Teach Me a Lesson (15 page)

She thought he’d ask if that’s what happened with her client, but instead he directed his question at her. “Am I coercing you?”

She leaned forward, hugging the pillow tight to her. “Am I coercing you?” she countered. “Because if I recall correctly”—and of course she did—“I was the one who told you I needed to be punished.”

His mouth moved. She thought it was an answering smile. “And as I recall,” he murmured, “you keep using inappropriate language and exhibiting lewd behavior so that I’m forced to punish you.”

“I could stop if you want me to.”

He moved in fast and grabbed the pillow, tugging it away to leave her naked from the waist down. “One of the things I like best about you is your filthy mouth, Miss Moore. Don’t stop using it on me. In every way, shape, and form.”

He took the wineglass from her hand and set it on the table, then hovered over her, a hot blaze in the depths of his gaze. “All this sex talk has gotten me worked up again.”

He put her hand on his jeans. Good God, the man was already hard. At his age. Amazing.

“Before the clock strikes midnight and I turn into a pumpkin that has to roll out of here, I have a feeling you’ll say something for which I’m going to have to teach you another lesson. Right, Miss Moore?”

God. She wanted to giggle. He actually remembered her stupid metaphor. And hell, yes, he was right. She would do something that would earn her one of his delicious lessons. “Cocksucker. Is that inappropriate enough, Principal Hutton?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Actually, it’s the most appropriate thing you could say.”

That was exactly the lesson he taught her. Not that Charlotte had a whole lot to learn in that particular area, if she did say so herself.

12

LANCE COULDN’T GET ENOUGH OF HER. IT WAS CRAZY. BUT HE
adored her unconventionality. She always did something that managed to surprise him. He needed more of Miss Moore, no pun intended.

It was a Friday afternoon, the November day outside his office window blustery, the last of the students rushing to their cars or the buses or waiting for their parents to pick them up. Though it was the end of the school day, it was not the end of his day. He had work to do, but his mind kept returning to Charlotte, to last night in her house, on her couch.

In addition to his growing obsession—and not because of it—he had to admire her as well. She didn’t automatically condemn her clients. He’d always thought of sex therapy as the psychologist helping the client overcome kinky tendencies, becoming
normal
. From what she said, he surmised that she was more into helping her clients accept their kinkiness as long as it hurt neither them nor their partners. The attitude was refreshing. If more people believed that, could more marriages be saved? He thought of his two failures. They had not died because of sex or a lack thereof. They had died because of an inability to talk about needs.

Charlotte allowed him freedom to explore. She loved games. Nothing was out of bounds for her. He wanted her to fulfill his fantasy. He needed it. He’d never fantasized about any student in his office. The thought had never occurred to him and never would. But he fantasized about Charlotte. He wanted the scent of her in this room. He wanted olfactory reminders of her. He wanted to sit in his chair with the door closed and remember.

He gave in to the urge he’d been holding off all day. Sending her an email, he typed out a brief list of instructions. He gave her a time and a place.

Then he buzzed Mrs. Rivers—she was always Mrs. Rivers, never first names, he wasn’t even sure she had a first name—and asked her to phone in a sandwich order for him because he’d be working late.

* * *

CHARLOTTE PARKED IN THE FAR LOT OVERLOOKING THE FOOTBALL FIELD. AT THIS LATE HOUR, THE SCHOOL WAS DESERTED. SHE
made her way through the dark, empty halls to his open office door. The blinds were closed, only his desk lamp was on for illumination. In the light of it, his swarthy face was as dark as the devil. The shadows gave his brow the cast of a satyr.

“You’re insane,” she said.

“But you’re here, Miss Moore, so you must share my insanity.”

She did. In the email he’d told her that the security service drove by every hour. She’d seen the small truck leave before pulling in. The clandestine nature of their meeting excited her. So did the risk.

This was not a fantasy she would advocate for clients, and she wouldn’t tell Lola about it. But as soon as she’d read his email, she wanted it.

“Close the door,” he ordered.

She wasn’t sure exactly what he had planned. Would he spank her? He’d told her to wear a skirt, blouse, high heels, but no underwear.

