Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(24)

“How are you holding up?” he asked, stroking my hair.

I put my arms around his shoulders and kissed the place where his cheek and neck met. “What was that with Kevin?” I needed to know who I was dealing with, and every new piece of information I got pointed to the fact that I had no idea.

“I’m not good at hiding when I’m pissed. I don’t like what he did to you.” His lips touched my neck and his hand pressed me to his mouth.

“Possessive and jealous are real turn-offs, Jonathan. If you can’t trust me—”

“I’m not possessive. I’m protective.”

I sighed deeply, forgetting everything as his tongue found the most sensitive place on my throat. “Jonathan…”

“No talking.”

The arm behind the bench brought me closer to him, and the hand at my cheek slid down my chest, landing over my breast, which reacted by getting tight, stiffening the nipple through my sweater. He dragged his fingernail over the hard lump, first lightly, then harder. He slid his face across mine until our noses touched, and I could see the blue specks in his eyes.

He squeezed my nipple hard through my sweater and bra. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I reached between his legs, where I could feel his erection through his pants.

“No, Monica. This is for you. Put your hands to your sides.”

I shook my head.

“I get off on this,” he said. “You obeying me is what turns me on. Don’t deny me.”

I did as I was told, as always: submissive whore f**ktoy to someone who neglected to tell me where he’d spent his sixteenth year. I decided to think about it later.

He put his thumb to my lips. “Make this wet.”

I took his thumb, and he moved it against my tongue as I sucked, pulling the juices from my mouth to give him what he asked for. Anything he asked for. The tidal wave between my legs demanded it as much as he did.

Our noses still touched as he slid his hand up my sweater, pushing the bra up so he could cup my breast. I panicked a little as he went past my navel, where the diamond should have been, but he went right by it, taking the nipple between his first finger and his moist thumb. I let out a hah when he squeezed and twisted.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look at me.”

I did as I was told.

He filled my vision when he pulled the nipple. “This is who we are.” As if seeing my objection through my arousal, he continued, “You and I. You know that.”

He dragged his thumbnail over the stretched nipple, and I opened my mouth, but no words came.

“Your legs are crossed. Spread them.”

I did, cursing that I’d worn pants. I wanted his touch on me. I wanted him to feel how wet I was for him. A pang of guilt shot through me for being so turned on at Gabby’s wake, but it was drowned out by the roar between my legs when he twisted my nipple again.

“Open the pants.”

I unbuttoned and unzipped, keeping the sweater down over my bellybutton.

“Put your hand between your legs,” he whispered.

“I can’t.” Somehow, feeling his touch on me would be all right. Touching myself would seem too self-indulgent.

“Yes, you can. And you will. For me.”

I slipped my hand into my panties then stopped.

“Please,” he said, not like a plea, but a mandate.

My middle finger found my wetness first, gathering over my engorged clit like dew. Jonathan sighed when my expression changed. I put my hand down to my opening, dragging the tingle and heat with it, and circled, gathering the juices between the two fingers, like a metal ball around a roulette wheel.

Jonathan kissed my cheek and stroked my breast, keeping the nipple stiff as I pulled my hand back up to my clit, which was as hard as a marble and soaking wet. I was so close already. My body remembered I’d been lying under the covers with Jonathan, even if my mind had moved on to other things.

“May I come?” I whispered. Things may have changed between us, but one thing did not remain undefined. He owned my orgasms, and I wanted him to have them.

“You are such a good girl.”

“May I?”

He waited before answering, kissing my nose, my cheek, caressing my breast. I kept stroking while he surrounded me. My orgasm pushed against me, a pressure inside, asking to get out, begging, needing. I kept telling it, not yet, not yet until, all at once, he grabbed my nipple hard enough to hurt and said, “Come.”

The tension released like broken strings, everywhere. My body straightened under my own touch, pulsing and clenching from pu**y to ass. I opened my mouth, and though I screamed inside, only air came out.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

I kept my hand moving, and the orgasm continued. My knees bent, and my body crouched and again, like a shot, I went rigid, breathing ah, ah, ah. It hurt, and just as I thought I couldn’t take it anymore he said, “Stop.”

I fell into his arms like a shuddering mound of jelly.

He laughed. “I think you needed that.”

I just leaned my head on his chest, gasping for air.

“You didn’t use your voice,” he said, stroking my hair. “I thought for sure that would do it.”

I shrugged.

“We need to get back inside,” he said, “before all your ex-boyfriends come out here, and I have to kill them.” He drew his hand over my belly and stopped. He picked up my sweater so he could see my naked navel. “Did you lose it?”