The Naughty Corner

by Jasmine Haynes

  “I know exactly why.” The harshness of his tone belied the softening she’d seen in his gaze. “Because it made him feel like a big man to put you down. It made him feel better than you. He was the type that needs to put down someone else in order to feel superior.”

  “Charlotte said the same thing.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “My friend.”

  “The one who took the photo of the panties?”

  She gave a small laugh. “Yes.”

  “Well, she’s right. And I’m right, too. He was an asshole. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “You’re perfect.”

  She swallowed, didn’t say anything, didn’t admit how much she loved that word on his lips.

  “What I’ve learned about marriage is that people often end up despising the things they loved you for in the beginning.”

  “And he loved me because he could put me down?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And he left when it didn’t make him feel like a big man anymore.”

  “He probably needed fresh meat to grind.”

  He couldn’t know how true that was. Another small laugh hiccuped out of her, then she bit her lip.

  She’d known all that, figured it out for herself in the aftermath, but it was the way Gray put it that amazed her. That’s exactly what Mike had done. He ground her down. And when she was just a pile of meat at the bottom of the bowl, he had to find new meat to grind, starting all over again. She’d heard he’d been married and divorced two more times. He was probably looking for a fourth piece of meat to grind right now.

  “I’ve never heard it put quite like that, but you’re right.” She tipped her head to examine him. “Is that what happened to you?”

  He shook his head and didn’t hesitate answering. “Not the meat grinder. My wife loved me for my ambition. Then she hated me for becoming a workaholic.”

  “I thought it was all your women that bothered her.” If she had to bare her soul, Gray did, too.

  “Are you referring to what my son said?” There was a distinct tightening of his facial muscles.

  She nodded.

  “I’m not even sure if that’s what he was implying.”

  She pursed her lips and huffed out a breath.

  He heard what she was saying. “All right, he was implying it.” He cocked his head. “Do you believe it’s true?”

  She saw the waiter arriving with their plates before he did. “Our food,” she said as the waiter flipped open a folding table and slid the tray onto it.

  Gray didn’t move, concentrating on her. “Do you think I did?”

  “Your salmon, ma’am?” The waiter’s voice rose in question when Gray didn’t move.

  Lola ignored him, her gaze on Gray. “No, I know you wouldn’t.”

  22

  RELIEF COURSED THROUGH HIM. HE DIDN’T CARE WHAT PEOPLE thought of him. He knew who and what he was. He had flaws. If they needed fixing, he fixed them. Of course, there were the flaws only in other people’s minds, and then there were those he chose to live with. But he couldn’t let her think he was capable of betraying his marriage vows. It was her hesitation that had gotten to him. Even after she answered, he wasn’t sure.

  But he hadn’t intended to get so serious, or to remind her about her asshole ex-husband.

  Straightening in the booth, he let the waiter place their plates, inquire about additional drinks, et cetera, then stride away to another table.

  “This looks like a great choice,” Lola said. She closed her eyes, breathed in. “Smells yummy, too.” She was discreetly changing the subject.

  He wasn’t going to let her. Breaking off flaky pieces of salmon with his fork, he kept his other hand on her thigh. “You still haven’t answered me about all the naughty things you’ve done with your lovers.” Which wasn’t exactly how he’d phrased it, but he wanted to discount the ex. The man deserved a thrashing.

  She muffled a laugh around the fork in her mouth. After swallowing—and moaning over the taste and texture and deliciousness—she said, “I haven’t done a lot. And I haven’t had a lot of lovers.”

  “How many?”

  She tipped her head, obviously counting in her mind. “Five.”

  “And you were divorced when?” It was hard to believe she hadn’t had throngs of men at her feet.

  “Ten years ago.” She swirled her fork in the mashed potatoes. Most places complemented fish with rice, but here, they served the most excellent whipped potatoes with just about every dish unless you specifically asked for something else.

