by Heather Long
“Yes…”
“Calling me mean isn’t what a good girl would do.”
I licked my lips, anticipation trembling in every muscle. “No?”
“No.” He bit me again, only it was all scrape of teeth in sharp relief before he sucked another hickey that would definitely be on prominent display.
I almost couldn’t wait to show it off.
I swore he melted my brain.
And my panties.
“Not good at all, Angel. So I’m going to let you off with a warning this time, but if you keep being bad, then I’ll punish you.”
Fuck. Another shudder chased up my spine, and he laughed softly.
“Um…” I licked at my lips, my mouth suddenly dry and my heart beginning to hammer again. “What if I don’t want to be good?”
“Do you want me to punish you?” Intrigue filled his voice, and I grinned. If he was going to tease me, it was only fair that I tease him, right?
“Maybe.”
He straightened but didn’t let go of my hair, and I kept my hands on the wall where he’d put them. Even half-expecting it, the slap to my ass still took me up to my toes. It didn’t hurt. Not really.
If anything, it sent a tremor through my system and amped up my need. It would only have been better if the denim and my panties weren’t in my way.
Another smack, and I was clenching on emptiness as a soft, longer groan fell past my lips.
“Still want to be bad, Angel?” Amusement and something far headier darkened his tone, and I sighed at having gotten that response.
“Not feeling at all deterred,” I managed to form those words, but I barely got them out before he delivered a series of stinging swats that had my ass burning and my clit grinding against the seam of my pants. I swore I saw stars with every well-timed strike.
I was a trembling mess when he pulled me back against him. “Head against my shoulder, Angel.” Then he had my jeans open and his fingers curling inside to cup my pussy. He dipped two fingers in for me to clench on and then ground the heel of his hand against my already, aching and swollen clit.
It took almost nothing before I splintered. I was a shaking, shuddering mess by the time he lifted his damp fingers to his lips to clean them one at a time. He studied me with heavy-lidded eyes, and I smiled up at him.
“I’ll be good now,” I promised. “If you want.”
He chuckled. “You’re a brat.”
“Sometimes,” I agreed. Who knew it could be so much damn fun?
Cupping my neck, he let me turn and then kissed me with a kind of savage possession that threatened to turn me into a wild and needy mess all over again. With a groan, he pulled away and then pointed me to my guitar.
“We’re working and then we’re recording. After that, I’m going to tie you to that bench and fuck you until neither of us can walk. Understood?”
My breath left me in a whoosh. “Promise?”
“Yes, Angel,” he told me, his eyes all heat. “I promise. But music first.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, and I swore his eyes flashed and I grinned wider. I could be good.
’Cause then I got to be bad.
Win. Win.
Even if I had to sing for my pleasure.
An hour later, I had the guitar braced against my knee as Ian wrote out musical notes on sheet music. There was just something magical about watching him sketch out the notes at speed like I would a sentence or Archie would a diagram. It made me want to crawl inside and see the music through his eyes.
I couldn’t read music, not really. He’d been teaching me, but I could probably write the names of the notes out in French and process it easier. As it was, he kept me to simple chords. He played most of it, and then I strummed a light accompaniment.
I’d already earned five swats when I told him he’d be better off just doing all the music himself. My body tingled in anticipation, and he’d given me a wink as he walked me through the chords again. I could do it though, I could play the two-chord exchange like a champ.
The fact that he also had one of the picks with my face on it just made me smile. He stared at the page a minute, then put the pen between his teeth before he strummed out the opening lines and I followed along, counting the measures before I added my two-chords. He shot me another grin around the pen before he pushed on.
Four more refrains, and then he paused to write out more notes. “Okay, I think I have it. We’re going to drop a key here, go low when we sing, and then I want you to climb up a half-octave for each line that follows.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Walk me through each half-octave so I’m doing it exactly how you want me to.” His swift smile flushed me with pleasure. I didn’t argue about being the one to sing anymore. I just didn’t know how good this was going to sound. I really didn’t want to be the reason he didn’t get this contract. He was too good to be held back.
Of course, I wasn’t going to say that aloud again. The look on his face the last time had less to do with the shiver inducing spankings that led to orgasm and more to do with real disappointment. So, no, we’d do this his way.
Believing in him meant I had to believe in his faith in me, even if I didn’t quite share it. Yes, the thought was convoluted, but it made perfect sense to me.
He set aside his guitar, then took mine, and when he set my hand on his chest, I grinned wider. I loved this part, using his heartbeat for a metronome, and he could tap his fingers against my hand lightly when he wanted me to go up a note.
“Remember the scales we’ve been doing?”
I nodded and exhaled.
“Start in the first note, then work your way up the arpeggio. We’re going to do major and minor chords. I’ll tell you which ones I want to use for each, okay?”
“Yep.”
He cupped my face. “Thank you.”
I blinked. “For what?”
“You’re not fighting this anymore.”
