Teach Me a Lesson (12 page)

They were alone. Whoever owned the other car in the lot was as invisible to her as she and Lance would be to them, lost in the darkness between the light posts.

She parted the lapels, the cool night air a shock to her flesh.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his gaze on her nipples, his fingers only a touch away. “All that pretty, naked skin.”

Those had been his instructions. The high heels, the coat, nothing else, not a stitch. Hands at her waist, he reeled her in until their bodies were separated by mere inches.

“I thought about this all afternoon.” His breath was sweet with mint.

So had she. Wondering what he’d planned. She’d thought he would be waiting in his car for her. She imagined him laying her down on the back seat. Or pulling her onto his lap.

The pads of his fingers were slightly rough against her skin, and hot. Or maybe she was just cold.

“Now what, Principal Hutton? I’m not sure how this is going to be punishment.”

He laughed softly again. “Everything doesn’t have to be punishment. Sometimes it’s just about obeying my whims.”

“And what is your whim?”

“Hold your coat against my arms so the wind doesn’t get inside.”

She cocooned herself with him inside the jacket.

Leaning in, he whispered against her hair. “Spread your legs for me.”

Right here? “But someone could come by. There was another car in the lot.”

“All they’ll see is a man and woman embracing.”

She’d never had public sex, but its allure made her wet even as the risk pushed her heart to a faster beat. “You are a very bad man, Principal Hutton.”

“And you’re a very bad girl.” He leaned back to reveal the spark in his dark eyes.

Then his hand was between her legs. Charlotte groaned, closed her eyes, shivered with the exquisite roughness of his fingers against her clitoris. He circled the nub, seduced her, drew forth another flood of moisture.

“You are so damn wet.” He slid a digit inside her, found her G-spot, rubbed it gently, the slow stroke driving her almost to the brink. “This was what you wanted me to do this morning in my office, wasn’t it, Miss Moore.” There was no question in that statement.

“God, yes.” She gasped as he added his thumb to the rhythm, doubling the sensation, taking her on the inside, the outside. She was so wet he glided easily over her flesh.

“Did you want me to make you come this morning, Miss Moore?”

“Yes, yes.” She panted.

“Right there in my office?”

“You know I did.” She sucked in a breath, let it out with a low moan, almost a growl.

“Such a risk-taker.”

“Just like you, doing this to me out here.” She squeezed her eyes tight as heat began to build deep inside her, spreading out, to her limbs, her skin. She was no longer cold. She burned for him.

“Are you afraid someone will see?”

In this moment, she didn’t care. If they ended up in jail, so what? She gasped, shuddered, quivered, and rocked with him, adding her own motion to the heady mix.

“How sexy it would be to take you in front of an audience, Miss Moore. Or to watch you with another man.”

Her legs trembled, her knees felt weak. She clutched the coat tightly around his arms. His words reminded her of something, someone. What? God, it didn’t matter now.

“Don’t scream, Miss Moore. Someone’s coming. Don’t make a sound.”

She couldn’t help herself. She opened her mouth, a cry welling up in her throat even as the climax began with a rumble, then a roar. Or maybe that was another jet overhead. His mouth covered hers, swallowed the sounds, swallowed her orgasm, possessed her, made her his slave.

* * *

SHE WAS AMAZING, GAME FOR ANYTHING, AND SHE TURNED HIM
inside out when she opened her eyes to gaze up at him with sultry satisfaction.

“Such a dirty man. I’m shocked, Principal Hutton. Right out here in the open.” She rubbed against his hard cock.

“You didn’t want to spend the night. This assured the impossibility of that.”

“Hold my coat in place.” Heh, now she was issuing the orders.

When he tugged the collar closed, she drew her hands in and wriggled out of the arms.

“What are you doing, Miss Moore?”

She unzipped his slacks. “You don’t think I’m going to let you have all the fun, do you?” She released him from the confines of his briefs.

“Jesus.” He sucked in a breath. “Your hand is cold.”

“Your cock is hot.” She squeezed. “And extremely hard.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’ve been thinking about me all day, Principal Hutton?”

He laughed hoarsely. “Fuck yes.”

