Authors: Jasmine Haynes
“You’re my first, my dear Miss Moore.” Despite her heels, she was still a head shorter, and he wanted to lick the column of her throat as she tipped her head back to look at him. “But that,” he said softly, “is
not
going to be the last.” He leaned down enough to put his lips to her ear, her hair soft against his cheek. “Because I’m absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent sure you’re going to be very bad again”—he pulled back to lock eyes with her—“and again.”
Grabbing his jacket off the student desk, he strode to the door, unlocked it, stood with his hand on the knob. “When you choose to be bad, you have to suffer the consequences.”
“I’ll never do it again, Principal Hutton.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling like jewels.
He knew she was lying. She couldn’t wait to do it again. Neither could he.
4
“I’VE BEEN VERY REMISS IN MY DUTIES TOWARD MY CLIENTS BY NOT
checking out other possibilities,” Charlotte told Lola at lunch the next day. Sexual possibilities, she meant; spanking in particular. After that announcement, she savored a bite of her pastrami on rye. She didn’t regularly indulge in fatty foods, but when she went out for lunch, she savored every bite. The Dutch Bakery had the best pastrami on the San Francisco Peninsula. And the marzipan cakes tempted her from behind the glass-fronted display case, not that she’d allow herself one of those.
Charlotte had a two-hour break between sessions. Thank goodness they’d arrived before eleven thirty because the line at the counter was now ten deep, seating was scarce, and the noise level had risen to mind-numbing. Servers delivering lunch plates dashed to and fro, tossing down crockery, grabbing up empties.
“I wouldn’t call it being remiss,” Lola said. She was enjoying the other half of Charlotte’s pastrami. The sandwich was way too much for one person, so they’d shared. That’s what best friends did, divide the fat intake. “You’ve simply had your eyes opened.” She patted her napkin on a wayward dot of mustard at the corner of her mouth.
Charlotte pointed her finger. “
You
opened my eyes.” She lowered her voice in deference to the lunch crowd around them, and for Lola, though the noise level would cover anything, she said, “If you hadn’t gotten naughty with that hunky coach of yours, I would have discounted the whole spanking business. And I’m a psychologist, for God’s sake.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
Not really. Charlotte was overdramatizing, but she had to admit she’d only considered the negative psychological aspects of BDSM, as in when a client became obsessed with it or used it to act out childhood traumas. There were, however, a lot of fun, sexy aspects that could be incorporated into a healthy love life and used to add variety and spice.
Lola Cook and her new man were a perfect example. And Charlotte wanted real-world ideas. “So spill, woman. I want details. Everything. What should I do next?”
But she knew Lola. Her friend wouldn’t spill much. They’d been best friends forever, having attended the same high school, though long before Principal Hutton’s tenure. Despite their friendship, Lola was a much more private person. After a bad divorce in her twenties, this was her first real relationship. She was still feeling her way with Gray Barnett.
“That’s your problem, Charlotte.”
Charlotte put a hand to her chest. “Me? A problem?”
“Yes.” Lola pointed her finger, punctuating. “The best thing is
not
knowing what he’s going to do next. The surprise. The anticipation.” She leaned forward. “The fact that
you’re
not the one controlling everything.”
Charlotte liked to control. But she’d also loved the way Principal Hutton had taken over after she’d suggested she needed a spanking. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the memory the way she’d savored her pastrami. God, it had been out of this world, over-the-top fabulous. She’d actually had an orgasm. She couldn’t define the physical sensation as pain. His hand made her tingle, his touch tantalized. The tingling had gone on all evening. Lola was right, part of the thrill had been the fact that she hadn’t known what to expect. She’d bent over the desk and put herself in Principal Hutton’s hands. Locked away in the portable classroom with him, she would have let him do anything to her.
An-y-thing
.
She focused on Lola’s face. She’d often worn her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, but since this thing with Gray began, she wore it down. Her brown eyes seemed deeper, the way she moved was sexier. Tall and willowy, she was Charlotte’s opposite, and somehow, in the last few months with Gray, Lola had begun to exude sensuality. Men looked, stopped, salivated. She’d become a sexual being. Charlotte didn’t believe that was a bad thing.
Lola smiled, her gaze sparkling with knowing. “You get what I mean, don’t you?”
