The Principal's Office (7 page)

“They’re not very sexy,” she said almost as an apology, her cheeks coloring.

They were bikinis, not string, but not granny panties either. “Let me be the judge.” He held out his hand, and she laid the white cotton across his palm.

Then, with her gaze egging him on, he raised them to his nose and drank in the scent of her. He closed his eyes to better memorize her unique aroma, fresh, musky. “Very sexy,” he murmured.

“I think I should be worried,” she said with a hint of breathlessness. “You’re a peeper
and
a panty sniffer.”

“Yeah, and I like to jerk off in the shower every morning, too.” He held out a palm. “I have to shave off the hair.”

She laughed, getting his reference to the old wives’ tale that masturbating would make hair grow on a teenage kid’s palms. “I check my sons’ hands every morning just to be sure they’re not being bad boys like you.”

Down in the hot tub, the lady groaned and cried out, “Oh yes,” at full volume, as if she realized she was no longer the center of attention and wanted to change that.

“Your lady love is calling,” Rachel mocked.

The woman was attractive, but she had nothing on Rachel.

“Have they ever asked you to join them?”

“No. They get off on being watched. I don’t even know their last name. We’ve somehow silently agreed that I’m the voyeur and they are the exhibitionists.”

With the brief banter, he sensed she’d lost some of the edge. He wanted it back. “The idea of joining them doesn’t tempt me so much as turning the tables and becoming the exhibitionist for them.”

“Jerking off for them?”

“Bending you over the railing, lifting your skirt, and letting them watch
us
.”

She inhaled with a jerky breath, and he knew he had her again. “Watch,” he murmured, letting the word caress her ear.

The neighbor turned his wife and pushed her back on the towel, then spread her legs. Rand knew her pussy would be dripping with desire as her husband went down on her, lapping slowly, languorously, making sure their audience got their fill. She moaned, laced her fingers behind her head to watch her husband and, Rand was sure, to sneak a peek to make sure they were being watched as well.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, just like your friend’s story?”

“Yes.” Rachel’s answer was barely a breath.

He’d like nothing more than to run his hand up beneath her dress and test her wetness, but he’d made a promise he wouldn’t break. Not even when she begged him to.

“Put your hand between your legs and touch yourself.”

She leaned away slightly to look at him, her skin pink with excitement.

“Touch yourself, then let me see how wet your fingers are.” He whispered his seduction.

She parted her lips, closed them again without answering, and swallowed.

“I said I wouldn’t touch you. I never said I wouldn’t ask you to do it for me.”

She looked back at the couple cavorting below them. Then she inched her dress over her knees, higher up her legs, and finally slipped a hand between her parted thighs. He was sure he scented a wave of feminine arousal.

“Have you ever masturbated for a man?”

She shook her head, watching the yard across the way while he watched her. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts plump above the dress’s neckline, her nipples peaked against the bodice.

“Someday I want to watch you. I want to spread you out on my bed, sit in a chair, and just watch.”

He could almost hear the rush of her blood, feel her temperature rising, making the air boil around her. Her hand moved beneath the material. Her eyes drifted closed.

“Let me see,” he whispered.

Not mistaking what he wanted, she removed her hand and held out her fingers to him. Her moisture glistened like dew. His mouth watered for a taste of her. But that would constitute touching. Instead he inhaled deeply, then, watching her instead of looking for himself, he said, “Tell me what they’re doing.”

“He’s—” She bit her lip. “I can’t.”

It was nerves. He didn’t figure her for a woman who talked dirty. That was clear in the way she’d described her friend’s tale. He wanted to teach her the seduction of a little dirty talk, but for now, she could say it any way that made her feel comfortable. “Use a few euphemisms.”

She swallowed. He let his gaze travel the length of her slim throat.

“He’s using his tongue and his fingers to touch her G-spot inside.”

Thank God she knew about the G-spot. Some women were as clueless as most men. “And he’s obviously making her moan.”

“Yes. Oh my God”—her eyes flared wide—“he’s standing up and making her put him in her mouth.”