She stroked expertly. No woman had ever tempted him the way she did. How could he have waited three long years to take advantage of her?

She cupped his balls, and his world seemed to shrink down to just the feel of her hand on him, her seductive scent mesmerizing him, the ache building in his gut. A shadow ran by, man and dog, disappearing into the night, and Lance didn’t care if they were seen.

“So who’s the master here, Principal Hutton?” She swirled a drop of pre-come around the tip of his cock, used it to lubricate her strokes.

“You are, and you fucking know it.” A deep groan rose from his belly, and his hands fisted tightly in the lapels of her coat. He’d never had anything like this, never touched a woman like her. It was more than a simple hand job. It was that she made a hand job the most important thing in the world, like a teenage boy touched by a girl for the first time, all new, all exciting, rushing him to the edge in a matter of seconds.

“Would you fuck me right here if I told you to?” she whispered.

“Christ. Yes. Please.”

A great roar started in his head, made his body tremble. He put his head back, stared at the plane far above them, feeling the vibrations through his entire body.

“You’d do anything I say,” she whispered. He shouldn’t have been able to hear, but it was as if the words were inside his head.

He rocked to the rhythm of her hand. “Yes. Anything.”

She teased and stroked, twisted and caressed. Sensation shot down to his balls, exploded out to his extremities, and he shouted. If not for the thunder of the plane, the world would have heard his climax.

He jetted, jerked, pulsed, throbbed, on and on, as if he were that same teenage boy, now totally out of control. Then finally he could breathe again, but all he could manage was a hoarse “Fuck.”

She leaned back slightly. “Look at that, you dirty man. You made a mess all over me.”

In the darkness of her voluminous coat, he couldn’t see it, but the scent of come rose to his nostrils. Her hand moved, the back of it brushing his still semi-erect cock.

“I’ll just have to rub it in,” she said. “It’s all slippery.” Her hand circled and swirled around, rising to her breasts, rubbing his come there as well. Then she raised her fingers to her mouth and licked them, her gaze on his, her eyes beguiling him. “Yum,” she mouthed, smiled, then went back to rubbing and stroking herself.

The act was sexy as hell, intimate in an elemental way. She wasn’t afraid of his come, loved it, wanted it, massaged it into her skin. Even the taste didn’t repel her. It was more than a woman swallowing a man’s come during a blow job. His first wife had kept a box of mints on the side table. But Charlotte
loved
it. He’d never had a sexual partner like her, so sensual, so passionate, so in love with everything about the sex act, the tastes, the scents, the sensations. He was enthralled with her sensuality.

The words were on the tip of his tongue.
Come home with me. Stay with me.
But while she loved the act, she didn’t want the intimacy. She wouldn’t spend the night. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even have dinner with him.

There was only one way to shut himself up. He cupped her cheek with one hand, holding the coat in place with the other, and lowered his lips to hers, took her mouth, tasted himself. It wasn’t repellent. It was hot as Hades. She was his devil, tempting him.

Then she was tucking him back into his trousers, zipping up, patting him down. “I’m really going to need my beauty sleep tonight, Principal Hutton.”

Come home with me.

“Well, at least you’ve had your beauty lotion,” he said instead.

She laughed. Christ, even her laugh made his cock jerk with renewed desire. “I’ve heard it said that come is very good for the skin.”

“And here I thought you simply wanted my scent on you when you woke up in the middle of the night.”

She cocked her head slightly, batted her lashes, but didn’t answer as she wriggled her arms back into her sleeves. Holding the coat tightly closed, she stepped back, putting cold air and space between them. “I think you’re the one who’s going to wake up in the middle of the night to taste me on your fingers.”

He would. No doubt about it. He would think about her all tomorrow, too, then into the night again. He was on her skin, but she was definitely under his.

10

CHARLOTTE SLEPT NAKED. SHE HADN’T SHOWERED WHEN SHE
arrived home after leaving Lance. She couldn’t bear to wash him off. His come wasn’t sticky; it was delicious. Once in bed, she pushed the covers aside so the scent of him filled the room, filled her head.

