Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (15 page)

His phone rang.

“Oh, no,” I said.

“There wasn’t going to be a good time.”

“Don’t answer it.”

He looked right at me as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, smiling as if he knew he was tormenting me and felt nothing but sweet delight. He answered the thing, right there on the stairs, after putting his finger to his lips.

He said something I’d never be able to repeat, his Korean was so fast. His face hovered so close to mine I tasted his breath as he had a conversation I couldn’t understand. The corners of the stairs bit my back, and the pressure of his hips on mine hurt, sending shocks of pleasure up my spine.

He put the phone to his chest and lifted himself off me. “I’m on hold. Get upstairs.”

We ran up the stairs and into the room we’d been in two weeks before, laughing like teenagers. He landed on top of me on the bed, still fully clothed against my naked skin. He kissed me with his phone to his ear, putting his free hand on my breast, groaning into my mouth when I ran my hands under his shirt.

“Hey, Tom,” he said into the phone. He put his finger to my lips and got off me, leaving me spread out like a bear-skin rug. I sat up.

“Yes,” he said, his eyes on me. “I heard. Janice told me half an hour ago.” I considered getting up and making myself a sandwich or something. I closed my legs. Who knew how long he would be? From his tone, it sounded urgent, but that could mean an hour or five minutes. If I left, I could still catch the guys for a drink, and I could glaze over the thing with Testarossa if Gabby was tipsy enough.

Jonathan put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. He grinned and spoke into the phone. “They’re insane. The Seoul Hilton is two miles away. If the North Koreans want a target, they already have one.” He put his knee between my legs and parted them. I gasped, and he put his finger to his lips. Part of me thought he was being rude, disrespectful, and deserving of a desertion, but part of me found the third person in the room exciting, yet safe.

I reached for his belt, and he let me feel his erection through his clothes, but no more. “I am not taking five stories off it,” he said. “I’m taking exactly zero stories off it. This whole Pyongyang alarm is a scam. Tandy Burton from the Hilton paid them off to give me a hard time.” He tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and used both hands to spread my legs wider, bending them at the knees. He nodded at something Tom said. Tom couldn’t see us, but he was there. Jonathan lay beside me and slipped his fingers under the crotch of my underpants, sliding his finger along the length of my wetness. I bit my lip so the man in Korea wouldn’t hear me.

“No, don’t do that.” He ran his thumb along my clit. “You’ll have to back it up, and I can’t.” I gasped. I’d entered the room on fire, and his touch was charged with electricity, just hard enough on my bump before he put two fingers inside me. I was wet and ready, and after the past weeks of longing, and an afternoon with my legs spread over the arms of a chair, I was already close to coming. He would give me my orgasm. He had to. We had all night. Except for Tom, who could be a real wrench in my works.

“What you need to do,” he said, eyes on me, fingers inside me, thumb rubbing my clit under the fabric, skin to wet skin, “is get a council of Koreans. Natives. Have them work up numbers, odds, and projections. See what they come up with on a North Korean attack.”

His thumb circled me. I wanted to moan but couldn’t, or I’d be heard. I just spread my legs wider, hitching my hips forward and into his fingers. Tom babbled. It sounded like gobbledygook. Jonathan said, “yes, yes,” periodically as he spoke to Tom, but he looked at my face as he fingered me. With his phone tucked at his shoulder, he grabbed my nipple with his other hand and turned it absently as if he was fiddling with a pen on his desk, except the “pen” was connected to my sexual center.

My back arched. My breathing got short. I mouthed to him,
Let me come.

He tilted his head as if he didn’t understand me.

I mouthed again,
Please let me come.

He took his hand off my nipple and put it behind his ear, mouthing,
I can’t hear you.

“No,” he said into the phone, “we’re paying them. Tom, listen. The hotel is not a target, okay? Seoul is a major city. Everything’s a target.” He rolled his eyes as if Tom was just some annoying employee, and he and I were watching TV on the couch. Oh, funny guy.

His fingers left my hole and ran up to my clit and back. Once, then twice. I mouthed,
Please let me come please let me come….

He made the
I can’t hear you
sign, and I got the game, but I was about to explode into his hand hours after I’d given him control of my orgasms. I couldn’t show so much weakness so early.

