Jonathan Drazen is a known womanizer and a gorgeous piece of man I'm not letting into my heart. Ever. Yeah, he's rich, beautiful, charming as hell, and he has a wit as sharp as a double-edged razor... but he's made it perfectly clear that this is a short-term f--k. Three nights, tops, then we part like sexually satisfied grown-ups. I believe him when he says he can't love me. I'm not trying to fall in love, either. We get in. Get it on. Get the hell out. Done. Right? Right.
I want to just clarify a couple of things. Submission is not abdication. Submission is not resignation. It's not weak or fragile. It doesn't mean I break at the first sign of trouble. Well, I broke for a few weeks. When I realized I was falling in love with Jonathan and that I'd never be the same if I allowed it to continue, I broke into a million sharp little pieces. I think I damaged him in the process. But what could I do? Stay with him and untangle the mess of his life? Commit to his rules, his secrets, his troubles? No. Just, no. If we're doing this, we're doing it.
"Don't miss this listen!!!! You'll be sorry!"
This is not a romance. This is not a pat little ending about Jonathan and I riding off into the sunset. I knew I was never destined for that, but no one warned me about the pain. No one told me about the hurt. No one told me what I'd risk for him.
"Deliciously enticing & one all time favorite serie"
They call Dash Wallace the Diamond King. He's the hottest commodity in baseball and in the bedroom. When he runs the bases, every woman's eyes are glued to his stunning body and a smile that puts the night lights to shame.
"not impressed with this guy"
I never forgot her. Not for one minute. Not from the last time I saw her, at 17, to today. I measured all women against her, and all women came up short. But being with her was unfeasible in high school, and it's taboo now. I see her sometimes, but I've never spoken to her. She runs, or I run. We're in the same town, on the same block, in the same building, and the gulf between us has been just too wide to cross. Until tonight.
Jonathan Drazen. Gorgeous. Charming. Smart. Rich. All the ingredients for a few nights of mind-blowing pleasure are right there. He's made it perfectly clear he can't love me, and I'm not out to fall in love either. But I can't stay away from him. He's got this bossy way about him in bed. The word "Sir," falls from my lips, and when he tells me to get on my knees...well, my knees have a mind of their own.
The minute I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When you put your hands behind your back without being told, I owned you. You never had to say a word.
I don't know what's happening. I find myself doing things I can't imagine doing. Feeling things that don't make sense. Allowing him to control me in a way I find frightening and arousing at the same time.
Did you want a pat little ending about Jonathan and me riding off into the sunset? Did you want flowers and stars? Man, I wish it was all soft filters and violins. I wish we could fight about who cleaned the bathroom or who was cooking dinner. But I knew I was never destined for simple contentment. I almost committed murder for him. I almost tore us apart to save him. How do you get back on the horse after that? Because, I promise you, nothing is the same. Nothing.
This is the stunning conclusion to the Songs of Submission Series.
I'm willing to give him my body and my time, but I find myself giving up pieces of my heart. My career is on track, and even though I can't write a thing, I can sing. So I'll go to the art opening with him, because his ex-wife will be there. I feel this need to protect him from hurt, though in bed, his domination brings me to my knees. This man is going to break me into a million little pieces.
Death. It's something that Ada Palomino has always known so well, having grown up in a house of horrors, surrounded by a family plagued by ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. But after the sudden and tragic death of her mother two years ago, death has never felt so personal. Or so close. Now 18, Ada is trying to move on with her life, and the last month of summer holds nothing but sunshine and promises, with her first year at a Portland design school just around the bend.
I looked down at him, with his tourmaline eyes and copper hair, and believed him despite my better judgment. I forgave him despite my misgivings. I loved him just because I did. My heart wasn't sensible or guarded enough. Not by a sight. I was a walking raw nerve ending of emotion, as if the years I'd spent away from men and sex had made me more emotional, more vulnerable, more foolish.
Jonathan is miles away, even when he's in the same room. Still making demands. Still breaking my will with his voice. But now he's not after sex. He's not trying to make my body and mind submit. He's after my heart, and I'm not willing to give it to him.