Control (Songs of Submission #4) Read Free Page B

drawings.

         
CHAPTER 5.
        
 
MONICA
I wore one of my new garters, a purple so dark it could be black. Over that was the black lace dress I’d bought at Nordstrom’s. The skirt fell just above my knees and the satin lining stopped just above the hem. The neckline was modest, and the sleeves covered my upper arms. It was skin tight but comfortable and classy. He could take me anywhere. I was only a slut underneath the dress.
I braided my hair. I tried to make it special, but I simply didn’t have Gabby’s skill, and my arms ached by the third try. I did my best, though, same as every day since she died. I wore my hair as a remembrance to her, as if I could call her back and whisper in her ear I loved you.
I didn’t have a roommate to answer the knock at the door. Times like that made me feel gut-twisting loneliness. I ran out, winding a band around the bottom of the braid. Even though I knew it was Jonathan, I had to look out the window to check first. He leaned on the corner of the porch, looking at the opening of the crawlspace. His brown leather jacket hung over a suit and tie, and his expression was dead serious.
“See something you like?” I asked when I opened the door.
“Your foundation’s slipping.”
“Have you noticed the hill? And gravity? How they conspire?”
He glanced back at me without moving his body. Fuck, he was gorgeous. “I can get someone to fix it. I’m a real estate developer, you know. I’ve got guys.”
I strode over to him and put my hands on his back. He looked at the foundation critically, as though he was doing calculations in his head. He looked at me again, and I put my fingers in his hair. We stood like that for a second as I drank him in.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
“I was just about to say that.” He turned and leaned on the railing with his legs spread. I stepped into the opening. He slid his fingers up my thighs, past my hemline, leaving my skin tingling in their wake. When he got to the lace tops of my stockings, he put his hands beneath my ass and stroked me gently.
I leaned down until my nose touched his, gasping when he fondled between my legs lightly. “Jonathan,” I whispered, “what are you doing?”
“I just want to know what barriers I’m dealing with here.”
“You always stick your hand up a girl’s skirt on the first date?”
He caressed the insides of my thighs, keeping his touch soft. “I haven’t bothered with an actual date for about nine years.” He angled his face so his lips met mine. I put my hands on his neck and kissed him. The tip of his tongue found mine, and we weaved our mouths together until I was a ball of heat and desire.
“I hate to break this up,” he said, “but we’re on a clock here.”
I groaned. I had no idea how I would make it through dinner.
“And you have to get a change of clothes,” he said. “Jeans and a jacket.”
“Why?”
“Can you let a guy surprise you?” He slapped my ass and pointed to the front door. “Go.”
Still smiling from the delicious sting on my butt, I gathered up clothes, stuffed them into a bag, and ran back out to the porch. He’d parked the Jag in my driveway, right behind my little black Honda. He opened the passenger door for me and closed it when I got in. As he drove up the 101, I put my hand on his, stroking the top of it.
“You working tomorrow?” he asked. “Because I have the day off.”
“Work, then Frontage.”
“Without your partner?” he asked, then waved his hand. “Sorry. Obviously.”
“Yeah. I wanted her on the piece with me and the boys, too. But, shit, I miss her.”
“What boys and what piece?”
“I’m collaborating with Darren and Kevin.”
The car swerved too far right, and he almost had an accident. A horn blared and a middle finger was raised. Jonathan waved in apology. “You were saying?” he asked.
“Don’t have an accident.” He pulled off at Los Feliz Boulevard. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“Small