Teach Me a Lesson

by Jasmine Haynes

  “Let’s give it a positive spin. He does want you, but he’s having physical trouble, and he’s falling back on the old teasing you used to do together. Bringing your past relationships into your sex play.” It was a regurgitation of what they’d discussed last week, but Charlotte felt the wording was more palatable. Jeanine didn’t answer, her gaze inward, so Charlotte prompted, “How does that feel? The idea that he’s actively trying to find a way to bring sex back into your marriage?”

  “But if he still desires me, why would he want to give me to other men?”

  Charlotte held up a finger. “Let’s not think negatively. He does desire you. But he’s using unconventional methods.”

  “But isn’t this all about what he wants, not what I want?”

  Well, yes, it was, but Charlotte pressed on. “Let’s assume for the moment that he’s actually trying to bring back spark. How are you going to play along with him without compromising what you want?”

  Jeanine stared at her lap. “I don’t see how I can.”

  Charlotte suspected Jeanine still had a desire to wallow in her misery. “If it were me,” she said, “and I had a man dictating what he wanted”—which she did—“I’d lay down a few rules first.”

  At this, Jeanine seemed to perk up, raising her gaze to meet Charlotte’s. “Like what?”

  “First I’d tell him this was only a game. Make sure he understands.” The principal knew it was a game, one she’d actually started playing, not the other way around. “Once we’re both clear that it’s not reality, then we can say to each other that anything goes, that we can enjoy it without recrimination, and that either one of us can call a halt to it at any time.”

  “So you’re saying I should insist I only want to fantasize and not actually do anything. And that’s my rule. If he starts trying to push me to do things I don’t want to, then the fantasizing ends.”

  Now she was getting it. “Yes. Exactly. Make a rule for him and stick to it. Give him a boundary. And a consequence if he crosses the boundary.” Charlotte had made the rule. She’d told Lance that a whole night wasn’t in the cards. But she hadn’t given him a consequence. She didn’t want to issue an ultimatum. Because she didn’t want to stop. The sticky part was how badly she’d wanted to stay. Obsessed. Addicted. Her problem wasn’t the same as Jeanine’s at all.

  But, luckily, they were analyzing Jeanine, not Charlotte.

  “Do you feel comfortable with rules and consequences?”

  Jeanine was staring at her lap again. “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at following through.”

  “Just tell him what you want. And ask him what he wants.”

  Charlotte gave herself a wry inward smile. Those words were so easy to say, yet so hard to actually do. Asking Lance what he wanted could cause all sorts of problems she wasn’t willing to deal with.

  She just wanted to have fun without any pressure. Why had she suddenly made everything so complicated? Lola was absolutely right.

  Note to self: Stop overanalyzing.

  * * *

  YESTERDAY’S SESSION HAD ENDED WITH JEANINE DECIDING TO tell her husband that she wanted to fantasize only. She wasn’t committing to anything more. The appointment had also ended with Charlotte deciding that she definitely wanted more fun and games with Principal Hutton, and all she had to do if he started getting dictatorial was to put him in his place with an unequivocal No, I’m not doing that. Just the way she had on Friday night. Problem solved.

  Melody Wright was scheduled for eleven o’clock. Last Thursday, Charlotte had discussed Melody’s issues with her assistant principal, just to keep her up to speed. Then she’d had a five-minute conversation with Mr. Gunderson, Melody’s science teacher. The only additional piece of the puzzle he could add was the boy’s identity: Eric Collins. An older man in his early sixties, Mr. Gunderson was buried in his science. He hadn’t paid attention to the intricacies of teenage relations until Melody dumped the sugar water on Eric’s head. All he knew was that they were lab partners, nothing more. Was Lydia right? Had they been an item in middle school?

  This morning, Lydia had searched out Charlotte to tell her there’d been another incident just before first period. After a brief, angry verbal exchange, Melody had grabbed Eric’s backpack out of his hands and thrown it down on the concrete, spilling its contents. Nothing had appeared to be damaged, no teachers or monitors were present, and no students had ratted out Melody. Lydia didn’t consider that telling Charlotte was “ratting out.” Charlotte didn’t consider it a major offense in and of itself. It was the pattern that worried her.