Looking at her friend, Charlotte wanted to experience what Lola had. She wanted to be at her lover’s mercy. She wanted to be tied to a bed for a whole weekend, a man’s sex slave. Lola had revealed that much. Charlotte dreamed about it at night.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “I’ll let the principal figure it out. But I’ll have to give him some incentive, do something he has to punish me for.”
“Your principal,” Lola mused. “That’s hot. But what about your job?”
“This is an experiment,” Charlotte said. “I’m not going to get emotionally attached or anything. He’s way too old for me, almost fifty, and not my type at all.”
“Personally, I think you need a new type. You’ve been picking the wrong kind of men up to now. That’s why you always seem to get bored so easily.”
They were the right kind for Charlotte, young, malleable, and totally different from her former
older
fiancé, Martin. “I was never bored.” Though she did have a tendency to start finding things wrong with a man after about six months. “Anyway, it’s not like this is a relationship. It’s just a sexy fling. No one has to know.” Of course, that meant not locking themselves in any more portable classrooms. From now on, they’d need to meet off school property and outside of school hours. “Besides, he’s not actually my boss. I report to the assistant principal.” After polishing off the last of her pastrami, she munched on her pickle spear. “So how’s the counseling going for Gray and his son?” She realized Lola hadn’t revealed any new details about her deliciously kinky sex life, but that was fine. Lola had given her excellent food for thought.
“I don’t ask a lot of questions, not my business,” Lola said, “but Gray says things are better between them. He was disappointed at first that Rafe didn’t try out for the football team after camp this summer, but he finally accepted that football isn’t Rafe’s thing. And I have to admit Rafe tolerates me better than before. Last weekend we went for a hike out at Pinnacles National Monument.”
After his divorce, Gray had gone through some trying times with his teenage son, Rafe, and that had caused difficulties in Lola’s budding relationship with Gray. Charlotte had been glad to hear Gray decided on family counseling. And that Rafe agreed to it.
“Rafe even invited the twins along.” Lola opened her eyes wide to indicate her amazement. “I actually enjoyed spending the day with Harry and William. They weren’t obnoxious at all.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I think I’m starting to like them.” This wasn’t the first time she’d included her two nephews in outings with Gray and his son.
“Well, you do owe them big-time.” The twins, Harry and William, had spent a good part of the summer with Lola while their parents were in Europe. It was through the twins—and football camp—that Lola met Gray.
Lola pushed her fork through the small bowl of coleslaw on her plate.
It was a sure sign something else was on her mind. “What?” Charlotte prompted.
At the next table, a lady bit into a chocolate-covered marzipan cake. Charlotte salivated.
Lola let out a puff of air. “Gray wants me to move in with him.”
“And that’s a problem because . . . ?” When it wasn’t his weekend with his son, Lola was either at Gray’s house or he was at hers. “Ghost loves him.” Ghost was Lola’s cat, and she rarely came out from under the bed for anyone, but Lola said the cat had started sleeping on Gray’s chest when he was over. “And you love him,” Charlotte added softly.
“Yeah. I do.”
“But?” Charlotte urged.
Lola shrugged. “I work at home.” She was a freelance technical writer. “All of a sudden
my
office would be in
his
house, and we’d have to share the spare bedroom that
he
already uses as a home office.”
“But he goes to work every day.” Gray was CEO of a large corporation. He coached only during the summer, and that was part-time, mornings only, for six weeks.
“But he brings work home. And he uses the spare room.”
Charlotte had been to dinner at Gray’s. It wasn’t a small place, but with three bedrooms, one of them used by his son when he stayed with Gray every other weekend, that left only one for a home office.
“It’s just a workspace, Lola. The issue isn’t insurmountable. You could even keep your condo as your office.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Why? Is he going to make you pay rent at his place?”
“Of course not.”
“Then maybe it’s possible you’re making an issue out of nothing because you’re afraid of the bigger commitment you’ll have by moving in.”
“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Lola denied.
“Then what’s really bothering you?”
Lola chewed her lip. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
“I really don’t know.” Lola slumped. “He’s the best. The sex is the best. Everything’s great. But . . .”
