Tease (Songs of Submission #2)(5)
Author: C.D. Reiss

He smiled. “They’re a slippery bunch. All older. And protective.”

“You’re lucky. I’m an only. I attach to friends.”

He put his glass down and slipped his icy fingers between my knees, but he didn’t part them. A chill went up my thighs, to my belly, where the heat I’d been tamping for weeks raged. I could have closed my mouth right then, said nothing, opened my legs, and let him do whatever he wanted.

“I have something else to say,” I whispered.

“Tell me.”

“I’m a musician. It’s what I do. You can’t interfere. Even for the best sex of my life, you can’t get in the way of one rehearsal.”

“That’s the last thing I’d do,” he said.

“That also means if I start feeling as though my heart’s getting shredded, even if you’re being a pure gentleman, it won’t matter. We’re done. Even if you haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t have time for it.”

He ran his palms along my thighs, then back to my knees, his thumbs grazing the insides. I kept them closed. I wanted him to open me. I wanted the pressure of his fingers on my flesh, and I wanted to resist, just a little.

“I have another thing I’ve been thinking about,” he said.

“Go.”

He put his hands up my skirt and slid his fingers under my panties as if they weren’t even there. The intrusion was delicious, and my cheap knit skirt rode up until the triangle of my underwear was exposed. When he looked down, I felt like I was being touched again.

“I own your orgasms.” He pulled me forward to the edge of the seat before I could respond. His move was forceful, demanding, and left no room for questions.

“I don’t know what that means,” I gasped as he slipped my panties off. He put his finger under my right knee and placed it over the arm of the chair. I let him. I wanted him to. The less I resisted, the more aroused I became, especially when he did the same with the left leg. I was spread-eagled on the chair. My skirt rode up, leaving nothing between him and my snatch.

“It means,” he said, running his hands up the insides of my thighs, “you come when I say. Not before. If I send you home without, you just deal with it until I see you again.” He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure how I’d react. His green eyes darkened in the afternoon light.

“My fingers reach, you know,” I said.

“Honor system,” Jonathan said, running a thumb on each wet lip, leaving a vibrating hum behind them, like a plucked string.

I groaned. Had it only been two weeks? With my butt sliding forward, my legs over the chair’s arms, and my pink wetness under his fingers, I felt as though I’d been pent up much longer.

“Ok.” I would have agreed to anything.

“Ok, what?” He knelt in front of me and kissed the inside of my knee before running his tongue up my thigh. I touched his shoulder, and he grabbed my wrists, placing my hands on my knees. “Say it.”

“You own my orgasms.”

“And?” He bit down, deep where my thigh creased into sex. The pain was sharp and perfect. I lost words for a second. “When do you come?” he asked. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading my legs farther apart. It didn’t hurt. It felt like surrender. It felt like giving myself over to his control. It felt safe.

“I come when you say,” I whispered.

“I’ve thought about nothing but this,” Jonathan said and put his tongue on my clit. He warmed it with his breath, not moving his tongue. I gasped and gripped the back of his head. He pulled his tongue away, and when I tried to push him back, he held my wrists in one hand. He sucked my clit, keeping my wrists in his tight grip. I was helpless under his tongue, the gentle counterpart to his rough hand. The tip of his tongue traced a line from my clit to my opening, teasing it, then sucking lightly. Warmth coursed through me. I threw my head back, breathing hard.

“Part of this,” he said, moving his tongue back to my thigh, “is you have to tell me when you’re close.”

“Okay.”

“You’re very agreeable today.” His green eyes looked at me over my crotch. I’d agree to anything that face asked.

“Next time, ask when I’m wearing pants.”

He crawled up and kissed me, and I tasted my juices on his tongue. My legs were still spread, and he was still fully dressed. He let go of my hands to brush his fingers over my br**sts. I reached for his belt with one hand and felt the hardness through his pants with the other.

“Let me,” I said.

“Later.”

“Now.”

“I own my orgasms, too,” he said.

“God, you are a greedy bastard.”

He kissed me again, then stood back, staring at me. I started to move one leg down, but he held my ankle.

“Don’t move yet,” he said. Then he stepped back.

I saw his erection under his perfectly fit trousers, and he seemed disinclined to hide it. All he did was stand there, smiling, and look at me with my snatch out. I knew he wouldn’t f**k me, and I knew he wouldn’t let me come. Despite how unfulfilled that made me, because my body wanted him without a thought to any kind of agreement or rule, I knew he would draw our encounter out until I peaked with desire. I wanted him, and I’d wait as long as he told me to.

“It was a long flight,” he said. “I could use a drink.”

“And after that?”

“You said you had a gig.” He kneeled again.

I hoped for a second he would put his tongue back between my legs and finish the job, but he gently took my knees off the arms of the chair instead.

“Oh, man,” I said. “This orgasm thing is going to break me into a million little pieces.”

“What if it’s worth it?”

“I’m counting on it.”

Jonathan scooped my panties off the floor and held them open while I put my toes through, then he slid them back into place when I stood. He was still kneeling, with his hands up my thighs, when he said, “Pick up your skirt.” I did. He put his hands on my ass and kissed between my legs, through the fabric of my underwear. Nerve endings I didn’t know I had fired like rounds of ammunition.

A million little pieces, for sure.

CHAPTER 3

“What do you drink, Monica?” Jonathan asked, as if realizing for the first time he had no idea. My mother would not have approved of our intimacy so soon, but Mom had never been at the raw wood bar in the lobby of Loft Club, either. She’d never seen the view of Los Angeles facing west, from downtown to the water, never been with a man besides Dad, never served drinks to seventy-five people a night or sung a note outside church. I stopped taking life lessons from my mother right about when I left my first love and started sleeping with Kevin.