wanted to spank a girl as much as I do right now,” he says absently in the mirror as he’s inspecting the damage.
My mouth drops open because I have never even considered the possibility of being spanked by anyone until just now. And I’m a little alarmed by how much it turns me on.
“You marked me like I’m some sort of Catholic high school girl,” he mutters, apparently oblivious to the situation he’s just created in my underwear.
“You’d look adorable in a plaid skirt and kneesocks,” I say, leaning my chin on his shoulder as I stand behind him, watching him in the mirror. “They go really well with hickeys.”
“That’s it.”
That’s all the warning I get before he grabs me, drops us both down on the bed, throws me over his knee and I swear to God I have no idea how to make sense of what I’m feeling as he pulls my panties down to my knees and my bare ass is exposed. I’m surprised his hard-on doesn’t give us both internal injuries. I’m shaking and I feel like I might come and he hasn’t even touched me yet. Can a girl come from having a boy just look at her naked ass? Is that physiologically possible?
“You’re in so much trouble, Emmylou,” he says, running his hand over my ass. I tremble because I believe him, but I’m not exactly sorry.
“I’m sorry,” I say anyway. He’s not convinced when I giggle like an idiot.
“Oh, you will be.” He pins me down on his lap as I squirm.
Oh my God, oh shit oh shit oh shit, I think. Is it going to hurt? Will I like it? What the hell will it mean if I do? What is he going to think . . . I guess I’m willing to find out, because I’m not trying to get away or anything. I’m too busy laughing at how ridiculous this is and being more turned on than I know how to handle.
Travis reaches across me into his desk drawer and I wonder if he’s going to pull out a ruler and smack me with that. I cringe a little at the thought, but then I see he’s holding a Sharpie permanent marker. The Sharpie, in fact. The thick one that he uses to tag our band name on things.
“What the hell are you doing with that?”
He pulls the cap off with his teeth and then I feel the tip of it, cold and damp with ink, on my left ass cheek. It tickles so I’m writhing and giggling and I have no idea what the hell he’s doing back there.
“Hold still,” he says. “You’re messing it up!”
“Messing what up?”
“My art.”
“You’re drawing . . . art? On my ass?”
“God, your ass is pretty much a work of art as it is. I’m just, you know, embellishing.”
I shake my head and try to be still but it tickles and holy God am I turned on. I feel slick between my thighs as he drags the marker across my skin. I have goose bumps all over my back, all down the back of my legs. I complain that he needs to hurry up because I really would like to get back to the sex part, but he shushes me. When he’s done, I feel the warm air of Travis’s breath as he’s trying to get the ink to dry.
“Do I at least get to see it?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” he says. “Most definitely. Damn, I wish I had a photo of this.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Emmy, come on,” he says. “I would never do that. Unless you wanted me to, of course. Then I’d oblige.”
“I don’t!”
“Fine, fine, let me let it sear into my memory for the ages then, because this might be my life’s masterpiece right here.”
Then he rolls me off of his lap, which is kind of too bad because I really like it there. I pull my underwear back up and he maneuvers me back over to the mirror by my shoulders, turns me around, and tugs my panties back down so they’re just below my ass, and when I see what his Sharpie masterpiece is? I go fire-engine red all over.
Because that asshole wrote his name, in enormous, fancy letters, right across my ass!
“Oh, no you didn’t,” I say, blushing so hard I cover my face with my hands.
“Oh, hell yes I did,” he says, that cocky son of a bitch. “So now, if anybody else asks you if there’s anything between