Charlotte sipped her water before saying, “He’s nothing like Mike.” Who was Lola’s good-for-nothing asshole of an ex. Charlotte remembered Lola saying something about men being nice when they didn’t live in your house and couldn’t tell you what to do. That sentiment had its roots in her marriage to Mike the ass, who constantly picked on everything from Lola’s clothes to her hair to how she treated his mother.
“I know Gray’s totally different from Mike,” Lola said softly.
“Is the kinky sex getting too much for you?” Charlotte queried. Lola wasn’t a prude, but her experience had been limited. Maybe Gray was pushing her too hard too fast.
But Lola smiled. “Hell, no.” She dropped her voice. “It’s better than that lady’s marzipan cake.”
Charlotte groaned. They’d always loved the same sinful treats. “Why did you have to remind me?” Then she raised an eyebrow, smiled a little. “Do you need a session in my comfy office? Free of charge.”
Lola waved a hand. “No. I’m fine. I’ll probably move in. It’ll just be an adjustment.”
“If you’ve got to talk, I’m here.” Charlotte didn’t want Lola screwing this up for herself. Gray was perfect. Lola was happier than she’d been in ten years.
“Thanks, but I’m fine. When I finally make the decision, I’ll probably ask you to help me pack up, though.”
Charlotte was sure Lola wasn’t totally
fine
. She’d have to watch carefully, make sure Lola didn’t freak out, and hold her hand all the way to Gray’s house.
* * *
LUNCH YESTERDAY WITH LOLA HAD GIVEN CHARLOTTE IDEAS.
Her Thursday appointment with Melody Wright was set for eleven, so at ten o’clock, Charlotte stopped by Principal Hutton’s office. His secretary, Mrs. Rivers, was the lion guarding his door.
“Has the principal got a couple of minutes?”
Mrs. Rivers pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose, perusing Charlotte over the top of the horn-rims. The woman was ancient, having been the principal’s secretary when Charlotte was a student, but she hadn’t changed one iota. Her gray hair was still piled on top of her head. If her optical prescription had altered in the ensuing twenty years, she’d had the new lenses put into the same frames—or ones exactly like them. She still wore the same second-Thursday blouse. Mrs. Rivers had a different outfit for every day of the month, the same wardrobe she’d worn twenty years ago. The fabric was only slightly faded after all those years of laundering.
“Let me check if he has time to see you.” Mrs. Rivers pushed a button on her intercom. “Can you see Miss Moore for a couple of minutes, sir?” Mrs. Rivers was extremely formal. While Charlotte used the title Principal Hutton because it gave her a little thrill, Mrs. Rivers had always called him
sir
.
“Send her in.” His deep voice echoed from the office and the intercom.
Permission granted, Mrs. Rivers flourished a hand.
Charlotte stopped just inside the door. His office was by no means ostentatious, simply a desk, credenza, filing cabinets, a conference table, and four chairs, two of which were positioned in front of the desk. The office was perhaps one and a half times the size of hers, but the desk was larger and made of wood, and his computer was an updated model. Framed certificates lined the walls. There were no personal photos. She knew he had no children, but if he had parents or siblings, he certainly didn’t display pictures of them.
“I wanted to discuss Melody Wright. She was one of the girls in detention on Tuesday.” Her voice sounded normal, but her insides were fluttering. Her eyes had certainly been opened. Principal Hutton was tasty in a dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and striped tie. She had visions of bending over his desk. A psychologist was allowed her fantasies just like anyone else.
“Sure, let’s talk. Close the door.”
Her breath quickened as if he’d told her to pull up her skirt, but Charlotte didn’t let her reaction show. She simply closed the door, took the seat he indicated on the opposite side of his desk, and crossed her legs. She’d dressed with him in mind, a green blouse to match her eyes and a pencil skirt that hugged her bottom. Was he remembering what they’d done after detention? Of course he was. It was in the flicker of his gaze down to the vee of her blouse.
“About Melody Wright?” he asked.
All right, so they weren’t going to talk about
it
. “I’m worried about her. The other students in detention were”—
normal
wasn’t the right word because it implied that Melody was abnormal—“ordinary. Their offenses were minor and pretty common. Everyone texts when they can get away with it. Or passes notes. Or uses an expletive once in a while. But she was different. Her demeanor was that of someone carrying the weight of the world.”