How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (5 page)

He wanted me in charge, and fuck,
I
wanted me in charge.

There was a folding chair behind him, the kind you sit in as a hair and makeup crew style you. I wanted him beneath me. I placed my hand on his muscular chest and pushed him down into the chair. He landed in it gracefully, legs sprawled, eyes upturned and feigning innocence. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

“Yes, I want you alone.” I sat down on one of his knees, slid my arms around his neck, and pulled his face to mine. We looked at each other for one wicked moment, brows touching, mouths smiling in anticipation, and I leaned forward to kiss him.

His mouth, so often filled with song, was now mine. I shocked myself with my bravery, sliding my tongue past his soft lips. I was rewarded with a low moan that went straight from his throat to the spot that throbbed between my legs. This sensation was so familiar and yet so new. I’d made out before, sure, but I had never taken the lead. And I’d never felt such an intense desire for someone with one simple kiss. Keaton’s tongue slid down mine, then over my lips, tasting. He brought his hands to my face and sucked on my bottom lip, nibbling.

“Goddess,” he breathed. “You taste like candy.”

I giggled and muttered something about caramel apples.

He shook his head, nose rubbing mine like an Eskimo kiss. “Now you. I licked that sweet stuff off as soon as I could. I want to taste
you
.”

At that suggestion, I swung my leg around and wrapped it around his hip, no longer demurely resting on one of his legs. Pressing the apex of my legs to his crotch, I boldly ground into him, feeling his hard body under mine. In response, his hands wrapped tightly around my torso, but I pushed them away.

He looked up at me sheepishly.

“Hands above your head,” I said, remembering how he’d taped himself when we last met.

He bit his lip. “Of course.”

I held his hands at his wrists and continued to kiss him. Keaton twitched beneath me, clearly desperate to have his hands on me, but patient enough to let me call the shots. My lips guided his, my tongue caressed his.

Keaton Lowe was indeed under my thumb.

Just as I was ready to guide his hands from above his head down under my shirt, there was a knock at the door.

“Mister Lowe?” a voice said.

I hopped off his lap and fixed my hair and pretended I was definitely not grinding on his crotch.

“Yes,” he muttered, standing behind the chair. I nearly snickered.

“This young woman says she needs her friend back,” he said, opening the door. Callie stood in the doorway, face whiter than when she got back from practice.

“Callie?” I asked.

“We got caught.”

I felt Keaton’s arm wrap around my shoulders as I sagged.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

Callie shook her head. “Donelle came to check on us and we didn’t answer. I just got a text asking where we were.”

Inhaling deeply, I felt both relief and dread. This wasn’t anything official, and if we were smart, we could come up with a story. “What did you say?” I asked, still aware of Keaton’s muscular arm around my shoulders. I resisted the urge to lean back farther into his embrace.

“N—nothing,” she sputtered. “It was just a minute ago. What do we do?”

I pulled away from Keaton, because I knew that part of me just wanted to stay. To kiss more, to see the show, and to say fuck the consequences. But I had to think about the bigger picture: my education and my scholarship.

“Tell her we went home to my house. My Yaya makes the best avgolemono ever, and she always says it’s good for when you’re sick.”

Keaton nodded. “Grandmother’s soup is a good excuse for Thea, but what about her?”

Did he know that was soup just by context? Didn’t seem like the kind of food a rocker would eat. And Lowe certainly isn’t a Greek name.

“Callie’s family’s from Maine, so she couldn’t just go home unless she wanted to drive for hours. She’s going to stay at my parents’ house.” The plan firmed up in my mind. I turned to Keaton. “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes showed much less mirth and sparkle than they usually did. “Do what you have to do,” he answered, and went back to the mirror to put some finishing touches to his hair.

My stomach tightened. Not the most encouraging response. And no plans to see each other again. A few people streamed in through the door and began talking with him.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding completely pathetic. I wanted to mention how we’d be in North Carolina at the same time and try to make plans, but I decided to play it cool.

“I’ll sing one for you,” he said, and we exited, completely deflated.

Callie texted while I brooded all the way back to the car. Before we got in, she turned to me.

“Um, Donelle wants to see the soup.”

I frowned. “Come again?”

“She says that we could be anywhere, so text her a pic of Granny and her avocado soup or whatever the hell it is.”