My lips turned down a fraction, I couldn’t help it. “I’m still worried this is going to mess things up for you.” I held up my free hand before he could scold me. “But I believe you when you say you like how it sounds. So, I’m doing this for you.”
That earned me a gentle, breathtaking kiss, and my heart bumped my ribs as he sucked on my tongue with so much care, it sent a riot through my system and made my eyes sting with tears. “That’s why I’m thanking you, Angel.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I worked to get my breathing under control. You couldn’t sing if you couldn’t breathe. That had been lesson number one. For the next twenty minutes, we ran through the scales, singing them together, then climbing each arpeggio until he decided on which ones he wanted me in, and which one he would sing.
Every time our voices meshed though, I had to admit I got a thrill. It was like his sexy tones drifted right beneath mine and then buoyed it higher. I didn’t think I could feel it more if he were lifting me up physically to extend my note above his.
Finally, we were back to the guitars, and we ran through it. The first couple of times we stumbled—more me than him—though he did stop us once and make an adjustment. On the third run through, we sang it clean, and I swore I wanted to cry.
The song had seemed full of fun and verve, but every time he had me go higher, while he dipped into a minor key, it added this haunting element. Like we had all this joy, but life constantly threatened to steal it away from us. Maybe it was the journey, the song seemed to have so many different layers of meaning.
But as the last note trembled in the air, we stared at each other and I wanted to cry all over again.
We sounded perfect.
How the hell was that me singing?
Cupping my chin, he gave me another nibbling kiss, then murmured, “We’re going to record it now, promise not to freak out on me?”
“Promise to spank me if I do?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve created a monster.”
I burst out laughing. “Maybe.”
“Hmm.”
But he didn’t look remotely displeased at the notion.
While he got the recording equipment set up and queued to where he wanted everything, I stretched my legs. I’d ditched my shoes during our first half hour here. It seemed weird to make myself at home, but since I’d had an orgasm not ten minutes after we got in here, I figured it was fine for me to just be in my socks.
Ian motioned to the water in his bag, and I pulled out a couple of water bottles. “Hydrate,” he teased.
“I hope so,” I told him over my shoulder in what I hoped was at least a bit sexy and teasing. If the way his gaze stroked over me was any indication, it was close enough. Still, I kept eyeing that piano bench and tried to figure out exactly how he planned to tie me to it.
Fifteen minutes later, we were on another attempt to record the song, following a couple of minor tweaks. I thought we sounded amazing and that was saying something, but Ian pushed for more.
I fully intended to give him whatever he wanted, so I followed his directions. This time though, there was just a moment when everything seemed to click and to flow. I forgot that I was playing any of the chords, even as my fingers hit them at exactly the right times.
The twisting of the notes acted like a tease, hopeful and melancholy all at once, until we came together at the end and then it was just filled with life. A tear slipped out of my eye as the last note fell away, and then Ian let out a whoop.
“Yes!”
I sniffed as he did a fist pump and then dragged me to him for a rough and sweet kiss.
“Perfect, Angel. Absolutely perfect.”
“It’s all you,” I laughed in between nipping bites. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he reminded me with another fierce kiss, and then he shut off the recording and started packing up the guitars. My heart was full, and my mind a little dazed. A minute later, the song filtered over the speakers, and I stared over at him as he closed the case.
That was us.
Singing together.
He grinned.
“See? What did I tell you?”
I pressed a finger to my lips in a shushing motion. It was one thing to sit there and sing it with him. It was something else altogether to hear how we sounded. Was that even us? The real depth of emotion in Ian’s voice always blew me away, but each time I joined in or took over for a line or two on my own, it was like listening to a stranger.
Who was the girl who sounded like that?
How the hell was she me?
When the song wound to the end, Ian caught my hands and pulled me to my feet. “You,” he said, “are amazing.”
“It just—it’s good, right?” I almost wanted to believe it.
“It’s better than good, Angel. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I was going for, and that’s going to be in the first three tracks I send them.”
I blinked. “You have two already done?”
At his sly smile, I groaned. “You recorded our other practice sessions.”
“Yep,” he said, very pleased with himself. “I needed you to believe in yourself, and until then, I was happy to do it for both of us. Want to hear them?”
I was torn between outrage and delight. Embarrassment and pleasure. The level of caring was enough to make me want to cry. “Yes!” I admitted, then he pulled me over to the sound board, and I settled on his thigh as he queued up the songs.
And sure enough, there we were, singing some ridiculous and playful version of one of my favorite Torched songs. It took this moving melody about a lost girl and turned it into a romp about a girl who wanted to be lost, even as he kept trying to corral me back.
Me. Not just some girl.
It was about me. And it was about Ian.
Each of the songs we’d done had some element of an emotional connection. Head tucked against his shoulder, I tried to listen as uncritically as possible, and still, I couldn’t stop the warmth stealing through me. Ian did all this because he loved me.
He loved me, and he loved sharing his music with me.
