Not surprisingly, Cash woke up with a raging erection, stiff as a board and needing immediate attention. Glancing at the bedside clock he saw it was almost six. The night was his own, the original plans would have had the bus arriving in Manhattan at some point in the early evening, so nothing had been arranged. Pulling on his boxers, he splashed his face with water, brushed his teeth, and grabbing a condom from his toiletries bag, left his bathroom and wandered into the lounge. There was no sign of life, so moving on to Marilyn’s door he knocked gently and was greeted by a faint ‘come in.‘ Much to his delight, he found his new tour-mate sitting topless in her bed, fresh makeup, hair brushed, clearly waiting for him.
“Thought you’d never get here,” she grinned, pulling the sheet aside.
Dropping his shorts, he jumped on the bed and lowered his head to kiss her ample breasts.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he smiled, “and something else as well.”
Running her fingers down his six pack stomach, her fingers searched out his bulging cock.
“What was that you said about eating red meat?” he growled, lifting his head from a large, pink nipple.
“It’s live meat,” she purred, sliding down the mattress, “and it’s one of my all-time favorite things.”
Sinking back and resting against the headboard, he watched her sidle down his torso, settling her head over his surging manhood. She was a Barbie Doll; large, full breasts, a taut, skinny waist, and a perfect backside. He’d seen more naked women than he could count, and her figure was about as perfect as they came.
“You have an amazing body,” he remarked, running his hand across her back.
“Thank you,” she smiled, lifting her head. “I’m a gym fanatic and I have a trainer. Hours and hours.”
Hmmm. That answers that question, but how does she find all that time?
Her succulent lips returning to his cock stopped all thought, and closing his eyes he succumbed to the luscious pleasure. She moved her mouth slowly, gliding up and down his shaft with practiced ease, creating pressure at just the right moments on just the right places.
“You’re really good at that,” he crooned, and when her fingers grabbed his balls and gently squeezed, he sucked in air, feeling the mounting orgasm much too close and much too soon.
Clutching her hair he pulled her up, ordering her on her hands and knees. He wanted to view the remains of his handiwork, the baby pink testimony of the morning’s spanking. As she took up the position, he broke into a satisfied smile; it was as delightfully pink as he’d anticipated, with some red blotches still evident. Kneeling behind her, he traced his fingertips across the telltale marks, eliciting a sigh, followed by an impatient wriggle, and he could see the glistening need between her legs.
“Ask nicely,” he directed, teasing her entrance, his finger toying between her swollen lips.
“Please,” she whined.
“That wasn’t very convincing,” he remarked, pausing a moment before sliding his finger forward to tickle her clit.
“Oooh, please, please fuck me,” she moaned. “Please, Cash.”
“That’s better. I will, and I’ll fuck you hard,” he promised, quickly slipping the condom into place, and thrusting his cock deep in her cunt, he was rewarded by a high-pitched squeal.
“How do you want me to fuck you?” he demanded, thrusting with slow, powerful strokes.
“Ooooh, that’s amazing,” she cried. “Just like that, or faster, I don’t care, that’s amazing.”
“Try again,” he grunted, holding himself still.
“Ooooh, hard, Fuck me hard,” she pleaded.
“You’re a fast learner,” he breathed.
Grabbing her hips, he pulled her into him, gritting his teeth as he felt his cock threatening to burst. He was not a minute-man, but he was aching to come, and he couldn’t help accelerating, pummeling her pussy as he sensed his moment drawing near. Her backside was full and round, and releasing one of her hips he lifted his hand, delivering a series of rapid slaps, pumping as he smacked.
Marilyn, always the one to dictate the activities between her sheets, couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and even more surprising was the way her body was reacting to Cash’s masterful attention.
“Smack me harder,” she begged, shocked at her own request. “Please, smack me harder.”
Fueled by her urgent request, he increased the force of his spanking hand, and a moment later he could feel her pussy clutching at his cock.
“Ooooh, Cash,” she exclaimed, “I’m coming.”
Her pussy pulsed against him, demanding his release. Throwing back his head, plunging forward, he exploded, surrendering to the convulsions rushing through his loins. It was a powerful orgasm, and he gripped her punished bottom, squeezing her fleshy skin as his cock continued to spew forth its thick cream.
