by Anthology
He thrust into me, and my rear hit his flat belly. I held on to the edge of the desk as he fucked me hard and deep. My bottom jiggled with every stroke, and when Mr. Hunter spanked my left cheek, I startled in horror.
“You spanked me!” I said indignantly.
“Yes, I did. And I’m going to do it again.” His hand came down on my other cheek, the sting radiating warmth over my entire lower body. “Ask me for another one.”
“No!”
He shoved forward, jarring me against the desk. “Ask me, Madeline.”
I whimpered. My breasts rubbed against the polished wood of his desk. My clit ached with need, even though he was driving into me so powerfully I thought I could come just from his thrusts. And I wanted it again, that delicious little sting that heightened my urgency to unfathomable levels.
“Please,” I begged. “Spank me, Mr. Hunter.”
He did, his palm landing flat on my cheek. I shuddered. A few more spanks rained down, and I tried to picture what it must look like—the red imprint of Mr. Hunter’s hand on my pale flesh.
I thought surely he was going to let me come—in fact, I was ready to scream for it—when he pulled out of me again. I turned to look at him over my shoulder, pushing a tumble of hair away from my damp forehead.
He sank into his office chair, his cock sticking straight up. Just the sight of it sparked a new rush of heat, especially when he wrapped his hand around the base and stroked.
“Come here,” he ordered. “You’re going to ride my cock.”
I levered myself off the desk, trembling at the thought of having to writhe around on him. And he was too tempting to resist. I grabbed the arms of the chair and straddled his lap, facing him.
Our breath filled the air between us, fast and heavy. I reached down and positioned myself over his pulsing erection, inhaling sharply as I lowered myself onto him.
“Oh!” I braced my hands on his shoulders as he slowly filled me. I was starting to get sore from so much pounding, but once he was embedded inside me again, my desire spiked.
“Work yourself on my dick.” He gripped my waist, leaning forward to suck my nipple. “Make yourself come nice and hard.”
I shivered as I lifted my body and brought it down again. In this position, there was no question about who was in control. I couldn’t pretend I was just lying there helplessly while Mr. Hunter did dirty things to me.
No. Bouncing up and down on his cock, writhing, gasping, and panting… I was very much Madeline Collins, married mother of two and PTO president, who’d been quite simply desperate for a good fuck and was now getting one from the school principal.
“Oh, yes.” I tightened my hands on his shoulders, throwing my head back as I rode him harder and faster. “I want to come on you.”
“Do it.” He slipped his hand between us, his fingers finding my throbbing clit.
Two rough strokes of his fingers, and I convulsed around him with a shriek of rapture. My nerves exploded with heat, pulses traveling from my sex all the way through my body. I shuddered and quaked, my vision returning only to focus on the fire of Mr. Hunter’s eyes. Beneath the rigid set of his features, warm approval flared in his expression.
He slipped his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him, pressing his lips to mine. After a deep kiss, he eased out of me and rolled the condom off. He took hold of my hand, bringing it to his shaft.
I needed no further instruction as I rubbed his erection, sliding my hand from base to tip, loving the slick pulsing of his stiff flesh.
His breath grew faster. I moved back on his knees, watching in fascination as his eyes darkened, his expression tightening as he pushed himself up into my eager grip.
“Ah, fuck, Madeline, I’m going to come… so goddamned hard… shit.”
With a groan, he thrust upward. Semen spurted from the tip of his cock, white streams splashing onto his lower belly. I continued stroking him until the sensations ebbed and his body went slack.
“Look at what you did, you naughty girl,” he murmured, his chest heaving as he regarded me through half-closed eyes. “Such a mess.”
I shivered with raw delight. No man had ever called me a naughty girl before. Until now, I’d never had a chance to be anyone other than Madeline Collins. And lord in heaven, did it feel good to be naughty and messy.
I smiled and reached for a few tissues from the box on his desk, using them to wipe up the wetness. We parted slowly, both of us hot and sticky as we fished for our discarded clothes and tugged them onto our damp skin. I glanced at the clock, startled to discover it was nearing eleven.
