Teach Me a Lesson

by Jasmine Haynes

  She gaped at him. “I most definitely was not. I showed great restraint.”

  The combination of watching her lips move from afar yet hearing her voice intimately in his ear got him hard. “Don’t argue with me. Get out of your car and into mine to receive your punishment.” All he could think about was having her.

  “Don’t you even want to talk about my meeting with the Wrights?” Even at this distance, he could read the consternation on her face.

  The parent conference had been rougher than most, but nevertheless manageable. Alice Sloan had dropped by before leaving for the day and briefed him on Charlotte’s observations during her one-on-one—or two-on-one—with Melody’s parents. He hadn’t expected one meeting to solve the girl’s problems. Kathryn Wright was a superficial woman, and her husband played the part of her trained lapdog. It would take several sessions with Charlotte for Melody to make any headway, and Lance wasn’t above asking the parents to enter family counseling in short order if the girl’s attitude and behavior didn’t improve. As for Eric, it was a nonissue. He’d attend his one detention hall and that would be that. The rest was up to Melody. But he had faith in Charlotte. She would do everything in her power to help the girl, and he believed she could work miracles, she was that dedicated.

  “That’s work, which we’ll discuss tomorrow,” he said. “Right now it’s about your discipline. So get out of your car and into mine without further argument.” He stared hard through the car window. “Or it will go worse for you.”

  She harrumphed over the phone and narrowed her eyes at him.

  Oh yeah, he was getting hard, his blood pumping faster.

  “Where are we going?”

  She was stalling just to be ornery. “I’m counting, one, two, three,” he said slowly.

  “All right already.” She shut off her engine and the Bluetooth cut out. Pulling the key out of the ignition and gathering her purse from the seat beside her, she climbed out and rounded the back of the cars. In his rearview mirror, he saw just her torso as she passed, then his passenger door opened and she slid in.

  “In my estimation,” he said, “your submissiveness has severely declined.”

  “I have to be in the mood,” she answered flippantly. Though her face was in shadow, he thought he detected a slight curve to her lips.

  “I don’t recall that was an option.” He backed out of the space and maneuvered onto the road again, then stopped for a red light. “It’s my mood that counts.”

  She glared at him. “You are becoming terribly dictatorial.”

  He raised a brow and looked askance. “I thought that’s what you liked about me.”

  “It’s what I didn’t like,” she groused.

  He laughed, rolling through the intersection when the light changed. “But you love the spankings and the kink, so you’re willing to put up with my authoritarian attitude,” he supplied for her.

  “Well”—she shrugged—“the orgasms are pretty spectacular. But don’t let that go to your head.”

  “Which one?”

  She looked pointedly at his lap. “Either one.”

  “Too bad. It’s already gone to both.” He took her hand, forcing her to lean over, and molded it to his cock.

  “And I’m supposed to take care of that?” she asked mildly.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, then to the side. No one nearby. “Yes. Work it.”

  She huffed. “Whatever my master wants,” she said with far too much sugary sweetness. Dipping her fingers down between his legs, she caressed his balls, then stroked back up the length of his cock. “Like that, Principal Hutton?”

  “You learn quickly, Miss Moore.” They were now on a long stretch of darkened road that led up to the freeway.

  “I’ve become accustomed to what you like.” Even through his slacks, she hit every spot designed to make him squirm.

  And squirm he did, sucking in a breath when a particular touch shot a jolt of electricity straight up the center of his body, jump-starting his heart rate. “Fuck yes.”

  “Gotcha,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t disagree.

  Passing under the freeway, he pulled into a Park and Ride nestled in the trees. A damn good thing because soon he would have been incapable of controlling the wheel. With the commute over, the lot was only half full. Charlotte was forced to remove her hand as he backed into a spot beneath an overhang of trees.

  “Get in the back seat,” he ordered.

  “Make me,” she said.

  He leaned over like a shot, wrapping his hand around her throat, pushing her head back against the seat. “You’re trying my patience, Miss Moore.”

