“Close the door,” he ordered.
She wasn’t sure exactly what he had planned. Would he spank her? He’d told her to wear a skirt, blouse, high heels, but no underwear.
Once the door was closed, he stood, rounded the desk, and moved a chair out of the way. “Pull up your skirt.”
Her blood seemed to rush in her veins as she bared herself to him.
“Bend over my desk, chest flat against it, arms straight ahead.”
A spanking. Like that day in detention hall.
She assumed the position, eyes closed, and steeled herself for the first blow. But the caress that came was incredibly gentle.
“You have the most beautiful ass I have ever seen, Miss Moore.” He stroked her, cupped her, squeezed.
She tensed for the moment he would swat her. It was coming, she knew it. She wanted it. But she couldn’t help tensing for it.
“Your pussy is so incredibly sweet.” He went down on his knees behind her. She heard him breathe deeply. “Such an erotic scent.” He trailed a finger down her outer lips, slipped inside, stroked, then he parted her and put his tongue against her clit.
Charlotte gasped and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk. “Oh God.”
“Principal Hutton to you,” he said and blew a warm breath on her. Then he licked her. He worried her clit, suckled, lapped at her opening.
Charlotte’s legs began to shake. It wasn’t what she’d expected at all, this sweetness, the gentle touches. He filled her with his fingers, pumped inside, stroked her G-spot. Now she was panting.
“How badly do you want it, Miss Moore?”
“Oh God, please, so bad. I need it.”
Then his fingers were gone, and his tongue. She was still quivering on the edge. Until she heard the rasp of a condom wrapper.
She was so wet, he slid deep. Instead of thrusting, he leaned over her body, covering her even as he filled her.
“I want to sit in this office and see you lying on my desk.” He nibbled her ear. “I want to close my eyes and smell you all over it.” He tongued the shell and she shivered. “When you come in here to talk business, I want to look at you and know you’re remembering that I had you right here on this desk.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”
He moved, slowly at first, caressing that nub inside, making her tremble.
“I’m going to fuck you here like never before.” He held her down with his body, positioned her with his hands, and thrust deeper, harder, faster.
Charlotte braced herself on the desk, pushing back on him. He dropped one hand from her hip, insinuated it beneath her, and found the hard bud of her clitoris, rubbing, circling. His touch, inside and out, had her right up on the edge again in a matter of seconds.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Charlotte panted for him.
“Remember this when you’re standing in my office.”
“Oh God, yes, I will.” She would touch the wood and remember the feel of it against her body, the heat of him inside her.
The quakes started in her calves, worked their way up, then everything exploded out from the point at which she was joined with him. Her body jerked, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough to see stars. When the sensations would have faded, she felt him throb inside and he thrust harder. Then he buried his face in her hair and held her tight against him as his cock pulsed in climax.
They were both breathing hard. His tremors died away. So did hers. Then finally he moved, stood straight, pulled out. Against her backside, she felt him remove the condom, then he leaned over her to grab a tissue from a box. She wondered idly if he kept the tissues there for students who broke down, the way she had a tissue box on the corner of her desk.
Or had he put it there for this very purpose?
“Stand up, Miss Moore.”
As she did, rather unsteadily, he smoothed her skirt down over her rump.
“You have to go now.”
She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to curl up in his arms. In his chair. On his lap. And stay.
But of course she couldn’t. They couldn’t.
“Yes, Principal Hutton,” she murmured.
“You performed well, Miss Moore.”
She left his office, her legs a bit wobbly. She didn’t see a janitor. She didn’t see a security truck. When she started her car engine, it was only twenty past the hour. The whole thing, from the moment she’d watched the security guy drive away to fucking Lance to returning to her car had taken twenty minutes.
It was surely the best twenty minutes of her life.