She squealed repeatedly, wriggling and writhing her hips against him, her utterances growing in pitch and volume, continuing even after his flaccid member had slipped away.
Falling back against the headboard, he reached across to the tissue box on the nightstand, wrapping his rubber in the flimsy paper as he watched her roll on her back.
“Holy crap, where did you learn to do that?” she asked breathlessly.
“What?” he asked, truly mystified by the question. They’d had sex; it was good, but it was just sex.
“I, uh, you’re just really good,” she declared, still trying to catch her breath. “I mean, really, really good.”
“Thanks,” he grinned.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been complimented, but he often thought the girls said such things because he was Cash Colt. Marilyn, though, appeared to be completely sincere.
She closed her eyes, warm tingles still invading her senses, attempting to grasp what had just happened. In just a few short minutes he had taken her, devoured her, and commanded her body; never in all her years had she experienced such a thing. It was bizarre, amazing, incredible, thrilling, confusing, and confounding. Marilyn had always been the one in charge. From her first boyfriend in high school, to the guys she dated in college, and every man since, she had been the one in control, and always determined what transpired between the sheets.
Crawling up the bed towards him, she was overwhelmed with a need to be held and softly kissed. She wanted to feel his breath in her ear, to curl up next to him and never leave his side. Laying her head on his chest she listened to his heart, and when his arm came around her shoulders and gently squeezed, for the briefest of moments she thought she might cry.
This is not normal. This is so not normal.
Fighting the swarming, mounting feelings, she pushed herself up and looked at him. He was gazing out the windows at the skyline.
“Hey,” she said softly, “penny?”
“Just thinking about the show tomorrow night,” he lied, though it wasn’t a complete lie. He was, but he was also thinking about his pie-baking, fresh-faced Becky, and the tantalizing promise of things to come.
“You’ll be great,” she declared, “you don’t know how not to be.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure that’s true, but I always give it my all,” he sighed.
His mood had grown pensive, almost heavy, and unexpectedly it happened again, lyrics falling from the heavens into his head; he needed his phone.
“I have to do something,” he announced, extricating himself from her body and moving quickly from the bed. “Why don’t you get yourself together and we’ll go out for dinner?”
“Sure,” she replied, forcing a smile, hating him for leaving so abruptly.
She watched him stride from the room, then curled herself up in a ball, hugging her pillow, unable to shake the overwhelming emotion that was sweeping over her.
Stop it. Just stop it. Take a shower and shake this off. You’re here to do a job, that’s it. Just get what you need for the book. That’s why you’re here, for the book. He’s good in bed, end of story.
As she rose from the bed, she ran her fingers through her long tresses and headed into the bathroom.
It’s probably hormones or fatigue, or the newness of the whole spanking thing, she told herself, but she remained unnerved as she started the shower and stepped under the steaming water.
Cash marched into his bedroom and grabbed his phone. Opening up the page he’d started for Becky’s song, he added to his first entry.
Dancing freckles under sapphire eyes,
A pure heart that knows no lies,
Sprinkling sunshine with her smile,
I want to sit and stay a while.
A while, a while, I want to stay a while,
And warm myself in her sunshine smile.
Her sweetness lingers in my head
I want her in my bed, my bed,
Her strawberry lips are calling me
To taste them, will it ever be?
Ever be, Ever be.
To taste them will it ever be?
He could already hear part of the melody, and knew it would continue to evolve in the next few hours. Instinct told him he needed to develop it on the piano, not pluck it out on his guitar. He texted Andrew, alerting him that he’d need an hour to himself at the keyboard before the show, and he might have a surprise; an unrehearsed encore. Cash knew Andrew hated last minute changes, but the spontaneity always thrilled the crowd, and if he could pull the song together in time, he’d sing it without the band; it would be just him and the piano.
Switching gears, he searched out the phone number of the restaurant where he wanted to have dinner. It was a small Italian eatery tucked away in a corner of Little Italy, and though frequented mostly by locals, it had become a favorite of celebrities. Dimly lit and intimate, it had thankfully remained under the radar of the paparazzi. He’d eaten there many times, and in spite of his fame, his presence had never caused a scene. A few times some fellow diners had requested an autograph, but they had always been courteous, and he’d been happy to oblige.