  “I’m trying very hard.” The branches swayed in the wind outside and a stream of light flashed across her face, revealing the emerald sparkle of her eyes.

  “Get. In. The. Back.” Each word a sentence on its own. Each said between gritted teeth. He wanted her now. He could have taken her right there in the front seat, hauled her over his lap, spread her legs, impaled her.

  “Yes, Principal Hutton,” she whispered, and surprisingly, when he backed off, she crawled through the two seats. “Now what?” She tapped her fingers together.

  Without a word, he climbed out, opened the back door, and slid in beside her. “Now what,” he mused softly. His heart beat loudly as her scent called to him. “Do you deserve a spanking, Miss Moore?” He was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

  “Oh yes, Principal Hutton, I definitely deserve a spanking.” She raised her skirt.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE’S CHEEKS WERE FLUSHED, AND HER SKIN STILL TINGLED WITH THE FEEL OF HIS COCK AGAINST HER PALM. SHE’D BEEN pissed that he’d completely ignored this afternoon’s events. All he’d done was dictate when she wanted him to ask her opinion, her impressions, her plan of attack, get his buy-in, his approval . . .

  Damn. She most certainly did not need his approval.

  But she did need his hands on her. Here in his back seat, no matter who was master, she was in charge.

  “Shall I remove my panties, Principal Hutton?” she said with a sweetly innocent affectation.

  “Definitely.” The harshness of his tone pleased her. He’d been stone hard beneath her palm and putty in her hand.

  Thank goodness she hadn’t worn pantyhose. The effect would have been lost. His eyes tracked every movement as she lifted her bottom, tucked her fingers beneath the elastic of her thong, and slowly slid the delicate confection down her legs. Lifting one foot only, she let the thong dangle around her ankle, just above the high-heeled shoe.

  There was no one around. They were invisible from the freeway. If anyone pulled into the lot, they were hidden by the darkness of the trees above. A cop could have patrolled the area, so there was a risk, sure. That only served to heighten her excitement.

  He moved to the center of the seat. “Lie over my lap.”

  Charlotte kicked off her high heels, then twisted until she lay prone on him, lengthwise across the seat, butt in the air, knees bent, toes tapping the window. The thong slid down her calf. Against her belly, she could feel the pulse of blood through his cock.

  He desired her, needed her, regardless of who was doing the spanking and who was being spanked. This was power.

  “I’m ready, Principal Hutton. Do your worst.” She crossed her arms on the seat beside him and laid her head on her forearms.

  Putting one foot onto the middle hump on the floor, he raised her bottom higher, and spanked her hard. The smack rippled through her whole body, and she was suddenly wet and hot and gasping.

  He smacked her again. Then again. “I love how red your ass gets, Miss Moore.” His voice was hoarse.

  Charlotte breathed hard, biting her lip to keep the moans low in her throat so he wouldn’t hear. All the other times, she’d been standing, her legs spread, and his fingers roamed freely down to her pussy, her clit, caressing, enhancing the pleasure. She’d thought
that’s what it was all about. But now his touch didn’t reach beyond the lips of her vagina, yet the pleasure and pain were as potent as always. She clenched her fists beneath her cheekbone.

  He squeezed each globe, then swatted her again, over and over, his hand against her ass until her flesh burned, until her body quivered, until she moaned, and finally cried out.

  “Enough, my little slut?” His harsh whisper filled the car.

  Charlotte gave in to the need. “More. More. Please.” She gasped between each word. What was that about power? She had it all? Until now, when she gave it all back. “Don’t stop. Please.” She stretched her arms out, leveraged herself on the door and pushed back, raising her butt higher until his smacks reverberated straight up into her pussy. The orgasm began as a single kernel of heat deep inside, building, growing, bursting. She heard herself wail, couldn’t stop it, climaxing in wave after wave.

  Then he was hauling her up, spreading her legs over his lap.

  “Inside you, now.” His voice was guttural, the words slightly slurred as if he were drugged. Or high on her.

