Control (Songs of Submission #4)(28)

“Right now, I’m trying to get you out of harm’s way. I’ll be happy to explain but not here.”

Oh, that was a sneaky trick. I wouldn’t touch it. Wouldn’t believe it. Why would she have my best interests at heart? I thrust myself forward. She didn’t balk. “He has one dick, and it can be inside one woman at a time. Nothing you say will stop me getting peeled off the ceiling every time he puts that astonishing c**k in me. If you miss it badly, if you imagine it when your new man’s on top of you, if you think about it when you’re alone with your hands under the sheets, I understand completely. He’s a monster f**k, Mrs. Drazen, and you’re going to have to go through me to get him back.”

Through the slight smile spread over her face, she practically whispered, “You’re a class act.” I tried not to react. I tried to be implacable and cold, and I knew, as sure as it never snows in Los Angeles, that I failed. My face was lemon Jell-O held up by toothpicks. Jessica pushed her glass away and stood. “I’m sure your refinement will keep the astonishing gentleman coming back for more.”

Lemon Jell-O turned to cherry, and if there was a deeper shade of red to turn, I had no idea what flavor it was. She looked over my head and smiled. “Jon, how are you?”

His voice came from over my shoulder like a warm sweater, fresh from the dryer on a cold night. “Fine, Jessica.”

My plan had been to rail at him, to throw rage his way. To let him know he couldn’t have me watched. I had boundaries even if he didn’t, and I didn’t like being stalked. But when he put his hand on the back of my neck as if he owned me, I was awash in gratitude. It was the best possible comeback to Jessica’s jab about my lack of refinement, and I didn’t have to say a word.

Jessica said, “I was just having a word with Monica about her song. It made me think of you. Deirdre, honey, you all right?”

Deirdre had entered the circle, still tucking her stubborn red curl behind her ear. “Yeah.” She turned to Jonathan and punched his arm. “Hey, man.”

“I hope you’re getting a lift home, Dee. Monica and I are leaving.” He looked at his ex-wife. “Jess, I don’t know what you were doing here, but I’m dispensing with all the niceties and saying good-bye.” He squeezed my neck and looked down at me. “You ready?”

“My stuff’s in the dressing room.”

“Let’s go, then.” He held out his hand and I took it, sliding from the booth as he helped me up.

I walked to the back without saying good-bye, pulling him along. I didn’t start shaking until we were both behind the dressing room door. Before I could even flick on the light, he pushed me against the wall, his mouth on mine, pressing my head to the plaster.

“Jonathan,” I gasped. Didn’t I want to yell at him? Wasn’t I mad about something? I knew I had things to say.

He kissed my neck and stroked my breast through my dress. “The camera. Not mine. I asked Dave to keep an eye on you is all.” He pressed his club of a c**k against me.

Fuck it. Fuck explanations. Fuck boundaries. Whatever he said was good enough for me if it let him take me right then.

With both hands under my skirt, he kneaded my ass as he kissed me. His finger looped in the crotch of my fancy Bordelle panties and yanked them. I pulled one leg out, and he draped it over his hip, opening me to him. He taunted my nipple through my dress, drawing his thumbnail against it before putting his whole hand over my breast.

I undid his pants and released him. He put one hand on my chest, leaning into me, and he used the other to guide himself in me, which he did with a hard, fast thrust.

Eyelids half-mast with pleasure, he thrust again, even harder. I squeaked when his dick hit the end of me. He put my other leg over his hip so I was wrapped around him. He leveraged me against the wall with his body, a fulcrum where we were joined, the base of all that held us together.

I put my hands on his face, and he took them off, holding them down.

“You ready, goddess?”

“Take me.”

He grunted as he pushed hard, getting so deep it hurt. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pounded me again, forcing me against the wall as if he wanted to punch through it. Again and again he took me, hard and fast, pushing into a tingling warmth, forcing pleasure to current through me, the base of his c**k slamming my clit over and over.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a husky voice. I did, though my hair was falling into my eyes. My breath was timed to his thrusts. “You talk to me, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I could barely understand myself.

“Never shut me out.”

“Never. Oh, God. Jonathan. My king.”

“Don’t come, Monica.” He slowed down, angling himself differently so I felt him inside me, deep, hard, deliberate. “Don’t let your emotions get the best of you. Talk. To. Me.” He thrust with every word, sending me into a place where verbalization was nearly impossible.

“Yes.”

“What do you want to say?” he asked.

“Let me come?”

“No. What else?” He slammed into me and ground against me, pushing all the way in, his face by mine, his scent of leather and earth and clean laundry overtaking me. “Why did you shut me out?”

“I’m scared. You scare me.”