The Naughty Corner

by Jasmine Haynes

  “Wow.” Charlotte extended the word on a long breath. “Did you like it as much as the spanking?”

  Incredible, stupendous, and magnificent didn’t begin to describe it, so she skipped all the adjectives. “Yes. Even better.”

  “Naughty, naughty Lola.”

  She laughed. In Gray’s house, she hadn’t been sure she’d ever be able to laugh again (only a slight exaggeration), but Charlotte could always bring out the levity in her, in anyone, for that matter. “It was kinda hot”—an underwhelming description of an overpowering event—“then his son dropped by.”

  “And you were A, on the couch bound, gagged, and naked with a man between your legs; or B, untied and naked; or C, fully dressed. Or none of the above.”

  “I was in the bathroom. His son never saw me. But he figured out his dad had a woman there, and he called me a slut and said he hated Gray.”

  “So now he’s Gray?”

  Lola could picture Charlotte’s raised eyebrow. “Coach Barnett. But we are engaging in some sexual activity, so I do occasionally think of him as Gray.”

  “All right. First, how old is his son?

  “What difference does that make?”

  “The level of trauma, of course.”

  “Aren’t kids always traumatized by the thought of their parents having sex?”

  “Lola,” Charlotte admonished.

  “Okay, he’s seventeen or thereabouts.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Teenagers are a species of their own.”

  Lola sighed. “Tell me about it.” The twins weren’t just a different species; they were from another planet.

  “What did the coach say to you afterward?”

  “What a man normally says. That it wasn’t my fault, yadda, yadda.” There was a lot of banging and clanging out in the kitchen, but she wasn’t going out to investigate. She’d given the boys a chore, and she wouldn’t check up on them, at least not until they were done.

  “Does the coach want you to come back?” Charlotte prodded.

  “He says he needs to keep punishing me for the twins’ misbehavior.”

  “Then what’s the problem? He’s a big boy. He can handle his son.”

  “Charlotte, they’ve got issues. I don’t want to get in the middle of that and make things worse. You’re a psychologist. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?”

  “If I had Coach Barnett and his son in my office, I would be working on their problems. But I’m talking to you about your problem. And quite frankly, it’s only a problem if you make it one. He doesn’t want to stop. You’re both adults. And you’re both enjoying it.”

  “But I don’t want to complicate the situation with his son.”

  “I would never counsel an adult to stop having a sex life simply to make their child happy. That isn’t a solution. It’s merely giving in to pressure. And the issue is almost always about something else.”

  “I have no idea what their issues are.”

  “If it will make you feel better, why don’t you ask the coach?”

  “No way.” Ghost jumped onto the bed beside her, flopped down, and began to clean her paws. Lola scratched her ear.

  “Lola, do not use his son as an excuse to stop seeing him.”

  “I’m not.” On the contrary, she didn’t want this to end. But she wasn’t a kid person and she didn’t know how to handle kid issues. And well, she was thinking about something else, too. “I just—” She stopped, not really sure how to verbalize it.

  “Just what?”

  “Maybe what we’re doing isn’t normal.”

  “Let me tell you, people come to me all the time with issues they think are abnormal. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’re absolutely normal.”

  “Spanking is normal? Tying me up? Using a gag and a blindfold?” Was it normal to like it as much as she did? After listening to his son call her a slut, well, normal versus abnormal was something she needed to think about.

  “Routine sex games,” Charlotte said. “Do you know how many people come to me because their sex life has become stale? And I tell them to try a few sex games, role play, experimentation. It might not be for everyone, but if you both like it, then go for it.”

  Lord help her, she did like it. She loved it. She wanted to keep on doing it. At least until she stopped liking it. “And his son?”

  “Let him tell you when his son becomes a problem affecting your relationship.”

  “It’s not a relationship. It’s just hot sex.”

  “Deny, deny, deny,” Charlotte singsonged. “For now, just enjoy. You know, you really analyze too much.”