Once the door was closed, he stood, rounded the desk, and moved a chair out of the way. “Pull up your skirt.”

Her blood seemed to rush in her veins as she bared herself to him.

“Bend over my desk, chest flat against it, arms straight ahead.”

A spanking. Like that day in detention hall.

She assumed the position, eyes closed, and steeled herself for the first blow. But the caress that came was incredibly gentle.

“You have the most beautiful ass I have ever seen, Miss Moore.” He stroked her, cupped her, squeezed.

She tensed for the moment he would swat her. It was coming, she knew it. She wanted it. But she couldn’t help tensing for it.

“Your pussy is so incredibly sweet.” He went down on his knees behind her. She heard him breathe deeply. “Such an erotic scent.” He trailed a finger down her outer lips, slipped inside, stroked, then he parted her and put his tongue against her clit.

Charlotte gasped and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk. “Oh God.”

“Principal Hutton to you,” he said and blew a warm breath on her. Then he licked her. He worried her clit, suckled, lapped at her opening.

Charlotte’s legs began to shake. It wasn’t what she’d expected at all, this sweetness, the gentle touches. He filled her with his fingers, pumped inside, stroked her G-spot. Now she was panting.

“How badly do you want it, Miss Moore?”

“Oh God, please, so bad. I need it.”

Then his fingers were gone, and his tongue. She was still quivering on the edge. Until she heard the rasp of a condom wrapper.

She was so wet, he slid deep. Instead of thrusting, he leaned over her body, covering her even as he filled her.

“I want to sit in this office and see you lying on my desk.” He nibbled her ear. “I want to close my eyes and smell you all over it.” He tongued the shell and she shivered. “When you come in here to talk business, I want to look at you and know you’re remembering that I had you right here on this desk.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

He moved, slowly at first, caressing that nub inside, making her tremble.

“I’m going to fuck you here like never before.” He held her down with his body, positioned her with his hands, and thrust deeper, harder, faster.

Charlotte braced herself on the desk, pushing back on him. He dropped one hand from her hip, insinuated it beneath her, and found the hard bud of her clitoris, rubbing, circling. His touch, inside and out, had her right up on the edge again in a matter of seconds.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Charlotte panted for him.

“Remember this when you’re standing in my office.”

“Oh God, yes, I will.” She would touch the wood and remember the feel of it against her body, the heat of him inside her.

The quakes started in her calves, worked their way up, then everything exploded out from the point at which she was joined with him. Her body jerked, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough to see stars. When the sensations would have faded, she felt him throb inside and he thrust harder. Then he buried his face in her hair and held her tight against him as his cock pulsed in climax.

They were both breathing hard. His tremors died away. So did hers. Then finally he moved, stood straight, pulled out. Against her backside, she felt him remove the condom, then he leaned over her to grab a tissue from a box. She wondered idly if he kept the tissues there for students who broke down, the way she had a tissue box on the corner of her desk.

Or had he put it there for this very purpose?

“Stand up, Miss Moore.”

As she did, rather unsteadily, he smoothed her skirt down over her rump.

“You have to go now.”

She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to curl up in his arms. In his chair. On his lap. And stay.

But of course she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“Yes, Principal Hutton,” she murmured.

“You performed well, Miss Moore.”

She left his office, her legs a bit wobbly. She didn’t see a janitor. She didn’t see a security truck. When she started her car engine, it was only twenty past the hour. The whole thing, from the moment she’d watched the security guy drive away to fucking Lance to returning to her car had taken twenty minutes.

It was surely the best twenty minutes of her life.

* * *

“FUCK,” LANCE WHISPERED ALOUD TO THE EMPTY OFFICE ON MONDAY. HE’D HAD A MORNING OF CALLS, AND NOW, THE LAST OF THEM
made, he stared at the desk. He could still see Charlotte lying there. He could smell her sex. He could taste her on his tongue. He’d thought of nothing else the entire weekend. Of course, he could have called her, ordered her to his house, gone to hers, but he’d wanted this, to arrive at his office with the last memory of her being on that desk.

