Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
Walking away from the window, Marilyn slumped in an armchair. Manhattan was one of her favorite cities, but her excitement at being there had waned. So had her enthusiasm about writing the tell-all book. 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 pills 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.
“I’ll give him what he wants,” she muttered. “I’ll be a cheery, sexy vamp. 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 twenty-dollars 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 alcohol 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.”
“Look at you, don’t you look better? I thought you said you didn’t have any other clothes.” “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.”
“Thanks. Glad you approve.”
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Me too. I have no idea what happened but I’m fine now. Better than fine.”
“Excellent,” he declared, sitting down and piling a large serving of the pasta on his plate.
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. She just had to find the right time to approach him, possibly the following night after the show. He’d be on a high.
“Are you listening?” he asked. “You seem a million miles away.”
“Every word, I just thought of something fantastic, but I have to ponder it for a while. 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.”
“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, 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, he 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 them way, he took a 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. Would you agree, Marilyn? Is this lovely bottom feeling neglected?”
“Yes,” she mewled. “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?”
“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.”
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?”
“Definitely.”
“If you want another you have to ask nicely each time. Understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t hear a please.”
“Yes, please.”
He swatted her again, eliciting a sharp yelp, then waited. Getting no response he pinched where he had just smacked her.
“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, is anyone home?”
“What? I don’t understand.”
It was enough for Cash. She was a lot more than simply buzzed, and he slowly straightened her up.
“Sorry, I feel like crap.”
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. He pondered her 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 picking up the bag, 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 mumbled, lifting his gaze from the page. “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?”
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 fury 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, but I’m different, aren’t I, Marilyn?”
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 you changed your mind!” he mumbled to himself. “I’m the first man to redden your ass.”
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. Taking a breath, he thought it was strange how badly he wanted to talk to her.
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.