Sing is the last book in the Songs of Submission series by CD Reiss! This series has become my favorite addiction and I just can’t wait to see where Jonathan and Monica end up!
Today we have a very sexy exclusive teaser/excerpt AND a giveaway…. of…. wait for it… SING!!!! **Please note that some lines have been removed from the excerpt to avoid spoilers.
“Goddess,” he whispered. “I have to have you.”
“No fucking way.” We’d tried three nights previous, and the word disaster would be used if we were underplaying the results. I’d gotten an earful from Nurse Irene on the matter, and had cried for hours from the stress and the scolding.
He pushed his finger under my waistband. I could feel the tubes from the IV on my skin. “Undo these,” he said.
“Open your jeans and pull them down.” He spoke as if I hadn’t just refused him, and the command send waves of lust below my waist.
“I’m scared,” I said.
“I’m not. Come on. Trust me.”
His face was inches from mine, his hand on my cheek, stroking my lower lip. Every night I curled up next to him and slept for a few hours before I was kicked out. Every night I wanted him, and every night I worried. He’d gone from emotionally distraught, to annoyed, to depressed, to this. A feeling that he’d lost control. He was using me to feel like he had it for a minute. I just didn’t know if I could trust him to take care of himself.
I unbuttoned my pants. He grinned, his eyes still locked on mine as I straightened my hips, put a knee on the bed and pulled my pants down.
“Straddle me,” he said. I was restricted by the waistband, but got a leg out and wiggled around the instruments and tubes to get myself on either side of him. I made no move to shift the sheets away or touch him. I only did what I was told.
“You’re wearing this cotton shit again,” he said, his left hand, the one without the IV, stroking my lower back and finding its way under my panties.
“It feels silly to waste to good stuff when you won’t see it.”
“You miss the point.” He pulled me forward. “Put your hands behind me.” I placed them on the wall behind him. With his left hand, he reached between my legs, caressing me over the fabric of my underpants. “The idea is that during the day, I’m present where no one can see. You dress for the world, but under that, you dress for me. I own your softest places, and what touches them, is mine.”
“How can I think about that when you’re sick?”
“I need you to. It’s the only thing that gets me through the day. Knowing I own you even from here.”
He brushed his thumbnail over me. My clit throbbed at his touch, and I gasped.
“Remember the office?” he whispered. “On the desk?”
“How could I forget? You were cruel.”
He stroked the nails of four fingers over the cotton he so hated. It was damp already.
“I wanted you so badly,” he whispered.
“You could have had me.”
“Anyone else, I would have just fucked. Not you.” He brushed one finger under my panties, stroking my opening. “You were so wet. So responsive. A quickie on a desk would have been such a waste.”
His finger ran circles around my wettest part, and again, his thumb touched my clit gently. When I thrust forward, he pulled it back.
“You were a bastard.” I spoke through gasps as his fingers teased me. “You could have let me come and fucked me later.”
He pushed two fingers in me. I closed my eyes and groaned.
“Look at me,” he said. I put my nose to his and tried to keep my eyes open. “I wanted you before my trip. I needed you motivated. I had to have you.”
“Have me,” I gasped as he put only the lightest pressure on his thumb while rotating his fingers in my hole.
“You were fantastic that first night. Unforgettable.”
Pulling his fingers out, he slipped them up my cleft, stroking my clit slowly, barely moving, every millimeter of movement a shot of sensation from my cunt out to my knees and waist.
His right hand went to the back of my head. I knew he had his IV in that hand, but I wasn’t going to think about that. I only thought about the excruciatingly unhurried motion of his fingers. “Do you want to come, Monica?”
“Please let me come. I want to.”
He grabbed my hair. “I don’t believe you.”
“Please. Jonathan, please. Don’t let me walk away like this. Let me come for you.” My begging could not have been more sincere. The pleasure and tension between my legs was so intense, so heavy, it was almost painful.
“No.” He slowly dragged his fingers over my clit, then lodged them back in me and pulled them out, rolling around the outside, then pushed them back in again, all the while keeping my head still by holding a handful of my hair in his fist.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Why should I?”
“You love me.”
“I do.” But he didn’t say anything more.
“And I love you.”
“I miss your body. I want to come for you. Please.”
He pulled the tips of his fingers over my clit. It was just enough to take me to the next level, where I couldn’t speak as the pleasure soaked my body, yet it wasn’t a full release.
“When you sing tomorrow, you wear something that reminds you of me.”
“Yes.” I would have promised him the World Series, but this, I meant. Under my clothes, he owned me. “Please.”
Rubbing my clit in earnest, he held my face close to his. “Who do you belong to?” Like a glass of water on a hot day, my cunt drank him, getting what it had craved, every inch of wet skin receiving the touch it wanted like the answer to a prayer.
“You. I am yours. Oh. I’m—”
I bit back a cry as the orgasm ripped through me like a fire hose had been turned on, thrusting my hips forward, sending bullets of pleasure through my nervous system, squeezing the air from my lungs, shutting out every sense, but the sensation of his fingers between my legs, his breath on my face, his eyes on mine.
He slowed, but kept his hand on my stroking me down until I felt like I could think again.
“Again, goddess. And quietly.”
He pushed in me, gathering juices, then put his fingers to my clit again. The waters rose like a flash flood.
“Fuck,” I groaned, clenching, thrusting, a grunt stopped in my throat as I came for him again. My eyes closed involuntarily as I released, the fireworks between my legs taking up every sensory input.
A machine beeped. We froze. It double-beeped once, twice, then stopped. He patted my ass, and I knew what that meant.
I scurried off him and pulled my pants up, getting them buttoned just as Irene Kzowlicz, RN opened the door.
“Mister Drazen,” she said in her thick Hungarian accent. “You are okay?”
She shuffled in on her clunky padded shoes, hands like risen dough pulling Jonathan to a sitting position so she could mess with his pillows. Her grey hair was cut short, and her lower lip seemed to extend a good seven inches from her face.
“All this for two beeps?” Jonathan said. “I’m going to start thinking you want me to live.”
“When I started to nurse, we had rules. No girlfriends in the room alone, with door closed. Now patients can make request. And request is like law, so I have machines beeping twice all night.”
“I don’t think it’ll beep again,” I said meekly.
She went to the computer and tapped away at it with two lightning fast fingers. “You ready for tomorrow, Mister Drazen?”
“Like any other day in paradise, Irene.”
She took his blood pressure and I sat by and held his other hand. “What’s tomorrow?” I whispered.
“Tuesday,” he whispered back.
Irene snapped the belt off his arm. “Okay,” she said, tapping his IV bags. “You’re fine.” She looked at me over her plastic trifocals. “You be a good girl.”
She scuttled out.
“I love how it was my fault,” I said.
Two kindle copies of Sing (Songs of Submission Book #7) are up for grabs upon release! Just click on a Rafflecopter giveaway to enter! Good luck!