  Okay. This gave her much to deal with in her session today. But first, she was obligated to tell Lance everything she’d learned. Charlotte knew it for the excuse it was. She’d been waiting all morning to see him, her nerves keyed up.

  Mrs. Rivers pursed her lips but waved Charlotte right on in as if the principal had been expecting her.

  The blinds closed over his window, presumably to cut down on the glare, Lance gazed intently at his computer screen, chin propped on his fisted hand. “Please close the door, Miss Moore,” he said without looking up. “Sit,” he added, with neither a please nor a thank-you, when the door was closed.

  Charlotte wasn’t about to let him start dictating to her. She didn’t like being ignored either. “I prefer to stand.”

  “As you wish, Miss Moore.” Finally he glanced up, and the slow burn in his eyes as he raked her with his gaze made her wet.

  She realized he was anything but ignoring her. If she touched him, she knew she’d find him hard. If she moved to his side of the desk, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. Oh yeah, she was the one in control here. He was just baiting her.

  He lounged back in his big leather chair as he contemplated her. “What can I do for you?”

  She’d intended to start with a discussion about Melody Wright and Eric Collins, pretending her visit was all business. But what she really wanted was to knock the polite conversation right out of him.

  “We need to establish some limits.”

  His lips twitched. He might have been smiling, as if she’d said what he was hoping for, but Charlotte couldn’t be sure. “I’ve been reading up on the subject,” he said. “And you’re right. A dom and his sub need to have limits and a safe word between them.”

  Too late, she realized that standing before him was a mistake. It made her submissive and subservient, as if she were a slave who wasn’t allowed to sit or relax until her master granted her permission. In addition, establishing safe words and limits according to what he dictated wasn’t what she’d meant at all.

  He went on before she formulated an answer. “How about simply using the word no for anything you truly don’t want to do?” He shifted, clasping his hands over his abdomen. This time there was no doubt about the smile, the curve of it exceedingly wicked when accompanied by the heat in his gaze. “If you don’t use the word no, you’re tacitly agreeing to do whatever I say, and that you’ll let me do whatever I want.”

  She glared, but there were all sorts of physical reactions that gave her away, a flush creeping across her cheeks, her suddenly tight nipples, the rush of moisture between her legs. Sex scented the air, pheromones, arousal, her scent. But she needed rules. What were they supposed to be? Oh yes. “My limit is that I’m not spending the night with you.”

  “If your master commands it, why not?”

  He was going too far. “Look, I never said we were dom and sub—”

  “No, we’re principal and student.” He arched that devilish brow of his.

  “It’s just a game.”

  “Of course. But we need to make it fun.”

  “Then if I’m the student, there’s no way I can spend the night with my principal.”

  He smiled indulgently. “Then I won’t tie you to my bed for the entire night. Only part of the night. Shall we say midnight as your curfew?”

  “I . . . well . . .” She wanted to fight, but he’d agreed to her rul
e: no spending the night. She could leave by midnight. She’d gotten what she asked for; she just wasn’t sure she’d won the battle. And God, she wanted to be tied to his bed, completely at his sensual mercy.

  “All you have to do is say no if you don’t like it.” He said the words with little more than the movement of his lips, just the form of them, hardly a sound.

  No. No. No. He was taking control. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was a soft, breathy “Yes.”

  * * *

  DONE. HE HAD HER.

  He’d been waiting for her to come to him, the blinds closed, a budget spreadsheet on his monitor, the numbers failing to hold his attention. Now she stood before him, hands clasped behind her back as if she were begging him to bind her again. Her lips were plump and kissable, her natural perfume musky and sexual. Beneath the silky white blouse, her beaded nipples showed clearly, even through the covering of her bra. Her red skirt flared over her hips and was perhaps two inches too short to be circumspect, offering him a glance of creamy thigh that made his mouth water.