  “Hah. That’s pretty funny coming from a shrink.” Especially one who overanalyzed her own relationships.

  But Charlotte was right. Gray was an adult. His relationship with his son wasn’t her business. It wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything. She should allow him to take care of his own problems instead of sticking her nose in where it wasn’t invited. And she should enjoy the hot sex, kinky as it was, as long as it was offered.

  “Shrinks are practical, above all. Now tell me when you’re seeing him next.”

  “When the twins screw up. Which will probably be tomorrow. And speaking of the twins, they’re awfully quiet out there. I better make sure they haven’t put regular dish soap into the dishwasher.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Go tell the twins to be especially bad tomorrow.”

  She had a feeling that if they didn’t misbehave, the coach would make something up.

  * * *

  LOLA HADN’T CHECKED THE STATE OF THE KITCHEN. SHE HADN’T even gone back out to see what the twins were up to. She was dozing, her laptop listing to one side, when her phone chirped with a text message. Really, proofing documents in bed was the best way to fall asleep.

  She grabbed her phone. She’d been expecting an email or a text, or even a phone call from either Frank or George giving a status regarding their comments on the test procedure she’d documented. They should have already sent her their red-lines—short for lining out inaccuracies and correcting errors, which used to be done with a red pen.

  It was neither Frank nor George. Her heart did a silly leap when she saw Gray’s number.

  She opened his text and read.

  U ok?

  I’m fine, thank you.

  She was a writer, although it was just technical manuals, and she still had a hard time using shortcuts, dropping pronouns, and ignoring proper punctuation even in text messages.

  Sorry about 2nite.

  Don’t apologize. I hope everything’s ok with your son.

  Fine dont worry.

  He dropped his apostrophes and commas like a good texter.

  What exactly did that mean? Call me. Her fingers itched to type the words, but they sounded so needy. If she’d only wanted phone sex, that would have been fine, but she wanted to hear his voice, wanted to talk. Which was way more than casual sex.

  Told twins to be good 4 U tomorrow.

  There, she’d managed to use some shortcuts.

  He shot back with:

  Need them 2 B bad.

  That lifted her. He wanted to punish her again. Though she couldn’t say that anything he’d done to her was true punishment. She’d liked it all too much. She responded:

  You’re bad.

  He sent her a devilish face this time, and after that the phone was quiet. Maybe she should have texted that she wasn’t wearing panties. Just to keep the conversation going. But that was needy, too. She was not going to be needy. No matter how good it had felt lying on his couch bound and blindfolded with his mouth on her.

  She straightened the computer on her lap and proofed the page that was open, since she’d been drifting through the middle of it the first time around. She’d have to go into the plant tomorrow and find out what the heck was going on with those red-lines. Red-lines, they sounded inherently bad, but with technical writing—and probably any other kind of
writing, too—numerous people in the process had input. Everyone corrected everything. Especially engineers like Frank and George, who had the technical expertise she didn’t. Her specialty was saying things in terms that non-engineers could understand, including all those pesky little details that technical people took for granted. If they’re working with this equipment, they should already know that. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d heard that phrase out of Frank’s or George’s mouth. And it wasn’t necessarily true.

  There, okay, she was in control again, thinking about work, preparing for tomorrow, making a mental task list. Good. It meant she wasn’t thinking about Gray Barnett and what he was going to do to her next, when he’d finally do what she was dying for, how he’d feel deep inside her . . .

  Damn. She was thinking about him again.

  * * *

  “COACH, I NEED AN ORGASM TO HELP ME SLEEP.”

  Lola’s husky voice over the phone did things to him. Having just climbed into bed after finishing the last of today’s paperwork, he glanced at the clock’s lighted numerals. The midnight hour, and she was bewitching him.

  “So touch yourself,” he said softly. “You don’t need me for that.”

  “Oh, but I do, Coach. It’s so good when you’re watching me. And it’s pretty darn hot when you’re listening.”