  She obviously loved sex, so that wasn’t the issue. And she would have had any number of offers. Perhaps she was gun-shy after her divorce.

  She answered in the midst of his contemplations. “Contrary to popular belief, most men, after you’ve been with them any length of time, and this is presuming that there was mutual enjoyment, of course”—she punctuated with a swirl of her utensil—“most men want a relationship.”

  “And you don’t?”

  She hesitated, poked at the salmon, ate a bite, then finally said, rather quickly, the words rushing out, “No, I didn’t. I just wanted the sex. Women can be like that, you know, just wanting sex. I didn’t want a man around telling me—” She stopped.

  He knew exactly what she hadn’t said. She didn’t want a man telling her she wasn’t good enough, wanting to change her, then never being satisfied with the changes she made. Been there, done that. She was definitely gun-shy. Since he knew the answer, he skipped to the other part of the question. “But before they got around to wanting a relationship?”

  She pursed her lips and widened her eyes dramatically at him. “I was a very missionary kind of girl until I met you.”

  He laughed loud enough to turn a couple of heads despite the noise level. “I don’t believe you.”

  “My favorite flavor was vanilla.”

  “Was?”

  She raised an eyebrow saucily. “I’m starting to think there are other flavors out there which might be much better.”

  “Like chocolate and strawberry?”

  She flapped a hand at him. “No. Like cake batter. Or blueberry cheesecake.”

  “Or a spanking?” He held her gaze.

  “Definitely.” She dropped her voice and leaned in, the fruity scent of her shampoo mesmerizing him, and murmured, “Or up against a tree in the middle of the woods. Or blindfolded and handcuffed.”

  “There are so many more choices.” It was the perfect time to mention his plan for tonight. But that might come so much better as a surprise.

  “I’m sure there are some flavors I’ve never even dreamed of.” Then she pulled back. “And now it’s time for you to tell all.”

  He’d had varied experience before and after his marriage. In the five years since the divorce, he’d indulged himself—and fully admitted it—in reliving his youth, stepping up the kinkiness. Maybe that was due to twelve years of sexless marriage. “You’ve had a taste of what I enjoy.” This time he leaned in. “I want you tied to my bed for an entire weekend where I do anything and everything I want.” He smiled wolfishly. “You can get up to eat, drink, and use the bathroom, that’s all.”

  “Have you ever done that to a woman?”

  “I’ve been saving it for you.” He’d been saving it for the right woman, and Lola was it.

  She worked at the vegetables on her plate, which was only half-empty. He was closer to being done. “How many women have you spanked?”

  He listened to what she didn’t ask. How many women had come before her? “Maybe ten since I’ve been divorced. I wouldn’t call what I did with any of them unforgettable.” He wanted her to be well aware of that. “I’m not sure how many before I was married.” He winced. “I have to admit I was a horndog when I was in college.”

  “Aren’t all young men?”

  “Remember when you said that after being with a woman for any length of time, most men wanted a relationship? That
wasn’t me. I was perfectly happy with just sex and nothing else.” If he took Rafe out of the equation, he might actually have been better off remaining a horndog. But despite the current issues with his son, Gray felt that Rafe was worth everything.

  “I should have met you then.” She gave him a sexy smile. “We could have been—”

  “Fuck buddies,” he supplied.

  “Yeah.”

  But he was fifteen years past being a horndog. By forty-five, he’d learned it took more than just the physical to make sex cataclysmic. It took chemistry. It took connection. It took two people with equal desire. And it took more than what fuck buddies had. It took what Lola had given him. A freshness, her willingness. Her acceptance. And the intensity of emotion, the like of which he hadn’t known since his very first time. But she was wary of relationships and a man getting in her business.

  “The perfect fuck-buddy relationship”—he used the word purposely—“is between two partners”—he used that one purposely, too—“who are willing to experiment.” He gave her a long look. “Are you willing?”

  “Haven’t I proven that already?”

