He took one of her hands and pressed something into her palm. The panties. He closed her fist around the luxurious silk. “Tomorrow. Wear them.” And then he kissed her one last time on the lips, pulled away, and walked out the door.
* * *
“I need Savor,” Meg announced. She’d been gluing little flowers onto translucent wire all morning in preparation for the Spring Fling. “If I glue one more flower I think I’m gonna hurl.”
“I’m sure the fact that you can barely see isn’t helping. When are you going to get glasses, anyway?”
“Never.”
“Fine. I gotta pee and then we can go.” Ruby was walking down the hall when suddenly she was yanked into the storage closet.
Mark sat them both on an old bench, and she barely caught a glimpse of him before he grabbed her and bent her over his lap. She squirmed, trying to free herself, but he was stronger and held her down.
“Mark,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Checking to see if you obeyed.” He lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her ass. Then, pulling her boyshorts down, exposing her naked flesh, he shook his head. “You naughty girl.” He raised his hand, flat, palm down.
“Didn’t I say we shouldn’t see each other anymore?” She ground out.
Smack smack smack. He spanked the fleshy part of her butt, fast and hard, and all she could do was gasp each time his hand met her ass.
“Do I look like a quitter?” Smack smack smack smack. Each time his palm hit, blood rushed through her body, the pain turning instantly into pleasure.
He stopped and she squirmed on his lap, her pussy going damp. Smack smack smack. She pushed up a bit, lifting her ass, wanting him to continue. But he didn’t.
“Don’t become a quitter now!” she said.
But he pulled her underwear back up and set her on her feet. With a triumphant gleam in his eye, he kissed her quickly, opened the door, and left her there, staring after him.
The rest of the day she couldn’t get the experience out of her head; not when she and Meg discussed the Spring Fling over lunch at Savor, not when she created the catering order for the event, not when she rode the bus home.
And later that night, she stood in front of her full-length mirror, her dress hiked up around her waist, gazing at her ass. Her right cheek was bright red, redder than it had been after the first time with him, after the hairbrush. She looked at her face and realized she was biting back a small, secretive smile.
The next day, Ruby wore the bra and panties.
Drinking coffee, working at her computer, digging through the prop room; she was constantly fighting the urge to pick the G-string out of her ass.
Despite her discomfort, carrying out his order turned her on. The feel of the silky thong between her ass cheeks was a constant reminder of what had happened when she disobeyed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d pulled her into the closet and disciplined her. That morning she’d found excuses to walk up and down the hallway about ten times, hoping for a repeat, but as far as she knew, Mark hadn’t left the studio the entire morning.
The band worked hard, long hours, and Ruby listened to the muffled rhythm of the music they were creating. Mark called himself a pianist, but he was obviously so much more. From her office, she listened to the bizarre instruments and electronic sounds coming from the studio. One day she watched as he took a mattress and a microphone into the bathroom and shut the door. When she asked him what he was doing, he distractedly told her it was the only way to get the distinct sound he wanted.
No, he wasn’t just a pianist. He composed the songs, and each note she heard in his music seeped into her somehow; a constant reminder of who he was. And of who he was about to become.
The next big thing.
Pushing herself up from her desk, she went to the studio. Emmett sat at the editing bay, and when she entered he glanced over his shoulder and nodded a hello. Mark, Yvette, and Jake were on the other side of the glass, creating music. New, unique music like she’d never heard before. The three worked together in sync, oblivious to anything except their instruments and one another.
Mark perched on a stool, surrounded by a large keyboard with an older, smaller keyboard on top of that. A battered guitar case was propped next to him, and at his feet were various pedals that he tapped as he played. But it was so much more than simple electronic piano music coming from that machine. Old recordings, random beats, unfamiliar instruments; he seemed to have it all at his fingertips, and the result was totally exceptional, fresh and innovative.
He didn’t look up from his composition. He had no idea she was there, watching him. Listening.