“I’d like you at the parent conference to discuss your thoughts on what’s happening between Melody and Eric. You’ve talked to them both. You have good insight.”
Blame gave way to her natural instinct to analyze. She was also pleased with his praise. “What did you think of Eric?”
“He’s exceptionally polite.”
“Yes. But what about his attitude toward Melody?”
“He defended her. That was surprising under the circumstances.”
“I think he’s in love with her.”
“In love?” He said it as if he couldn’t fathom that a teenager would even know what love was.
“They’ve been best friends since they were in grade school. He’s terribly upset that she won’t talk to him anymore. I think her problem is her acne. She can’t imagine he would love a girl with a face like hers.”
“That seems rather simplistic. The issues have got to be far more complicated.”
Her explanation was exactly the kind of teenage angst that made sense to Charlotte. “You were never a teenage girl.”
“I was a teenage boy.”
“It’s completely different. You were probably captain of your high school football team with an adoring cheerleading squad at your feet.”
He laughed. “I played basketball, but I wasn’t the captain and the girls didn’t fall at my feet. I was average.”
“You could never have been merely average, Principal Hutton.” He would always have stood out.
“We’re all average except in our own minds. Everyone but you, Miss Moore.”
The compliment made her glow, even if he was pandering to her ego. “Well, I hope the parents can shed some light on the situation.”
He sighed. “Don’t look for anything from Eric’s stepfather. He’s more likely to be an obstructionist and possibly combative.”
“Damn.”
“You don’t know the half of it. The only good thing is that the meeting will be in my office.”
“Isn’t your office too small?”
“It’ll be a tight roundtable, but it’ll work. While I’m confronting Smith, I’ll be able to imagine you spread over my desk the way you were on Friday night. With my cock deep inside you.”
She gasped. “Principal Hutton.” Heat rushed through her. “It’s the worst thing to think about in the situation.”
“On the contrary, it’s very powerful. Why do you think I ordered you to come to my office?”
“Because you’re kinky.”
“True, but I wanted images, Miss Moore, memories stored up. Tactile. Olfactory.”
“Now that you’ve brought it up, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on the meeting.”
“It’ll make everything sharper. I’m hard. I want you right now.”
Her heart began to beat in a fast staccato rhythm.
“What are you wearing?”
“My robe.” She’d just finished a long soak in the tub when he called.
“Panties?”
“No.”
“Touch yourself. I want to hear you come, Miss Moore. Where’s your vibrator?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Go lay down on your bed. I want to hear the hum of your vibrator.”
She didn’t know how he could switch so quickly, one moment engrossed in the issues of a troubled student, then consuming her with sexual desire in the next second. But she let him drag her along.
He created dirty word pictures as she traversed the hall, telling her all the things he’d do to her if he were there. She was damn near ready to come by the time she’d retrieved her vibrator from the bedside drawer.
“Fuck yourself, Miss Moore. I want you on your knees, the vibrator between your legs, and you riding it.”
“I’ve never done it like that.”
“Do you have a mirror by the bed?”
A full-length one covered the closet door. “Yes.” She knelt on the side of the bed right across from it.
“Look at yourself and describe it all to me. Every detail.”
She’d recommended phone sex to her clients, not the paid kind, but the sexy calls between partners. It was another venue in which to add spice. Lance took it to a new level for her, making it visual as well as verbal.
Her robe was old and flannel, green with multicolored dots all over it. So not sexy. “My silky pink robe is hanging open.”
“Can you see your nipples in the mirror? Are they hard?”
She pinched herself, moaned. “They’re tight and hard.”
“Tell me how wet you are.”
“I’m creamy, Principal Hutton, practically dripping.”
“Taste it for me.”
“You’re so naughty.” Charlotte put her hand between her legs, rubbed her clitoris, then licked her fingers. “Sweet,” she whispered. “Slightly spicy and salty, too.”
“Christ, yes, that’s just how you taste, sweet and spicy. Turn the vibrator on and tell me how it feels when you ease down onto it. Like you were riding my cock.”
Charlotte tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could part her folds. Then, watching herself in the mirror, she described exactly what she saw. “My legs are spread wide, and it’s disappearing deep inside me. Ooh. Yes.” She closed her eyes and expressed just the feel of it. “It vibrates all the way up into my stomach. And ooh, God, tipping forward, it’s right on my G-spot.” Her body quaked. Moisture coated her hand where she held the vibrator. “It’s so good.”
“Fuck it for me, Miss Moore.”
She looked at herself again, and instead of pulling the toy in and out, she tensed her thighs and rode, just as if she were riding a man. “Oh my God, that’s so hot. It’s almost like watching that movie I made up in my fantasy, the one of me fucking another man for you.”
“I would never have hidden in a closet taking videos. I’d have stood in front of you while he fucked you doggy style and forced my cock down your throat.” His voice was guttural, strained. He was as turned on as she was.
She loved his visceral description, the dirtiness of his words. He’d come so far for her in such a short time. He hadn’t even used the word fuck until the first time she’d taken his cock in her mouth. But listen to him now, coming up with a naughty scenario that topped hers.
