Free Control (Songs of Submission #4) by CD Reiss

in my eyes. Fuck.
“You can’t keep me from working,” I said, breathing hard, trying to forget the tears threatening to drop. “You have my word. I’m yours. You are the only man I want. I know what happened to you before—”
“Monica, you’re not hearing me—”
“I am hearing you. You think Kevin wants to hurt me, and I’m telling you he can only hurt me if I give him my body, which I won’t do.”
He leaned forward as though he wanted to touch me, but wouldn’t. “You said yourself he gets raw, then he gets cold, and then he does the piece. Maybe you’re the piece.”
I watched my hands fidget. “I can’t stop my career for maybes.” My eyes went back to him. “When I say you’re a king, you are. You rule the world. You have everything. You can do whatever you want. I’m nobody. I have nothing to call my own. I could die tomorrow, and I’d be forgotten in a year. Like Gabby. If I don’t record her music, it’ll disappear, and if I let you stop me from doing whatever I have to do to make work, I’ll disappear too.”
I was crying full bore, with little sniffles and big, wet tears. He reached for his pocket, and I knew he would get out one of his expensive hankies. I hated that it was the second time I’d cried in front of him. I didn’t make crying a habit. I hated it. I found no release in it, just sore eyes and shame. I grabbed his hand before it could leave his pocket. “Don’t let my stupid crying get in the way of what you want to say.”
“I wanted to say ‘blow.’”
“No need.” I cleared my throat, tilted my head, and pinched the corners of my eyes. Then I smiled a customer service smile. “See? All done.”
He took my wrists and pulled me to him, gathered me up in his lap, and put my arms around his neck. “You think I’d forget you so easily?” he said, his face so close I could see the flecks of blue in his green eyes.
“L.A. is full of pretty girls. You’d find another one.” He started to say something, some petty, pithy reassurance that would make me feel even more insignificant. I put my fingers on his lips before he could get a word out and whispered, “Shh. Behave.”
He smiled under my hand, then kissed it. “We’re all forgotten. Every one of us. Even artists and rich men. Eventually.”
“My voice could survive.”
“But with what meaning? This moment, here? On this little patio? This makes us who we are, and in a week, it’s going to be a few pieces of memory. In a year… it’s gone, and everything’s changed.”
“Are you a nihilist, Jonathan?” I stroked the hair on his cheeks as I teased him with my tone.
“I believe in plenty. You, for one. Your loyalty to your friend. The way you took care of her and still take care of her.” He kissed my lips and kept his face so close to mine I felt his breath. “Will you let me take care of you?”
“To an extent.”
“I want to get someone in to put food in your fridge.”
“No.”
“Your deadbolt is broken. That day when I said the door was unlocked, it wasn’t. I opened the doorknob lock with a credit card. The deadbolt wasn’t even set right.”
“I’ll fix it.”
“I’ll get someone in.” His fingers found their way between my legs again, stroking inside my thighs.
“Jonathan, I put the first one in. I can do it again.”
“Oh, is that why it works so well?” I pursed my lips. He pulled my hand off his cheek and held it. “I’m not questioning your competence, but I don’t think you’re defining yourself by your ability to set in a deadbolt. Or are you going to become L.A.’s first singing locksmith?”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “Fine. You have someone lock me up tight.”
“On all the doors.” His fingertips found a place between my legs where moisture gathered in response to his touch and his breath.
I sighed. “If it’ll make you happy.”
“It would keep unhappiness at bay.” He dragged his finger up my pussy and across my clit. My breath hitched from the