  Friday night, he’d come harder than he had in more years than he could count, either with a woman or by his own hand. He’d liked having her bound. He’d enjoyed doing whatever he chose to do. He’d loved the heated feel of her red ass against his palm. But all of that had been nothing to the grip of her body around his cock, the way she’d milked him. She’d loved it all, too, despite the rule about not spending the night with him. She’d drawn him into the game in the portable that day after detention. She’d goaded him in his office. For some reason, Charlotte Moore liked turning over her control. It made her hot, got her off. The surprising thing was how much he’d liked it, too.

  But to make sure . . . “If,” he stressed, “you don’t want to be punished, all you have to do is behave.”

  “Yes, Principal Hutton.” The green of her eyes was deeper than the brightest emerald.

  “Was there anything else you wished to discuss, Miss Moore?” As nonchalant as he appeared, he was hard and aching beneath the desk, almost panting for her to do something, anything so he could touch her.

  “Uh . . . well,” she began, her eyes flitting around the office as if she couldn’t recall her excuse for seeing him. “Oh yes, I wanted to tell you I’d updated Alice on the Melody Wright issue last Thursday.”

  Alice Sloan was one of his assistant principals and Charlotte’s boss. Yet there wasn’t a single reason Charlotte needed to trot down to his office to inform him.

  “She’s agreed I should have another session with Melody, which”—she glanced at her watch—“will be in half an hour. Sadly, there was another incident this morning. I’ll see what I can get out of her.”

  “I’m sure you’ll work a miracle.” He smiled graciously.

  “But there’s something I need to show you, Principal Hutton.”

  “Of course.”

  She rounded his desk, stood beside him, her closeness doing things to him, setting his blood on fire. He could smell her sex.

  Then she lifted her short, flared skirt.

  Her pussy was naked, the plump, pink flesh beckoning. If he leaned in, he could taste her, lap her up with his tongue, drink her in. He was sure he’d lose his mind if he didn’t at least touch her. He even put out a hand, stopped himself only in the last moment.

  He glanced up. She was staring down at him, a seductive smile curving her lips. “Go ahead, Principal Hutton. I’m right here for the taking. No one will ever know. I promise.”

  She was the temptress he couldn’t resist. Except in the interests of playing her game, upping the stakes, making what was between them hotter, sexier. “Miss Moore, I’m shocked at your lewd behavior.”

  She fluttered the skirt in front of her like the matador waving a red flag at a bull. “But you know you want it, Principal Hutton. I see the way you look at me.”

  He didn’t look at her trimmed pussy, her enticing flesh. “Put that skirt back in place, Miss Moore. Lewd behavior at school is completely unacceptable.”

  The skirt fell into place with a small whoosh of air that wafted the scent of sex and sweet, delectable woman across his face. “I suppose that means you’ll have to teach me a lesson, right, Principal Hutton?”

  He could barely think of the appropriate answer. The woman beguiled him, surprised him, stole the very breath from his lungs. But the words came nonetheless. “You most certainly need another lesson. I will send you an email regarding your punishment.” At the moment, he had no idea what it would be. All he could think about was the overwhelming desire to pull her down onto his lap and drive deep inside her. He pointed at the door. “Go. And put your panties back on, you dirty little slut.”

  He couldn’t believe she’d taken them off. It was a bold move. Oh yes, Miss Moore liked ceding control to him, but she also loved turning the tables. One minute, he’d been the dom, the next, she’d topped him. Despite his words, he’d been only seconds and an ounce of willpower away from putting his hands on her.

  Evidenced by that sashay of her sweet little ass as she made for the door, she knew it, too.

  9

  CHARLOTTE FELT UTTERLY DELICIOUS. SHE’D SHOCKED HIM. HE’D been this close to touching her. She knew that without a doubt. Removing her panties in the restroom just before she went to his office had been a stroke of genius. She’d gotten the upper hand. It was, however, totally inappropriate to go commando at school, so she’d visited the restroom again immediately after leaving him.

