Authors: Lilli Feisty
He stared into his mug, swishing the coffee around. “He was never physically abusive or anything. He’d just come home pissed. If my mom didn’t have dinner on the table, he’d be pissed. If I was playing rock instead of jazz, he’d be pissed. He was pretty much just pissed all the time. So, one day he came home and Mom had packed up his shit.”
“Wow. Mark, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. Dad went to counseling with her, moved back in. And then a few years later it happened again. And he came back again. It kind of became this five-year pattern.”
“Your mom must be very tolerant.”
He stared into the depths of his mug. “She is. But I know she feels guilty for making my dad quit his music to get a real job. Anyway, no marriage is perfect, that’s for sure.”
Ruby thought of all the “perfect” marriages she knew, and wondered if there actually was such a thing. Her benchmark couple, Meg and Emmett, seemed to be having issues. And Mark’s textbook family was anything but her ideal family. But they were all still together. Hell, even her own fucked-up parents were still together.
“I always wanted the perfect marriage,” she murmured.
He grinned. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Shut up,” she said jokingly. “I’m just now beginning to see there may be no such thing.” She drained her coffee and set her empty mug on the table.
“I know some lifestylers, total master/slave people. They live that way twenty-four seven. To most outsiders, these people would seem like complete freaks. But guess what? They are some of the happiest people I know.”
She scoffed. “Are you saying only BDSM people are truly happy?”
“Not at all. I’m saying people who are true to themselves have a better chance.”
“Does that mean if someone outed you as a dom, you’d roll with it? Let the tabloids have a field day?”
He shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret. I don’t have any problem with those people who want to keep it in the closet, but I don’t put any of my own energy into doing so. It’s who I am.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so happy about people finding out about what I do with you, I’ll tell you that.” The thought of Claire knowing what her sister did behind closed doors made Ruby cringe.
“Because you haven’t accepted who you are yet. When you do that, you can make the right choice.”
“This,” she said, waving at the box in the corner, “is not who I am.”
“Right. Because the perfect woman would never want to be tied up, spanked, paddled.”
“Stop it.”
“Flogged, bound, whipped.” He put his coffee cup down.
“Mark…” She squirmed, the seat suddenly uncomfortable beneath her ass.
“Restrained.”
She slapped her hands flat on the Formica. “I don’t think that.”
He leaned over the table, his elbows sliding sideways as he came forward. “Tell me something, baby. When was the last time you actually felt perfect?”
Her skin burned hot with nerves. She knew the answer; it slammed into her with the force newfound truth always does, like a bag of rocks. Heavy and bruising.
The only time she’d even glimpsed that feeling of perfection was during her times with Mark. When she gave him her power, when they exchanged that energy. And it wasn’t perfection, necessarily, but fulfillment. Satisfaction. Completion. So many emotions, all rolled up into one.
She wondered if June Cleaver was secretly a domme behind closed doors. Maybe that explained why she was always so fucking happy.
The tinny strumming guitar music woke her. She glanced at the clock; it was past two in the morning and Mark wasn’t sleeping next to her. Pushing the covers aside, she got out of bed.
She’d fallen asleep naked in his arms, and she grabbed a silk robe off a hook as she walked into the hallway. She followed the low hum of not just the guitar, but also a melodic voice. Mark’s voice. He had a deep, husky tone that sent shivers straight up her spine.
She found him on the sofa, playing the old guitar her dad had left behind. He wore flannel pajama bottoms and glasses. The muscles in his long, strong arms flexed as he changed chords and strummed.
Mark must have tuned up the guitar. The thing had been sitting around, unused, for twenty years. But Ruby had never been able to get rid of the old instrument. Even now, the pads of her fingers tingled as she remembered the hours she’d spent strumming the wiry strings, trying to coax out a melody.
Pausing just outside the living room, she leaned against the wall of the hallway and watched him. He was obviously working on a song, and she loved this insight into his creative process. So different from the way she worked: researching, planning, organizing. Every detail meticulously arranged.