He wanted to stroke the pearl of her nipple, so hard against her dress. Her bra must be thin, almost sheer. He ached to taste the tight bead. “He’s big, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know how she can take all of him.” Her breasts rose, fell, beckoned.

“Would you like to taste him?”

“I—” She swallowed, glanced at him. “I—um—never really liked—um…”

So many things he had to teach her. Because he knew he could make her love it. Perhaps it was her husband, his taste, his smell. From the moment Rand had started asking about her fantasies in the coffee shop, the moment the attraction had blossomed to intense desire, he’d known she would fulfill him, his needs. Not only for sex, but for the journey, the things he could show her, the delights he could introduce her to. He was a tutor, a mentor. That’s what he thrived on. He’d just never thought to look for it in his sexual encounters, thinking experience was the key to hot sex. He hadn’t known what he was missing. She’d opened his eyes, and now he could think of nothing else but teaching her.

“Does she like it?” he queried, his own desire turning his voice husky.

“Yes.” She curled a hand around the arm of her chair. “She loves it.”

Oh yes. He knew how much his neighbor’s wife loved sucking. She could go at it for long, long minutes, until the tub’s jets shut off and he could hear the slurp of her desire. He never touched himself while he watched. He waited until later, alone, when he could fit the image of another woman over her face. Since the first time he’d seen her, he’d imagined Rachel in the hot tub.

“I’d like to watch you.” And he did now, the heat of her skin, the way she moved in her seat, as if she were dying to touch herself, that with just a little more encouragement, she would touch, because she couldn’t help herself, because the view from his deck made her forget all her fears, and his voice drove her mad.

But she didn’t slip her hand beneath her dress again. Instead, she told him what she saw. For all he cared, she could have been making it up. It was about her, not them.

“He’s dragging her up his body.” Her voice held a dreamlike quality. “And he’s kissing her. Openmouthed. Like they haven’t been married for all these years. Like it’s all new.” Like
she
hadn’t been kissed in all these years; he could almost hear the words. “Now he’s pulling her down into the water and turning her around.”

Rand knew what came next, what always came next. They didn’t deviate. He would push her to her hands on the concrete, a full side view, affording Rand the sight of the man’s cock impaling her. But he let Rachel describe it, her voice breathy with every delicious detail. He folded her fingers around the stem of her wineglass, momentarily forgetting his vow not to touch her, until he felt the warmth of her skin. She was so enthralled with the scene that she didn’t seem to notice his lapse. “Go on,” he urged.

She sipped to wet her parched throat. “He’s making her brace herself on the edge of the tub, and he’s behind her, spreading her legs. His fingers, he’s testing her.” She gulped her wine as if she needed some sort of relief. “Now he’s holding himself, and stroking her with the tip between her legs like he wants to make sure she’s wet enough for him.”

She didn’t use a single dirty word or describe a body part, and yet she made him as hard as the concrete slab the neighbor lady braced herself on.

“Is that how we look?” she whispered. “Men and women?”

“Tell me how they look.”

“Beautiful,” she whispered, a reverent note in the one word. “I always thought that position was coarse and…” She bit her lip, thinking a long moment. “And dirty.”

“Dirty is good.”

She parted her lips, watching. “Not that I’m a prude or that I don’t like sex.”

Not a prude. Just that her partners, her husband, had never shown her the sexiness of being a little dirty. “How many men have you known?”

“Three. And no one since my husband.”

He liked women who were willing to experiment. She was the best of everything, older, ready, dying for the experience, yet a babe in the woods.

God, yes, there was so much he could teach her, so many things to show her, so many delights he couldn’t wait to introduce her to.

“ARE THEY FUCKING YET?”

The word jolted Rachel. The first time she’d ever used it, her mother had washed her mouth out with soap. The boys were strictly forbidden from saying it, though Nathan used it sometimes just to irritate her.

Yet in Rand’s deep tone, that word melted her. “Yes.”

“Say it. They’re
fucking
.”

She should be horrified. They were spying. If he was a peeper, then he was a pervert. If he did this, watched his neighbors, he could be capable of anything. Yet the man had seen them. He’d positioned his wife so Rachel and Rand had a clear view of his entry, and the woman had looked over her shoulder, straight at Rachel. She’d cried out only after she’d been sure Rachel was watching.

