Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (37 page)

My phone rang as I put Sharon in a cab.

“Hi, Debbie,” I answered as I handed the valet my ticket. “Speak of the devil. I was just with Sharon.”

As usual, she wasted no time getting to the point. “Jessica met Monica last night?”

“Correct.”

“She came here and insisted on sitting at her station.”

Ugly. It was just like Jessica to highlight any class difference she could tease out. Having Monica serve her would be a way to humiliate her with a smile.

Debbie continued, “I don’t expect you to do anything about it. Except your wife—”

“Ex-wife.”

“She said something to Monica. I don’t know what, but now the girl looks like she’s been slapped.”

My fingers got ice cold. Jessica could have said a hundred things, secrets she could have revealed or implied. A million half-truths. Without a man to lean on, she was a cornered animal. I’d forgotten how dangerous she was when I was busy choosing another woman over her.

“Did you ask Monica?” I asked.

“She won’t repeat it.”

Apparently, my beautiful goddess was also a woman of honor. “I’ll call her.”

“She’s working the floor, so her phone is off. Fix it, please. I don’t like it. The power trip. It’s sneaky.”

“I will, Debbie. I will.”

I hung up. My car came, and I parked it around the corner to give myself a minute to think. What did Jessica know? Everything. What was she willing to share? Or imply? Or use? I had no idea. I knew for sure I wasn’t ready to share everything about my past with Monica, not a word or deed I didn’t have to, because I’d lose her. Any woman would run for the hills.

I texted Monica before I drove away.

—Can you call me?—

***

When I got out of my first meeting, she still hadn’t called. She’d gotten the text, so her silence was intentional.

If I were her, what would I do?

Whatever Jessica had said, I’d be finding out if it was true. So I had to make the investigation impossible to complete. That meant moving Rachel, touching base with each sister, Deirdre especially, and stressing their silence. And Thomas. And the hospital. And dad, who would laugh in my face. And… Fuck. There were too many fires to put out. Too many pieces to move across the chessboard.

I put my phone in my pocket.

It occurred to me that I’d longed for Jessica because she knew all the ugliness of my past. I didn’t have to reveal a thing to her. I didn’t have to bear the uncertainty and loneliness of wondering what someone thought of me. But if she loved me through it, couldn’t someone else? Couldn’t someone else keep a secret or ten? Maybe, but I was getting ahead of myself. I was letting my excitement get ahead of my sense. I had to finish up here and get back to LA without panicking.

I made my way to my meeting with the tenant’s rights group. That bunch would use that information to take me down, even if I gave them what they wanted. I had to deal with Jessica at some point, no matter what, unless I was willing to live without intimacy the way I wanted it. Or I would risk losing Monica before we even started.

control. burn.
resist.

The Submission Series - Sequence Two

CD Reiss

control.

MONICA

“G
et on your knees.”

Even through the phone, I could tell Jonathan was using his dominant voice. I got nervous that I would dampen the expensive panties so badly the protective paper at the crotch would curl and peel off. “Yes, sir.”

Facing the dressing room mirror, I got to my knees. The black garter and stocking I was trying on looked as though it had been taped on me. The black satin belt slung low on my hips held the straps that dropped down my thighs with silver rings.

“How does it look?” he asked.

“I think you’ll like it.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“You really want to know?” I asked.

“I’m sitting in the back of my car, thinking about you. It’s wall-to-wall traffic. So, yes, I want to know how it makes you feel.”

I heard women outside the dressing room door. Their soft conversations and laughter were muffled by the clothing draped around the room, lingerie with bows and clasps and metal rings set into lush satins and elastics. Every piece I’d tried on aroused me, and when he called, the addition of his voice to the mix brought me near tears.

“How do I feel?” I asked. The carpet dug into my knees, and I was goose bumped from the air conditioner, but that wasn’t what he meant. The black satin bra cups were made of two panels that could be moved for access. It felt so comfortable, I didn’t even know I had it on. The curves of the underwear accentuated the length of my pelvis. “I feel like fucking.”

I heard him take a breath. I did enjoy shocking him. “Tuck the phone under your left ear.”

“Done.”