He’d never done such a thing in his life. He would probably never do anything like it again. He’d planned, mitigated the risk by choosing a late hour for the rendezvous, but he’d taken what he wanted.

She’d done everything he told her to. Dressed the way he’d insisted. Lifted her skirt when he demanded it. Let him fuck her.

He’d had sex in his office. He’d embraced his kinkiness. He started planning the other things he’d get Charlotte to do for him.

He was well and truly obsessed. And never more satisfied in his life.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his reverie. “Yes, Mrs. Rivers.”

“We’ve got a problem out here, Principal Hutton.” For the unflappable Mrs. Rivers, the thread of tension in her voice was unusual.

“What’s going on?”

“Could you come out here, Principal?” Again, highly unusual.

He punched off the intercom button and opened his door to find his assistant principal and two teenagers, one girl, one boy. He recognized the kid immediately. Eric Collins, David Smith’s stepson.

Shit. This was something he didn’t need.

“What’s the problem, Mrs. Sloan?” In her midthirties, Alice was short and stocky, something akin to the stereotypical image of a prison matron, but she was fair. She’d been one of his assistant principals since the beginning of the school year, and she usually took care of disciplinary issues on her own initiative unless they were particularly egregious.

“Fight in the quad, Principal Hutton,” Alice said in a clipped military style.

He stared at Eric. “You were fighting with a girl?” He didn’t care how sexist the statement sounded, in his world, you never hit a female.

“Eric didn’t hit Melody,” Alice informed him. “She knocked a soda can out of his hand.”

“Melody Wright?”

The girl nodded, head down and eyes on the floor so that her lackluster brown hair obscured most of her face. Yet enough was visible to make out the ravages of acne.

Damn it to hell. The boy she’d been harassing was the stepson of the school board’s chairman. Why the hell hadn’t Charlotte told him? Then again, being here only two days a week, she was uninvolved in school politics and most likely didn’t have a clue.

Pointing, he said, “The both of you, in my office.” Once they were inside, along with the assistant principal, he moved behind his desk. He chose not to sit, nor to allow them to.

“Fighting can be cause for expulsion,” he said harshly.

“It wasn’t a fight, sir,” Eric interrupted. “She slapped the soda can instead of slapping my face, then it was over.” His shirt was neatly tucked in, his jeans sharp, marred only by the dark stain of the soda along one pant leg, and he met Lance’s gaze boldly. In contrast, Melody was unkempt, her expression sullen, and her shoulders rolled into a slump so extreme it actually looked painful.

“Any kind of violence is unacceptable.” He looked at Melody. “Why did you do it?”

“It was my fault, sir,” Eric jumped in. “I called her a bitch.” The boy was actually defending her.

For the first time, Melody raised her eyes from the floor and glanced at Eric beside her.

“Why would you use that kind of language about a young lady, Eric?”

“It was totally uncalled for, sir.” He was exceptionally polite and deferential. He was also chivalrous, taking all the blame.

Melody was staring at him wide-eyed. Her face was a landscape of red pustules and small scabs where previous pimples had burst. The teenage years were bad enough, but being a teenager with acne to this extent? A great sympathy burned in his gut, yet the behavior couldn’t be tolerated.

“Melody?” he queried softly.

She looked at him, then just as quickly dropped her gaze again. “I,” she started.

Without the benefit of reading her lips at the same time, Lance leaned forward to hear her better.

“I was maybe a little mean,” she admitted.

“I’d like specifics, Melody.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. He glanced at Alice Sloan, who shook her head slightly to indicate she didn’t know.

Then Melody’s words rushed out. “I sorta said he was a creep and I hated his guts and if he dropped dead, I wouldn’t care.”

Eric pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Was there a reason you said that to him, Melody?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to know what he said to Miss Moore when she called him into her office last week. He told me it was none of my business.”

“So you got mad,” Lance concluded for her.

She nodded. “I didn’t want him bad-mouthing me to Miss Moore.”

“But Miss Moore didn’t tell me anything Melody said, so I didn’t see why she should know what I said.” Though Eric was willing to take the blame, he also seemed to want his side heard.