Bound to Please (15 page)

Made her want to be tied up again.

Made her want to be spanked again.

Made her want to submit again. To him.

Yeah, she wanted those things, but each time she let it happen, she unlocked her heart a little more. Got a bit more vulnerable. Got a bit more scared.

She yanked open the drawer, removed the jasmine vine, and ran upstairs to Meg’s kitchen, where she threw the flowers into the trash can.

Her doorbell rang at seven-thirty that night, and when she answered it she heard Mark’s voice through the staticky call box.

“Let me up, Ruby,” he said. “You managed to avoid me all day, but you can’t run away now.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” But she had been. She’d snuck away from the office, waiting until she was sure he was busy playing music before she rushed past the studio and ran down the steps.

Now, she looked down at her sweatpants, old Ramones T-shirt, and bare feet. She’d just settled onto the sofa with some popcorn and chardonnay, convinced that those things, along with an old James Bond flick, would help her forget about Mark. But now he was here, at her apartment building. And she, of course, looked like shit.

“I don’t care what you look like.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked the box.

“Because you’re a girl. But come on, I’ve seen you naked; I really don’t care if you’re not wearing lipstick.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m busy.”

“Ruby.” His voice held a warning. “Open up.”

Open up. How many times had he asked her to open up: her lips, her legs. Her door.

What would be next?

She had yet to deny him. “Fine. But only for a second. I have to get up early in the morning.” She pushed the button to let him in.

Turning to the mirror above the table by the front door, she quickly pulled her hair out of its messy ponytail and was still smoothing it with her hands when he knocked.

“That was quick,” she said as she opened the door. “You must have sprinted up the two flights of steps.”

But he wasn’t the slightest bit winded. Instead he looked as relaxed as ever in his jeans, T-shirt, and black boots. She smelled the leather of his jacket and suppressed a shudder.

He stepped inside, looked her over. His eyes paused at her throat, on the necklace he’d given her, but he didn’t mention it. She’d taken it off when she’d changed after work, but she’d felt as if something was missing, and she’d put it right back on.

“You’re cute like this,” he said.

She shifted awkwardly. At her age, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable being seen without makeup, and she wondered if she looked old to him.

He touched her cheek. “I mean it. You’re really adorable when you’re all unkempt.”

“You’re just saying that because you think I’ll let you stay here tonight.” But she immediately realized what a ridiculous statement that was. Mark St. Crow didn’t need to lower himself to flattery to sleep with women. Mark St. Crow just needed to
be
, and women dropped like flies around him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping closer. “I won’t stay long.”

“Oh. I mean, good. Because I have an early morning.”

His brown eyes sparkled behind the glasses. His irises were black, reflecting the soft light of her apartment. “So you said,” he replied. “I just wanted to give you something.”

It was then she noticed he was holding a small white box with a red ribbon around it. He handed it to her.

“Another present?”

“Open it.”

She pulled on the ribbon and set it on the table. The lid was next, and inside was white tissue paper. She separated the delicate folds until red lace and satin were revealed. “Underwear?” she said, purposefully using a casual word for what had obviously been a very expensive set of lingerie. She wondered if he gave all his lovers such gifts.

“I want you to wear these tomorrow.”

She took the panties in two fingers and held them up. “I don’t wear G-strings.” Not because she was a prude, but because she hated the way they made her feel, like she was walking around with a wedgie.

“You do now.”

“Mark, come on.” She dropped the red silk back into the box and set it on the table. “I had a great time with you,
both
times, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

She saw the muscles in his neck tense. “Why?” he asked.

“Because.” She blew out a breath. “Because I have to concentrate on work, and you’re too distracting.”
Because I want to fall to my knees right here in the hallway, and that can’t be good.

He leaned down until his lips were a breath from hers. “How ironic.”

“What?” she whispered.

“You inspire my work, and I distract you from yours.”

Her palms were damp as she clutched the table for support. “I inspire you?”