  He wasn’t too far gone, though, to pull a condom from his suit pocket.

  “Dirty man, you were planning this.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own either, soft, seductive, breathless.

  “Of course.”

  They worked together, taking care of his belt, his zipper. She held his cock in her palm; he placed and rolled the condom.

  Then he took her by the hips—“Fuck me”—and impaled her.

  Her hair brushed the roof as she put her head back, taking him all the way in. Then she rested, flexed around him, tipped her chin back down, and put her hands on his shoulders. His eyes were hot with desire, his muscles rigid beneath her touch.

  “Slowly,” she whispered. She moved on him, just enough to stroke her G-spot. “Yes, just like that.” Ultrasensitive from her orgasm, she was on edge almost immediately. Yet she watched his face, the shifting and tensing of muscles, the flare of his nostrils. She recognized the moment when he could no longer hold out.

  “Faster,” he muttered.

  She let him guide her hips, clenched her fingers in his jacket, her nails biting all the way through to his shoulders.

  “Ride me. Fucking ride me hard.”

  When her head bounced against the roof, she didn’t care. She was too far gone, their bodies pounding. All she could think was that there was too much material between them, too little skin on skin.

  Then she couldn’t think at all, falling down into climax, dragging him with her.

  Until his voice rumbled against her ear. “Come home with me. We’re not done. I want more.”

  Ugh. The man was a buzzkill.

  He was still deep inside her, but their cries had faded into the night. Her arms locked around his neck, Charlotte’s face was buried against his shoulder, his hair against her face, the sharp seductive scent of his skin tantalizing her. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to.

  But she could say no. “I’m not spending the night. Plus, I need clothes for tomorrow.”

  She felt him tip a hand to read his watch. “It’s not midnight yet.”

  “If you wanted me to come home with you,” she murmured against his neck, “you shouldn’t have fucked me here.”

  “I wanted you here. And I want you there, too.”

  “No.” It was their safe word. She didn’t want to sleep beside him, cuddle him, let him wrap his body around her. She didn’t want to wake up beside him in the morning where he could reach out, touch her, take her. And maybe even steal her will. It was too intimate. “I like it the way it is.”

  He pushed her away and tilted her head up with his thumbs beneath her chin, his fingers bracketing her throat. “You’ll like it better when you’re tied to my bed all night long.”

  Well, maybe. If she could be sure that’s all they’d do. But eventually he’d untie her, and, God forbid, he might try to snuggle.

  She rotated her hips on top of him. “This is better. Hard and fast. Cataclysmic. Sexy. Risky.”

  He pulsed inside her.

  “This is how I like it,” she whispered.

  Still holding her firmly by the neck, he kissed her openmouthed. He took her all over again with that kiss, turning her mindless, until there was just his lips, his tongue, his scent, and his breath filling her.

  He kissed like a bad boy. Or an angel. Sweet yet hot. Dangerous kisses, bone-melting, will-stealing.

  “I have to go.” It would have been easier if she had her own car here, but she had to make him drive her back to the strip mall’s parking lot.

  “Afraid to spend the night, Charlotte?” he queried softly. His face was too close to read an expression. “Afraid you’ll like it too much?”

  “Yeah, right.” She gave the saying her best derisive tone. But yes, she might like it too much. She didn’t want a relationship with him. This afternoon in his office had proven his dictatorial nature. It was one thing—one very good thing—when he was spanking her, quite another when it was about her counseling. Plus, they worked together. Plus, he was too old. Plus, plus, plus.

  But dear God, when he pulsed inside her, when he kissed her, when he spanked her, she wanted to give in on every point.

  That was why she couldn’t spend the night.

  “No,” she whispered. “Isn’t that my safe word?”

  16

  DAMMIT, SHE’D HAD HIM THERE. HOW COULD THE WOMAN KEEP saying no? But Charlotte had last night, and he’d been forced to drive her back to her car.

