The Naughty Corner

by Jasmine Haynes

  She imagined a mansion in the hills. Only rich people lived on this side of the freeway, multimillion-dollar houses with fabulous views.

  “Tick, tick, tick,” he said softly.

  Then all she wanted was an orgasm as he watched. She closed her eyes—since she couldn’t see him anyway—and found her clitoris by touch. Giving him a sexy little moan, she bit her lip, sensation rippling through her.

  She was wet, her skin hot, her nerves tingling as she stroked. “Can you see me in the dark, Coach?”

  “I can see everything. Your dirty hand down there, your pretty little pussy. You are gorgeous like that.”

  They hit another rut, and the extra hard contact of her fingers shot an adrenaline rush through her.

  “Make yourself come, baby. You’re so goddamn beautiful when you come.”

  He always complimented, always rewarded. Even when he’d spanked her. Her fingers moved faster. Her body rose. She panted. And her orgasm shimmered on the horizon.

  “Do it for me, baby. Because I love how hot you make yourself. You don’t even need me to do it for you.”

  She needed his voice. She needed his eyes on her. She needed his desire.

  “Christ, I want to pull over right now and do you here.”

  His words sent her over the edge.

  * * *

  SHE WAS MAGNIFICENT, HER SKIN ALABASTER AS THE MOON ROSE overhead, her lips parted on a sexy moan that wrapped around his cock, her body trembling with release. He loved watching her pleasure herself. He loved watching her inhibitions melt away. Because she was doing it for him. He freed her.

  The wheels went off the road, bumping hard for a moment before he corrected. The track was not well maintained, the car dipping and bouncing. He hadn’t traveled it for years, not since he’d brought Rafe out here to hike eons ago. Before the divorce, when his son still loved him. The county had let the area fall into disrepair, and not many people even knew this trail was hidden back here in the hills.

  And here was where he wanted to have her for the first time. In the open air, trees and sky and stars above them.

  She settled into her seat, her leg still crooked beneath her, skirt above her hips. Her scent filled the car, filled him.

  “Did I do good, Coach?” Her voice was soft, a little dreamy, after-orgasm languid.

  “Very good. You always please me. I am never disappointed”

  She smiled.

  He let the car roll to a stop. What had once been a dirt parking area was now a mere clearing, the weeds and scrub having reclaimed it. He could no longer distinguish the trailhead, especially not in the dark. The setting was excellent—secluded, private, yet still out in the open.

  “Get out,” he directed.

  She put her hands to her skirt, starting to shimmy it down.

  “Take it off. Completely.”

  She hesitated only a moment, then unzipped it. Planting her feet on the floorboard, she rose slightly to shove it down her legs. His heartbeat sounded like a drum in his head. Her milky-white perfection stole his breath.

  Opening the door, she was gloriously naked from the waist down, her legs long, her ass pert and beckoning. Luckily she’d chosen sandals instead of high heels. He hadn’t thought to prepare her.

  Outside, night sounds abounded, crickets, an owl hooting, a coyote’s far-off howl. It was now full dark, and moonlight fell through the trees, illuminating the small clearing.

  “Over here.” Taking her arm, he guided her to a tree at the edge of the hard-packed dirt.

  She was exposed. She was vulnerable. She was willing to do anything. And she was his.

  Bracing her body with his, he put her hands on the tree trunk. “Hold on.” Then he stepped away, grabbed her hips, and pulled her back until her bare ass was neatly presented to him.

  “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” His gruff voice left an ache in his throat. Need rode his belly. The drive had heightened his anticipation. Watching her come tied his insides in knots. He needed. He wanted.

  “No, Coach.”

  He slapped her ass hard, his palm stinging.

  She cried out for him.

  “Do you want another one?”

  She gulped a breath. “Yes.”

  He smacked her again, the erotic sound rising into the warm night.

  This time she moaned. Her juices slicked his palm. He put his hand to his mouth, tasted her. Jesus. So sweet. So good. “Another?”