* * *
“FUCK,” LANCE WHISPERED ALOUD TO THE EMPTY OFFICE ON MONDAY. HE’D HAD A MORNING OF CALLS, AND NOW, THE LAST OF THEM made, he stared at the desk. He could still see Charlotte lying there. He could smell her sex. He could taste her on his tongue. He’d thought of nothing else the entire weekend. Of course, he could have called her, ordered her to his house, gone to hers, but he’d wanted this, to arrive at his office with the last memory of her being on that desk.
He’d never done such a thing in his life. He would probably never do anything like it again. He’d planned, mitigated the risk by choosing a late hour for the rendezvous, but he’d taken what he wanted.
She’d done everything he told her to. Dressed the way he’d insisted. Lifted her skirt when he demanded it. Let him fuck her.
He’d had sex in his office. He’d embraced his kinkiness. He started planning the other things he’d get Charlotte to do for him.
He was well and truly obsessed. And never more satisfied in his life.
His phone buzzed, interrupting his reverie. “Yes, Mrs. Rivers.”
“We’ve got a problem out here, Principal Hutton.” For the unflappable Mrs. Rivers, the thread of tension in her voice was unusual.
“What’s going on?”
“Could you come out here, Principal?” Again, highly unusual.
He punched off the intercom button and opened his door to find his assistant principal and two teenagers, one girl, one boy. He recognized the kid immediately. Eric Collins, David Smith’s stepson.
Shit. This was something he didn’t need.
“What’s the problem, Mrs. Sloan?” In her midthirties, Alice was short and stocky, something akin to the stereotypical image of a prison matron, but she was fair. She’d been one of his assistant principals since the beginning of the school year, and she usually took care of disciplinary issues on her own initiative unless they were particularly egregious.
“Fight in the quad, Principal Hutton,” Alice said in a clipped military style.
He stared at Eric. “You were fighting with a girl?” He didn’t care how sexist the statement sounded, in his world, you never hit a female.
“Eric didn’t hit Melody,” Alice informed him. “She knocked a soda can out of his hand.”
“Melody Wright?”
The girl nodded, head down and eyes on the floor so that her lackluster brown hair obscured most of her face. Yet enough was visible to make out the ravages of acne.
Damn it to hell. The boy she’d been harassing was the stepson of the school board’s chairman. Why the hell hadn’t Charlotte told him? Then again, being here only two days a week, she was uninvolved in school politics and most likely didn’t have a clue.
Pointing, he said, “The both of you, in my office.” Once they were inside, along with the assistant principal, he moved behind his desk. He chose not to sit, nor to allow them to.
“Fighting can be cause for expulsion,” he said harshly.
“It wasn’t a fight, sir,” Eric interrupted. “She slapped the soda can instead of slapping my face, then it was over.” His shirt was neatly tucked in, his jeans sharp, marred only by the dark stain of the soda along one pant leg, and he met Lance’s gaze boldly. In contrast, Melody was unkempt, her expression sullen, and her shoulders rolled into a slump so extreme it actually looked painful.
“Any kind of violence is unacceptable.” He looked at Melody. “Why di
d you do it?”
“It was my fault, sir,” Eric jumped in. “I called her a bitch.” The boy was actually defending her.
For the first time, Melody raised her eyes from the floor and glanced at Eric beside her.
“Why would you use that kind of language about a young lady, Eric?”
“It was totally uncalled for, sir.” He was exceptionally polite and deferential. He was also chivalrous, taking all the blame.
Melody was staring at him wide-eyed. Her face was a landscape of red pustules and small scabs where previous pimples had burst. The teenage years were bad enough, but being a teenager with acne to this extent? A great sympathy burned in his gut, yet the behavior couldn’t be tolerated.
“Melody?” he queried softly.
She looked at him, then just as quickly dropped her gaze again. “I,” she started.
Without the benefit of reading her lips at the same time, Lance leaned forward to hear her better.
“I was maybe a little mean,” she admitted.
“I’d like specifics, Melody.”