“Gino, Cash. Can you squeeze in two in thirty minutes?”
“Cash. My friend, I thought you might call. Of course, for you, of course.”
“Thank you. How is it there tonight?”
“Quiet, peaceful. Perfect for you.”
“Great. See you soon.”
Dropping his cell on the bedside table, he picked up the hotel house phone, ordered a car, and walked into his bathroom to shower.
Shaking off the unexpected and alarming emotion, Marilyn dressed quickly. She had only one change of clothes in her hobo bag, a pair of designer jeans, a crinkle shirt, and a pair of high-heeled ankle boots. Not knowing how long Cash would keep her around wasn’t a concern. If he hit the road and left her in New York, she’d stay a few days and enjoy herself. She loved Manhattan, and being the daughter of a successful entertainment lawyer had its benefits, not the least of which was a hefty trust fund.
But her thoughts were more immediate. If she was going to carve out her own career path with a best-selling book exposing the intimate details of the man who was Cash Colt, she had to get everything she could while she had the chance. It occurred to her that going out in public with him could be extremely fortuitous. If she could get herself photographed with Cash at her side, it would give credence to her story, but she couldn’t tip off the press if she had no idea where they were headed.
Shouldn’t be too hard to find out, she thought, applying her makeup and running a brush through her hair.
Stepping out into the living room, she could hear Cash singing as he dressed, his husky, soulful voice carrying through the suite. It was one of his biggest hits, a song heard across the planet, and she wondered idly what it must feel like to be so famous and to have achieved so much. A moment later he walked in, greeting her with a wide smile. He was dressed in a black shirt and black jeans, brown alligator belt and cowboy boots.
“The only other clothes I had on me,” he remarked.
“Me too,” she grinned. “I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“The wardrobe vans should have arrived by now. I can get something sent over.”
“Where are we going for dinner?” she asked casually.
“Gino Vittorios. I doubt you would have heard of it. It’s in Little Italy and it’s small. Best Italian food outside of Italy,” he replied, scanning his phone and hitting a contact.
“Oh, I just remembered something,” she lied hastily. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Hank? Hi, Cash. I need some clothes…”
Running into her bedroom she closed the door, and finding her cell phone hurriedly texted the editor of the rock magazine to whom she’d pitched her story.
Cash and I are having dinner at a place called Gino Vittorios in Little Italy. Can you get a photographer over there?
Praying he would see it, she said a thank you to the sky as his response appeared on her screen.
You bet. Sounds like it could be an exclusive. I’ll pay you if it pans out.
Hurriedly she texted back.
I don’t care about that. I just need a pic, or two or three. I gotta go. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
A second later she saw his sharp reply.
I’m on it.
She felt a shard of guilt rustle down her spine, but shook it off and returned to the living room.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” she replied. “How did you find this place?”
“Lenny. He used to live here. I’ve loved it from the first moment I ate there years ago. It’s been discovered by others now, but thank God the paparazzi still don’t have it on their radar,” he declared, as they walked towards the elevator. “It’s one of the last places I can have dinner in New York without flash bulbs popping off in my face.”
Lord. What have you done? the angel in her head asked.
You’ve just made sure you’ll get your photo, that’s what, and Cash can always find another place to eat spaghetti, her devil replied.
The car was waiting for them, and Cash politely thanked the doorman as they walked outside and into the back seat.
“How do you know the concierge in the hotel won’t tip anyone off?” she asked.
“First, I didn’t use the concierge, I called the owner, Gino. Second, the staff at the hotel are sworn to secrecy. They have quite a few celebrity clients, and discretion is the hotel’s hallmark. If anyone leaked information like that, it would be their job. Don’t worry,” he said, thinking he was reassuring her, “there won’t be any interruptions. We’re going to have a peaceful, quiet dinner, and I’m really looking forward to it.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, but there’s no way he’ll know it was me, there’s no way he could, could he? Besides, photographers could be staking out the restaurant for someone else, she reasoned. Secrets aren’t kept forever!
“I guess you’ll be busy tomorrow,” she commented, as they drove through the city.