I wanted to kind of just stay right here in this moment forever. The guys kept doing things like this. Little stealth ambushes full of affection and caring. I didn’t think I could love them more, and they kept proving me wrong.
After we listened to all three, I traced a pattern against his arm and studied the way the muscles flexed as he turned it off.
“Well?” he asked after a really long moment as I tried to find the words to tell him what it all meant.
“I love you,” was the best I could do, and I lifted my gaze to his. “It’s…beautiful. You make me sound so beautiful, and you’ve always sounded amazing. I’m going to be your number one fan. Just FYI, and when girls start sending you their panties, I’m going to burn them.”
He burst out laughing and wrapped me up in a tight hug. “Deal. The only panties I want belong to you anyway.”
I grinned.
“I’m serious though, you are going to have panties and bras flying at you.”
“Don’t care,” he murmured against my hair. “No one has ever compared to you.”
Another flush of warmth went through me, and we just sat there, cuddling. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” he murmured. “You know that.”
“Yeah, but this is a weird question.”
“Ask me anything you want, Angel. For you? I’m an open book.”
Chewing my lower lip, I asked, “The tying up and the restraining?”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you know you’d like that?” I stole a look at him. I refused to ask him about his ex. She wasn’t welcome in this conversation in any way, shape, or form. But how had he figured this out?
“Imagination,” he began slowly, as though he were really giving weight to my question and searching for the real answer. “Fantasies. I read about some of it. Saw some videos. Wanted…wanted it bad. And it was always you I wanted it with.”
Surprise flickered through me, and when I looked up, I found him staring at me steadily.
“I took a class over the summer.”
A class?
He grinned at my expression, which probably looked like I was strangling back every question I had. “They have classes?” What hill had I been living under? Rachel would laugh her ass off at me. Fuck, I was not talking about this with Rachel. Still…
“Yes, Angel. There are places where you can explore kink, safely, with other people who know what they are doing. It was more a demo than anything else. But what I saw I loved, and I wanted to do more.” Trailing a finger down my cheek, he said, “And I’ve never done it with anyone, not like I did with you.”
“I didn’t ask…” I began, but he shook his head.
“You wouldn’t ask, but I know you have to wonder. I made some mistakes with my choices, but I didn’t mess that one up. This…this is for you and me, as long as you’re still interested.”
“That’s—yes,” I promised without hesitation. “I’m more than interested. Every time you mention spanking me, I get all turned on, and when you restrain me, all I want is more.” The words spilled out of me in a rush. I didn’t want him to think it bothered me at all. On the contrary… “I just…I need to do some reading.”
“Or,” he said slowly. “We could go to a demo…”
The word yes burned on my tongue, and at the same time… “What exactly do they do at these demos?”
“There’s no overt sex,” he promised. “But from what I saw last time, even with her clothes on, the woman was having the time of her life and she was so blissed out.”
Okay then.
A shiver bounced through me, and I glanced at the piano bench and back to Ian. “I think you owe me five swats.”
He grinned. “I do…but you were such a good girl, and good girls get rewarded.”
Yay.
“Here?”
“Hmm-hmm. Unless you can wait until we ge
t back to the apartment.”
The guys were at the apartment, and I wasn’t quite sure what they’d have to say about all of this and I wasn’t ready to share it yet.
“Where do you want me?” It was the right question.
Ten minutes later, I was definitely secured to a piano bench, and the combination of cool wood against my back and hot Ian between my legs had me on the edge of losing my mind. The T-shirts made for loose ties, but I didn’t strain against them.
As he sank into me, fingers biting into my hips, I couldn’t look away from him except when my eyes rolled back in my head. “This is why I don’t want to share,” he whispered to me as he pistoned away. “This right here is all mine.”
“Yours,” I agreed.
And I got it.
He was mine, too.
We were at the studio really late.
Before we left though, I agreed to the class. It intrigued and terrified me, but I wanted to know more because I liked this. I also had no panties when we got back after I threw him my pair, because the only ones he wanted were mine.
Chapter Seven
Rabbit Holes
Rachel eyed us from the driver’s seat of her blue Honda Civic. “You realize he’s packing the wrong equipment for a girls’ day, right?”
I grinned. “Yes, but he begged to come along and I couldn’t say no to this face.” Coop snorted at the description, even as Rachel rolled her eyes.
“I can tell him ‘no,’ no problem,” she retorted. “No, this is Frankie and me time. Not Frankie’s boy toy and me time. See? Easy.”
“Good,” Coop drawled, utterly unperturbed. “’Cause it’s also Frankie and me time, but she said you’d asked her to go shopping and I’m always willing to tagalong on a girls’ shopping date.”
Nose wrinkling, Rachel stared at me.
“One,” I told her, holding up a finger. “I thought he had to work and he didn’t. I also don’t want to disinvite him.” Then I stuck up a second finger. “Two, I thought he could give us a different perspective.”
“You mean a perspective with a penis,” Rachel mused, and the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly as she cut another look at Coop. “Do you know where we’re going?”