Synopsis
Did you want a pat little ending about Jonathan and I 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.
I’ve earned our happily ever after. Now I have to survive
it.
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Excerpt
“You know what, Monica, you don’t even know yourself. Look
at you. I haven’t seen you this relaxed in months. The only time you let your
worry go is when you give me control. And your worry is what keeps you from
being honest.”
I swallowed. Blinked. A torrent of wetness welled behind my
eyes, “I don’t want to break the scene.”
“Stay still. Stay naked. Speak your mind.”
“I almost died with you a hundred times. That recovery room,
they had you in this induced coma and you looked dead. There were bags of
blood. Bags, hanging over you and you were all opened up. And, I’m sorry, I
haven’t said this because you’re the one who went through it.” I swallowed a
gallon of tears. “I don’t want to see you like that again. But I think about it
all the time. I dream about it. I see it when I close my eyes. I want you to
live, so I do what I think is going to make you happy and I always get it
wrong. Stay or go. I give you attention or none. It’s always wrong.”
“What about your happiness?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not as much as yours. It’s not life or
death.”
“It is, Monica. It is.”
I shook my head. “You can’t convince me of that. We can do
this hurtful honesty thing all day. You’re the priority and I’m okay with that.
Deal with it.”
He nodded, looking down for a blink, then up at me. He
reached for my wrists.
“These go behind your back.”
I did as instructed.
“Now, get on your knees.”
I bent them. With my hands behind my back, it was hard to
balance.
“Do you need some help?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I thought he’d take me gently by the elbow, but dragged me
down. He was right. I was relaxed, totally submitting and trusting him, loving
every bit of discomfort he dished out.
“Spread your knees apart.”
I did, too slowly for him. He kicked them wide.
“Do you remember your safeword?” He asked, unbuckling his
belt.
“Yes.” A tingling rush went down my spine with the promise
of his dominance and the way it made me forget how fragile he really was.
His cock was out in the next second. “Open. Your. Mouth.”
The Complete Submission
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Eight book bundle of the Submission Series
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About the Author
CD Reiss is a USA Today and Amazon bestseller. She still has
to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is
working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick
up, she’s at the well, hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to
get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know,
that went nowhere, but it did embed TV story structure in her head well enough
for her to take a big risk on a TV series structured erotic series called Songs
of Submission. It’s about a kinky billionaire hung up on his ex-wife, an
ingenue singer with a wisecracking mouth; art, music and sin in the city of Los
Angeles.
Critics have dubbed the books “poetic,” “literary,” and
“hauntingly atmospheric,” which is flattering enough for her to put it in a
bio, but embarrassing enough for her not to tell her husband, or he might think
she’s some sort of braggart who’s too good to give the toilets a once-over
every couple of weeks or chop a cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
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