“Yes, starting around lunchtime. The band has a meeting with our road manager, I have some interviews, then a sound check, on and on. I won’t see you until after the show. That reminds me,” he remarked, pulling out his phone.
“Wow, you’d be lost without that thing,” she declared.
“Oh, yeah, totally. It’s got everything in it. The songs I’m in the middle of writing, all my contacts, private photos, everything. I have it permanently glued to my being,” he chuckled.
Hmmm, if I could get my hands on that…
“Hey, Stacey, send over a VIP access pass, and a ticket for Marilyn…hold on,” he said, staring at her. “Last name?” he whispered.
“Oh, uh, Sanders,” she replied.
“Marilyn Sanders,” he said into the phone. “Thanks.”
Dropping it back in his pocket, he turned and smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye.
“How’s your gorgeous ass?” he whispered.
She felt a faint blush spread across her face.
“A teeny bit tender,” she whispered back, “but it was worth it.”
“Seems to me a teeny bit tender, is a teeny bit not enough. Something I will remedy when we return from dinner,” he promised.
The threat sent an unexpected wave of heat through her sex, and she shifted in her seat, an involuntary reaction to his warning. Her wiggling wasn’t lost on him, and he placed a hand on the inside of her thigh, leaning in and kissing her ear.
“It’s a shame you’re not wearing a dress. I’d insist you sit on your bare backside all through dinner,” he breathed, then lavishly kissed her neck.
“Ooooh,” she moaned quietly, “Cash…”
His hand was burning through the denim, and she moved around, aching to kiss him, to feel those full, moist, smooth lips against hers. Lifting her hands, she placed them on either side of his face, and closing her eyes, barely breathing, she searched out his mouth. His hand lifted from her leg, and a moment later his fingers captured a large chunk of her hair.
“Drop your hands,” he growled.
Startled, her eyes flew open, but she did as he said, letting them fall on her lap.
“Now close your eyes again. You want me to kiss you, I’ll kiss you.”
Her heart was hammering, he was controlling her again, commanding she obey with just a few, simple words, and she loved it; she loved it so much she wanted to fall at his feet and swear undying devotion.
“I’m waiting, and I don’t like to wait,” he said softly, threateningly, challenging her.
She shut her eyes and held her breath, not sure what to expect, but craving whatever it might be. His tongue licked its way across her lips, then pushed forward, gently asking her to open. Separating her teeth, she felt it slip forward, then his lips were on hers, surprisingly gentle. Moving, pressing, releasing, tongue dancing on the roof of her mouth, then not, his lips sucking hers, then not, then sliding, until finally, just when she thought she might faint, he released her, moving his mouth to her ear.
“Is that what you wanted, little girl?”
She couldn’t breathe, her pulse was palpitating, the butterflies having moved from her stomach into her heart. Never had she known what it meant to melt from a man’s kiss, but she did now, and were it not for his fist still holding her hair, she would have dropped her head on his lap.
“Hmmmm? Answer me, is that what you wanted?”
“Yeees,” she stammered.
“Good. As you have dinner, I want you to think about me doing that to your pussy. Can you do that for me?” he breathed.
“Oooh, Cash,” she moaned, feeling the instant, wet heat between her legs.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Cash,” she murmured.
He slowly pulled his fingers from her hair, brushing them through her locks, and she leaned into his shoulder, trying to catch her breath, to understand what was happening to her.
My God, he is unbelievable, she thought, so filled with need as to be almost numb.
“You all right?” he asked, lifting her chin with his forefinger.
“Uh-huh,” she managed.
“We’re almost there. Better sit up and catch your breath.”
Straightening up, she opened her bag and retrieved her brush, hating herself for having called in the photographer, then tried to convince herself it was something she’d simply had to do. The car pulled up to the curb, and as it rolled to a stop she grabbed his arm.
“Cash, I’m so sorry, I suddenly feel dizzy. Sorry, really sorry, but can we go back to the hotel?”
“What? Maybe if we go inside, maybe if you ate something-”
“No, really. I feel crazy hot,” she moaned. “I can’t face it. I’m really sorry.”
She was staring at him, an urgent plea in her eyes.
