This one was all about the feels. Oh so many bone deep feels. The previous book, Sing, ripped my heart out and then tap danced all over it. While it might have been put back in place by the end, like these two beautiful characters it wasn't fully healed. So for me, Coda was not only about Jonathan and Monica healing, but me as well. And it was not an easy process. Sure there is some beautifully punishing Jonathan sex involved, but like I said... the feels.
I cried. A lot. Again. There is more pain, there are huge fears to overcome, but despite the hurt it was a wonderful journey. Sad doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about the series being officially over. No one has captured me like these characters have and I don't think anyone else ever will.
|"I'm still me. Do everything. Don't make me beg. Or make me beg. Whichever. Just make me."|
|"I own you. Like the sky owns the stars. You are mine."|
**I received an ARC in exchange for my honest review. All thoughts and opinions are my own.
|“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.
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.”
Author: C.D. Reiss
Series: Songs of Submission #9
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotica, BDSM
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.
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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