I rolled off the bed, letting his hand slip out of me, and ran out of the room.

I stood in the hall, back against the wall, and tried not to make a sound, but I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. I crouched, balled my fists up in front of my mouth, and just laughed.

I saw Jonathan in the doorway, phone to his ear, fist in the same position in front of his mouth as he tried not to crack up in the middle of a business call.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Tom, I have to go.” The last word came out in the squeak. Tom, however, wouldn’t shut up. “I get it,” Jonathan said.

I got myself together, but I knew I could burst into audible laughter any second. I went back into the bedroom and hooked my hand in his waistband before I kneeled in front of him.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he said. “Just let me know if you hear anything else.” I unbuckled his belt and got his dick out of his pants. He leaned back against the wall. “Yes, and keep your ear to the ground on the other thing.”

I gave him a taste of his own medicine, licking the underside of his dick with the flat of my tongue from base to tip, then throating him.

“It’s an expression, Tom. It means listen hard.” He put his fingers in my hair and pulled my head into him. “Yes, okay. Really, it’s late here. Let me know tomorrow.” He hung up and threw the phone on the chair. “You,” he said, looking down at me, “are very naughty.”

I couldn’t respond. I had a dick in my mouth. When I pulled back, leaving it slick with my spit, he bent down and caught me under the arms. I laughed as he threw me on the bed, and I tried to get away until he crawled over me.

“No, you don’t.” He grabbed my arms. We laughed together as I tried to wiggle away, but he flipped me over onto my stomach and pinned my wrists behind my back.

“You shoulda let me come while the coming was good,” I said.

“Oh, you’re going to come.” He slapped my ass, and the sting made me catch my breath.

“You didn’t just …” I said, knowing he did and wanting him to do it again.

He did. One hand held my wrists behind my back and the other thwacked my ass as if I was a wicked, naughty child. I made some noise, like a breathy cry, that might have sounded something like “yes.”

I felt him bend down and whisper, “Have you ever been tied up, Monica?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Never came up.”

I waited for him to ask, maybe a formal request for permission, but he just bent backward while holding my wrists. I felt the pressure on the bed change, and I knew he wasn’t asking for permission or anything else.

He let go of my wrists and laid his body over mine, slipping his forearms under my face. I saw him holding the belt of my dress. It had fallen on the floor at some point, and he was making sure I saw it.

He kissed the back of my neck as he said, “I understand words like
no
and
stop
. Outside of those, your body is my playground.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re like a prodigy at this.”

Before I could answer, he pulled me up to my knees. I felt him behind me, still clothed, as he stroked me from my neck to my crotch and back up again. He ran his hands from my shoulders down my arms and placed my hands on the wooden headboard. The railings and runner across the top were roughhewn. He looped the belt around my wrists, binding them together, then around the railing. It was a good knot, firm and tight.

I wasn’t frightened. Nervous. I was nervous in the best way possible as he got off the bed and stood there in his jeans and sweatshirt, staring at me. Me, on my knees with my wrists tied to his headboard, hair in my face, ass out; him with his arms folded, checking out his work.

“Well?” I said.

He smirked a dangerous smirk. I felt the tingle of liquid dripping down my leg.

He pulled his shirt off, and when his face was covered and I only saw his body, another shiver went through me. His tight torso, with its patches of light hair, was a feast for the eyes, and when he got his shirt over his head, messing up his hair, he smiled as if he knew I was admiring him.

He took his time getting the rest of his clothes off. The condom went on, and he put his knee on the bed, tilting the mattress, and put his arms around my waist. One hand landed on my breast and the other between my legs. He found where I was wettest and rubbed gently, then harder. I rotated my hips, my tethered hands a fulcrum I rocked against, his dick waiting against my ass.

“Jonathan.” My voice was husky. Breaths without a voice. I didn’t know what I was trying to say. Just his name, as if that would tell him what I wanted. As if that would connect us to my pleasure. As if him binding my hands wasn’t enough for me to feel possessed, owned, protected.

He stopped rubbing my clit, pulled my ass up, and put the head of his cock at my pussy. I felt as if it would be sucked inside me by the sheer force of my desire. But no, he let it hover there, just touching the skin. I pushed back, but my tied hands held me. He kept himself just out of my body’s reach.

