Coda (Songs of Submission #9) Read Online Free PDF Page A

want me to see you weak. And, oh God, Jonathan, I’m going to come.”
    “No, you’re not.” He reduced the pressure and intensity until I could only feel the outer edge of his hand’s heat. “Pull your shirt up. Let me see your tits.”
    I yanked up my shirt and bra, and he leaned down and sucked on a nipple so hard and fast, it hurt like hell. I bucked under him.
    “I’m going to die before you,” he said, taking a last nip before putting his face to mine. “Way before you. You want to spend the time worrying? Or fucking?”
    Which? Was that the only choice: this dichotomy of soul-eating pain or soul-revealing pleasure? I waited too long to answer apparently, because he circled his fingertip over my clit again, barely touching it. I groaned. I wanted to say fucking, to tell him what he wanted to hear, but when he had me like this, I couldn’t tell one of the thousand untruths about my feelings. I couldn’t say what would make him happy for the sake of saving him from stress.
    “Which is it, goddess?”
    “I’m going to come.”
    He brought his finger down my folds, to where I was wettest, leaving my clit kissed by nothing but the damp air in my jeans as he brought the rest of me to life. His outer fingers touched the welts he’d left earlier, setting them on fire.
    “Which is it?” he asked.
    “Fuck me or let me come,” I whispered.
    He pulled his hand out of my pants. The loss was painful.
    “You are not stopping,” I groaned. “Don’t even—”
    He held my face, putting his nose to mine. “You only talk when your cunt lets you. From now on, I control when you talk. And today, you talk.”
    The car stopped in front of our house, and the gate clanged closed behind us.
    “You’re a son of a bitch.” My body arched toward him, making a lie of my words.
    “Before I was in the hospital, you could hold yourself together. Now you’re calling me a son of a bitch for doing what it’s my right to do.”
    I glared at him, hating him and loving him at the same time, pain and pleasure always hand-in-hand with my king.
    “Button up,” he said, pulling my shirt down.
    I closed the fly on my jeans, and he opened the door. The late afternoon sun blasted my face, turning Lil’s form into a rectangular silhouette.
    We didn’t speak as we walked to the house. A modest thing by Drazen standards, it had a private beach in the back and the whole of Malibu in front. It was an old house built at the crest of the modern era by an ambitious architect who was way ahead of his time. It didn’t have a porch, but a small overhang shaded the wide front door. He disabled the security system and put his hand on the knob but didn’t turn it. Lil drove away, the sound of the engine giving way to the evensong birds and the breath of the freeways below.
    I started to think about everything I could be doing. Over the past six months, my brain chemistry had changed so that when I was upset, my thoughts went to music and the business of making it. One ass fuck in the studio wouldn’t change that.
    “Come on. I have things to do,” I said, knowing that wouldn’t go over well. I reveled in my defiance. Fuck him with his new heart and old ways. If he wanted to talk, he could take me to dinner.
    He swung the door open but didn’t leave room for me to pass. I crossed my arms. He smirked. I felt the tightening of my cheeks as I almost smirked with him. What game was I playing? I wanted to get to work, and I wanted him to fuck me.
    No, I didn’t want him to fuck me. I wanted him to either rip me apart or let me make music mourning the loss of my wounds. If this defaulted to a vanilla middle ground because he thought he’d made his point, I would lose my shit.
    “Take your clothes off. All of them.”
    I rolled my eyes. Lightning quick, like a man who had done nothing but work on his reflexes for the past six months, he grabbed my hair and dragged me to my knees. My safe word was Invictus and I probably still had a tangerine