“Done?”

“Done, sir.”

“Put your left hand on the mirror,” he said. “Lean on it.”

“Yes, sir.” My hand spread on the mirror like a starfish. It would leave a mark.

“Put your right hand between your legs.”

“Jonathan…”

“Do it.”

My cunt clenched with anticipation. I stroked lightly through the string of cloth, sucking air between my teeth from the tingle of the touch.

“Get under the fabric,” he said, as if he could see I hadn’t put my fingers on my skin.

“Yes, sir.” The word
sir
seemed to vibrate not just outward, to him, but inward, down a thick nerve connecting my vocal cords to my core. When I slipped my fingers under the panties, I shuddered.

“You wet?”

“So fucking wet,” I whispered.

“Your legs spread?”

“Yes.”

“Look at yourself in the mirror.”

I did, and I was greeted by a face slack with arousal, flushed with sex. “Yes, sir.” I watched myself submit to him, in that outfit, as if I needed to be more turned on. Outside the door, I heard a throat clear.

“How do you look?” he asked.

“I look like I can’t stay in here much longer without someone coming.”

“You got that right,” he mumbled. Papers shuffled on his side. He was working while telling me to finger myself. A true multitasker. “Stroke your clit and all the way down to that beautiful hole.” I groaned, my cheek caressing the phone. “Keep going. Work your clit. Go around it twice, then over the top.”

I did, and the heavenliness came as much from my own touch as the knowledge I obeyed him. “Oh, Jonathan.”

“Put two fingers in.”

My pussy clenched around my fingers, kissing them, sucking them in. The heel of my hand found my clit as I pushed my fingers in and out.

He whispered, “Tomorrow night, when I see you, I’m going to put my fingers in you and lick you until you beg me to stop. Then I’m going to squeeze your clit with my lips until you come again.”

“I want you.”

“You will have me.”

“May I come?” There was a distinct possibility he’d say no, and I was so far gone, holding off my orgasm would hurt. “Please let me come.” His silence tormented me. “Please, sir.” I smiled a little. I never thought I’d actually want to call a lover
sir.
But it felt good, and right, and fun.

I heard his smile as he said, “You may.”

I pressed my whole hand along my wet cleft, feeling everything from the tingle around my pussy to the powerful ache at my clit, back and forth, slowly. My breathing got hard and short. I had to keep it down. If I could hear myself, someone else could as well. I closed my eyes and buckled. My hand left the mirror as my back arched, encompassing me in heat from my knees to my waist. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My hips pumped as pleasure washed over me in impossibly long waves. The phone dropped to the carpet.

JONATHAN

I
heard the phone hit the floor, and her groans fill the room. I looked out the window onto the parking lot otherwise known as the 710 freeway and imagined her touching herself. I imagined her expression, her smell as she writhed on the floor enough to drop the phone, all while wearing some elastic and satin configuration. A shiver went down my spine. I felt connected to her when I commanded and she obeyed. It was as close to touching her as I could get.

“Jonathan?” she whispered.

“How are you feeling?”

“I want to curl up next to you and go to sleep.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are? You please the hell out of me.”

She didn’t answer right away. My little goddess of Echo Park must have been smiling. “Wait until you see the underpants I just made a mess of. They’re gonna please you plenty.”

“Buy everything.”

The next pause wasn’t as pleasant. “I want to talk about this.”

“We can talk tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at five.”

“Are we going to lie in bed and watch the Dodgers lose game six?”

“You’re not supposed to ask a man where he’s taking you.” She grumbled. My goddess was a big baseball fan. She probably thought I hadn’t noticed or had forgotten.

After she’d left the previous morning, when I drifted off to sleep with her humming and stroking my hair, I leaned back in my office chair, looking out the window and thinking of her. Hours later, I called her and asked her on a date.

“A real date?” she’d asked. “Like dinner or a movie or something?”

“I know a nice place. We’ll have some wine. Good food. You know, like people do.” I’d looked out over the Hollywood Hills. I had to see her again. I had an ache for her that phone calls and texts wouldn’t satisfy. It started the minute she left and had grown to uncontrollable levels in the hours since.