  “Yes, please.” She panted, then added, “More than once. Don’t stop. You have so much to punish me for.”

  Holy hell, she was absolutely perfect. He swatted her over and over, his fingers connecting with her pussy, probing, stroking. Until her body trembled with need, and she was begging. “Please, please, please,” a pant between each repetition, a sob in her voice.

  “Do you like it, my sweet little slut?”

  “Yes. You know I do. I love it. Please.”

  She was close, her scent signaling her readiness, her need. He smacked her once more, then quickly entered her with two fingers. And her body contracted around him, dragging him deeper. She screamed, deep, full-throated, ending with a long, sexy wail of pure pleasure.

  Nothing had ever been so good for him. No woman had ever reacted so perfectly. No one was like Lola.

  13

  SHE CLUNG TO THE TREE, HER BODY SCREAMING, WAVES OF sensation rolling through her. Her legs trembled. Oh God. He was so good. This was so good.

  There were sounds, insects, birds, and the rustle of clothing, the tearing of a condom package. Then warm hands at her hips. His body over hers.

  She cried out as he entered her. The pain of intrusion was exquisite, rippling through her. “Oh God, yes, I needed this.”

  She’d been dreaming of his possession, lusting for it.

  “You need a man inside you, deep, taking you, forcing you.” His voice was rough, like the scrape of a razor over bristles. “You need possession, utter and complete.”

  She needed him.

  He took her relentlessly, pounding against her, the slap of his body almost like the smack of his hand. Everything tingled, half pain, half pleasure. She barely managed to maintain her hold on the tree. Then she was pushing back on him, taking even as she was taken. Throwing her head back, she gasped, then cried out his name. Her whole being centered on their joining, the points of contact, the contractions, the thunder and lightning inside and out. He didn’t put his hand between her legs. He didn’t touch her beyond that hard grip on her hips and his cock deep inside her, yet he claimed every part of her. And everything suddenly imploded, drawing down to one spot inside, the nub of her femininity. And she flew apart in his arms.

  Seconds, minutes, hours later—who knew how long—she was on the ground, surrounded by male heat, male scent, male strength.

  Lola was incapable of moving. She wasn’t quite capable of thought either. She could only drink in sensation and air to breathe, feel the hard beat of his heart against her and the puff of his breath in her hair until it slowed.

  “Why do I like it?” she whispered.

  “Because pleasure and pain are two halves of the same sensation.”

  “But I don’t like it if I stub my toe or knock my elbow.”

  He laughed. “Stubbing your toe isn’t sexual. My hand on your ass is extremely sexual.”

  Oh yes, it most assuredly was. Her butt still stung, yet the pain was definitely pleasurable. She could still feel the heat of his hand on her, his fingers caressing her with each stroke of his palm.

  “Why do you like it?” she asked.

  “Why do you always ask why?”

  She asked why in her job all the time. It was natural. She had to know everything so that she could write it down in terms anyone could understand. But she couldn’t write down in layman’s terms why she kept coming back to him for punishment or why he needed to administer it.

  “I like to understand things.” It was the best she could offer.

  “Because it fee
ls good.”

  “Yes. But not everyone would think it feels good. Why do we?”

  “I’ve never had a woman ask. They either say no, or they want more.”

  A tiny pang wormed its way beneath her rib cage. She really didn’t want to think about all those other women. “Like I do?”

  She felt the brush of his chin across her hair as he shook his head. “No. No one’s been quite like you.”

  Something starving inside her wanted to hear more. Probably shades of all those years of living with Mike’s incessant criticisms.

  “But why do you like to hurt me?” She’d asked Mike the same question, but with Gray, the connotations were completely different. Because she loved what he did to her, no matter the why of it.

  “It isn’t about hurting you. Or about the pain.” Then he was silent a long time. A coyote pack went wild in the distance, yapping, closing in on their prey. In the tree overhead an owl hooted. Lola wanted to remove the scarf, tip her head back, look at him. See him.