“Okay,” he said softly, seeing her distress, “driver, turn around, take us back to the hotel, please.”
“Yes, Sir,” the driver answered, and pulled back into traffic.
Marilyn sank back into the seat, gulping back her relief, and watched as Cash pulled out his phone.
“Gino, Cash. My friend isn’t feeling well so we’re going back to the hotel. Yes, I’m sure she will, sorry for any inconvenience. Yes, thank you, that would be great. The Chicken Marsala Pasta would be terrific. Thanks, Gino.”
Clicking off the line, but still holding the phone, he turned and looked at her.
“Not to worry, he’s sending over my favorite dish. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“I, uh, I don’t think so. I feel really strange,” she lied softly.
“My kisses can do that,” he chuckled, hoping to cheer her up.
“I’m really sorry,” she repeated.
“Enough with the apologies. Gino always gives me too much. If you’re feeling better we can share mine, and there’s always the hotel room service.”
Leaning forward he kissed her on the forehead.
“It’s been a big couple of days. Probably just a bit tired,” he offered.
Marilyn smiled up at him, then rested her head on his shoulder.
What the hell have you just done? her devil scolded.
You righted a wrong, her angel replied.
The car whisked them back to the hotel, and the doorman, though surprised to see them return so soon, made no comment. As they entered the suite, Cash’s phone beeped, alerting him to a text.
“My world never sleeps,” he remarked.
“Important?” she asked.
“Yep. I need to drop by Lenny’s room for five minutes. You okay here by yourself?”
“Sure. No problem,” she replied, wandering to the window to view the city, thinking she could use the time to regroup.
“When the food arrives they can set it up in the dining room. They’ll bring all the stuff. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t know what happened,” she lied, and afraid he would see the fabrication on her face, she continued to gaze at the city lights.
“Just take it easy,” he said warmly, and was out the door.
Marilyn walked from the window, slumping in an armchair. Manhattan was one of her favorite cities, but her excitement at being there had waned. Her excitement about writing the tell-all book had as well.
Is this what it means to fall in love? I feel sick, and sad, and worried, but so crazy about him. I can’t stand this. What am I supposed to do?
Rummaging through her bag she found some aspirin, and carried them across to the fully stocked bar, pouring herself a hefty shot of whiskey. Throwing the aspirin in her mouth, she downed the drink in three big gulps, and shook her head as the heavy, spicy liquor burned down the back of her throat. It seemed to have an immediate effect, and shaking her whole body like a crazy go-go dancer from the sixties, she pulled her shoulders back with a new determination.
You’re as hot as hell. Give him what he wants. Just be the cheery, sexy vamp that you are. Jeez, entire nations have fallen for great sex, and we have great sex.
Feeling better, she called down to the hotel store and bought a pricey sweat suit, T-shirt, and a pair of socks, adding an extra $20 to have them rush the order to the room. Within minutes there was a knock at the door, and delighted to put on some new clothes, she changed immediately, the fresh attire making her feel better still.
The whiskey was working its magic, and when the food arrived, the table had been set, and the meal laid out, she grabbed one of the bread rolls, dunking it in the olive oil and taking a big bite. The oil was tinged with basil, one of her favorite herbs, and she devoured the entire roll while waiting for Cash, then poured herself another generous whiskey to wash it down. A short time later she heard the door open and she ambled out to greet him.
“Hi, handsome,” she smiled.
“Look at you, don’t you look better? I thought you said you didn’t have any other clothes,” he remarked.
“I just bought this from the shop downstairs. Feels great to have fresh clothes on,” she remarked dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Food’s here.”
“I can smell it, I’m starving,” he declared, following her into the dining room. “Your ass looks gorgeous in those pants,” he added.
“Thanks. Glad you approve,” she giggled.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” he smiled, sitting across from her.
“Me too. I have no idea what happened but I’m fine now. Better than fine,” she winked.
“Good to know,” he winked back, and piling a large serving of the pasta on his plate, began to eat.
They chatted amicably, and Marilyn asked him endless questions about life on the road. As she listened, she couldn’t help thinking about the book she was no longer going to write, or was she? His stories were fascinating, and it occurred to her that he might authorize a different kind of book. Maybe there was a way to make things happen after all, and stay with him on the tour.
