The Principal's Office (15 page)

“Okay, you can watch the beginning, just to make sure you don’t look horrible and fat,” she told herself.

Geez, what was the big deal about watching it anyway? For God’s sake, she’d made it, and that was infinitely worse, if you were comparing morals and all that stuff. Besides, it was private, just for her and Rand. Or just for herself, if she chose. What was the moral issue in that?

It was just that she was doing things she would have been horrified at if a friend confessed them to her.

Yet it was so sexy. He made her feel special, desirable. A woman again.

“Screw it. I’m watching it, and I don’t care.” Maybe she was talking to Gary. Or her mother. All those disapproving voices.

She locked the front door, threw the deadbolt, lowered the blinds, and closed the curtains. She could have played it on the computer, but she’d fought tooth and nail to keep the new forty-two-inch flat screen they’d purchased shortly before Gary’s divorce announcement. Not for herself—or to spite Gary—she’d wanted it for the boys, and she sure couldn’t afford to replace it. The nifty TV had an SD-card slot.

She put in the video card, hit the right buttons on the remote—an amazing feat—and curled into the corner of the family room sofa.

Oh God. There she was in forty-two inches of living color.

“You’re fucking hot,” Rand said as her dress fluttered to the carpet. She was naked but for the shoes. And she wasn’t fat.

Rachel felt herself go warm inside. Oh no, she wasn’t fat; in fact, with no one around to hear her think it, she could honestly say she was beautiful. And shy. Rand’s voice made her gooey all over again. That’s how she’d felt when he said those words. Absolutely gooey. Her own voice surprised her, too. She had a very sexy voice.

They talked; he told her what he wanted. His cock, wrapped in her hand, was magnificent on the big screen.

“That’s it, stroke it, baby.”

Watching, listening, she could
feel
him in her hand again, the smooth, warm flesh, how hard he was, the slight unsteadiness of his voice. A tiny drop of pre-come rose from the slit of his cock. It had felt like silk as she smoothed it over him. She caressed him, talked to his cock, cupped his balls, then suddenly she swooped down and sucked him into her mouth. She remembered that first taste of him, salty yet sweet.

She took him deep, her eyes closed, and God, she looked like a woman sipping Dom Perignon and eating chocolate. Her red lipstick and fingernails were decadent on his flesh.

She glanced at her nails now, some of the polish already
chipped off after cleaning. Up on the screen, she was Cinderella at the ball; down on the couch, she was just a scullery maid.

On-screen, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “Suck me, baby, please.”

She drowned in the sound of his voice, his desire. He’d made her beautiful to the camera, the lens loving on her face. She didn’t feel disgusting or perverted. She was perfect. His gorgeous cock in her mouth was delicious. She could taste him even now, feel the silkiness of his flesh between her lips. She’d loved sucking him, adored it, wanted so much more of it.

She was good. God, she was good. She could hear it in his voice. But she wanted to see his face, see how she affected him.

The moment came. With an abrupt scene change—the point at which he’d stopped the camera to put it on the tripod—she was suddenly between his legs as he sat in the chair.

Oh. My. God. She had never seen a more perfect man. Every muscle bulged with perfection, not an ounce of fat. The planes of his face were taut with desire, his skin flushed with need. For her, for what she could do to him.

He talked to her, praised her, as his body rose and fell to meet her mouth.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so goddamn good at that. You’re killing me.”

His legs started to shake, and she removed her hand, sucking him deep, all the way. The camera suddenly zoomed, and she could actually see the pulse of blood through his cock.

For long moments, there was just the delicious slurp of her mouth on his cock, as if she were sucking candy, his throaty purr of pleasure, and her own moans. She hadn’t realized she’d made any sound at all. But there, on the screen, was the evidence of how much she’d loved it.

This wasn’t filthy or raunchy or disgusting. It wasn’t porn. It was art. She was wet watching herself, watching him.

Then he stopped her, rolled on a condom, and pulled her astride him.

“I thought you were just going to videotape me sucking you.” She heard the nerves in her voice. It had been the first time since she’d dropped her dress on the floor that she’d started to feel uncomfortable.