She was in control. Completely. Sure, at the moment of climax, she’d thought of herself as his slave, but then she’d switched everything around on him, turned him into
her
slave, forced him to admit he’d do anything for her.

Putting her hand between her legs, she caressed herself as his medley of aromas surrounded her.

This wasn’t obsession, it was perfection. She ran a flourishing therapy practice, she helped kids as a guidance counselor, and now this. They were consenting adults, they didn’t have sex at work—she didn’t count that first time after detention, since she’d never even raised her skirt—and truly, no justification necessary, it would work wonders with her practice. In the heat of the moment, he’d suggested having an audience and even watching her with other men. A rush of moisture flooded her fingers, and she dug her heels into the mattress, arching into her touch.

On show for him. The thought made her hot and wet. It proved how powerful fantasy could be. It worked for her. It could work for Jeanine and her husband. Charlotte felt that truth deep in her core as her pussy contracted, her orgasm building. She imagined people watching as the principal filled her, thrusting deep. Doggy style. God. She tossed her head on the pillow, heat rushing through her body. Then she imagined Principal Hutton standing over the bed, pointing, directing.
Fuck her hard,
she heard him whisper.
Make her come.
Charlotte hit her climax, crying out, rolling and clamping her thighs tight around her hand, riding the wave of bliss.

When it was over, she spread out bonelessly on the bed. God. So good. It was one thing to tell Jeanine to experiment with fantasy. It was quite another to experience the wonders of fantasizing. Just add a little kink, not much, a little risky business, a shot of sexy role playing, and it worked miracles.

* * *

“WE NEED TO CONSIDER INSTITUTING SCHOOL UNIFORMS.”

Lance barely suppressed an eye roll. There were a lot of things he’d rather be doing, the most delightful being a review of last night’s spectacular adventure with Charlotte. Unfortunately, he had a lunch meeting.

Once a month David Smith, chairman of the district’s school board, invited him to lunch for what Smith liked to call “a state of the union” discussion. They ate at the country club, the dues of which Lance suspected were charged off as a school-board expense.

Smith was in his early fifties with a thick head of silver hair and good looks that appealed to the ladies, though the growing inner tube around his midsection, revealed when he unbuttoned his suit jacket, indicated too many country club lunches with cream sauce.

Lance took a healthy swallow of his seltzer water before answering. He’d ordered a grilled chicken salad in deference to his last cholesterol test. His vision of his future did not include a heart attack, or an inner tube around his middle, for that matter.

With the water glass back on the immaculate white tablecloth, he said, “I see no need for it at this point. We don’t have any gang colors infiltrating the student body, and requiring uniforms would put an undue burden on many of our parents.”

Smith sipped his scotch and soda. “On the contrary, it actually saves money when parents don’t have to put out for the latest fashion fad. Besides, it’s not like we’re an inner-city school district.” The word
poor
being left out of the phrase.

Lance’s district comprised an affluent area of the San Francisco Peninsula, and the schools were highly regarded. Indeed, many parents moved here just for the educational system. Smith’s own children attended the district’s public schools—it wouldn’t do for the chairman to send his kids to private school—a stepson in high school and two younger children in the middle and elementary grades. Lance’s school had no gang troubles, no severe drug problems, no real disciplinary issues other than the usual minor infractions of the sort Charlotte encountered in detention hall the previous week. He saw no need for instituting uniforms. The suggestion was simply a ploy to show that Smith was trying to stay in touch with the community’s needs. The man would be better off spending less on monthly lunches and using the money for improving the classrooms. Not that Lance felt his students lacked anything. He monitored the budget with close scrutiny and questioned any superfluous spending.

“The school board believes that uniforms improve the appearance of the entire student body. No more midriff-baring T-shirts or short-shorts.” Smith dabbed at a bit of Alfredo sauce on his chin.

“We don’t have bare midriffs or butt cheeks.” Lance enforced a dress code. No bare stomachs or exposed cheeks, or cracks, for that matter. “I’m not taking action against a nonissue.”

Smith harrumphed. “Well, the board might consider it for the next school year.”

Lance would make sure the board didn’t. The uniforms were probably a bug up only one ass—David Smith’s—and the remainder of the board would be glad to dispense with the issue.