You’re a genius! she thought, the idea becoming clear in her alcohol-muddled mind. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I can’t call it, The Spanking Rockstar, but I can come up with something else just as clever. All I have to do is find the right time to approach him, but I have to do it soon. Maybe after the show tomorrow night. He’ll be on a high. That’s the perfect time.
“Are you listening? You seem a million miles away,” he declared.
“Every word,” she replied. “I just thought of something fantastic, but I have to think it through. It’s something about you.”
“Really? That sounds intriguing,” he grinned, slowly devouring the creamy cheesecake Gino had included. “You want to know what I think would be fantastic?”
“Tell me,” she smiled back.
“If you were to bend yourself across the back of that couch there, and beg me to spank you silly while I fuck your brains out.”
She burst out laughing, then shook her head enthusiastically.
“You’re right, that would be fantastic.”
“Then move that amazing body of yours. I want to watch you while I finish this.”
Totally buzzed and completely titillated, she swanned around the room dimming the lights, and discovering the remote for the audio system, she found a station playing bluesy, moody music.
“I approve,” he remarked, standing up.
Peeling off her top, she was about to pull the new T-shirt over her head when he held up his hand.
“Leave it on,” he said huskily, walking towards her, “and bend over the couch.”
With her sweat pants on, she laid herself across the comfortable padded, sofa back, grabbing a cushion for support.
“Look at this gorgeous backside,” he purred. “I mean really, Marilyn, it should be photographed, and the pictures hung in an art gallery.”
His hands were traversing her rear end, caressing and squeezing, and she sighed in pleasure, but when she felt his fingers slip into the waistband, she held her breath; the promise of his hot hand smacking her tender skin was utterly melting her. He moved the pants sensuously across her upturned bottom, then gliding them down her legs, left them wrapped around her ankles.
“Kick them off,” he said, continuing to trace the pattern of his earlier marks with his fingertips.
As her feet did a little dance to push out of the way, he took a half step back to watch, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her wriggling backside. His cock was already standing at attention, and he hastily yanked off his clothes.
“I believe you are feeling quite neglected,” he remarked. “Would you agree, Marilyn? Is this lovely bottom feeling neglected?”
“Yes,” she mewed. “Please, will you spank it?”
The effect of the whiskey was taking hold, and Marilyn’s head was swimming, but her carnal fever was spreading through her body. She wanted to be spanked hard, she wanted to be fucked hard, but she also wanted to be held, and kissed, and adored. She wanted so much it all seemed quite impossible.
“How do you want me to spank you?” he pressed.
“Hard and silly,” her muddled mind replied.
Cash chuckled quietly. He thought she had seemed a bit buzzed when he returned, and he’d assumed she’d had a bit to drink, but now the effects of the alcohol were obvious.
“Then hard and silly it will be,” he declared.
Turning his body to stand beside her, he rested one hand on the small of her back, running the other across her smooth curves, before lifting it high in the air and landing it with a sound, stinging swat.
“Do you want another?”
“Yes,” she whined.
“If you want another you have to ask nicely each time. Understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t hear a please.”
“OH! Yes, pleeaase.”
He swatted her again, eliciting a sharp yelp. Cash waited, and getting no response he pinched where he had just smacked her.
“Ouch, ouch,” she yelled. “Oh, sorry, sorry, I forgot. One more, please.”
He slapped just below the first two and waited. Again, no response. It was annoying; she wasn’t engaged, she wasn’t present, she wasn’t even participating.
Marilyn was in a strange never-never land. The swats sent a swirling, sparkling sensation through her entire body, and she wanted to put her fingers between her legs and rub herself, but she was bent over the couch, making it impossible. The giddiness was growing, and she was starting to feel hot and nauseous.
“Marilyn, is anyone home?” he demanded.
“What? I don’t understand.”
It was enough for Cash; she was a lot more than simply buzzed, and he slowly straightened her up.
“Hello,” she frowned, as she turned and faced him. “I feel like shit.”
Picking her up, he carried her to the bedroom and put her to bed, making sure she was on her side so she wouldn’t choke if the worst happened. Life on the road had taught him many lessons, and that had been one of them. He stood for a moment watching her, and within a short time she was asleep. The entire evening had been strange, and as he sat down in a nearby armchair, he considered how they had met, and all that had transpired between them.