  He studied her. There was a bloom in her cheeks brighter than before. Beneath that quite delectable top, her breasts rose and fell faster. A pulse beat visibly at her throat, and a scent rose off her, sweet, partly shampoo, but something earthier, the scent of woman, the perfume of arousal. Oh yes, she’d proven her willingness. She gave further proof of it now with her body’s reaction.

  “If I touched you, would you be wet?”

  She nodded, swallowed. “If I touched you, would you be hard?”

  “Give me your hand.” He seduced her with the softness of his voice.

  She didn’t question. She didn’t gasp at the public nature of what he wanted. She simply laid her hand in his. He brought it to his lap, molded it around his cock under cover of the table. No one would see, or if they did, they would guess that her hand was on his thigh or simply clasped with his.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Instead of pulling away, she squeezed, then stroked him, keeping her eyes locked with his. “It most certainly does.”

  “Then finish your dinner. Because I have a surprise for you tonight.”

  They were going to indulge in a very kinky experiment.

  * * *

  HE DROVE THEM INTO THE HILLS AGAIN, BUT THIS TIME IT WAS A real road that ended in a real driveway, not a bumpy, winding track that led to a weed-choked clearing. The evening was still light.

  Lola was sated with dinner and satisfied with their talk. It had been both sexy and tormenting. They’d dug at each other’s wounds, then applied a seductive salve to smooth them away again. They had both failed at marriage, for different reasons and with different results, but they were still failures. They came out of their divorces battle-scarred and wary. She’d told him the truth about avoiding relationships and wanting only sex. Charlotte would have said it was the opportune moment to discuss what she wanted out of her relationship with him. She’d chickened out. Or maybe it was more fair to say that she still didn’t know, so she’d opted for her usual answer.

  As for him, she wasn’t sure whether he meant he’d spanked ten women or that he’d dated—fucked—ten since he’d been divorced. She hadn’t asked. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a huge number. Right now, everything he did and everything he said made her feel special, made her feel like he was crazy for her and obsessed and willing to do anything. Maybe that’s what she was looking for, all the giddiness of a new relationship, but none of the pick-pick-pick. God, it was just like Harry said. Illusion. She didn’t want reality. She wanted the illusion of hot sex and a hot relationship without all the messy stuff. And she wanted to pretend it wouldn’t end on the last day of football camp.

  In profile, he was absolutely divine. She’d turned in her seat to watch him, the play of muscles as he turned the wheel, the strong, shadowed jaw.

  “What?” He glanced at her, then turned back to the winding driveway.

  She thought of an old saying her mother used. Cannot a cat look at a king? In this case, it was more like: Cannot a mere mortal look at a god?

  “Nothing,” she said with a naughty little smile. It had been sexy and wicked squeezing him in the restaurant, all those people around them. He wanted experimentation. He wanted to tie her to his bed for an entire weekend. It wasn’t punishment. It wasn’t torture. It was a fantasy come true.

  “Where are we going?” She asked but didn’t care. She’d go wherever he led.

  He shook his head. “It’s a surprise.”

  The driveway was smooth and long, flanked by trees, bushes, and scrubby grass, the acreage natural, not manicured. Side roads with mailboxes occasionally led off into the distance.

  Then they turned a corner into a circular drive rimmed by parked cars, not a single clunker among them. The stucco house wasn’t a mansion but still large enough to support a three-car garage, with wide stone steps leading to a double door. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front, people were clearly visible, milling about, talking, drinking.

  Gray parked behind the last car. “It’s a house party.”

  For a moment, she thought he’d brought her to some sort of work function, cocktails and business. Then he said, “Take off your panties.”

  So, not a work function. Her pulse kick-started. His fantasy. He’d said he wanted to have her in front of a crowd of people. There were more than enough cars to make this a crowd.

  “Do it,” he demanded. He was back to being the coach. And she was his slave. A rush of heat flashed across her skin.

  Lola lifted her skirt, slid the panties down her legs, and handed them to him.