Rand stroked her clit. “You’re so fucking wet. Put me inside you. I want you to see me taking you on camera.”

With that one touch, she’d wanted it all. The sight of his cock filling her made her heart flutter. All the sounds, the movement, their hot breath, her moans and cries—Rachel was flushed and wanting all over again. Even as she watched, she couldn’t resist spreading her legs and slipping her hand inside her sweats. She was so wet, so hot, dazed, drugged.

She watched as she orgasmed on-screen, as she squeezed her eyes shut, moaned, threw her head back, and slammed down on him, taking him deep, holding him in, her body shaking, her breasts bouncing. While she watched, she drenched her fingers with her orgasm. Then she was sucking him again, and when Rand splashed her face with come, she climaxed once again in the here and now. It was beautiful, perfect. She wanted that, what he’d done to her up there on the screen, she wanted it again and again.

Finally, he was just holding her. She hadn’t realized he’d still had the camera going then.

They were lush and loving in each other’s arms. They whispered, smiled, and he rubbed his come all over her breasts. Then he kissed her. God, she remembered that kiss, the taste of his come still in her mouth, the scent of it all over them.

She remembered being afraid to watch the video. Now she knew why. It wasn’t her fear of looking disgusting or slutty.

It was
this
.

On her TV screen, Rachel kissed him like a woman in love.

* * *

“IT WAS SO COOL, MOM.” NATHAN, EXCITED AS ALL GET-OUT ABOUT
his first driving lesson. “I took the online classes every night, so on Saturday I could get behind the wheel.” Gary had taken him down to get his driver’s permit. “Mr. Filpot”—the instructor—“said that’s the fastest anyone’s ever done it.”

“That’s wonderful, honey.” Rachel didn’t want to say anything to bring him down. She hadn’t seen him this animated since Gary had left her.

Gary had dropped the boys off early, before dinner. He probably wanted to get started on screwing his girlfriend every night before he got his sons back in a week.

Gosh, that sounded bitter, especially since she’d dropped the boys on him an hour early last Sunday to do the same thing with Rand. She’d rushed around the house this afternoon, erasing any evidence of her debauchery with the video, stowing the SD card and her vibrator safely beneath her panties and scarves. She’d wanted to call Rand, hear his voice one more time, tell him how much she’d loved their movie, but it was too late.

“What do you guys want for dinner?”

“Hamburgers and sweet potato fries,” Justin jumped in, probably feeling like he’d been ignored while Nathan went on and on about his driving lesson.

“The hamburger’s frozen.”

“We can go to the store, Mom,” Justin insisted.

“And I can drive.” Nathan glowed with his excitement.

Oh God. She should have known that was coming. “You need a little more practice with the instructor before we go out.”

“I only get six hours of driving with him, and to get my license, I need fifty hours of practice. Dad let me drive.”

Rachel resisted rolling her eyes like Justin. This was the ever-
increasing habit, pitting her against Gary. Honestly, now that she’d agreed to his driver’s permit, it was bad policy to deny him the practice. That was passive-aggressive, to say yes to the lessons, then nitpick about his behind-the-wheel time.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

“Yes.” Nathan punched the air.

By the time they arrived back home, Rachel had a tension headache, her teeth hurt from clenching them, and she’d worn a hole in the passenger side floorboard slamming on brakes she didn’t have.

“You did great, Nathan,” she said as she sliced the sweet potatoes.

“Except when he almost ran down that old lady and her shopping cart in the parking lot,” Justin added.

“Did not,” Nathan shot back.

“Did, too.”

“Boys. Is your homework done?”

“Yes, Mom.”

She gave them both a look.

“Almost,” Justin muttered.

Nathan didn’t look at her; obviously his wasn’t done either. “Finish it up while I’m making dinner,” she said.

It was a pleasant evening, the burgers were good, and they watched an action movie the title of which she couldn’t even remember and didn’t care about. Curled into the corner of the sofa, she marveled at how nice the last three hours had been. No fighting or sniping, no sullenness. All she’d had to do was agree to let Nathan drive. She should have given in months ago. After all, she’d lost the battle anyway.