  Then he spoke, and she let him have his say in the darkness. “I worked at a local movie theater when I was sixteen. The projectionist was a woman. She was twenty-five or something, a lot older than me, and pretty in a Lucy Lawless kind of way, all buffed from hefting those reels onto the projectors. I liked to go up in the booth when things were slow and watch her change reels. She rarely spoke, she just did her work and let me watch. One night when we were showing a sexy movie with some real hot stuff going on, she sat down in a chair, braced her feet on the projector, pulled her skirt up, and played with herself.”

  Lola bit her lip. She was wet all over again just imagining the emotions of a raging hormonal teenager while a sexy older woman let him watch. His surprise, heart in throat. Then his lower region suddenly going berserk.

  She didn’t want to interrupt his story, but she had to know. “Did you touch yourself?”

  “I only watched.” He laughed softly. “But I couldn’t stop jerking off when I got home.” He stroked her hair away from the scarf. “I went back again and again. Sometimes she would masturbate. Depended on the movie. Her mood. I don’t know. But I was like an addict.”

  Beneath her, he was hard again. Lola didn’t resist this time. Tossing aside the scarf, she climbed into his lap. He shifted so she could straddle him. Moonlight through the trees glittered in the dark pools of his eyes.

  “She was working late one night. She had to pack up all the reels because a new movie was coming the next day. I stayed to help her after everyone else was gone.”

  Lola put her hand between her legs to stroke him. He still wore the condom. She pulled it off, wanting the feel of hot skin against her palm.

  “One minute we were packing reels, the next she was leaning up against the projector, her skirt over her hips. I think that’s why she wore skirts all the time, easy access.”

  His face was dark, his cock hard, his voice soft. And Lola wanted, needed. “Give me another condom.”

  One materialized in front of her. She ripped it open, rolled it on, then slid him deep inside, the fit tight, their bodies vacuum-packed together.

  “Tell me everything,” she whispered.

  * * *

  SHE SEDUCED HIM WITH HER BODY AND HIS OWN MEMORIES. HANDS on her hips, he surged inside her, then leaned his head back on the tree to savor her features.

  Her long black hair floated around her face, her brown eyes as dark as the night. Her lips were luscious and plump with the little bites of ecstasy and excitement she gave them.

  Tell me everything. He’d never told a soul. Not even Bettina. He was sixteen. In California, it was technically statutory rape because of the difference in age. And there were the things she’d made him do to her, the things she’d done to him. It had been a secret he’d never wanted to share, a secret he’d held close on cold nights in Bettina’s even colder bed.

  Tell me everything.

  He needed to tell Lola while he was buried deep inside her.

  “All she said was, ‘Spank me.’”

  Lola rose slowly, twisted slightly, and took him deep once more with equal deliberation. She was achingly tight around him. His fingers spasmed against her hip.

  “There was just this nicely shaped ass begging. So I swatted it.”

  Lola rotated her hips, squeezed her inner muscles. She put her head back, arched, drove him mad, came forward again, and gripped his chin. “Then what?”

  For a moment, he couldn’t remember. He swallowed. “She was wet. She got wetter every time I slapped her. I was so hard, I thought I’d come in my jeans. But she just wanted more. Harder. My fingers were all over her, slipping in all her cream.”

  Lola rocked on him, a gentle yet relentless rhythm that almost made his eyes roll back in his head.

  But he kept talking. “She spread her legs, and I knew she wanted me to go deeper. So with every swat, I slipped inside her, a little more every time.”

  His hips moved on their own, meeting Lola’s, thrusting. Her fingernails dug into his arms as she anchored herself. Need forced a grimace to his lips. He didn’t want to talk; he only wanted to fuck her, now.

  “Don’t stop,” she ordered.

  He had to obey, closing his eyes, jamming his head back against the tree so that he could concentrate on what she wanted. “She came hard, practically gushing all over my fingers. And she shouted dirty words I didn’t even know existed.”

  Lola wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, held him, pumped him, her nipples grazing his chest as she moved.

