Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(12)

“Yes, sir.”

“First off, we need to drop the sirs and thank yous and all that shit until I say otherwise. We’re off scene. Verbally. But the ass stays up, or I’ll welt your welts.”

“Fine.”

“I want you to talk to me.” I dragged a mound of clear cream over the curve of her ass, watching it get smaller in the seam between her and me, disappearing into a cool coat.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Everything is fine. I think, just… I think I needed this. What you’re giving me now.”

I ran my fingers on the inside of her thigh until there was no cream on them, and I slipped my middle finger between her legs. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re not fine. You’re wet as f*ck.” I put my fingertip on her clit. “You’re so close I shouldn’t even touch you. But fine? You’re not fine.”

“I am. I—”

“You don’t tell your husband you’re not happy and an hour later tell him you’re fine because he f*cked you hard enough.”

I slid two fingers inside her. Wet didn’t describe her. She tightened around me, and my dick stretched my pants. I pulled my hand out and ran it over her clit again, front to back, touching every surface, waking it up.

“Jonathan, I can’t talk to you like this.”

“You don’t talk to me, period.”

“I want to come.”

“You’ll come.” I gingerly spread her ass cheeks. She looked as if she’d been f*cked by a battering ram. Bruises were rising already, and she was deep red around the edges. I’d need to leave that part of her alone for a while. “Tell me.” I kissed her lower back while stroking between her legs. “Tell me how it’s been for you.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to upset you. I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay, except that you’ve been closed to me.” I put three fingers in her, and she bucked. “Stay still. You can take your hands off the headboard.”

She tucked them under her.

I slowly removed my fingers. “Tell me one thing you think of that makes you worry.”

She sighed.

I put my hands on her thighs and kissed her clit. “Tell me.”

“I love you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She paused. “And I wonder if you’ve taken your rejection meds.”

“I know you’ve been checking the bottles.”

“When I’m here.”

“Exactly.” I gave her a long stroke with my tongue.

She groaned but stayed still. Such a good woman. “I told you I’d stop traveling if you wanted.”

“I don’t want.”

“Why?”

I sucked her clit because it tasted good and because I wanted to please her, but mostly because I didn’t know how to answer her question. She’d just accepted my encouragement and never asked why it was there. I felt the muscles of her thighs tremble and tighten.

As if she spoke best on the edge of orgasm, she continued. “You throw me away. We have such a short time together, and you kick me out. Jonathan, if you don’t want me, let me go. Don’t stay out of obligation. Not for ten years of misery with me.”

I pulled my face away. “Oh God, Monica. You can’t mean that.”

I’d intended to torment her for as long as it took, then bring her to orgasm with my tongue until she begged me to stop. But she broke me with those words, and I changed the plan. I got on my knees and pushed her onto her back. Her hair made a ladder across her face, and I brushed it away. Her eyes were wet, and her face was creased from being pressed to the sheets.

“I mean it,” she said. “That heart has ten years in it, and you can’t spend them with the wrong person just because you got married under pressure. It’s wrong.”

“Would you have married me if I’d asked you under any other circumstances? If I’d taken you up to Mulholland and asked you under the stars, with a ring and a few nice words?”

“I would have said yes.”

“Why?”

“I love you is why. But that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to stay now. Because you wouldn’t have asked. Not for a while.” I must have had a look on my face or made a sound that hit a button, because she blinked, and tears ran down the side of her face. “I’m not trying to make it about me, and I’m not looking for reassurance. But if you deny it…”

“I’m not denying it. I would have asked you… I don’t know when. After a few birthdays. There are no rules for the way it happened.”

“I want you to think about it,” she said.

“About what?”

“About if this is what you really want.” Her voice was sober and cold. “If I’m who you really want to be married to.”

“Goddess…”

“No, I mean it. If you want to be together but not married. I just want you to have what you want. I want you to be sure.”

I almost answered. I almost reassured her and told her how I felt about her. I almost made metaphors with the sky and stars, weaving threads of certainty into a gauze of confidence. But even if I got her to believe it for a second, she’d wake up wondering if I’d lied to appease her.