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

option, but the insides of my thighs tingled when he leaned down and growled in my ear.
    “Unbutton your shirt.”
    I reached for my placket and carefully, without fumbling, undid the buttons one by one.
    “I’ll do what I have to to get you to talk to me. So first…” He yanked my hair, and I gasped. “Take it off. And the bra.”
    I shook both off until I was bare-breasted at the front door. How would he get my pants off? What did he intend?
    He let go of my hair. “Stand up.”
    I got on my feet. He stood in the doorway, framed by a house I’d agreed to with a shrug, his hands at his sides. One of his fingers twitched.
    I crossed my arms. “Are we going in or not?” I leaned on one hip, breasts out as if I didn’t give a shit one way or the other how naked I was. “I’m tired, and my ass hurts. Can we just—”
    “You’re really pushing it.”
    I tapped a single finger on my bicep, a tic of impatience. Even though his beautiful green eyes didn’t leave mine, I knew he saw it, and even if his mouth didn’t smile, I knew I was pleasing him. We needed this, and we needed it to go down exactly the way it was going to go down.
    He put a finger on my lower lip. “Open your mouth.”
    I didn’t.
    With his other hand, he cupped my jaw and exerted pressure, slowly opening my mouth. God, I wanted his cock in it. I wanted to taste the soft skin as it slid to the back of my throat. I relaxed my mouth, and he put his fingers in. First one, then four, pressing my tongue down.
    He pulled me to him, speaking softly and firmly into my face. “I don’t mind repeating myself. This is my mouth, and when I say open it, it opens.”
    I couldn’t speak, but my eyes agreed. I was putty in his hands.
    “Get your pants off while I explain my position.”
    I unbuttoned and unzipped while he held my jaw open. I couldn’t swallow, and drool formed over his fingers.
    “Do you remember the hospital? The week before the first surgery?”
    Remember? How could I forget? I got heart palpitations thinking about it. Any time I smelled alcohol or something beeped, my chest felt as if it had been encased in a clenched fist.
    “That week, we had rules,” he said. “Should I remind you?”
    I nodded as much as I could.
    “Get your pants down.” I wiggled to slide them down while he spoke. “The rules were: only the truth, even if it hurt. We would never protect each other from each other. And no judgment.”
    I got my pants down to my knees. I was twisted, fighting the tight jeans, the pressure of his fingers, and the memory of lying next to him in the never-dark Sequoia Hospital.
    He removed his hand, which was wet with spit that dripped down his arm to the elbow. “All the way off.”
    I leaned to get my shoes off. He held my elbow when I almost fell then resumed watching my clumsy and twisted operation until I was completely naked before him. He was perfectly calm, perfectly commanding. Only the huge bulge in his pants indicated how involved he was in what was happening.
    I stood with my hands at my sides. “I remember.”
    “I want that again.”
    “It’s hard when you’re telling me to get my clothes off.”
    “You know what, Monica, you don’t even know yourself. Look at you. I haven’t seen you this relaxed in months. The only time you let your worry go is when you give me control. And your worry is what keeps you from being honest.”
    I swallowed. Blinked. A torrent of wetness welled behind my eyes. “I don’t want to break the scene.”
    “Stay still. Stay naked. Speak your mind.”
    “I almost died with you a hundred times. That recovery room, they had you in this induced coma, and you looked dead. There were bags of blood. Bags hanging over you, and you were all opened up. And, I’m sorry, I haven’t said this because you’re the one who went through it.” I swallowed a gallon of tears. “I don’t want to see you like that again. But I think about it all the time. I dream about it. I see it when I