“Well, that’s fine and all,” she’d said, “but just so you know, I don’t fuck on the first date.”

I’d been laughing when my assistant came in. I indicated she should sit and took the schedule she offered me. “I need you to get something to wear,” I said into the phone.

“Oh, not again.”

“Again and again. I’m in a meeting.” I looked over my schedule for the next day. “Can I text you?”

“You’re avoiding my refusal.”

“I won’t be late. So be ready.
Dressed
and ready.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

“You’re welcome.”

I’d tossed the phone aside, glanced at my schedule, and glanced at Kristin. “I have a meeting with my ex-wife at six thirty?”

“You said to take any meeting she wanted.”

“I did. Cancel the meeting and cancel the standing order. She goes on the schedule like everyone else.” Kristin shook her foot and nodded, her body a barrel of emotional tells. She was so transparent, I had no idea how she’d gotten through Vassar without those bitches eating her alive. “Yes?”

“Are you making your lunch with Eddie tomorrow, or do you want to meet Gerald Deritts from Council 12? He called and had an opening on the mixed-use ordinance.”

“Cancel Eddie.”

“Sheila’s stuck on the 405. She’s added this to the agenda.” She’d handed me a folder.

“Ah, Jessica’s trust,” I’d murmured as I flipped through it. When we got engaged, I set up a trust for her that provided for everything she needed. Though she had taste and social standing, she couldn’t manage a dollar. When we divorced, I’d intended to revoke her benefits, but never had. I’d been such a pussy. I’d told myself she hadn’t taken a dime from me because I needed to believe it. The withdrawals didn’t hurt me, but she’d continued to take money from the trust, and I owned the building her studio was in and didn’t charge her rent. There were other incidentals I’d probably forgotten. “Tell Sheila I want to review all my financial entanglements with my ex-wife. Book that for next week.”

Kristen had pursed her lips. I could have asked her what was on her mind, but it wasn’t worth a conversation. Her crush was cute when I’d hired her, but it was getting less so. I’d said no, I didn’t want to sleep with her. Further conversation about that, or why I wouldn’t bend over backward to see Jessica anymore, would be unproductive.

After dismissing Kristin, I’d tried to get back to work, but my thoughts were consumed with Monica. In anticipation of our date the next day, I opened an account at Bordelle for her. When I texted her the info, she shot back…

—An account? For all the girls?—

—Just opened it. Go. For me.—

The next day, she called me from the dressing room to thank me, and I couldn’t help it. I had to have her, and I did. She got on her knees when I told her to. She slipped easily into play and out again, becoming her witty, intelligent self seamlessly. She wasn’t intimidated by me. She teased and challenged me. She kissed like she meant it, and from the very first night, she enjoyed fucking without reservation or shame.

Monica was, in a word, perfect.

MONICA

I
was bag laden as I walked to the café. Jonathan had called Bordelle and told them to wrap up everything I’d put in the dressing room. So I went to Nordstrom’s and got my own goddamn dress. I hoped he liked it because it set me back two weeks’ tips, a lot of money for something that would end up draped over the chair on his porch. But I needed to feel right with myself. I accepted him as a dominant in bed, and that worked out very well for us. In the outside world, I was my own woman.

Except for the eight hundred dollars in lingerie.

I rushed to the entrance of Terra Café. Yvonne sat at a patio table with her fourteen-month-old, scooping ice cream out of a cup.

“Girl,” she said as we hugged, “where the hell have you been shopping? And what’s with the shoes?”

I tipped my foot to make the red sole visible. I wore the shoes I’d gotten at Barney’s more often than I should, but letting them sit at the bottom of my closet seemed a crime. Yvonne looked at me sidelong while she scooped ice cream. Her afro was teased to four times the size of her head, her eyes lined with gold, and her lips painted the exact chocolate color of her skin. She was simply gorgeous.

“You like them?” I asked.

“I know what they cost, so I know where you got them. So whether or not I like them depends.”

I sat down and ordered a green tea and a chocolaty cake thing. Aaron, in his striped shirt and overalls, sat with his mouth open. Vanilla ice cream dripped out of the corners of his mouth like he was a dairy vampire.