  Of course, she hadn’t said any of the stuff she’d gone to his office to tell him. In fact, after that sexy little conversation, most of it had flown right out of her head. He wasn’t the only one affected by their hot little encounters. But she had her obsession under control; she hadn’t gone too far. Only because he hadn’t taken her up on the challenge? No, she wouldn’t really have done anything. She just wanted the fun of it. Maybe, though, it hadn’t been such a good idea to play her little game right before seeing Melody. As she returned to her office, Charlotte was still on an odd high, physical—because she was still wet—but her mind was foggy, too, like the aftereffects of too many margaritas the night before, not a hangover so much as a dreamy quality. Exactly as if she’d just had really good sex.

  She gulped down two swallows of a fizzy juice drink she’d left on her desk, and the carbonation actually helped. She would have signed into her email to check for his message—she couldn’t wait to find out what he planned—but Melody appeared in her doorway.

  “Come in. Sit down.” She gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Melody sat as Charlotte closed the door.

  Instead of taking the seat behind the desk, she pulled one over from the little conference table just as she had in their first meeting. She crossed her legs and leaned one elbow on the arm, propping her chin on her hand, smiling, all very informal.

  Melody stared at the carpet, her lips flat, neither an answering smile nor a frown. She wore the same brown hoodie and the ubiquitous frayed jeans, though whether they were the same pair or another Charlotte couldn’t tell. Her hair hung limply, falling across her face. Perhaps the fact that her hair was oily added to her acne problem, but Charlotte knew better than to suggest that.

  “So tell me how things are. Anything new?” Would Melody talk about her confrontation with Eric this morning? Or would Charlotte have to pry the information out of her?

  “The same,” she answered simply.

  “How was your weekend?”

  Melody cocked her head and eyed Charlotte briefly. As if she couldn’t believe Charlotte had asked or was even interested. “Fine.”

  “Did you do anything special?”

  Melody grimaced and shook her head slightly in bewilderment. “I watched a bunch of classic movies.”

  “Really? Which ones?” Charlotte was not a classic movie buff, but she’d seen the biggies like Casablanca, Gone With the Wind, and Psycho.

  “It was a Joan Crawford marathon.” Melody smiled, although it came off as more of
a grimace, and added, “They topped it off with Mommie Dearest.”

  “Faye Dunaway was amazing,” Charlotte said, wondering if the choice of movie to mention was significant. Mommie Dearest. Was it a metaphor for Melody’s life?

  “She was a sicko.”

  Charlotte had always wondered how much of that story was true, how much of it hype. It was so easy to pick on dead people, especially movie stars. “She was definitely a piece of work.”

  Melody opened her mouth, closed it, narrowing her eyes. “And no, my mother isn’t Mommie Dearest. She doesn’t go crazy about wire hangers or beat me.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” If that kind of thing had been going on, signs would most likely have cropped up before, not suddenly over the summer. “How has your morning been?”

  Melody puffed out a breath. “Why don’t you just ask me straight out?”

  “About what?” Charlotte said oh-so-innocently.

  “It’s obvious that you know.”

  Charlotte decided to stop playing. “I heard that you accosted Eric Collins’ backpack. You could get suspended if you keep up this kind of behavior.”

  The girl shrugged. “So fine. Suspend me.”

  “No, Melody, I don’t want to see that happen. Right now, I’m more interested in why you did it. And why you poured the contents of your beaker over his head.”

  Melody was silent. Charlotte shifted, sitting straighter and leaning in to see Melody’s face more clearly beneath the fall of her hair. “He used to be your boyfriend in middle school, didn’t he?”

  “No,” she shot out. “He was never my boyfriend.”

  “Then what was he?”

  “He’s just a kid in the neighborhood. We used to play together and were in the same class in grade school. We were just friends. He was never my boyfriend,” she claimed with a sarcastic intonation.