  He couldn’t resist her and threw the sheet aside. “You’ll have to be very quiet, or the twins will hear.”

  “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” she whispered. “Now tell me what to do, Coach.”

  She was a seductress. A succubus. Maybe he was actually dreaming this. “Put your finger right on your clit.”

  “Ooh,” she murmured.

  “Remember what it was like when you sat in my lap and I used the vibrator on you.”

  “Oh, Coach.” Her breath shot out in little pants. “It was soooo good.”

  “It certainly was.” He joined her, stroking his cock. Rafe had left in a huff. Bettina had called when he showed up at home, her voice frosty and condemning. With Lola’s voice in his ear, none of that mattered. There were only her sighs, her gentle moans, and the soft, dirty little words she whispered to him.

  “You need to fuck me, Coach. I need you inside me.”

  Christ, he loved her dirty talk. He needed her just as badly. She soothed something inside him. And she was hotter than Hades when she played his kinky games with him.

  “I’d like to tie you to a bed and fuck you while people watch us.” It was one of his kinkier fantasies. He’d watched, but he hadn’t yet played the exhibitionist. Part of him wanted that with Lola, while another, bigger part was jealous as hell of any man even looking at her. It was such a sexy combination.

  “Do they get to touch me?”

  “Nothing more than a breast or a buttock.” The thought of another man—or even a woman—stroking her nipple, pinching her hard, it made him crazy, and his fist pumped faster.

  “Oh, Coach. You make me so wet. Oh, oh.” She breathed fast and hard, her breath harsh pants across the airwaves.

  “Are you about to come, Lola?”

  “Yes, oh yes.”

  It was time to take charge before she actually took charge of him. “Stop right now.”

  “What?”

  He recognized the immediate change in her voice, from high and dreamy to hard and demanding. “You will not come until I tell you that you may,” he said.

  She was silent for the count of five. “So tell me to come, Coach. You know you want me to,” she cajoled.

  “You’ll come when I say you can. Now circle your finger on your clit, but don’t come.”

  “Oh.” Her voice seemed to shiver. “Yes.”

  “Roll slowly around your sweet, little hot button,” he whispered, then added more sternly. “But do not come.”

  “No, I won’t. Not until you say, Coach.”

  “Good girl. You’re so delightfully dirty.” He’d never known another woman so willing to do whatever he wanted. “Dip deep inside, get your fingers all wet and slippery, then rub it all over your clit.”

  “Oh God.” Her breath came faster, punctuated with a small moan.

  “You’re on the edge, Lola.” He stroked with her, rising and falling with her. And he was on the edge, too. “Just the lightest touch will set you off. But don’t you dare come yet.”

  “No, ahhhh.” She sucked in a breath. “When, oh please, when?”

  “Pinch your nipple hard for me.”

  He felt her gasp in the tip of his cock, as if there were a string between them, attaching them. “Make yourself shake with need, Lola. But don’t you dare come until I say.”

  “Oh Coach, oh Coach,” she panted.

  His balls tightened in response to the sound of her voice. He was in as much danger of coming as she was.

  “I’m going to count to ten, Lola. Then you can come. Right when I come.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  Between her sweet moans and the throb of his cock in his fist, he could barely remember how to count. “One, two”—Christ, what came next—“three, four, five”—he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, holding his orgasm at bay—“seven, eight, are you ready, Lola?”

  “Hell, yes. Oh God. Please, Coach, please.”

  “Nine. One more, Lola.”

  She growled and panted. He was cross-eyed with need.

  “Ten.”

  She climaxed with a long, low cry that was barely more than a hiss. And he exploded with her, coming hard, cursing, shouting her name over and over.

  And finally he was aware of her voice. “Oh, Coach. You have me all tied up and ready to do anything you want.”

  It took him three seconds after that to realize she was no longer there. The truth was the exact opposite: He was the one all tied up and willing to do anything for her.