Slamming my fist on the hood of the car, I grumbled. “Okay, hold on. I’m going to text my little brother to see if Yaya can make the soup for when we get home. It’s only forty-five minutes from here. Hopefully we can hold Donelle off for a little while. Don’t answer yet.” I pulled out my phone and prayed the plan would work.

We drove in silence, and I knew both our minds were going completely haywire over what the consequences could be. Benched for the second game? Put on probation? Suspended? Scholarship revoked? That may be a little melodramatic, but I was still worried. There were lots of possibilities and they all sucked. This plan had to work. We could have taken the easy road and gone back to campus with a worse story, but truthfully I wanted to be home for a while. See my family, feel comfort. The kiss I shared with Keaton was amazing, but once I had to leave, his crazy life resumed. How could I ever keep up with that or compete with it?

Soon we were pulling up to my house, and through the window I could see a confused and alarmed mother and grandmother in the window.

“Shit,” I muttered. “We didn’t even come up with an excuse for them!”

“Damn. Wait, how about we both ate some bad cafeteria food and needed some healing soup and a night in a comfy bed?”

I blinked. “You can be smart sometimes.”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” she retorted, and we exited the car and headed inside, clutching our stomachs emphatically.

My mom’s face was always creased with worry, but tonight the lines seemed deeper. “Thea, you know we’re happy to see you, but I thought you said you weren’t going to be making trips home during basketball season.” Her Greek accent had faded over the years, but when faced with stress, it strengthened. Tonight she sounded right off the boat.

Yaya just grabbed my head and kissed it.

I explained the story, and they bought it easily. Mothers want to mother, it seems. The idea of her daughter coming home for comfort and food delighted both Mom and Yaya and soon we were being served bowls of the steamy lemony soup.

“Let’s take some pictures!” Callie said, giggling with my mom. They had only met a few times, but my mother loved my roommate and was thrilled that someone she trusted was with her daughter. Mom believed that she was an instant judge of character, which was great in some instances, but not so much in others. Boys, for example.

I put my arm around Yaya and patted her little gray head. She adjusted her glasses and we smiled over the bowl of soup.
Click
, done. Perfect. Callie pulled me in and we took one together. With a text, Donelle would have her proof.

My younger brothers, Nicky and Anthony, came out and tried to hide their excitement and be cool kids. It didn’t work. Within minutes, they were bouncing up and down and asking for college stories and dying to hear more about how the tournament would go.

“First we’re going to North Carolina in two weeks, and then if we win, it’s Florida next. Then the Final Four and the title game would be here at home.”

My breath hitched. First, because of North Carolina. Another chance to see Keaton. If he wanted to see me, that is. But second . . . Florida. Florida meant Miami. Miami meant sex with Keaton. I pulled the bowl of soup under my chin and pretended it was the steam that was making my face red, and not the thought of Keaton inside me. I shoveled a spoonful into my mouth to keep from drooling. “Good avgolemono, Yaya.”

She frowned. “It’s better than good.”

I chuckled.

We spent the next hour playing Heads Up! on my phone—it’s like charades, but the iPhone records it so you can watch everyone acting like idiots on the recording after the round is over. Soon, Callie and I retired to my room with full stomachs and big smiles.

“It wasn’t a Roman rock star orgy, but definitely a good night,” she said, hopping into bed.

I held my finger to my mouth. “Hello, Yaya’s got some serious hearing aids. Don’t be surprised if she storms in here.” I laughed as my head hit the pillow.

Crisis averted, but who knew what loomed when we went back to school.

Wes could do something with the picture of me and the cup. Someone could have spotted us leaving campus way before people noticed we were missing.

Then there was Keaton. Why was his good-bye so cold? How could he just move on to his concert after the most passionate and amazing kiss ever?

Probably because he does this sort of thing daily, my conscience grumbled.

I worried as Callie snored next to me. Of course Keaton was able to get up and get over it fast—he was the heartbreaker of the century, as Callie so kindly told me.

Pulling my phone from the side table, I googled the term. There, of course, were hundreds of pictures of Keaton with women. Tall ones, short ones, girls of all hair colors and styles, each and every one looking moon-eyed at him. And Keaton with his rascal grin in each and every shot. He looked like he didn’t care about the ladies draped all over him. I sighed. Was this going to be me? Was losing credibility with the team worth being just another broken heart?