She wasn’t a groupie. For the most part groupies didn’t have the kind of money she obviously did, and when he’d taken her from the bus to spank her, he knew she had loved it, and he knew it had devoured her, but he also had the odd sense that the whole thing had been new to her, which was contrary to what she had told him.
Sanders. Marilyn Sanders.
He pondered the name. Sanders was common, but it did ring a vague bell. Her bag was sitting on the bed and he decided to take a quick look. He wasn’t just intrigued, he was concerned. It was entirely possible her agenda was more than a quick spanking and roll in the hay with the famous Cash Colt.
Carefully lifting the bag off the bedcovers, he carried it through the living room and into his bedroom, closing and locking the door. Pouring the contents on to his desk, he rifled through the usual female mess of makeup and tissues, and found a wallet, a small calendar, and her phone.
The calendar surprised him. Almost everyone he knew used their phones for keeping appointments and organizing their lives. He turned the pages and studied the last few weeks. As he read the names and notes, he felt the blood drain from his face. She’d had a meeting with Clayton Ellis, the editor of Rock Now, a major rock and roll magazine, and there were reminders to call her father about the all access pass to his last concert.
Sanders, he thought, lifting his gaze from the page. Sanders. Elliott Sanders, the entertainment lawyer? Of course. That’s why the name rang a bell. Holy crap, she’s Elliott Sander’s daughter.
Continuing to move through the dates, his fear and concern growing, he caught his breath as a shiver prickled across the back of his neck. Scrawled in large letters across an area reserved for notes, he read,
Final title. The Spanking Rockstar, The Kinky Truth About Cash Colt.
“So that’s it,” he snarled out loud. “She’s writing a fucking book about me. The Spanking Rockstar? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Grabbing her phone he scanned her calls and texts. She’d been in touch with Clayton Ellis continuously, and then he saw her texts from earlier that night; a photographer would have been waiting if they’d stepped out of the car to enter Ginos. Fury flooded him.
“So why did you change your mind?” he asked out loud.
Sitting down on the chair behind the desk, he shook his head. She was a conniving, manipulative woman, who wanted to make a name for herself at his expense. At least he’d discovered the truth, and hopefully in time to do something about it. He would have to give the disturbing situation a great deal of careful thought.
He walked to the window and stared out at the busy city below him, calming himself and allowing his anger to dissipate. Martial arts had taught him how to rebalance, to discipline not just his body, but his mind. As the ire faded, his head cleared, and he began to see her in a different light.
You’re a brat. I’ll bet your daddy spoiled you rotten, and all the boys at school chased you, and you’ve learned how to use your looks to get whatever you want, but I’m different, aren’t I, Marilyn. I think I know just what to do with you.
Turning back to the desk, he piled her things back into her bag. He had spanked many females, truly dominated a few, and he knew when the need burned in their soul. She had been craving a man that would assert himself for a long time.
That’s why she changed her mind! I was the first man to spank her. She thinks she’s falling in love with me. She’s not, she’s falling in love with how I make her feel. She needs to understand the difference. She needs to know the man that I am. She needs to know that we are nothing alike.
He knew all too well the powerful effect domination could have on a woman who was learning about her submissive side for the first time. It was a heady, exhilarating, emotional experience.
Picking up the bag, he carried it back to her bedroom, laying it carefully where she’d left it. He needed to unwind, to think about something else. Wandering back into the living room, he called each of his bandmates, only to find they had all left the hotel and were scattered around the city, but staring at his phone he knew there was really only one voice he wanted to hear.
Checking his watch and seeing it was just past 7:30, he realized it would be a bad time to call the diner. Friday night, the dinner hour, Becky was no doubt run off her feet.
Strange that I want to talk to her so badly. I don’t even know her, yet I feel as if I do.
He needed a place where he could sit and think, nurse a beer, and process the ideas running through his head. Grabbing his wallet he headed down to the hotel bar. There was a quiet, dark corner, and the staff would make sure he wasn’t bothered. The plans to handle Marilyn were already taking shape, and making sure he had his phone, he headed out the door.