“Oh, dear.” I slipped into my suit jacket. “I have to go.”
“Your cookies, Madeline,” Mr. Hunter said behind me.
Hah. Cheeky bastard.
I turned back to retrieve the plate from his desk. My ice-blue panties still lay crumpled right on top of the pile of sugar cookies. A tingle of pleasure filled me at the reminder of how this had all started.
As I passed Mr. Hunter, he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me against his powerful body for a deep, lingering kiss.
“Damn,” he whispered, sliding his hand down to squeeze my rear. “I can’t wait to do that again.”
I shivered at the thought of again. We locked gazes, filled with hot promise. He took the panties off the cookie plate and put them in his pocket, giving me a smile as he opened the door.
I picked up the cookies and slipped past him. My whole body tingled, as if champagne bubbles were fizzing through my veins. I walked out of the building and into the cool, star-sprinkled night, the scent of sex clinging to me like perfume.
CHAPTER TWO
Slut. Whore. Tramp.
The words blistered through my mind all night, and I woke still hearing their echo. Fear and shame boiled inside me, threatening to crack the walls of cool reserve I’d so carefully constructed. But I was nothing if not disciplined, and so I locked all memories of the previous night away and focused.
I ran our morning routine with military precision: I was up at four-thirty for my daily workout, then packed the kids’ lunches before Richard came down an hour later. I woke the kids at six and had them out the door at seven-thirty, nourished with a healthy breakfast (despite their complaints about avocado toast and veggie scrambled eggs), and carrying their backpacks with all their completed homework.
Richard and I then finished breakfast—in silence aside from occasional remarks about dinner plans or what vital item I needed to pick up from the grocery store.
This morning was no exception. I’d managed not to think of Mr. Hunter at all—and my brain had almost tricked me into believing that insanely hot encounter had been a dream.
Almost.
The lingering throb and soreness of my body reminded me it had been all too real. Despite my horror over how I’d behaved and what I’d done with the principal—what I’d let him do to me—I was unable to deny, even to myself, the scorching, exquisite bliss of it all.
I shivered and pressed my thighs together, allowing forth a memory of Mr. Hunter’s thick cock pushing into me…
Stop.
I tried to eat a few bites of my egg-white omelet, lest Richard notice I wasn’t eating. Not that he would.
I studied my husband from across the table—his brown hair was threaded with silver, and the creases around his eyes and mouth enhanced his strong features. We’d met in college, and I still remembered the quickening of my heart when he’d sat down next to me in Music History 101.
“I’ve heard good things about this professor,” Richard had said, his eyes twinkling. “Apparently he thinks outside the Bachs.”
I’d giggled, he’d smiled a great smile, and I thought I’d fallen in love with him on the spot.
Now I wondered when I’d fallen out of love with him.
“The museum is hosting an education fundraiser at the end of May,” I said, taking a sip of green tea. “It’s a black-tie dinner and silent auction. I thought it would be nic
e if we donated a vacation package. Perhaps a weekend in Aspen?”
“Whatever you want,” he replied with disinterest. “Just put it on the calendar.”
I pushed away from the table, cleaned the kitchen, and went upstairs. I hadn’t showered when I got home last night—finding something wickedly thrilling about sleeping next to my husband with the smell of another man on me. Richard, of course, hadn’t sensed that a single thing was amiss.
I showered and dressed in a cream-colored, linen sheath and heels, brushing my hair to a shine. Aside from the flush to my skin and glow in my eyes, I looked the same—attractive, elegant, polished. No one would ever believe me capable of the things I’d done last night. In the cold light of day, I hardly believed it myself.
I drove downtown to the Sweetwater Fine Arts Museum, where I worked three mornings a week in the education department. After arranging several tours and planning the educational program for a new exhibit, I went to the elementary school. As PTO president and a particularly involved parent, I volunteered in both Noah’s and Emma’s classes twice a week.