  He was too old to ache for a woman. Yet he ached for her. And liked it, too. He reveled in the crazy things he did to her, relished the risk of fucking in a parked car. He loved the feel of her ass, hot and sweet against his palm.

  But she’d said no. Again.

  She was driving him mad.

  Christ, he even liked that.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” Mrs. Rivers mouthed in exaggerated lip movements, pointing to his office.

  He glanced at his watch, confirming that he was starting his workday fifteen minutes early. Who would arrive early without having a scheduled appointment? He raised his brow, but Mrs. Rivers’ extravagant hand gestures, pointing, and head bobbing didn’t elucidate.

  David Smith was seated at Lance’s conference table, his fingers drumming the wood top. “We need to talk.”

  His face was florid, his pupils dilated, his breathing fast. Lance worried about all the cream sauce on his country club lunches and the potential risk for hypertension. He hoped the man wasn’t about to have a heart attack in his office.

  Closing the door, Lance said, “I’m at your disposal.” He took the chair opposite.

  “Do you realize that woman is a sex surrogate?” Smith’s complexion deepened.

  Lance had an inkling, but he asked anyway, “What are you talking about?”

  “That counselor.”

  “Miss Moore?”

  “Yes. That one. She’s a sex surrogate three days a week, and she spends two days here at the high school counseling kids. My God, do you have any idea how she could be influencing impressionable young minds?”

  Lance didn’t let out the bark of laughter surging up from his gut. He didn’t even smile. He maintained his composure and his diplomacy. “Miss Moore is a part-time guidance counselor with an outside therapy practice. She is most certainly not a sex surrogate.” Did the man even know what a sex surrogate was?

  Smith pounded the table. “How can you allow this in your school, Hutton? What if she’s sexually harassing students who come to see her, making advances? What if she actually touches them?”

  “David,” he said harshly, “stop right there. I assure you that none of our counselors ever touch the students. They do not sexually harass them. They do not make advances.”

  But Smith wasn’t listening. “My son was alone in her office with her.” He was almost snorting with indignation now, and Eric had become his son, not just his stepson. “Completely alone. No superv
ision whatsoever.”

  Lance narrowed his eyes on Smith. “Did Eric say Miss Moore was inappropriate in some way?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then what’s gotten you so worked up, David?” He used the man’s name gently, hoping to calm him down before he burst a blood vessel. He was sure Eric wouldn’t have lied about such a thing. Just as he was sure Charlotte would never say or do anything improper.

  Smith spluttered a moment, then managed to say, “I’ve heard things about her.”

  “What exactly? We need to deal in specifics here if you’re going to comment on her practice.” He didn’t want to use the word accuse yet. It was too strong.

  “She tells her patients to commit deviant acts.”

  He also didn’t want to use the word ridiculous. Smith might go apoplectic at that. Just the same, the man was definitely ridiculous. “You’ve misinterpreted whatever you were told, David. Miss Moore is a therapist. She helps people work through their feelings about what’s happened in their lives, past and present. What you’ve heard is gossip, nothing more.”

  “It’s not gossip, dammit.” Hand raised, Smith looked ready to pound the table. “I know.”

  “You can’t know unless you’re in her office when she’s talking to a client.”

  Smith glared at him. “I know because my wife is her patient.” Then he spoke through gritted teeth, “And that woman has been giving her unspeakable advice.”

  Shit. Suddenly everything made sense.

  * * *

  LANCE HAD MANAGED TO CALM SMITH DOWN, BUT NOT WITHOUT one last parting shot. “Keep her away from my son, Hutton.”

  The man had ended there, just short of making a threat, which had surprised Lance. He’d expected it, but for some reason Smith hadn’t taken that last step. Perhaps he’d been afraid of repercussions. Who knew?

  What pissed Lance off was that Charlotte hadn’t forewarned him about the wife being her client. He didn’t like being blindsided. If he’d known, he’d have prepared a response.

  He pushed her button on his cell phone. She was now one of his speed dial numbers. In his memory. Indelible.