Over dinner, she’d told them about her going back to school. Neither had put up a fuss. Nathan had graciously said he’d have no problem babysitting Justin, at which point Justin elbowed him. The timing had been just right, another boon out of letting
him start his driving lessons. Things were definitely looking up in the Delaney household.

As things exploded on the screen, she thought of her own explosions of a very different kind. The things Rand had done to her, what she’d done to him. Oh, it was bad to be thinking about it when the boys were in the same room, but she couldn’t stop since she wasn’t the least bit interested in the movie.

Really, what could be the harm? Neither Justin nor Nathan would ever know. She didn’t sigh or moan. She just…imagined. And wondered how she would survive a whole week. Rand had pegged it. Once you started getting it, you wanted more. Desire didn’t wane; it grew exponentially. Like you’d gotten hooked on a drug.

She was barely aware of the exciting finale in which someone jumped onto a moving gasoline truck and saved the day by blowing it up without singeing a single hair.

Then it was an hour after bedtime, the house quiet around her. Rachel couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, her body on fire like the exploding gasoline tanker, and when she glanced at the clock, she’d been lying there an hour and a half. She was wet, her nipples aching, her skin sensitized to every shift of the covers across her skin.

She needed an orgasm. She wouldn’t be able to sleep without one. She should never have watched that damn video this afternoon. It played over and over in her mind. She could taste Rand, smell him, feel his hard flesh beneath her fingers. She needed relief, just a small one. She knew she shouldn’t do it with the boys home. Bad, bad, bad. But she couldn’t sleep. It was crazy. She wanted Rand, his voice in her ear. She needed it, had to have it. She couldn’t stop herself.

Rachel reached for her cell phone, turned on the Bluetooth, and dialed Rand’s number.

HE’D WAITED TWENTY-FOUR HOURS FOR HER TO CALL. BY SUNDAY
night, he’d figured it would be the following week since she’d been so adamant she wouldn’t do anything with the boys in the house.

“I have to be very quiet,” she whispered when he answered.

“Does that mean you can’t have an orgasm?”

He could hear the beat of silence ring through his bedroom, then she said, “You’re a dirty man for getting me to do this.”

“I’m a very good man or you wouldn’t have called. Did you like your movie?”

“It was filthy.”

“So you loved it.”

She laughed softly, and his balls tightened. She had such a sexy voice. He was sure she didn’t have a clue about that, and if he told her, she wouldn’t believe him.

“Let’s just say it was interesting.”

“How many orgasms did you have while you were watching it?”

Again, that beat of silence.

“Come on,” he urged. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Two.” Pause. “At least.”

Christ, she got him going. She was demure, yet when she let herself go, she was amazing. “Which part did you like best?”

“Well, uh…” She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He wanted her to admit what it was. He liked learning about her needs, storing them up, using them to make the experience better the next time. “Was it when I fucked you? When you could see how beautiful you are, how perfect my cock looks inside you?”

“That was good,” she whispered, then added the crowning touch, “but I loved sucking you and watching you come on me.”

Holy hell. “Touch yourself for me.”

A long, lovely sigh fluttered across the airwaves. “I’ve been touching myself since you picked up.”

“Dirty woman.” Jesus. She’d actually called him for phone sex while the kids were home. He didn’t want to compromise her personal code, but he also didn’t see anything wrong with it. Her kids had no clue what went on in their mother’s bedroom, but they couldn’t expect a gorgeous woman to put herself on the shelf until they were out of the house. “I want you to come.”

This time she moaned, softly. “I needed to hear your voice.”

He liked the fact that she
needed
him, that it wasn’t enough on her own.

“I watched that movie”—her breath hitched—“and it made me crazy for you. It was so naughty, Rand. I couldn’t help watching it.” She talked, her voice rising, falling, her breath a pant, then a moan. He stroked his cock to her sounds. “You were so big, Rand…and I could taste your cock…as if I were doing it all over again.” Her voice stopped and started. He wished to God he’d been to her house, so he could picture her on her bed touching herself for him. She groaned, then grunted softly, as if
she was trying to hold it all in, but she was coming for him, creaming, his name barely on her lips, but there.

Then her voice again. “Oh God, I really shouldn’t have done that. But it was so good.”