He leaned down to kiss her neck, just under her ear, and her eyes fluttered shut. “Yeah, baby. You inspire me, you turn me on. I don’t know what it is about you…” His words trailed off as he continued to place hot kisses on her skin.

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.

She put a hand to her heart, which had started to ache. Because she knew, all too well, what it was like to be with a man like this. A man obsessed with something greater than life, always searching for meaning through his art. Why did she always fall for these types of men? Writers, photographers, musicians; each one thinking they were so special they needed to contribute to the culture-at-large and, of course, that was much more important than any relationship could ever be.

For once, she didn’t want to be second to the art. She wanted to
be
the art. She wanted to be the center of someone’s universe.

Maybe that’s what she’d been looking for when she’d posed for Ash; maybe she thought that she could be both: the love and the art, all mixed into one bound, naked bundle.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

Yvette looked up and caught her eye. Gone was the glare Ruby had witnessed that first night, but now Ruby saw something else, something worse. Sympathy.

Turning on her heel, Ruby walked out the door, knowing Mark would never even realize she’d been there.

The phone was ringing when she got home that afternoon. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ruby Tuesday. Watcha doing?”

Dropping her bag onto the old Formica dining table, Ruby smiled. “Claire Bear! What’s goin’ on?”

She heard the clinking of dishes in the background. “Not much,” Claire said. “I’m on a break and thought I’d see what’s up with my big sis.”

Ruby and Claire were closer than most sisters. Even when their mom had been around, she’d been distracted with their huge circle of friends, and Ruby had taken on the role of mother from the time Claire was born.

Ruby dropped into a chair. “Pretty good. I miss you.”

“You too.”

“When are you going to give up this acting business and come home?” But Ruby was kidding. More than anything, she just wanted Claire to be happy, even if it meant her thirty-four-year-old sister was a barista at Starbucks while she waited for her career to take off. But Claire was talented. It would happen, Ruby knew it would.

“Well, I do think I’m overdue for some Ruby time. I’m going to come up for a visit,” Claire said.

“Oh, I would love that. When were you thinking?”

“I was thinking toward the end of the month. Would that work?”

Ruby pulled a calendar out of her handbag and flipped it open. “Oh, you have to come after this big event I’m doing, or I’ll be too swamped to spend any quality time with you. Have you heard of the Dark Riders?”

“Um, yeah? The clubs in L.A. play that single all the time.”

Ruby couldn’t help the little smile playing around her lips. Every time she heard something positive about Mark’s band she felt proud of him.

“Well, I’m planning a show and they’re playing. Can you come after that?”

“Sure. So have you met them? That Mark St. Crow is fucking hot.”

“Yeah, he is.” She sighed. “He really fucking is.”

“Ruby Tuesday. You
have
met him. And, if my instinct is correct, you’ve done more than just meet him.”

Her sister knew her too well, could pick up on any little nuance in her voice. That thought wiped the smile off her face; the last thing she wanted was for Claire to know the nature of her relationship with Mark.

Ruby had managed to keep the bondage photographs a secret, and Ruby didn’t want Claire to find out about them. Ever.

“Ruby? Are you gonna spill about this guy or what? My sister’s dating one of the hottest guys around, and she won’t tell her own sister. Very rude.”

Ruby focused on a peeling piece of floral wallpaper. It was vintage, and she hated the thought of having it replaced. Everything in this building was original, which was why she loved the place so much. The history made it feel solid, grounded. All the things she’d never had growing up.

With her fingertip, she traced an abstract pattern on the gold-speckled tabletop. “Mark is nice, and if he was older, not a musician, lived in my time zone, and wasn’t surrounded by beautiful women all the time, I might consider dating him.”

“Oh, Ruby. First of all, you’re gorgeous. And the beautiful people thing? Trust me. That gets real old real quick.”

Ruby shrugged. “Maybe. Regardless, even if I did have a crush on him, it wouldn’t matter. It would never work.”