What’s more, Rand made the whole thing about her, not them. He watched her, not them. Told her to describe it for him, using her words to heighten his arousal. His heat enveloped her, his scent intoxicated her, and his voice mesmerized her.

“He’s fucking her so hard,” she told him, then felt him shift closer, until her skin flushed with his nearness. If he’d ordered her to put her hand on him, she would have. If he’d urged her to make herself come, she couldn’t have resisted. But he made it all hotter and more exquisite because of what he didn’t ask for.

She’d ached for him to taste her wet fingers. She’d died when he didn’t. Yet she was so much nearer to the edge of insanity because he hadn’t.

“Now. Tell me what she’s doing
now
.”

“She’s stroking her pussy, her clit.” The dirty words enflamed her.
Fuck me, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Two fingers on the base of her glass, he tipped her wine to her lips, made her drink. But he never touched her, never asked to, only watched her drink as if he were drinking
her
. “Tell me more,” he whispered.

“Her breasts are bobbing. Now she’s pinching her nipple.” Rachel felt as if it were her nipple, a streak of lightning from the tip to a secret spot deep inside. She squeezed her legs tight.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes. Please.” She felt teary-eyed with need.

The man slammed home, grunted. The woman cried out, arched back. Pounding flesh, hot, as if it were her own.

“This is how good it can feel,” he said, soft, low, enticing.

She’d
never
felt this with Gary. Not with anyone. As if she were this man’s sole focus. As if she were the only woman he wanted. The only woman who could make him come. He was hard, his jeans tight around him, his scent musky with sex and need and desire.

The woman screamed with climax, and the man groaned in orgasm, the steam of the tub and their sex rising, shimmering, their forms wavering. She could have come with them if Rand touched her, just her arm, her throat. It didn’t even need to be erogenous.

“Go home.”

She looked at him, barely able to breathe, let alone understand.

“Go home.” His eyes were dark, his gaze unearthly. “Or I’ll fuck you right here, right now, against the railing.”

God, she wanted it.

“But you’re not ready.”

She could have cried, because she
needed
it. Yet he was right; she wasn’t ready. In the morning, no, even before that, the moment he pulled out, she’d start regretting. She
would
do this, but tonight was the appetizer. Tonight was about
becoming
ready, not
being
ready.

She rose. He didn’t walk her out.

When she was at the door leading into his bedroom, he said her name. She turned.

“You might be going home, but we’re far from done yet.”

His words made her shiver. She left on shaky legs. He hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t scared her. She’d scared herself more with how badly she’d wanted him to take her against the railing so the hot tub couple could see. He was kinky. He was probably even perverted. But up there on his deck, he’d made her realize she could be those things, too. That she
wanted
to be those things, with him and for him. She wanted to be
this
man’s total focus. She deserved it.

After years of never taking chances, of taking care of everyone else, keeping the peace, always doing what was right and expected of her, what she was
supposed
to do, she wanted to throw caution to the winds.

He would ask for more, stretch her limits. And she would do whatever he wanted.

RAND LAY NAKED ON HIS BED, HIS HANDS STACKED BENEATH HIS
head, the door closed against the cold night air, the lights off. His
neighbors had lost interest in their performance once Rachel was gone.

She’d reacted perfectly. Telling him everything in an excited, breathy voice, her skin so hot he could feel the warmth she’d emanated without actually touching her.

Dazed, she’d left without her panties. They lay on the bedside table, close enough that he could scent her. From his den window, he’d watched her cross the quiet street. Her equilibrium had returned, and she’d driven off.

He could have had her out on the deck. He didn’t want it like that. Not tonight. Oh yes, certainly he wanted that someday, and sooner rather than later, but for tonight, he’d wanted only to whet her appetite, not to overwhelm her and send her running for cover.

She’d had only three lovers, one of them her husband. She hadn’t asked his history. If she had, he would have confessed that he’d had more than two dozen lovers. He’d seen the question in her eyes—why had he never married?—but her own rule kept her mum.