She shifted from one foot to the other. He glanced at Alice Sloan, who shook her head slightly to indicate she didn’t know.
Then Melody’s words rushed out. “I sorta said he was a creep and I hated his guts and if he dropped dead, I wouldn’t care.”
Eric pressed his lips together and said nothing.
“Was there a reason you said that to him, Melody?”
She shrugged. “I wanted to know what he said to Miss Moore when she called him into her office last week. He told me it was none of my business.”
“So you got mad,” Lance concluded for her.
She nodded. “I didn’t want him bad-mouthing me to Miss Moore.”
“But Miss Moore didn’t tell me anything Melody said, so I didn’t see why she should know what I said.” Though Eric was willing to take the blame, he also seemed to want his side heard.
“Then you both resorted to name-calling, and, Melody, you slapped the can out of Eric’s hand. Have I got all that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Eric said.
Melody gave her characteristic nod.
Lance turned to his assistant principal. “Mrs. Sloan, under the circumstances, what is your recommendation?”
“One-day suspension for both of them,” she said immediately.
Suspending Smith’s stepson could be a political fiasco, but the boy had admitted to provoking Melody. Though she’d provoked him, too. Lance wasn’t about to show favoritism to Eric simply because of whose son he was.
“And a parent conference,” Alice added.
The parent conference might indeed be more frightening to the two teenagers than the threat of suspension. “I concur.” He looked at the two combatants. “Your parents will be contacted to arrange for your pickup as soon as possible. This is not a holiday. You will be required to complete all homework assignments from your teachers. Mrs. Sloan will make the arrangements to have your parents meet with us. You will not be included in that discussion. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Eric answered.
Melody didn’t move for a moment, didn’t acknowledge the punishment in any way. Until he was about to dismiss them. “Eric didn’t touch me. I was the only who did anything physical. He shouldn’t get the suspension.”
“If Mrs. Sloan hadn’t shown up, I would have slapped Melody. Or worse,” Eric said.
Jesus, they were both defending each other. Lance didn’t believe for a moment that Eric would hit a girl. He’d figured that out in the first five minutes of the interview. But the mutual support was a good sign. Perhaps the problem was already halfway to being solved.
He considered them a moment. “I will delay your suspension until tomorrow. We’ll have both your parents in here, discuss the situation, and I’ll make the final decision then. You’re dismissed.”
When Alice would have followed them, he signaled for her to close the door and stay while he punched the intercom button. “Mrs. Rivers, please call the parents and set up a conference for tomorrow.” In the office outside, Melody and Eric would be able to overhear Mrs. Rivers making the phone calls. A little fear went a long way.
He turned back to Alice. “Charlotte told me you’d discussed the situation last week.”
“Yes. We agreed it wasn’t an easy fix. But we both believed that at least if there was a dialogue going on between Melody and Charlotte, it wouldn’t come to this.”
“You should have let me know it was Eric.”
She tipped her head. “Because of who he is?”
“Yes.”
“You think there’ll be a stink?” Her mouth pinched in a worried line.
With Smith, yes, there could be a stink, but Lance would deal with it. “I simply like to be informed.”
“Sorry. It didn’t really occur to me.” She tapped her lip. “I’d like Charlotte to be there tomorrow, since she’s talked to both students.”
“Good idea.”
“If you could have Mrs. Rivers call me when she’s got a time set up, I’ll let Charlotte know.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d call Charlotte himself—a good excuse to hear her voice—but it was totally inappropriate. “You can tell Mrs. Rivers on the way out. Thank you for bringing the issue to my attention as quickly as you did.”
She nodded her head in salute and made a half turn as if she intended to leave before slowly reversing back to him. “Eric’s a good kid.”
“I feel the same way.” Despite his stepfather, he’d turned out well.
She was not a pretty woman, but something softened on her face as she said, “And I think Melody’s actually a sweet girl. She just needs help.”
“I realize that, too.” The question was how best to provide it.
