Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(2)

He slapped against me with every word. “I. Didn’t. Touch. Her.”

“Liar.” I swung back, trying to hit him. My reward was having my arm twisted behind my back so I couldn’t move it.

“What did you tell them, Monica? You told them I spanked you, too.”

“I said it was consensual. I don’t lie.”

“Good for you.” He let my arm go but pressed my face to the tabletop so hard I couldn’t move. He changed his angle and f**ked hard and slow for a few strokes, pushing me down. The lacquer bit my nostrils. Pleasure was overtaking me, overwhelming my better sense.

That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? I wanted to get f**ked, but I didn’t want to want it. I wanted his cock, and I wanted it hard, without the responsibility of asking for explanations. He pulled my hair again, yanking my head to the side so I could see him.

“I want to see you come,” he said.

“Go f**k yourself,” I replied breathlessly.

“Put your hand on your cunt.”

I twisted, resisting the order, and he used the torque to drag one leg out of my panties. He put that leg over his shoulder while the other stayed on the tabletop. My other shoe fell with a clop. I lay on my side while he stood, shifting to straddle the leg that wasn’t over his shoulder.

“Now.” He put his thumb in his mouth and made a wet, sucking pop as he pulled it out. He pressed it to my clit.

“Oh, God.”

He pounded me hard. The photo bounced off the sideboard and crashed to the floor.

“I said I want to see you come,” he gasped, taking my pu**y with his dick.

“Fuck. I hate you, f**ker.” I swung at him with my free hand, but he caught it before I struck him. He pinned it to my ankle with his strong fingers. “I hate you.” It sounded like a plea.

“Well,” he said, a word for each stroke, “I. Love. You.”

He kissed my cheek, and everything in me tightened around him as his cruel thumb pressed, twisted, rubbed my clit. He grunted against my cheek. He pinched the fleshy nub, pushing and pulling in opposite directions. I came like a gunshot, a crack of a scream exploding from my throat. I begged him to stop, but he kept rubbing, and I kept coming until my cries must have sounded far more like pain than pleasure. Jonathan pulled his face from mine, circling his hips as he groaned a long mmm sound.

He was coming, and I loved him. Fucker.

Chapter 2.

The cops had taken my information and made sure Lil picked me up. They asked me nothing besides my most basic information and let me know I had to make myself available for questioning the next day. They came to my house in the morning, gently asking the most painful questions, breaking my heart with every word.

I’d cleaned every corner of my house except Gabby’s room. I stayed up all night, eyes glued to the television and internet. Whatever was happening with Jonathan, it had been either unworthy of media attention or kept under a dark, wet blanket.

I had called Geraldine Stark to thank her for letting us know about Kevin. She should have told us right away, before Darren had to call randomly, but she treated the whole thing like squeaky gossip. I made excuses and hung up. I called Darren. He was with Adam and couldn’t talk. I didn’t tell him about Jonathan. It would have taken forever to explain that I knew nothing.

I could not have imagined more tortuous days between watching him get into the squad car and getting his text.

—Where are you?—

I’d grasped the phone, letting half the tension in my body drop out of me and onto the kitchen floor.

—Home—

I was frozen in place, looking at the ellipsis at the bottom of the screen that meant he was typing. The shelves from my fridge were dripping soap, forgotten in the sink.

—Can you play?—

Initially, my biggest fear had been that I was somehow responsible for the accusation of domestic violence. That someone had heard about us, or seen my bruises at the Eclipse show. Or that maybe Kevin had gotten a word in edgewise at the border. Because who else had he been with? Who else had he hurt?

—Fuck you—

—Be here at 11:23, exactly—

But then the police had gently questioned me. No cold room. No good cop, bad cop. Two female officers spoke in a soft voices and told me they’d protect me from the man I loved and the sex I craved. They told me Jessica had come to them for an order of protection with photos proving he’d abused her during sex. Her reputation as someone who wanted nothing to do with Jonathan’s kinky side indicated she’d been the unwilling victim of abuse and possibly rape.

I had gotten through the interview by using my customer service smile, but inside, I boiled.

—You missed the f**k you part—

—No, I saw it—

At 11:22 a.m., I had sat outside his gate in my car, waiting for the time on my phone to flip. I didn’t know what the exactness of the time was about. I felt as if he was taking a slice of control and connection in a situation where he felt he had none.

I didn’t believe he’d raped her, because I knew him. I didn’t believe he’d struck her without consent for the same reason. I was livid because during the time we’d been separated, he’d been so broken up about me he f**ked around with, who else? Jessica.

At the same time, for two days, I had missed him. I worried about him. I didn’t sleep enough. I went to dinner with friends but barely ate. I checked my phone so often, Yvonne had snapped it off the table and pocketed it. When he finally did text, I felt relief, and rage, and at the sight of the word play, I felt rushing need between my legs that only he could release.