But this. Just like the man himself, his process was spontaneous, organic. He’d brush his fingertips over the strings for a few notes, then reach over the guitar to scribble something on the pad of paper on her coffee table. She recognized the paper as scrap from her office, and she was, for some reason, glad that he’d helped himself. She wanted him to know he was welcome to any of her possessions. Her paper, her food. Her heart.
At that realization, pure panic rushed through her, and she put a hand to her chest, which had begun to pound like a drum. She couldn’t breathe; her vision began to dim. How the hell had she let this happen? She had gone and fallen for a man who epitomized everything she did not want in a guy.
“Oh,
fuck
.”
“Sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”
Her pulse hammered in her throat as she took a few shaky steps to the sofa. “Maybe, but it’s okay. What are you working on?”
She focused on his naked torso, fighting back a crazy desire to lick his shoulder, tug on his nipple rings. To hug him and feel him in her arms. Only he could untwist the knot of anxiety in her belly.
And yet she was smiling because, even though it was temporary, he was here now. And she couldn’t help but take pleasure in that little fact.
She sank into the sofa, leaning her back against the arm. “Do you mind if I stay?” she asked as she brought her knees to her chest.
He shook his head, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Not at all. In fact, I’m about done.”
“What are you working on?”
“A new song. I woke up with a thought, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to try to work it out.”
“I know exactly what you mean. It’s like that for me, too. When I get an idea for an event I can’t rest until I write it down.”
“Exactly. It’s like this beast within, scratching inside your head until you let it out.”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.” Still nodding. “Precisely.” They stared at each other a minute before she said, “So. Wanna sing me your song?”
For a second, he looked uncertain, and it was the first time she’d ever seen this expression on him. “It’s not finished.”
“I don’t care.”
He met her gaze, and she saw vulnerability in his eyes. She touched his shoulder. “Really. I love everything you do. Please. Play for me.”
“Okay. Sure.” He turned back to the guitar and started to strum. The melody immediately pulled her in with its soft, melancholy notes. But then he started singing, and that was all she could hear. His voice, the words.
She listened, losing herself as he revealed a part of himself she’d never seen. And he was singing to her,
about
her. It was a love song, and when he chanted her name in the chorus he looked directly at her, and she felt her bones turn to liquid.
Ruby, mine.
A love song. For her.
S
o, I’m pretty sure my husband is gay. Or bi. Frankly, it’s a toss-up right now. It could go either way. No pun intended.”
Ruby nearly spit her latte across the table. “What?” she said after she’d swallowed.
Meg crossed her legs. Today she wore a black hat with dotted netting covering one eye, a vintage dress that looked very Jackie Onassis except it was paired with black fishnet tights and on her feet were old Doc Martens boots.
“I said, I think my husband is gay. I might as well just sign up for one of Oprah’s desperate housewives shows.”
It was Tuesday, and they were having a “meeting” at Savor. So far Ruby had been able to avoid going anywhere near the studio, and luckily Meg hadn’t second-guessed her reasoning for meeting at the café instead of their office.
“Wait.” Ruby tugged the hem of her dress. In total contrast to her friend, she wore a pink fifties sundress and red round-toed pumps. A cashmere cardigan rested on her shoulders, fastened at her neck with a vintage pin in the shape of a rose. “Back up. Emmett is not gay. Or bi!”
Meg calmly removed her sunglasses and placed them on the table. “Really? Allow me to present my case. Exhibit A: He hasn’t had sex with me in months, even when I try to get things going, if you know what I mean. Exhibit B: I found all kinds of gay porn on his computer. Exhibit C: He’s out late every night. Exhibit D.” She looked up, then back down at the table. “I don’t have an exhibit D, but I’m sure there is one.”
“Meg, none of those things mean he’s having an affair.”
A wistful look in her eye, Meg was staring at a baby in a stroller. Ruby knew Meg and Emmett had been trying to have kids, but she didn’t want to ask Meg about it, not now.
When the stroller had passed, Meg looked back at Ruby. “Then what does it mean?”
Pausing, Ruby remembered Mark’s words about people accepting who they were. “Meg. Is it possible there’s something Emmett wants? Something he’s afraid to ask you for?”