“You want to do everything I say, don’t you, Miss Moore?”
“I’m dying for your commands, Principal Hutton.” Then she couldn’t manage anything more than moans, groans, pants, and “Oh God, oh God.”
Her breasts bounced, and the vibrator thrust and retreated. Her thighs ached with the position, and her body began to tremble. All the while, the principal’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Fuck it, Miss Moore. Take it deep. Pretend it’s me. Take me. Fuck me.”
When she climaxed with a rush that dropped her down on the bed, she was sure she heard his answering cry, his simultaneous orgasm. His surrender.
* * *
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO REMEMBER HOW HE’D TAKEN HER ON that desk just a few nights ago. Or his voice on the phone last night as she rode her vibrator in front of a mirror for him. Charlotte squirmed in her chair, the phantom feel of him inside her, her bottom tingling as if he’d just spanked her. She could smell him in the office, a spicy aftershave and the equal potent scent of man and sex.
“I’m not going to suspend them,” Principal Hutton said.
Alice and Charlotte had arrived ten minutes early for a strategy meeting before the Smiths and the Wrights appeared. Lance sat behind his desk, and she and Alice took chairs to the side in a wing formation. The four conference-table chairs—which were to be occupied by the parents—had been arranged in a semicircle facing them.
“Eric will receive one detention hall for inappropriate language”—Lance looked at Charlotte when he said it—“and Melody will take detention with you twice a week for six weeks during which she will receive counseling.”
Okay, it wasn’t a strategy meeting. He was dictating. He hadn’t even asked her o
pinion. Charlotte couldn’t be sure whether that glance was a reminder about her inappropriate language or whether it had been simply because he was assigning counseling duty to her. Putting aside her irritation over not being consulted, his plan wasn’t all bad.
But . . . “Don’t you think Eric needs counseling, too?” Charlotte queried.
“Quite frankly, no. That boy’s got his head screwed on straight.”
She was aghast, as if he’d intimated that there was some sort of stigma attached to counseling.
“I agree with the principal,” Alice said. “He’s a good kid. One detention hall is all that’s necessary.”
“But I’d like to talk to him. It could really help Melody.”
Lance held her gaze steadily. “We can’t sentence one student to punishment simply for another student’s benefit.”
Sentence? Punishment? “I don’t see it as either of those things. He could benefit from it. He really got some stuff off his chest when I spoke with him last week.”
“If he chooses to make an appointment with you, Charlotte, he’s perfectly free to do so. But I’m not making it a requirement.”
She was offended. He wasn’t listening to her advice. He was simply dictating. She opened her mouth to object.
Alice beat her to it. “We can talk with him about it later, Charlotte. Let’s deal with the incident at hand.”
She felt ganged up on. She wanted to protest. But the intercom buzzed, and Mrs. Rivers announced the Wrights arrival. The imperious Principal Hutton waved a hand at Alice, indicating she should open the door.
With Alice’s back to them, Charlotte glared at Lance. Instead of discussing his intentions with her last night, he’d turned the call into phone sex. Now he merely regarded her without expression. What happened to the whole thing about imagining her over his desk while they were in this conference? It was as if Friday night had never happened. As if nothing had happened between them at all. As if—
Charlotte caught herself, horrified. Good Lord, she was mixing business and pleasure. She was expecting him to treat her differently because they were playing sex games. She might not like his dictatorial attitude, but then she’d known he was a dictator—benevolent as he may be—before anything sexual had begun.
She had to ask herself, would she have been angry with him now if nothing had occurred between them during the last two weeks? Or would she simply have accepted his high-handedness?
She didn’t have adequate time to figure it out as Melody’s parents entered the office and everyone stood.
The girl’s mother led with her breasts. There was no other description for it. Model-thin, her chest bordered on abnormal in comparison. Charlotte feared the weight of them might topple her, especially with the five-inch stilts she wore. Without the heels, the woman might actually be shorter than Charlotte. Not a single line or wrinkle marred her features, though Charlotte thought she could use a little more adipose tissue in her face. She’d styled her hair a la Farrah Fawcett in the Charlie’s Angels era and frosted it with varying shades of blond and red. Her features were nothing short of gorgeous, but like a beautiful actress on the big screen, she seemed untouchable.
She went immediately to the only other man in the room besides her husband. “You must be Principal Hutton. I’m Kathryn Wright. We’re completely devastated by this incident involving Melody. I assure you we’ll get it all straightened out.”
For his part, Lance didn’t seem to notice her breasts—God only knew how, perhaps with superhuman effort—and shook her hand. “Thank you for your cooperation.” Then he turned to the man who must be Melody’s father. “Mr. Wright, good of you to come.”
“Please, call me Steven.” While his wife made a big impression, Steven Wright made only one: average. Average height, average weight, brown hair, brown eyes, unremarkable features. Perhaps that was just in comparison to his wife’s shadow.
Lance completed the introductions. “This is our assistant principal, Alice Sloan, and our guidance counselor, Charlotte Moore.” He waited a beat for the handshaking. “The Smiths should be here any moment. I assume you know them well since your children used to be such close friends.”