13
THE CALL TOOK LONGER TO COME IN THAN LANCE HAD FIGURED IT would. Smith didn’t get on the horn until almost three in the afternoon.
“What the hell is going on, Hutton? My son, involved in a fight? Impossible.”
Last Wednesday, he’d been Lance. Now he was merely Hutton. “He’s admitted it. That’s why I’ve scheduled a parent conference tomorrow.”
“It’s out of the question,” Smith barked. “Don’t you know how busy I am?”
As chairman of the school board, Smith was an excellent delegator. He spent most of his time drumming up support for pet projects and attending so-called business lunches at the country club.
“If you don’t feel it’s important enough for your attention, I’m sure your wife’s attendance will be more than adequate,” Lance delivered the slam.
Smith fell for it. “Of course I’ll be there. Give me the details.”
“The details have been explained to your wife. I suggest you discuss it with both her and your son tonight.”
“Goddammit, Hutton.”
He knew Smith’s intention, to insert himself into Lance’s game plan, to direct what happened in tomorrow’s meeting. “We’ll cover it with you and Melody’s parents as scheduled.” With Smith involved, they needed Lance’s mediation; otherwise the man could become combative.
“If you suspend him, Hutton, you better have a damn good reason.”
“I’ll be fair and impartial. But we will work this out with the girl’s parents in attendance as well. You don’t want it to appear that I’m showing your stepson favoritism.”
Smith grumbled unintelligibly. Appearance was of utmost importance to the man. “I’ll be watching your every move, Hutton.”
“I have no doubt.” Lance wouldn’t let it sway his judgment over what was best for his students. Never had, never would.
He’d already concluded that he would not suspend Eric. The boy hadn’t hit back, he’d defended Melody, and taken blame for his own actions. At most, Lance might send him to detention.
It was Melody he hadn’t decided what to do with. She’d been in detention more than once. It hadn’t helped. By strict definition, what she’d done was consid
ered violence, punishable by suspension. She was, however, a girl in crisis, and he was less concerned with following stringent rules and more concerned with doing what would best help the student. A year ago, she’d been bright, energetic, good grades, glowing reports from her teachers. He doubted any of them would recognize the girl who’d been in his office today.
He was more inclined to sentence her to two days a week with Charlotte.
It was a sentence he wouldn’t mind serving himself. An hour in her office, the door closed, the blinds pulled, anything could happen. And he would make sure everything did.
Of course, it was a fantasy. Reality was dealing with Eric and Melody. And their parents.
* * *
“HELL,” CHARLOTTE SAID. “I TOLD MELODY I WAS GOING TO TALK TO Eric, and she said it was fine, that I could discuss anything I wanted, as if she didn’t give a damn whatsoever.” She’d been afraid it would backfire, and it had.
Lance’s voice came as a delicious rumble against her ear. “Obviously she gave a very big damn.”
Curled up on her sofa, a blanket over her knees, she wished she could see Lance’s face, but all he’d deigned to give her was a call this evening.
Alice had phoned in the afternoon to let Charlotte know about the latest altercation and the parent conference at two o’clock tomorrow. Good God, the situation was escalating rapidly. Charlotte saw it as Melody hitting out in frustration, but it was a troubling trend.
Because he couldn’t see her, she put a hand to her forehead. It hadn’t been a good day. First, Jeanine had made absolutely no progress since her last session. She was no longer willing to concede that fantasy might work, no matter how Charlotte tried to extol its virtues, from personal experience, no less. And now this.
“I’m not blaming you, Charlotte.”
She wasn’t Miss Moore now. She was his employee. “I didn’t realize who Eric’s stepdad was either.”
“I know that, too, and I said I’m not blaming you.”
But she was blaming herself. She didn’t pay attention to school politics. It was one of the reasons she’d never considered being a full-time guidance counselor, so she didn’t have to bother with who was grumbling about what.
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