boy blue. I’d entered a fugue state of regret and dissatisfaction but had found no sleep. It wasn’t a good day to be tired, but I had to get up and do the work.

CHAPTER 23.

MONICA

“Have you heard anything?” Darren asked without a “hello” or “good morning.”

“No.” I peered over his shoulder at the breakfast buffet. It was ridiculously luxurious. “Nada. I called him, like, seven times.” Silver chafing dishes held three different preparations of egg, sweet treats like pancakes and French toast, and breakfast meats all in a row. Or if we preferred our breakfast fresh and had a minute to spare, stations with men in chefs’ hats were ready to make us an omelet or waffle. The dishes were pure white and spotless. The flatware was heavier than a clarinet. Everyone who worked there smiled in their crisp whites, and all the guests seemed perfectly comfortable with a white-linen-and-crystal breakfast.

I got a little fruit and a croissant, feeling as though I wasn’t taking advantage of what was given, but I had no appetite.

“I called the hotel,” Darren continued. “They can’t tell me if he checked in or not. It’s against some kind of law or rule or whatever.” He carried his corn flakes to the table.