Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(8)
Author: C.D. Reiss

I scrunched my face because I didn’t want to show I was upset. I wanted to enjoy him and his touch and not hear what happened that had kept him from making love to his ex-wife. Had she pushed him away at the last minute? Or had the boyfriend walked in? I didn’t care anymore. “I don’t want to hear it,” I said, staring at the exposed beam on the ceiling.

“Too late.” He picked up his glass of Perrier and placed it on my chest. “Don’t let this fall.”

I couldn’t look at him or the glass would tip. An icy cold patch formed at the center of my sternum.

He kneeled between my legs. “She smelled like I’d always remembered. Like cut grass.” He kissed the inside of my thigh, licking away the juices from my pu**y as he made his way upward. “And I thought, ah, I remember this smell. And I was kissing her, but…” He stopped and kissed my clit once. “I realized I didn’t want her. And the cut-grass smell?” His tongue went from my pu**y to my clit and back.

I moaned again, louder. He pulled me open. The air itself was a physical pressure on me, and I wanted him, just this once, even if it would be the last time.

“The cut grass smell wasn’t love. It was gratitude. I felt like I was kissing one of my sisters.” He gave my clit a suck, a fast, light thing that got a cry from me. “Then I thought of you, and I knew I had to get out of there. That was the end of that.”

With that, he put his tongue on my clit, breathing hot breaths, wiggling his tongue until I thought for sure I was going to tip the glass. I felt gratitude, too, and it smelled nothing like cut grass.

“Kissing is cheating,” I said. “Even if you had to do it to get over her.”

“Yeah. But I figured if I got my lips on your cunt before I told you, you’d forgive me. I think we walked in here with the same strategy.” He slid his fingers into me. “If that glass drops, I stop, and you go home with a baseball.”

“I don’t forgive you.” Cold condensation dripped off my chest and down my sides.

“I know.” He pushed his fingers in as deep as they’d go and used his other hand to expose the hard nodule at the top of my snatch. “You have a beautiful cunt, Monica.”

I had not a second to think about how that word was foul and disgusting from anyone else’s lips before he put his tongue to my clit and all thinking disappeared. Three strokes with the tip and a suck. Four strokes and a longer suck. Pushing fingers in and out, stretching me, while he licked me again, then he jammed his fingers all the way in and gently used his teeth on my clit.

“Oh, God,” I shouted. The pain was sharp but immediately followed by a pleasure I’d never experienced, as if the nerves were exposed raw by the bite and made more alive by the gentleness that followed.

“That a good ‘oh, God’ or a bad ‘oh, God’?”

“Great, good, f**king God.”

He did it again, pressing his teeth a little harder and adding a suck to the grind of his teeth. The pain and pleasure coexisted, moving from opposite poles to the center of me. I writhed enough to shake water from the glass and onto my belly, but not tip it.

He sucked my clit through his teeth, and I filled his mouth with stars.

“I’m coming. Fuck. Jonathan….”

He moaned into me, and I knew that meant I was allowed to come. And he didn’t stop or pause long enough for me to stop the freight train of my orgasm. I tried to keep my body still, but toward the end, as the sucking felt as though his mouth was pulling every last bit of pleasure from me, I lost control of my body, and the glass tumbled, rolling along the floor. My back arched even more. The top of my head wound up on the loveseat cushions, and Jonathan stood to keep his head between my legs. He kept sucking even after I tried to push his head away, his pu**y-wet fingers holding my thighs.

He moved his mouth away when I was a hot, shuddering mess. I breathed heavily, getting my bearings again. He put his hands around my waist and lifted me to standing. I still couldn’t speak. He lowered my bra gently, then picked up my dress from the floor. I fell on him, and he laughed, holding me up.

“You all right?”

“I don’t think all my parts are attached.”

“You look just as perfect as you did ten minutes ago.”

I breathed into him for a second, taking in the new, musty scent. “I don’t think I have the coordination to get my clothes on.” I got my bearings, feeling sexually satisfied in a way I knew wouldn’t last. I could be ready for another go in minutes.

Jonathan found the neck opening of my dress and lifted it over my head.

I wiggled my arms through the sleeves. “What did she do for you that you’re so grateful about?”

“I’m about to be cryptic,” he said.

“Great.”

“I went through some stuff when I was younger, and I was treated like it all happened to me. I was this victim. She showed me that I was responsible. She gave me my manhood back. That too heartwarming for you?”

I caught the sarcasm in the last sentence, but also the defensiveness. I turned my back and moved my hair out of the way so he could zip me up.

“How did she break her wrist?” I asked.

He slowly zipped up the dress. “I said I was sorry and that I couldn’t do this with her anymore, this whole dance we’ve been doing. She ran out after me and tripped on the walk. Fell on her wrist. I couldn’t get my doctor on the phone, so I took her to the ER and waited with her. The only four words she said to me? ‘Is it that girl?’”

“She was talking about me?”

“I assumed so.”

“What did you say?”

“I lied.”

I turned around. “You said I wasn’t a girl?”

He smiled. “I said you were nothing to me. I think I used the word dalliance.”

“Am I a dalliance?”

“Not for me. Not anymore.” Looking pensive, he smoothed my dress. “But you see what she did when she thought you were. Made a special trip up to the Stock just to hurt you. If she knew I think about you all the time… well, she’s possessive. Even after she left me she made it a point to find out who I was with and what I was doing with them. I thought it meant she still loved me, but actually, it means she’s crazy.” He kissed my hands, then my cheek. His face smelled like my pu**y. “Do you have a few more minutes?”

“Some. I’m going to record something in a few hours. I set it up so we couldn’t be together too long.”