Just then my phone buzzed. A text from Keaton.

I had great difficulty focusing on the show tonight
, it read.

Play it cool, play it cool.
And why is that?

Because songs don’t feel as good on my tongue as you do
.

And whoosh went the air out of my lungs. Keaton, you devil.
If your songs sounded that good, I’d have listened to your band years ago
.

He texted back a smiley face, I returned with a winky, and then promptly decided texting was very juvenile for conversations like this. These words were meant to be whispered, with loaded silences, breathless sighs, and stifled laughs.

I want to see you again
, he wrote.
I can’t stop thinking about you
.

I wanted to continue this, but I also had to keep my distance. He was a rock god and I was a basketball star who didn’t want to get her heart destroyed. Especially during tournament.
Same
.

Do you like surprises?
he asked cryptically. Always with the cloak and dagger, this one.

Depends
.

Maybe I’ll see you at your next tournament round?
he asked.

I hope so
was all I could manage. I wanted to write so much more, but I knew in reality I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He was a rocker with a crazy schedule and I was devoted to the team, and we were also pretty much under lockdown when we were there.

For a moment, neither of us said anything else. I didn’t know what to add, and all I heard from his end was silence. Then one final text.

Curious to see what you pack, Goddess
.

Once Callie and I had returned to school, I stared at an empty duffel bag, ignoring the fact that I had two weeks to pick things out. I mean, just in case I see him.

I wouldn’t know what to pack in that situation, I realized. Other than tape, of course.

I rarely gave any thought to packing.

Away games just meant throwing together a few shirts and shorts and maybe some textbooks. That’s not packing, it’s just routine. Packing, at least packing for this, would require strategic decisions.

Decisions involving underwear.
Panties
, even! That is, if Keaton’s cryptic suggestion meant what I think it did, and that we’d be alone again. I knew meeting again would be up to our crazy schedules and fate, but I wanted to make it happen. Maybe if I strategized, I could figure something out. But for now, it was a different kind of strategizing: the undergarment variety.

My bag sat opened on the floor, ready to be stuffed and kept under my bed for two long weeks. I had nothing to feed it. I opened my drawer and found sports bra after sports bra. Nothing lacy, nothing shiny. Shit. If I really was going to hook up with Keaton, I was going to need to look the part.

Black,
I decided.

I needed a black bra. He wants me to be in charge, right? What says
I’m going to dominate you
like black lingerie?

Again, an image of the Red Devil flashed through my mind.

Red. Red’s possibly more intimidating.

Maybe now isn’t the best time to pack
, I thought. I left the bag on the floor and wandered down the street toward the captains’ multi-unit home. I wanted to see the team and for them to see that I was both on campus and feeling well enough to practice and play. In other words, suck up.

To occupy myself, I plugged the week’s homework schedule into my phone. Classics was a fun, light major at first, before it got into the heavy classes, ones taught completely in Latin and Greek and sometimes Hebrew. Right now I was taking Philosophy, Roman Civ, Latin 201, and Lyric Poetry. Lots of reading, not so much writing. Which was good for me. I liked acquiring knowledge, not regurgitating it. They were never “my own words,” they were chewed up and spit out versions of what I had read. I can’t say it better than Ovid, so why ask? No, it was the facts that got to me. The history.

I stopped short when I arrived at the house. The Red Devil was loading up a little black convertible full of boxes. I wondered if there were tawses in them. Or if any had accidentally fallen on the ground, abandoned, and I’d have to shove it in my backpack for use with Keaton.
Eep!

“Hey you,” she said, spotting me. I froze. “Give me a hand.”

No
please
or
thank you
in her vocabulary.

“Okay,” I said, hefting a box from the steps and loading it into her car.

“It’s Scarlett, you know,” she said, placing another box inside.

“Huh?” I asked.

“My name,” she answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was straight today and the color reminded me of the red copper pots my dad kept in our kitchen. “It’s not the Red Devil. It’s Scarlett.”

I nodded. “Right, I know that. I’m Thea.”

She smirked. “I know.”

My hand rested on the box, itching to know what was inside. Was it more kinky items?

“I didn’t mean to scare you the other day,” she said, slamming the trunk and looking me boldly in the eye. Did this woman ever blink? “I just thought you were curious and maybe a little too shy to say something.”

