Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(3)

After he took full control of my resistant body, yanking an orgasm out of me, he picked me up and got me standing. I touched the hem of my skirt, but he moved my hands away.

“What now, Jonathan?” I was emotionally frustrated, sexually satisfied, and physically exhausted.

“Let me,” he said, kneeling in front of me. He held out the empty leg of my panties, and I stepped into them.

“You hurt me. And you cheated.”

“Hurting you isn’t my fault. It’s Jessica’s. And the second isn’t true.” He slid my panties back up my legs, running his fingers under them to get them in the right place.

“It doesn’t matter that we broke up,” I said.

“Yes, it would, if I’d done anything.” He pulled down my skirt, caressing my ass, my thighs, and my knees as if they were precious. “She came here the day I saw you at the Stock. Debbie said you’d moved on, and I was upset.”

“She said that? It wasn’t true.”

He looked up at me, his hands on the backs of my thighs. “I know. Debbie’s a yenta. I should have known. But Jessica was here, and she goaded me. That’s not an excuse, but it’s what happened. She said she wanted to do it kinky just once, and even after I explained exactly what that meant, she pushed all my buttons.”

“So you f**ked her.”

“No! Jesus, Monica.” He cupped my ass as if to make me understand. “I had her unbutton her shirt, and she still wanted it. So I bent her over the table and gave her three whacks with my belt. I’m not proud of it. But everyone’s clothes were on.”

“Do you understand how unlikely that story sounds?”

“Yes. But you’re the only one, Monica. The only one.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

But I did, and we both knew it. I looked down at him, with his tourmaline eyes and copper hair, and believed him despite my better judgment. I forgave him despite my misgivings. I loved him just because I did. My heart wasn’t sensible or guarded enough. Not by a sight. I was a walking raw nerve ending of emotion, as if the years I’d spent away from men and sex had made me more emotional, more vulnerable, more foolish. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling like the victim of a crime of consent.

“Can you stay with me a few hours?” he asked.

“Let me clean up, then I’ll let you know.”

Chapter 3.

He was on the back patio, sock feet on the table, phone pressed to his ear. I watched him, thinking about how much had changed since the last time I watched him on that chaise, talking to Jessica on the phone. I’d left without saying goodbye. How long ago was that? A little over two months? Leaving without saying goodbye again would be unforgivable.

I slid the door, the change in pressure making a clack. He looked up, and when he saw me, he waved me outside. He’d hung up by the time I reached him.

“My lawyer slash sister,” he said, holding out his hand. I took it but sat in the chair, swinging my legs over the arm.

“That sounds awkward.”

He laughed. “You have no idea. And don’t get too comfortable, because she wants to meet you.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Lawyers don’t get weekends. She has no kids or husband, so she works.”

I sighed. I wanted to spend the next hours soothing myself with his body, trying to rub away feeling manipulated and used. My disappointment must have been evident, because Jonathan pulled me up, wrapping his arms around me.

“I owe you. I know,” he said.

“Fine.”

Lil drove. Apparently, we were headed out to Beverly Hills. Traffic was pretty terrible, even for a weekend. Jonathan and I sat in the back seat. I had a leg hitched on the seat so I could face him. He leaned in my direction but faced forward.

“Are you going to wait for your sister to debrief me? And which one is this?”

“This is Margie. She’s the oldest. She’s very straightforward. I think you’ll like her.”

“And she’s going to tell me everything in legalese, because you won’t say a word about getting picked up at the airport and put into a police car while smiling like your Mirandas were a big joke.”

“I was smiling for your benefit.” He took my hand, weaving our fingers together. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m worried. Very worried. I was sick to my stomach until the cops came and told me what happened.”

“Which was false.”

“Then I was worried about you and mad at the same time. So, fail. And stop avoiding.”

He leaned his head back and looked out the window.

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“We don’t know. We’ve got radio silence from my ex-wife.” He sat up and faced me. “The prosecutor’s going to want to talk to you.”

“I’ll tell them the same thing I told the cops.”

“I don’t want you to think lying’s going to protect me.”

We just stared at each other for a few seconds, maybe more. It felt like forever and not long enough before I had to break it. He put his fingertips to my cheek, brushing his thumb on my lower lip. His hands were magical, igniting a fire, touching a fuse that ran to the core between my legs by way of my heart.