Due to popular
demand, CD Reiss’s Complete Submission…
the complete eight book bundle of the Submission Series…
is NOW AVAILABLE
on ALL RETAILERS.
As a bonus, the first three chapters of Coda are in the
back,
and CD Reiss promises they’re hot as hell.
Blurb
This bundle contains books 1-8 of the USA Today Bestselling
Submission Series, and totals 1300 pages of intense, steamy romance that will
leave you breathless.
***
Jonathan Drazen.
Gorgeous. Check.
Charming. Check.
Smart. Check.
Rich. Hey, I’m not gonna complain.
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.
I got this. I can be his slave for a few nights and walk
away unscathed.
We get in. Get it on. Get the hell out. Done.
He knows the line between love and
lust. It’s right between my legs. Now, let’s see if that line blurs for me.
Excerpt
“Get on your
knees.”
Even through the phone, I could tell Jonathan was using
his dominant voice. I got nervous that I would dampen the expensive panties so
badly the protective paper at the crotch would curl and peel off. “Yes, sir.”
Facing the dressing room mirror, I got to my knees. The
black garter and stocking I was trying on looked as though it had been taped on
me. The black satin belt slung low on my hips held the straps that dropped down
my thighs with silver rings.
“How does it look?” he asked.
“I think you’ll like it.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“You really want to know?” I asked.
“I’m sitting in the back of my car, thinking about you.
It’s wall-to-wall traffic. So, yes, I want to know how it makes you feel.”
I heard women outside the dressing room door. Their soft conversations
and laughter were muffled by the clothing draped around the room, lingerie with
bows and clasps and metal rings set into lush satins and elastics. Every piece
I’d tried on aroused me, and when he called, the addition of his voice to the
mix brought me near tears.
“How do I feel?” I asked. The carpet dug into my knees,
and I was goose bumped from the air conditioner, but that wasn’t what he meant.
The black satin bra’s cups were made of two panels that could be moved for
access. It felt so comfortable, I didn’t even know I had it on. The curves of
the underwear accentuated the length of my pelvis. “I feel like fucking.”
I heard him take a breath. I did enjoy shocking him. “Tuck
the phone under your left ear.”
“Done.”
“Done?”
“Done, sir.”
“Put your left hand on the mirror,” he said. “Lean on it.”
“Yes, sir.” My hand spread on the mirror like a starfish.
It would leave a mark.
“Put your right hand between your legs.”
“Jonathan…”
“Do it.”
My cunt clenched with anticipation. I stroked lightly
through the string of cloth, sucking air between my teeth from the tingle of
the touch.
“Get under the fabric,” he said, as if he could see I
hadn’t put my fingers on my skin.
“Yes, sir.” The word sir
seemed to vibrate not just outward, to him, but inward, down a thick nerve
connecting my vocal cords to my core. When I slipped my fingers under the
panties, I shuddered.
“You wet?”
“So fucking wet,” I whispered.
“Your legs spread?”
“Yes.”
“Look at yourself in the mirror.”
I did, and I was greeted by a face slack with arousal,
flushed with sex. “Yes, sir.” I watched myself submit to him, in that outfit,
as if I needed to be more turned on. Outside the door, I heard a throat clear.
“How do you look?” he asked.
“I look like I can’t stay in here much longer without
someone coming.”
“You got that right,” he mumbled. Papers shuffled on his
side. He was working while telling me to finger myself. A true multitasker.
“Stroke your clit and all the way down to that beautiful hole.” I groaned, my
cheek caressing the phone. “Keep going. Work your clit. Go around it twice,
then over the top.”
I did, and the heavenliness came as much from my own touch
as the knowledge I obeyed him. “Oh, Jonathan.”
“Put two fingers in.”
My pussy clenched around my fingers, kissing them, sucking
them in. The heel of my hand found my clit as I pushed my fingers in and out.
He whispered, “Tomorrow night, when I see you, I’m going
to put my fingers in you and lick you until you beg me to stop. Then I’m going
to squeeze your clit with my lips until you come again.”
“I want you.”
“You will have me.”
“May I come?” There was a distinct possibility he’d say
no, and I was so far gone, holding off my orgasm would hurt. “Please let me
come.” His silence tormented me. “Please, sir.” I smiled a little. I never
thought I’d actually want to call a lover sir.
But it felt good, and right, and fun.
I hears his smile as he said, “You may.”
I pressed my whole hand along my wet cleft, feeling
everything from the tingle around my pussy to the powerful ache at my clit,
back and forth, slowly. My breathing got hard and short. I had to keep it down.
If I could hear myself, someone else could as well. I closed my eyes and
buckled. My hand left the mirror as my back arched, encompassing me in heat
from my knees to my waist. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My hips pumped
as pleasure washed over me in impossibly long waves. The phone dropped to the
carpet.
Author Information
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.
Stalk Her
GIVEAWAY
$50 AMAZON Gift Card
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