Kathryn Wright attempted a frown that didn’t reach her forehead. “Yes, well, we don’t run in the same circles, you understand.” That could mean anything from casual indifference to hating one another on sight.
The door hadn’t closed, but the intercom buzzed again, though Mrs. Rivers didn’t make any announcement.
This time the father entered first, obviously David Smith. A handsome man despite his silvered hair, he was exactly what she would expect in a politician, slightly louder than normal, a big smile, handshakes all around as if he were at a campaign rally. “Wright. Mrs. Wright. Hutton.” He shook Alice’s hand as Lance introduced her, then Charlotte’s as her name was said.
Then he flourished a hand in the air. “My wife, Jeanine.”
Good God, it wasn’t a false name at all. Barely managing to keep her jaw from a dead drop, Charlotte gaped at her client, Jeanine Smith.
Then she stared at David Smith, the husband who wanted his wife to have sex with other men.
14
THE ATMOSPHERE WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY CRAMPED, JUST ENOUGH TO keep the occupants of his office from getting too comfortable. Since Lance was behind the desk, he had the most room and therefore the upper hand.
He did not, however, have Jeanine Smith’s full attention. If anything, aside from her facial features, she had more in common with Melody than she did the reasonable young man standing up in his office yesterday to defend a girl who’d essentially been harassing him. Mrs. Smith stared at her hands, fiddled with her handbag, crossed and recrossed her ankles, and continuously shifted in her chair. He’d met her before at various school-board functions and events, and he didn’t recall this same level of nervousness. Maybe she just needed to use the ladies’ room.
Whatever her problem, the most he could do at this point was ignore it.
“That’s the situation as it stands, and those are my plans for disciplinary action,” he said after a summary of events and the consequences he would mete out. He spoke dispassionately and without blame.
It was, of course, Smith who answered first. “It’s obvious that my son did nothing wrong at all. I’m not sure why my wife and I are even here.”
“He called my baby a bitch,” Kathryn Wright jumped in.
He wouldn’t allow the meeting to degenerate into a fight between the parents. “It’s not about who did what to whom. It’s about events over the summer that ended their friendship and what we, as the adults in charge, are going to do to resolve the situation.”
“Nothing happened,” Smith blustered.
“It’s just teenage angst,” Kathryn said.
“Inappropriate language and physical altercations can’t be ignored,” Alice interjected. “It sets a bad example for other students.”
“We need to get to the root cause,” Charlotte added.
“But first, we’ll deal with the immediate problem,” Lance said.
Jeanine Smith suddenly clapped her hands over her ears. Her handbag, the handle of which was still clutched in her fingers, banged solidly against her cheek. “Would you all just stop arguing? I can’t stand it. Eric’s got detention, fine. There’s nothing left to say.” Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
“Je—” Charlotte started, her hand out. “Mrs. Smith, are you all right?”
The woman’s eyes popped open, and she jumped to her feet. Then she looked at Charlotte with something closely resembling fear. Though that was ridiculous. By this time, Lance had risen, too. “Mrs. Smith, please, let’s be calm.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and finally managed to get her words out. “I’m leaving. My husband can handle this.”
Her exit was so startling that no one said anything for an interminable five seconds. Then Smith stood, pointed his finger to the room at large and Lance in particular. “Look how you’ve ups
et my wife. And over what? A silly fight. Eric called her a bitch. Fine, give him detention”—he turned on Kathryn Wright—“but if your daughter comes near my stepson again, I’m getting a restraining order.”
The door slammed behind him. The office walls shook, and the blinds rattled in the windows.
Lance stared at the closed door. “That went well,” he said, a sense of shock robbing him of anything intelligent to say.
“Oh my,” Kathryn Wright said, her face expressionless since her Botox injections—oh yeah, he’d take that bet—allowed for little physical response.
“I have no idea what that was about,” Steven Wright said.
Neither did Lance, but he needed to get the meeting back on track, even if it was missing half its contingent. “I’m sorry about that unfortunate interruption. I would have liked to discuss the problems more with both sets of parents present, but since that’s not possible, I’d like your impressions on what’s happened between your daughter and the Smiths’ son.”
Kathryn Wright put a hand to her more than ample bosom. “I’m certain I have no idea.”
“None at all,” Steven Wright agreed.
“We’ve never tried to stop their friendship.” Kathryn gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look as if she were an ingénue instead of the mother of a fifteen-year-old. “Even if David Smith is a total PA,” she added.
“Pompous ass,” Steven clarified.
She pursed her lips. “I’ve never liked that man.”
“So we’ve tried to have as little as possible to do with the parents.” Steven shook his head sadly.
“We’ve always thought Eric was a good boy.” She glanced at her husband.
He nodded. “But we have no idea what happened between them.”
It was like one person speaking, Steven Wright finishing his wife’s thoughts. They were getting nowhere. Time to move to phase two, although at this point, he doubted Melody’s parents would have much more to add.
“I’ll turn the discussion over to Miss Moore. She’s spoken with both Melody and Eric, and I believe she can shed some light.”
Teach Me a Lesson Page 13