  He held them a moment. “Damp. I could smell how wet you were in the restaurant.”

  Most people did dinner and a movie. They were doing dinner and a sex party. Her heart thrummed in her chest, and she was very, very wet.

  “Here are the rules. You don’t say anything unless I give you permission. You do whatever I tell you to do. You don’t touch anyone. And you don’t let anyone touch you.”

  “Starting now?”

  His eyes seemed to glow as the sun began its descent behind the mountains. “Starting now.” He grabbed her chin, held her. “You are my submissive, and you will not shame me in this place by questioning my orders. Nod if I make myself clear.”

  Lola nodded. She wasn’t sure she was ready, and yet anticipation sizzled through her veins. Her breaths were fast, her heart panting, and inside her push-up bra, her nipples were diamond-hard.

  This was excitement. To be thrust from a normal dinner date into . . . a sex party. Her nerves jangled in horror, her stomach turned over with fright, but she was hot, wet and breathless with need. She’d do whatever he wanted.

  Her high heels tilted on the dirt shoulder of the driveway as she climbed out. Gray rounded the hood of the car and held his hand out.

  She took it, loving the big, warm feel of him. “Are you allowed to hold a submissive’s hand?” She had visions of having to walk three paces behind him, her head bowed.

  Leading her up the drive, he shook his head. “Didn’t I just tell you rule number one was silence?”

  She hadn’t forgotten. She just liked a bit of disobedience when no one was listening.

  “You’ll have to be punished for that. But to answer your question, your hand in mine is a stamp of ownership.”

  “Are they all doms and submissives here?”

  He glowered.

  She made a face. “You should have told me over dinner and let me ask all my questions then,” she groused.

  “I will tell you once only, then no more questions. I have no idea whether they’re doms and subs. It’s a private swingers party I discovered on the Internet. There’ll be sex. The rules I just gave you are not house rules, they’re my rules. Now you will follow them and shut up.”

  He finished by silencing her with a hot, probing kiss that melted her nerve
s.

  They climbed the wide steps, but the front door opened before they reached the top. The man who answered was tall, silver-haired, and trim-figured in black slacks and a blue shirt. He had his arm around a woman of similar age, late forties to early fifties, with upswept blond hair. Her green cocktail dress plunged in a vee that was deep enough to expose the upper edges of her nipples, and the slit up her right thigh reached almost to her pubic hair. She was admirably well-kept for her age. A very good surgeon. Or Botox.

  “Oh, goody,” the woman said, grabbing Gray’s arm. “Just what I’ve been dying for. Fresh meat.”

  And Lola realized that with all his rules for her, Gray had never said that he couldn’t touch and be touched.

  23

  WITH THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND THEM, GRAY EXTRICATED himself from the woman’s grip.

  “I’m Jackie.” She put a hand flat to her chest, a move designed to bring attention to the rather impressive size of her breasts, or to the fact that her nipples were damn near popping out of her dress. “And this is Charles. We’re your hosts for the evening.”

  “Nice to meet you. Gray.” He held up Lola’s hand. “Lola.”

  Charles flourished a hand. “Come on in. Have a drink. Eat a little. Mingle.” Looking at Lola, he licked his lips. “Then we can all get down and dirty.”

  There was something about the lascivious swipe of his tongue along his fleshy mouth that raised Gray’s hackles. The look burning in the man’s light blue eyes was . . . crass. And beneath Lola. Yet that’s exactly what they were here for, to see and be seen, to have Lola admired and desired. He had to expect a certain amount of prurience.

  What the host lacked, his home made up for. The oversize living room was nicely appointed with tasteful furniture, hardwood floors, expensive rugs, and a monstrous fireplace. The dining room lay through an archway, the table laden with an elaborate spread of appetizers and an open bar. And it should have been elaborate for the amount Gray had paid. The party was free, but one contributed toward the food and drink. They certainly hadn’t skimped.