by Lilli Feisty
He had no idea why he was so attached to Ruby after such a short time, but he wasn’t fighting it. In fact, his feelings had been inspiring him to create new material, which was what he’d been trying to do when Yvette had interrupted him.
Finally she gave him a grin. “God, that was so cliché. I can’t believe we’re arguing about girls and alcohol.”
Mark decided to let it go. “Yeah.” He ran a hand over his scalp. “Listen. I know you want this record to be perfect, and trust me, so do I. But stop stressing. We have thirteen new songs, and Emmett really seems to get us, our style. I don’t know about you, but I’m excited to get started.”
“So am I. But let’s just remember the real reason we’re going to San Francisco and not be distracted by sweet pussy.”
She must have seen the murder in his face because she backed down. “Hey. I’ve said my piece.”
“Yeah. You have. Now drop it.”
She did, taking her seat on the bed. Soon the tinny melody of her unplugged electric guitar filled the room. Mark returned to his notebook, letting her rhythmic tune lull him back into creative mode. He wanted to finish this song and hopefully get it on the record. But he wondered how Yvette would react when she heard the title. He traced the words over and over until they formed thick block letters.
RUBY MINE.
* * *
“So… are you looking for anything in particular at the sex store?”
It was Saturday and, at Meg’s request, they were in a taxi headed toward Bindings, San Francisco’s biggest sex shop. Meg shrugged. “Not sure. I just know I need something.”
Ruby caught her friend’s wistful look. “Hey, is everything okay?”
Meg seemed to be considering the question. She finally said, “I know you think Emmett and I have the perfect relationship. And in some ways that’s true. But…”
“Meg. What’s going on?”
“I think he’s having an affair,” she said in a blank voice.
Ruby’s heart stopped. “No! He would never do that to you.”
“Really?” She just raised a brow. “Because he doesn’t seem to want to have sex with me… and I’ve discovered things on his computer. Not just porn, but strange porn.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s cheating, Meg.”
“We used to have sex all the time.” The taxi driver coughed and Meg lowered her voice. “I mean all the time. We were freakin’ bunnies. But these past six months it’s dwindled to nothing. And he comes home late, and he seems so distant. And he’s mingling with a new crowd. People who are used to a different, faster lifestyle. And they’re all so young.” Meg’s eyes looked watery. “The whole thing scares me.”
Ruby could barely process that her friend’s marriage was in trouble. In fact, for the past year she’d been waiting for Meg’s announcement that she was pregnant, but it never came.
“Have you tried talking to him?” Ruby asked.
“Sure, but he just clams up.”
“So you think going to the sex shop is gonna help?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. But maybe he needs something I haven’t been giving him. Maybe I can get some ideas. I don’t know. It was either this or Botox. And you know how much I hate needles.”
“Oh, honey.” Ruby gave her friend a hug. “I’m sure it’s nothing. But if you want to do this, I’ll do what I can to help.”
Meg returned the hug and chuckled. “Well, at the very least I can have fun trying to save my marriage.”
“Is this it?” Meg sounded apprehensive.
Ruby eyed their reflection in the one-way mirrored door. “Yup.” The word Bindings was painted directly on the building, but otherwise there was no indication that there was actually a sex shop inside.
“Hey,” Ruby said, opening the door. “You’re the one who wanted to go sex-toy shopping.”
Meg followed her inside. “And you’re the one who knew exactly where to take me.”
“That’s because I came here with Ash to buy props for his photo shoots. I wasn’t here for anything fun.” Like… leather paddles, for example.
Meg just shook her head and gazed around the store. The front area was dedicated to kinky apparel: leather pants, silk corsets, and an entire row of cruel-looking shoes that were clearly meant for entertainment purposes only.
Meg walked toward a black latex dress and fingered the fabric. “So,” she said. “Here we are.”
“Uh-huh.” Ruby paused a minute, breathing. The scent of leather assaulted her, reminding her of belts and boots and cuffs. Of Mark. She took a deep breath. “Here we are.”
“Can I help you, ladies?” They turned to find a tall, burly man approaching. He wore a leather cap, heavy-looking leather chaps over jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather vest. He sported a graying handlebar mustache over a friendly smile.
Meg stepped forward. “Hi. I’m new to all this kinky stuff. Can you tell me where I would find some tools for spanking and the like?”
Totally unfazed with her candidness, he motioned for them to follow him into the back room. It was about three times as large as the front space and was filled with instruments and garb, all meant for exquisite torture of a willing sub. And helpful tools for a firm dom. Ruby’s entire body seemed to become erotically charged just from being there.
And there was that back wall. The one she’d seen when she’d been here with Ash. The wall with the rows and rows of leather tools. Just looking at the display made her heart race, and she approached the collection like a moth drawn to a flame.
The man in chaps stopped in front of the display. “So. Are you two ladies looking for floggers? Canes? Paddles?”
Eyes wide, Meg pulled down a ten-inch leather paddle. Made of black leather, the handle was round and had eight holes dotting the wide end.