I walked to the front of the school, narrowing my eyes as two mothers emerged from the front doors. We greeted each other politely, but I felt their barely suppressed disdain and amusement—clearly the rumors about my sex life had spread.
My stomach knotted. I had to do something about that, but I didn’t know what. Organizing an evening for the school parents to come and watch me copulate with my husband seemed out of the question.
I swallowed a bubble of laughter. I was less concerned about the rumors this morning as I had been last night, though I was still cautious. If anything negatively affected either Noah or Emma, I was prepared to do whatever it took to protect my children.
I signed in at the office, clipped on a visitor badge, and walked to the second-grade classroom, where I spent the next forty-five minutes reading with individual children and helping them with word worksheets.
“Madeline, if you could please laminate these, we’ll pin them up alongside the springtime drawings on the bulletin board.” Miss Kincaid, the young, bubbly teacher, handed me a stack of construction-paper flowers. “I’d like to send them home with the kids after we’re done with the spring display.”
I took the flowers to the small workroom, where the copier, paper cutter, and laminating machine sat amidst shelves of paper, pencils, and supplies. No one else was there. I turned on the laminator and waited for it to warm up as I perused the baskets of books lined up on a shelf.
Two male hands suddenly circled my waist. I gasped, spinning around to find Mr. Hunter standing behind me, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Good morning, Maddie,” he said.
Maddie. Unexpected delight flickered inside me at the sound of his voice caressing my nickname. I hadn’t been called Maddie in more years than I cared to remember.
Ben.
I suppressed the urge to say his name. He needed to remain Mr. Hunter. If I started calling him Ben, I’d be stepping into territory far more dangerous than it already was.
“Mr. Hunter, I…” I pressed a hand to my racing heart and looked past his shoulder to the door.
“Locked,” he assured me, letting his gaze slide down the front of my body. “You are so beautiful.”
A flush of pleasure washed over me. I backed up, overwhelmed by the muscular maleness of his body in the confined space. I was suddenly scared, though I didn’t know of what—being discovered. The fact that I was married, the sheer wrongness of what we’d done and the knowledge that I would do it all over again…
“You… you need to go,” I stammered, staring at the perfect knot of his necktie as shame simmered in my chest. “I’m here as a volunteer and…”
“Maddie.” His deep voice rumbled through me, settling in my core. “Look at me.”
I swallowed hard, working up the courage to lift my head. A current of energy sizzled between us when our eyes met. His were filled with warmth and admiration, none of the censure I’d half expected.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmured, reaching up to twist a lock of my hair around his finger. “You scorched my dreams all night.”
I tried to breathe. If only he knew I’d dreamed of him all night too.
I was getting hot again just from being so close to him. His suit jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, and my fingers ached to unfasten the buttons of his starched shirt to reveal the hard planes of his chest. I curled my hands into fists and tried to quell my growing arousal.
“I need to see you again,” Mr. Hunter said, nudging his knee between my legs. “Tonight.”
I shook my head, unable to push a refusal past my tight throat.
He grasped the hem of my skirt and pulled it up my thighs, his fingers skimming over my stocking-clad leg. His touch burned.
“You’re wet, aren’t you?” he asked. “Have you been thinking about us? Did you wake up aching for my cock and wishing I’d bend you over my desk and—”
“Oh, stop,” I whispered, fighting the urge to press myself fully against him. “Please, please stop.”
“We’re never going to stop.” His whiskers scraped my cheek as he trailed his lips to my ear. “I’m obsessed with you. I want you in ways you don’t even know exist. I’ve never known a woman like you. You’re hot and cold, sweet and sharp, wild and controlled all at the same time. I need a thousand years to explore you. You’re a goddamned fractal.”
“A… a what?”
“A fractal.” Mr. Hunter lifted his head, cupping my chin in his hand. “It’s a geometric pattern that repeats the same at every scale.”
“Oh. Um… thanks?”
