Read Resist (Songs of Submission #6) for Free Online Page A

laughs at each other’s jokes, which are invariably on customers. Guests lingered, mostly in earnest conversations about the next destination for drinking or fucking. Some clung by their fingernails, as if a change of venue would break a spell.
    In the case of the Stock, the city had darkened beneath us as much as it ever would, and the sky was a burnt orange with reflected light. It was one fifteen in the morning. I had a pocket full of cash. Maybe I’d go the hell out and talk to people. Maybe I’d cling to a venue until four a.m. to avoid sleeping in my house for the first time in weeks.
    But I wasn’t going out. I wasn’t getting drunk, and I wasn’t reacquainting myself with anyone. Only one woman was at the bar. It was Jessica, and she was not alone. Jonathan stood over her, and they were arguing fiercely. They looked like a married couple on the verge of a blowout, talking over each other, tense hands in front of them. I didn’t want to approach them. But something else took over.
    She wasn’t supposed to talk to him. She wasn’t supposed to be in fifty feet of him. He was mine. I had a reaction that could only be described as biological. Rage filled my blood from some angry gland until my fingertips clenched and my teeth ground together.
    Jonathan looked up. As soon as he saw me, he came my way like a torpedo.
    “What the fuck?” I said.
    He gripped my shoulder and spun me around. “Walk.”
    “No.” He pushed me toward the back room. I shrugged him off. “I want to talk to her. That’s why she’s here.” He took my bicep and yanked me off the floor. “Get off me.”
    He didn’t listen. He pulled me through the halls, past the few coworkers left, along the concrete floors of the back hallways. His face was stern and blank, a fixed mask of intention. He pushed me into the break room, locked the door, and drew shades over the window to the hall. When he finally faced me again, I pushed him away.
    “Don’t you ever do anything like that again,” I said.
    He pressed me against the wall and put his face to mine in a punishing kiss. I gave in to the heat, the urgency of his mouth on mine, his tongue demanding response, his hands still pushing my shoulders. I groaned into him, my voice a breath I had no choice but to take.
    “I told you not to meet with her,” he said, face near enough to kiss me again.
    “You’re not the boss of me.”
    “Oh no?”
    “Dragging me away from a conversation, trying to isolate me, you’re giving her quite a case.”
    “Pick up your skirt.”
    “Using sex to control me...”
    “Show me your cunt, Monica.”
    I felt a pool of arousal below my waist at the command. Though Jonathan didn’t hold my arms, his grip on my shoulders made skidding my hands over my skirt uncomfortable and awkward. I pinched the fabric and bent my wrists, hiking up the skirt one inch, then two. I got a fistful of cotton and yanked. The whole thing rode up as our eyes met, our breath mingling.
    “So, what? You going to fuck me now?”
    “I am.”
    “You think that’s going to stop me?”
    He put a hand at my throat, fingertips at the base of my jaw, forcing me to look at the ceiling. The restriction and posture sent a tidal wave of desire between my legs. I wanted to wrap them around him and take him inside me.
    “I’ve never punished you, goddess. But I will.”
    “Go on. I’m not scared of you.”
    He looped his fingers in my panties and drove his fingers along my wet cleft. I gasped and moaned when he thrust two fingers in me. When he pulled them out, I felt their loss. I wanted to be filled with him, despite the fact that he was pissing me off, or because of it. Pressing his torso to mine and keeping his hand on my jaw, he put his wet fingers in my mouth.
    “This mouth is mine,” he said. “It doesn’t talk unless I tell it to.”
    The taste of my sex filled my mouth as he drove his fingers down my throat. I sucked them clean to please him, to please myself. The sensations