“Oh, that’s a nice one,” said the salesman. “Black latigo leather. Firm but flexible. Speaking from personal experience, I can tell you it delivers quite a nice whap, thanks to the holes.”
Meg’s eyes glittered. “Really?”
“Yup. Here, see for yourself.” He turned and stuck his bum out a bit. Pointing at the fleshiest part of his ass, just inside the edge of the chaps, he said, “Go on. Give it a tap.”
“Are you sure?” Meg’s voice was high-pitched and excited.
“Just remember to keep away from the tailbone.”
“Okay.” She brought her hand back and gave the man a light pat on his rear.
“Good job. Now do it harder.”
Meg studied her target as an archer would a bull’s-eye. Then she pulled her hand back and efficiently brought the paddle down on the man’s ass. The leather hit his jeans with a loud whapping sound, as promised.
“Good job,” the man said. “Now really put some oomph into it.”
She did, swinging her arm in a precise arc that ended with a very loud thud.
Smiling, the man straightened. “You’re a natural.”
Meg beamed. “Really?”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll take it.”
The man turned to Ruby. “And you, sweetheart? What can I help you find this fine afternoon?”
“Oh. Um. I’m j-just looking.” But her heart was racing and her skin was on fire. Just being surrounded by all this leather put her on edge, had her libido all fired up.
“Let me show you something.” Why don’t you just see how this feels.” Reaching up, he plucked a small black flogger off the wall. “Yeah, this one is real nice.” He winked. “Also, you can put it in your purse. It’s quite portable.”
About eight inches long in total, the handle was wrapped with a leather ribbon, and the flogger had six raw-leather strands and six feather-covered ones.
He took her hand and held it palm up. She watched as he drew the straps slowly, lightly, across her open hand. It felt even more sensual than she had imagined, and as the man continued to wisp the tails across her skin, shivers raced up and down her spine.
“You like
this one.”
She nodded; her mouth was too dry to speak.
He released her and held out his arm, forearm up. “But it has a nice little sting, too.” Slap. With an expert flick of his wrist he snapped the flogger against his own skin. He did this three more times in quick succession and then stopped. They all watched as a pink welt appeared on his arm.
Ruby smiled. “Wrap it up. I’ll take it.”
Chapter
Nine
Mark had been calling and texting her every day, and then on Saturday, nothing. Now it was Sunday, and Ruby went about her morning as she always did. Woke up early. Took a long jog through Golden Gate Park. Stopped at the grocery store for her weekly provisions.
Her sudden craving for Ben & Jerry’s had absolutely nothing to do with Mark. Definitely not. She had no idea why she’d thrown the carton into her basket as she’d zipped down the frozen-foods aisle. At least she’d been able to resist the chocolate ice cream and had gone straight for the vanilla. If she bought the chocolate, she’d eate the entire pint. Best to stay away all together.
She wasn’t disappointed he hadn’t called her. The marks on her ass had faded now, and she was thinking it would be best to avoid any more of the BDSM stuff. It was like chocolate: She needed of all it or nothing. And yeah, so far, the all thing hadn’t worked out so well. There was just something too intense, too vulnerable about it. Falling for a guy like Mark would be so much more powerful than falling for a vanilla guy. Therefore, when Mark left—and his type always did—it would be extra painful.
She was home now, staring out the bay window. But she suddenly needed something, and the ice cream was calling her name. In the kitchen, she yanked the freezer door open and pulled out the carton. Leaning back against her kitchen counter, she spooned in a heaping mouthful.
With a start, she looked at the spoon. She never ate ice cream out of the carton. What had gotten into her?
Her kitchen phone rang, making her jump. Along with the cherry-print wallpaper and green Formica countertops, the phone was vintage, and when it rang it was louder than a fire truck’s siren.
“Hello?” she said, for some reason uneasy.
“Ruby, it’s Mark.”
The spoon clattered to the floor. “Mark?”
“Yeah. Remember me?”
“Barely,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “How did you get my home number?”
“I have my ways.”
“Hmm.”
“Right. So, listen. I was thinking we could take a drive this afternoon.”
“When did you get back to San Francisco?”
“Today.”
“I see.” He hadn’t mentioned exactly when he was returning in any of their conversations.
“Are you busy?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Very busy.” Eating ice cream out of a carton.
“I heard there’s a great spot just north of here, right on the water. Let me take you to dinner.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
She really shouldn’t, but he hadn’t agreed to the Spring Fling yet, and this might be the perfect opportunity to nail him down.
And if her heart was racing just at the thought of seeing him again, that was her heart’s problem. “Fine,” she said. “Okay.”
“Great. Pick you up in thirty minutes?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, Ruby?”
“What?” she asked, his tone making her more alert.
“Wear a dress and don’t wear any underwear.”
“Mark!”
But he’d already hung up.
Ruby was waiting on the curb when the red Ferrari turned the corner and purred up her street. When it stopped in front of her, she had to pick her jaw up off the ground. Leaning down to look through the passenger-side window, she found Mark grinning at her.
“I see you’re not going crazy with your newfound wealth.”
He shrugged. “Company loaner. I guess they were out of Pintos. Hop in.”