  He was here and now with her. And he was sixteen again, feeling the need, the uncontrollable emotions. “Then all of a sudden, she turned, threw herself at me, knocking us both to the floor. I don’t even know how she did it, but she shoved my T-shirt up over my head, trapping my arms in it, blindfolding me with it.” He remembered the utter helplessness, the fear. And all that pent-up desire he’d been feeling for weeks while she teased.

  Just as Lola teased him, rocking, rolling, slipping, sliding against him.

  “Her hands were tearing at my jeans. And she just fucked me like that, so hard my dick hurt the next day. And I came inside her.”

  His eyeballs ached. His cock throbbed. And he needed her, rolled with her, surfaced on top of her. “I was a virgin.” He gasped with his first thrust, her legs high around his waist, taking him deep. “And I was so goddamn worked up, I just shot inside her in two seconds.”

  “Was it as good as this?” she murmured.

  “Fuck yes.” He pounded her into the ground without regard. He was past caring. “I couldn’t see.” He grunted, drove deep again and again. “And it was so fucking hot . . . so exciting . . . so out of control.”

  He was gone, spending deep inside her, shaking with the intensity of it, eyes squeezed shut, shooting stars behind his lids, and the tight grip of her body making it last forever.

  He came back to earth, his face buried in her hair, her words whispered into his ear. “What happened after that?”

  “She did things to me all that year.”

  “Things?” Lola always needed more explanation.

  “Kinky things. She had me tie her to the projector. She brought a paddle. I had to use it on her. Sometimes she wanted to tie me up. She liked to pretend she was raping me.”

  “That’s kind of hot.” She rubbed against him. “And?”

  “She got another job, moved on.”

  Lola considered it all for a moment. “That’s why you like what we do. Being in control and powerful, then out of control and powerless. The two together.” Her voice seemed far away. “You were sixteen. It was a formative experience. You’re always trying to re-create it.”

  Maybe. He’d never told anyone, not even his friends on the football team. To share it would have destroyed the pure carnal nature of it. To tell would have broken its spell.

  But why hadn’t he told Bettina years later?

  And why had he made the revelation to Lola now? Gray wasn’t sure he was ready to exa
mine the question.

  “I must be hurting you.” He’d damn near collapsed on her during his explosion and had no idea how long they’d lain there before she’d spoken. Thank God, the thick layer of leaves had protected her back and butt as he’d taken her. Not that he’d thought about that in the moment.

  “I like the weight of a man on me.”

  He couldn’t see her eyes, her face. His body blocked out all the light. “It’s time to go. You have to pick up the boys.”

  She snorted. “Heckle and Jeckle are more than capable of taking care of themselves.”

  They probably were. He wasn’t so sure about himself. He needed to think about the revelations he’d just made, the things that had come to him as he was buried deep inside her. He wanted to understand why she, of all women, had drawn those things out of him. Why she made him lose control. And why she made him like it.

  * * *

  HE DROPPED LOLA AT THE PARK AND RIDE, WATCHING HER DRIVE away as he turned on his phone. Four missed calls and three messages. He listened to Bettina’s rants about why he wasn’t answering his phone, then erased them.

  He called her back only to make sure Rafe was all right.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she snapped. “I called and called.”

  When they were married, she’d gotten pissy if he didn’t answer his phone right away. But they weren’t married anymore, she’d kicked him out, and he owed her no explanations. “I was busy.”

  “What if something had happened to your son and I needed you?”

  “Did something happen to Rafe?” It hadn’t. Or she would have started with that.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you call me four times?” He’d wanted to savor the memory of Lola, but the lassitude of magnificent sex had faded the moment he’d heard Bettina’s messages. Now there was only his ex-wife’s harpy tone in his ear.

  “I wanted to remind you about your promise to get him a car.”

  He watched headlights flash along up on the freeway above the Park and Ride. “I don’t need a reminder.” It occurred to him that she was checking up on him, trying to see if he had a woman. Rafe must have said something to her about believing Gray had someone with him the other night.