“Like what? He knows I’ll do anything for him. With him.”
“Are you sure he knows that?”
Meg shook her head. “Absolutely. I mean, I think so.”
“What if… what if there was something Emmett wanted to do, something he was embarrassed to admit. Maybe he’s looking for it in porn.”
“Which brings me back to my point with the homosexual porn! He’s gay.”
Ruby touched her friend’s hand. “Okay, let’s just take a breather here. Tell me exactly what you saw, with the porn.”
For the first time Ruby could remember, she saw her friend look uncomfortable. But, ever the trouper, Meg spoke anyway. “There were a lot of men… and some women. A few women. But the women were…”
She squeezed Meg’s hand. “What? You can tell me.”
Meg lowered her voice. “They were all the things Emmett doesn’t like. They were bossy, overbearing. Humiliating, even.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She tried to look reassuring. “How do you know he doesn’t like those things?”
Meg looked taken aback. “He’s told me so.”
“Okay, but what someone likes in real life doesn’t always transfer to the bedroom.” Ruby was beginning to think she was a perfect example. After all, she loved being submissive in the bedroom, but none of her business associates would ever describe her as such.
“And,” Ruby continued, “just a couple of weeks ago you yourself were asking me about spankings. If I were to jump to any conclusions based on what you’ve said, I’d say it’s not you that needs a good flogging. Maybe it’s him.”
Meg froze. “What are you saying? You think my husband wants to be dominated?”
Ruby raised a brow. She’d started to suspect Meg had a dominant streak, and now she wanted to make sure her friend was comfortable discussing the possibility with Ruby. “Would that bother you?” she asked.
“No, of course not. It’s just… I never would have guessed he might like it. I mean… I bought that paddle for him to use on me, if he wanted to.”
“But would that be okay with you? If Emmett was the one who wanted to get spanked?”
“Yes!” Meg said loudly. “I mean, yeah, sure.”
“Me thinks she doth protest too much,” Ruby said, grinning.
“Actually,” Meg said with a wink, “I didn’t protest at all.”
Ruby gave her friend a playful nudge. “You dirty birdie.”
Meg leaned back and smiled. “Hey, I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”
They sipped their coffee and after a few minutes Meg looked up. “I just wish he wasn’t hiding this from me.”
Mark’s words echoed in Ruby’s mind. “Sometimes a person has to accept who they are before they can share it with someone else.”
“True.”
They drifted into their own thoughts. The fact was, Mark was right. She did like being spanked. She did like to be kinky. Ash had been the start of it, but it was Mark who’d fleshed out that part of her. Now, she seriously doubted she could just let it go when things with Mark inevitably fizzled.
“You’re thinking about Mark, aren’t you?” Meg asked.
“How did you know?”
Meg crossed her legs. “Just a hunch.”
“He was gone when I woke up this morning. All I found was a note saying the band needed him.” Ruby tried to sound as if she didn’t care.
“I guess that’s the way it is when you date a rock star.”
“We’re not dating,” Ruby said.
“No?”
“No way. It’s temporary. In fact, I’m going out with James after the fling.”
“Finally!” Meg exclaimed. “It’s about damn time.”
“Yeah,” Ruby mumbled. She should be ecstatic. So why did the thought of kissing another man, having another man touch her like Mark had, make her stomach churn?
Still, she refused to bury this craving just because Mark wasn’t around.
But she couldn’t help but wonder: Did she like to be spanked? Or did she just like to be spanked by Mark St. Crow?
“I’ll order for you.”
Mark watched as Ruby put down her menu. When they’d gone for Thai food on Sunday night, it had been a normal dinner. They’d talked, they’d laughed. They hadn’t been kinky. He couldn’t remember when he’d spent so much normal time with anyone who wasn’t in his band or part of his DNA.
And yet he’d been pensive ever since the conversation about settling down. If she’d come right out and demanded that he put her first, it would have made it so easy to walk away. But it was more than obvious that settling down with “someone like him” was the last thing on Ruby’s mind, which should have been a good thing. It should have freed Mark to enjoy his time with her before he walked away.