She opened the door and slid into the luxurious leather seat. She took in the chrome dials, sleek design, total opulence. The engine hummed quietly beneath her, a mix of restrained power, youthfulness, and extreme indulgence. Kind of like the man driving it.
“I take it you’ve never been in one of these before?”
She clutched her bag tightly on her lap. “In fact, I have.”
Putting the car in gear, he smoothly accelerated. “Yeah?”
“My father was a mechanic. For a while he worked for a very wealthy man, maintaining his fleet of luxury vehicles and boats.”
They pulled onto Nineteenth Street and continued south. She hated talking about her parents, so she changed the subject before that particular conversation continued.
“Tell me about the record you’re about to make.” She truly was curious. She’d downloaded the band’s previous two albums from iTunes and had been impressed by their modern, cross-genre sound. She could see why they were so popular; they could potentially be played on nearly any major radio station.
“What can I say? It’s gonna be a kick-ass record. Like bluesy, and scratchy with a bit of hip-hop and Tom Waits thrown in.”
“I love Tom Waits.”
He glanced at her, an eyebrow cocked. “Really?”
“Why are you so surprised?”
He shrugged. “Because his music is so chaotic, so uncontrolled.” He gave her a quick glance. “So unlike you. But then you like jazz, too. And that’s a very spontaneous type of music.” He eyed her vintage fifties yellow dress with a raised brow, and she wished she’d left the top button undone. As if her primly buttoned dress proved his point, he grinned and faced forward.
She bristled. “I’m not the controlled priss you seem to think I am.”
He gave her a bone-melting grin. “Oh, baby. I know you’re not. I knew that last weekend when you had me between your legs. I still have scratches on my shoulders from your nails.”
Her cheeks burned as she reached over to turn up the air-conditioning.
“You hot, baby?”
“I’m not your baby. Or anything else.”
“But you did wear a dress for me.”
“It wasn’t for you. I always wear dresses.” She left out the fact that she never wore dresses on Sundays.
“And what about the panties? I hope you followed that direction as well.”
God, for such an expensive car, the air-conditioning really needed some help.
“Ruby?”
“Of course I’m wearing my underwear!” She didn’t mention that she’d been tempted to follow his orders, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She tugged the hem of her dress lower.
He shook his head in that way of his—the way that let her know she was in trouble.
She needed to change the subject again, and now that she finally had him cornered, she wanted a definite answer about James Cleaver’s event. “So, Mark, I was wondering if we could discuss the Spring Fling—that’s what we’re calling it, by the way.”
“Shoot.”
She turned to face him, watched his long legs as he shifted into a higher gear, pulling them onto Highway 1. She swallowed; why did just watching the way he controlled the car heighten her awareness like this?
She said, “Can I get a confirmation from you?” She really needed him to say yes. James had sent her the guest list, and it included some very impressive potential clients. She needed to wow them.
“What’s the company again?” Mark asked.
“Boxware. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”
“Um, yeah. I’m young and a musician, but I’m not stupid.”
She felt her face flush, but this time from embarrassment. “Sorry. Anyway, the founder is a guy named James Cleaver. He’s young, hip, and very into keeping his employees happy. He’s a wonderful man.”
“Is that so.”
She nodded. “So are you interested?”
“Possibly.�
��
“Great. Right. Talk to the band. Get back to me.” She tried not to sound overly eager.
“Actually, I think I can speak for the band and agree—”
“Wonderful!”
“Under one condition.”
“What?” she asked skeptically.
“You take off your panties.”
She gasped. “I’m not going to take off my underwear for a job!” She knew she should be outraged. He was, after all, using sex to get his way. But instead she felt a buzz of excitement shoot through her.
“Oh no?”
“No.” She hoped she sounded convincing.
He shrugged. “Up to you.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared straight ahead. She needed to convince Mark to play at the Spring Fling, but was he really going to agree only if she obeyed him? And if she did obey him, what did that make her?
Instead, she focused on the coastline whizzing past the window. The two-lane road hugged a cliff, at the bottom of which the Pacific Ocean crashed against rocks and sandy beaches. The sun was just starting to set, lighting up the ocean in an orange-and-yellow blaze.
They passed a marina, and she couldn’t help it—her gaze darted among the sailboats, searching for forty-foot craft with the word Ruby painted on the bow with big, scrolling letters. But of course, there was no boat. Twenty years had passed since she’d waved good-bye to her father as he’d sailed for the South Pacific. Problem was, Hawaii hadn’t been enough. He’d kept going. And Ruby had kept waiting.
“You’re a jerk.”
Mark slanted a glance her way. “Pardon me?”
“Using sex as an advantage over me. It’s disrespectful and unfair.”
He slanted a grin at her that made her stomach do a flip. “You seem to have a strange attachment to your underwear.”
“I do not!”
“First during the show, now tonight. What do you think will happen if you go without underwear for a few hours, anyway?”
“That’s not the point!”
“Just seems like a funny thing to get all uppity over. You know damn well your panties are coming off at some point tonight. Why not now? Then we both get what we want.”