Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(41)

“What does that have to do with me f**king you?” He peeled off my dress. My bra cups were heavy, soaked, hanging off me, and he slipped the straps off my shoulders, easily releasing me. I was down to panties and shoes, and he was still freezing in wet clothes.

Pushing him against the dryer, I unbuttoned his shirt, kissing down the center of his torso as I went. He was damp, and I warmed him with my mouth, licking his hard, tight, ni**les. His arms came out of his sleeves like a molting caterpillar. I threw his shirt on top of my dress on the floor and worked on his pants while he kissed me.

“On your knees,” he said.

I got down, eye-level to his crotch, and opened his pants. The zipper didn’t work well wet, but I got it down. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and took his briefs down with the pants, arcing the elastic over his erection. He stepped out of the legs, kicking off his shoes while he did, and held up a foot. I peeled off his sock, then did the same with the other foot. He was naked. Perfect. I gazed up at him, his perfect, lean body with its cut lines and furrows making a triangle from his hips to the beauty between his legs.

I took his c**k in my mouth, licking every surface as if to warm it. He put his hands in my hair and groaned.

“Let me feel you.”

He held my head still and pushed his c**k all the way down my throat, balls-deep. I breathed through my nose, the aroma of his wet skin filling me. He held me still, and when I looked up at him, he was watching me. He slid out slowly. I put my tongue against him as he did.

“Have I mentioned you’re very good at this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Stand up.”

When I did, he gathered up the clothes and put them in the dryer. He stared at the buttons and smiled.

“You have no idea how to use this, do you?” I asked.

“Not the knobs, no.”

I turned the machine on. Jonathan picked me up by the waist and put me on top of it. The dryer shook and rattled under me.

“Lean back,” he said, “and spread those knees for me.” He slid a finger under the crotch of my panties. I drew in a breath. His fingers moved from my entrance to my clit. “You’re wet.” He slid his fingers in me. They were cold.

“God, yes.”

He pushed my knees farther apart with his free hand. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

“You want me, what?”

I wanted his c**k in me. I wanted to come. I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to make me scream and beg for him. I looked at him, his perfect skin mottled with goose bumps, his ni**les hard with cold, hair still wet. For the first time, I noticed the blue tinge around his lips. “I want you to dry off. You look hypothermic.”

I snapped a towel off the line and put it over his head, leaning forward to dry his hair. He let me, drawing me closer as I caressed his head more slowly and gently as he got drier. I hopped off the dryer and ran the towel all over him, chest to back to glorious butt to muscular legs and the tops of his perfect feet. Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, I kissed him.

“I feel better already,” he said.

“You need something warm to drink. I have tea.”

“You? Tea?”

“You can pick a flavor. Come on.”

He picked me up as if he was carrying me over a threshold, brought me to the kitchen, naked but for my underpants, and deposited me on the counter. I leaned to the shelf and got my teapot, then leaned the other way and filled it. I gave it to him, and he put it on the stove.

“The tea’s on the shelf above,” I said. “I have some assortment thingie in the back.”

“Assortment thingie. Let me see.” He found the box and brought it back, but he didn’t open it. I put my legs around his hips, drawing him to me. He stroked my eyebrow with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I was cruel last night. I said terrible things.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And I blocked you. I knew it would hurt you, and I did it anyway. What you sent made me question my actions. I wasn’t ready to question them. I thought I’d done the right thing, protecting you from me. I’m still not convinced otherwise.”

“Does that mean you’re going to leave me again? Because Darren’s going to shit if you do.”

“Fuck Darren.”

“Don’t leave me to protect me, Jonathan. I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of ruining my life without your help.”

“Yes, Mistress.” A smile stretched across his face as he chose a black tea and held out the box for me.

“Not kidding.” I snapped out a chamomile. “I mean it. I had to hold my shit together for a meeting the next day, and it was the hardest thing I ever did.”

“But you did it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m proud of you.” He put his hand on my cheek, and we kissed until the teapot whistled. He shrugged his towel tighter and poured the steaming water into two cups, dropping in the teabags.

“I called Margie,” I said, crossing my legs and waiting for my tea to cool. “She’s getting an entertainment lawyer from her firm to work with me. I’m sorry if that was wrong.”

“It’s fine. She likes you. You’re the eighth sister she never had.”

I cleared my throat. “And you know that thing? That collector’s party?”