“Something?” I asked. I had been touching a leather whip-like thing. What else could I want to say?

She pursed her full lips. “You’re like me.”

My eyes widened. Was she hitting on me? Was this officially the week of superbold and powerful people making me feel confused?

“How?” I asked dumbly.

She reached into her purse and pulled out what looked like a dog toy. It was a clear strap with a rubber ball in the middle. “You’re kinky. And dominant. But, unlike me, you have no idea how to handle it.”

The feeling was similar to when Callie punched me in the gut. The wind spurted from my body and my stomach clenched. “Don’t pretend you know me.” I surprised myself with my brazen words. This woman brought the team to tears on a daily basis, and I was giving her an attitude.

Her lip curled in a half-sneer, half-smirk. “That’s right. I don’t know you, but I know your type. And your type silently broods while the older girls boss you around, am I right? You clench your fists and wish for a voice. Or someone to smack around. I bet you took care of bullies when you were a kid, eh?”

She was not wrong about the bully part. Poor Garrett McHugh was tied to that telephone pole for an hour for giving Anthony a wedgie.

It was hard forming a response. On one hand, I couldn’t stand not being able to speak my mind around the team. But,
smack someone around
? “I’m not the violent type.” I eyeballed the thing in her hands and realized it wasn’t a dog toy at all. “And does that go in a person’s mouth?”

She nodded. “It’s not about violence, it’s about control. And trust me, they like it. This is in my purse because someone likes it. And he’s going to like it in about ten minutes. If you’ll excuse me.”

It’s about control. Someone likes it.

Scarlett totally understood me. And I understood Keaton.

She opened her car door and sat inside. I stood above her, and she straightened.

“Can I ask you more sometime?” I said, throat tightening at the question. She was right about me, and dammit, I didn’t want to be caught unawares around Keaton. He knew what we both wanted . . . I just didn’t know how to go about it. And although I didn’t know this woman, I felt a connection to her. She felt like an old acquaintance.

Scarlett nodded. “Tomorrow I want you to come to my shop.”

“Okay,” I said. “Are crystals used for kinky purposes?”

She laughed and added, “Come to the room behind the pink curtains.”

I forgot to ask if she sold bras.

CALLIE ACCOMPANIED ME TO THE
mall for bra shopping, since I doubted Scarlett would have what I needed. Clothing wise, of course.

“You are hopeless,” Callie said after I rejected the tenth pair of panties today.

“They’re going to feel like a wedgie the whole time! I can’t concentrate on being sexy while wanting to pick my butt.”

She rolled her eyes. “You won’t notice after ten minutes. I promise.”

I eyeballed a pair from a different section. No lace, just satin fabric. They were low and rectangle shaped. “These okay?” I asked, holding up a black pair with red trim. “They’re called
cheekies
.”

Callie cackled. “You are certainly cheeky,” she said, snatching the panties from my hands and squinting at them. “And you have a bit of a bubble booty and the bottoms of your cheekies will be showing just enough.”

I groaned. “I hate this.”

“You’re going to love it,” she lectured, nabbing a bra in the same style and colors. “Do you want me to see if they have any matching rope?”

I covered her mouth with my hand and muffled her speech.

“See? You’re already getting the hang of this!” she said after prying my hand off.

I realized her words meant something lighthearted, but the sentiment darkened my mood. She thought I was crazy. That there was something wrong with wanting to do the things Keaton suggested. The things I wanted to do so badly.

“Thea? Hello?” Callie said, waving her hand in front of my face.

I shook my head. “This was a mistake,” I said, placing the bra and panties back where they were.

“Wait, what?” she said, trailing after me.

I stopped. “This is stupid. It’s weird and it’s perverted and not normal. He’s just some rock star who wants to mess with a college kid. I’m not going to let him. I have the freaking tournament to think about right now, not this shit.”

Callie looked at me, stunned. “It was meant as a compliment! You
know
you have a strong personality, Thea, and I think you’d be perfect to put a jet-setting rocker in his place. I think you’re scared to admit you want it just as much as he does. And as for the tournament, I think you’re motivated as ever. Don’t worry.”

I frowned, looking at the bra and panties. All my life I ran from guys, even good ones.

It was time to hunt.
Now
. I picked up the lingerie.

“Fine. Let’s do this.”