  11

  “LOLA, I’M STILL WAITING ON THE FIRST-PASS CHAPTERS FOR THE configuration.”

  Lola froze in her tracks. She’d been trying to avoid Paul Robinson, the head of documentation and technically her boss. At least he was the one who signed her invoices.

  The day hadn’t gotten off to a good start. She’d overslept. That midnight session with Gray had been a bad idea. God, she still couldn’t believe she’d called him. It was crazy. Probably she was half-asleep and didn’t know exactly what she’d been doing.

  But it had been so totally amazing. He knew how to turn her inside out with nothing more than his commands.

  You have me all tied up and ready to do anything you want.

  Her words were so very true. She was practically his sex slave. The twins, her work, everything was starting to become second to her need for him.

  Okay, stop thinking about him. Concentrate, Lola. You need to get it together.

  “I’ve just got a couple of details to solidify, Paul, then I’ll have those files in your inbox.” She wasn’t about to lay the blame at Frank’s or George’s feet. First, she was asking for a quick turnaround on their red-lines—though that was because they were late with the testing—and second, they were her main information contacts. Piss them off and she was dead in the water.

  “The product ships in four weeks, Lola.” He gave her a stern glare. At a couple of inches over six feet, Paul would be considered tall and even commanding except for the fact that he stooped, almost as if trying to hide his height. His sandy hair was wavy, his eyes ringed by dark circles, and his skin pasty enough to make her worry about his vitamin D intake.

  “I understand the timetable, Paul. Don’t worry, it will all be done.”

  “I’m not worrying,” he stressed. “But it is my ass on the line.” He gave her a beady-eyed stare. “And if my ass is on the line, so is yours.”

  She held up a hand. “Everything is right on schedule.” She had most of the manual written and formatted, but the diagrams needed work and there were a lot of technical details that still needed to be added. Of course, once she was done, there would be a final set of red-lines, and she was al
so responsible for getting the completed guides to the web designer so they could be uploaded as pdf’s accessible by the customer. Things had been known to go wrong at that point, too, glitches in the download.

  “It better be ready, Lola.” Then he stepped around her, stalked down the wide hall, the heels of his dress shoes tapping on the linoleum tiles.

  She decided to cut him some slack; everyone got worked up with a new product release. Poking her head inside the lab doors, she found the room silent except for the hum of test equipment and news talk radio.

  Frank and George were probably in the factory working out the latest bug.

  Pivoting on the toe of her sandal, she slammed into a male chest. Hands grabbed her arms, steadying her.

  “You okay?”

  George was way too close, invading her space, his hands still on her arms. As politely as possible, she shrugged him off. “I’m fine. You just scared me.” She pointed at his shirt. “If you use hair spray on that ink stain as soon as you get home, it might come out.” Though she wasn’t sure hair spray worked on red ink.

  “I don’t have any hair spray.”

  George was the furthest thing from a hair spray kind of guy. He was more like a fifties hair-tonic man. “Then buy some on the way home.”

  He grinned suddenly, a piece of lettuce stuck between his front teeth. “Thanks for looking out for me, Lola.”

  She hadn’t been. “Maybe you should pick up a pocket protector, too. Or don’t put your pens in your pocket. I was looking for you.”

  “You were?” His face lit up. It was kind of scary.

  “About the red-lines on that test procedure. I emailed it on Monday.”

  “I didn’t see it until yesterday morning.” He furrowed his forehead until his black eyebrows almost met.

  “Yes, George, but I sent it Monday afternoon.”

  He ignored that part. “That’s only a day’s turnaround.”

  She didn’t point out that it was thirty-six hours, not twenty-four. It wasn’t her problem that he didn’t look at his email. “I realize that,” she said patiently. “But we”—always use we so that you’re not placing blame—“didn’t start the testing until Sunday, and we need to make up the time by making comments as quickly as possible.”