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “A fractal pattern is infinite. It gets increasingly complex and detailed, but you can magnify it forever and never reach the end. It can be a mathematical set or natural phenomena like clouds, galaxies, lightning bolts. You.”
I could only stare at him, into the endless blue of his eyes, flecked with gold like stars. A ring of indigo circled his black pupils. The scent of him, shaving cream and soap, surrounded me. The room tilted, the edges of my vision losing focus so he was the only thing I could see. I felt myself tipping forward, wanting to fall into the infinite depths of him and never come out again.
“Tonight,” he said. “I need you again.”
My pulse raced. I was losing control of my emotions, my body, my senses. My hard-won discipline already seemed cracked beyond repair. Madeline Collins, married mother of two and PTO president, never lost control. At least, not until Mr. Hunter broke it into pieces.
Somehow, using all the willpower I possessed, I shook my head.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter,” I managed to say. “It was such a mistake.”
His mouth tightened. “No, it was not. Tell me you need me.”
Oh, God. The admission pushed up inside me, bursting to get out. Because of course I needed him. He’d done things to me that no one ever had before, and I felt like something had been unlocked inside me, opened, freed. I couldn’t imagine I would ever be the same Madeline Collins again and yet… I had to be.
“I can’t,” I whispered. I put my hand on his chest, my pulse quickening at the sensation of his heart pounding against my palm. “I… I just can’t.”
“The fuck you can’t,” he hissed, and before I knew it, his mouth crashed down on mine, his muscular body pushing me up against the shelf.
A groan lodged in my throat. I fisted my hands in his shirt, my knees weakening as he thrust his tongue into my mouth and shoved his thigh harder between my legs. Lust uncoiled inside me, heavy and overpowering, my sex clenching in instinctive response.
Even though I was still sore, I wanted it again, wanted to feel him pounding inside me, his husky voice whispering dirty words and commands as I writhed naked underneath him. Dizziness filled my head. I dimly realized that he could fuck me right here in the workroom, and I would let him.
A beeping noise penetrated my ha
ze of need. Muttering a curse, Mr. Hunter lifted his head. His eyes blazed into mine, dark as a twilight sky.
“We’re not finished, Maddie,” he grated out. “No fucking way.”
He pushed away from me, slamming a hand down on the laminator controls before stalking out of the room. I drew in a shaky breath and pushed away from the shelf.
My surroundings came slowly back into focus—the baskets of children’s picture books, the copier, the shelves filled with pencil boxes, notepads, and bottles of glue. I started to sort the construction-paper flowers.
My hands trembled. The bright flowers—pink, blue, red, purple—looked too cheerful and pure to be touched by a woman like me. Shame burned me from the inside out.
***
“Go Tornados!”
The crowd of parent and family spectators seated in the bleachers cheered as the home soccer team scored another goal. My heart filled with pride as I watched Emma run toward her teammates, exchanging victorious high-fives.
“She’s really improving,” Richard said, climbing onto the bleachers beside me. He’d left work early to attend the game, and he tugged at the knot in his necktie to loosen it. “Especially dribbling.”
“She told me she might not want to do soccer next year.” I adjusted the shutter speed on my camera and focused it on the field. “She’s interested in tap dancing.”
Richard made a scoffing noise. “She’d better do soccer again next year. She’s good. Waste of talent if she quits.”
I shrugged. “She’s six, Richard. She’s allowed to try different things.”
“I don’t want her to be a dilettante. I want her to focus. Work to her full potential.”
“I’ll be very interested to hear you tell her that when she’s a teenager,” I remarked dryly.
On the bench in front of us, Noah was playing a portable video game. I touched his shoulder and indicated I was going down to the field. I climbed off the bleachers and walked to the touchline to take closer shots of my daughter.
Emma’s brown hair flowed behind her in a ponytail, her lithe, strong body running across the field like a machine. Richard was right—Emma was an excellent soccer player already, but I didn’t want her to think she couldn’t try other things.