“Go,” I said with a squeak of desperation.

I thought I’d have to beg him to fuck me, but I didn’t. He slid in easy and sweet, pulling my ass up. The slow slide was good, the wet inches rubbing inside me and pushing against my hole. He moved so my wrists felts trapped and burned, the feeling of being held still almost stronger than the feeling of his stomach hitting my ass. He was doing everything right. He was fucking the hell out of me. But something was missing. He was holding back.

“Jonathan,” I said.

“Monica.”

“Hurt me.”

“What?”

“Do it so it hurts. Break me apart. Make it hurt so I scream. I want everything. All of it.”

He paused and slid his hands down my back. “Say it again.”

“Hurt me, Jonathan. Hurt me. Please.”

After a long exhale that sounded like a decision being made, he started moving faster, but that wasn’t the half of it. He gripped my ass, a hand in each cheek, and spread me apart until I thought he’d rip me. When he pummeled me then, he was in my pussy so deep I felt the head of his cock hitting the end of me. But he didn’t ease up. His fingers dug into my skin. My ass became dough in his hands. My wrists kept me steady against him. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t, or he’d stop. I didn’t want him to stop because the pain was exquisite, focusing me on his pleasure as it peaked my own.

He took a hand off one cheek and grabbed my hair. I moaned so loud it came out as a bark. He pulled my ass up again, his fingers digging into my skin, as he fucked the shit out of me. I was damp all over from sweat and juice.

“Say my name,” he gasped.

“Jonathan.”

“Again.”

“Jonathan, Jonathan, oh God, Jonathan.”

He came as if he’d hurled himself off a cliff, with a long grunt and a longer groan. He pumped at me from behind, still groaning, going on forever. Nothing had ever given me more satisfaction than hearing him come so hard.

He stopped and fell on top of me, his chest to my back, his dick falling away from me. We breathed together for a minute, our bodies still in tune.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing the hair away from my face.

“Never better.”

“Give me a minute. You’ll be even better.”

He kissed my neck, then between my shoulder blades, down my back, then to my ass cheeks, which hurt. I groaned and arched my back.

“Stay still,” he said. I dropped down. “Very still.”

“Okay.”

The skin of my slit was sore and bruised from his fingers. The sting felt wonderful as he licked the insides of my thighs, then my soaking pussy, which throbbed with the hurt and pleasure of him. His tongue went up and down my cleft, landing on my clit, teasing the tip with tiny, imperceptible motions. Then he drew his lips around it and kissed, ending in a light sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan…”

“Don’t move.”

“Please let me come when I’m ready. Please don’t make me wait more.”

“Only if you stay still. Move, and I take you out for coffee.”

“Yes.”

He spread me apart, which hurt until he slipped his tongue inside me, then drew it out, along the slit, which was so sore, and over my clit, slowly. Then back, into my hole and down until he sucked on my clit one last time. I went rigid, crying out with everything I had. My back wanted to arch, but I couldn’t let it. My hips wanted to thrust, but my mind overrode the impulse. I became a vessel for my pussy and my clenching ass and the pressure on my wrists. My body’s stillness drew out my orgasm, because I couldn’t surrender to it until the final moment when I lost all sense to his touch and tongue, screaming his name at the top of my lungs. He sucked gently on my clit until I was a shuddering mess, way past the point of agony.

K
evin had been the fuck of my life. That didn’t mean much as he’d been one of two. Darren had been serviceable, but we were young and inexperienced and
in love
, so we had no idea how boring it was.

Kevin had seemed like a white hot ball of fire. He was all hands and lips. He masturbated in front of me, and I tried not to giggle because I thought hot people would be very serious. He told me I was pent up and repressed in a way that made me want to get unrepressed, but I didn’t know how. I tried to get wilder by wearing lingerie and groaning louder. I sucked his dick more. I danced for him. All that seemed wonderful at the time, like really being grown up and sexual. But he didn’t know how to take my repression, wring it out, and throw it out the window. He didn’t know how to fuck it out of me or quietly tell me to get undressed in the night air while he watched in such a way that wouldn’t make me laugh. I couldn’t have given Kevin my orgasms, because he didn’t want them. I could never have asked him to hurt me, because he would have.