The Principal's Office (28 page)

He laid her hand on his cock, pressed her hard, stroked himself with her fingers. “I need to come. I need it now. Do you want her to do it?” He paused, making sure she understood every word. “Or do you want to do the honors?”

Parting her lips, she mouthed the word
How?
without a sound.

“Give me the lap dance,” he whispered, seduced.

Trapped by his gaze, she reached for her glass and took a long drink of wine. Setting it down, she hung there a moment, halfway between this decision and that one.

Then she squeezed his cock and whispered the magic words. “I’ll do it.”

And she climbed onto his lap.

* * *

RACHEL STRADDLED RAND ON THE BENCH SEAT, TUCKING HER LEGS
beneath her on either side of his thighs. Putting his two big hands on her butt, he snugged her close until his cock was hard against her center.

“Fuck me through my clothes while they all watch.” His eyes were a deep ocean blue.

She moved on him as if he’d hypnotized her, but Rachel was aware of every touch, every sound. She wasn’t his student’s mother; she was his lover. And she wasn’t going to let some pole dancing floozy take her man.

She’d only said it to test him. This was what she’d really wanted, his hot gaze on her. Looping her arms around his neck, she rocked against his cock. “I’m wet,” she whispered to him.

“I know.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. “I can smell you.”

“Undo my blouse,” she ordered. She felt wild. Did they arrest people for doing this kind of stuff in a club? She didn’t know what the rules were, and she didn’t care. She wanted
this
.

Rand slipped the buttons loose on her blouse until her breasts were free.

“Don’t touch,” she warned him. “You can only look.”

Beyond his shoulder, at a bench along the wall, she met another man’s gaze. He could only watch, too. Rachel liked it. Here, she was free to be crazy.

Rand hitched her closer still, and she rolled against him as if he were inside her. “Oh, that’s good.”

She leaned her head back, her hair swinging as she moved, her blouse falling open to completely bare her breasts to Rand, to the other man. As she closed her eyes, Rand wrapped his hands across her spine, holding her as she simulated sex on his lap. It
didn’t feel fake as her need rose, her skin turning warm and fragrant for him.

She opened her eyes, turned her head, and other men were watching her, too. So many men. Women, too. She moaned.

One hand on Rand’s shoulder to steady herself, she cupped her breast, pinched her nipple for him.

“Give them a show, baby. That’s what they want.”

She moaned again, writhed on him. A twenty-dollar bill floated down onto the bench beside her. The man from the back bench was closer, moving in on her. The twenty dollars fueled her. She wondered how much the gold girl had gotten in her stocking.

Then Rand’s hand snaked beneath the skirt, on her thigh, higher, higher. Until he touched the moist lips of her pussy. She should stop him. Instead, Rachel released his shoulder and molded both her breasts. She moved slowly on top of him, eyes wide open, her gaze locked with his.

“Beg me,” he murmured. She wasn’t even sure she heard the words, or merely saw them on his lips.

A fifty fluttered down into the lap of her skirt. Rand’s hand was beneath. Yet he hadn’t moved. There was only the friction of her own rocking.

If she wanted more, she’d have to beg.

If the small crowd gathered round them wanted more, they’d have to pay to see it.

“How much is it worth?” she asked Rand, asked them all.

Someone tossed a hundred.

“Touch me,” Rachel whispered to him. “Please.”

Rand’s finger slid over her clitoris.

“Oh God,” she murmured, closing her eyes. She didn’t hide from the sight of people watching her; it was Rand, the pure pleasure of his touch. She didn’t need to see, only to feel.

He stroked her. “You’re so fucking wet.”

She rode his fingers, rubbing herself on him, forcing him to a harder rhythm. “Oh yes, yes.” She loved his hard muscles between her legs, the tinny sound of the old piano, the cheers at the gambling tables, the raspy breathing of the men around her. She wanted to come. Her body was all that mattered, the sensations, the heat of her flesh.

“Make me come, make me come,” she said over and over.

He fit a finger inside her, held his thumb on her clitoris. And she rode him. She fucked him. She took her own pleasure from him. Her nipples were tight beads between her fingers, and the harder she pinched, the greater the intensity of Rand’s touch between her legs.

She was letting him touch her in front of strangers, letting him push her to climax, and Rachel loved it.

In that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt wholly feminine, a complete woman. It was the sexy red shoes, the see-through blouse, the people watching, and it was Rand. The orgasm shot straight up from her center, and Rachel cried out, long, loud, and clear for everyone in that room to hear.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU MADE ME DO THAT
.”
RACHEL SHOVED
through the hotel room door before he even had a chance to open it for her.

She’d remained silent the entire cab ride back. In The Bordello, she’d been as hot as Hades, coming in his arms for damn near two minutes. As he’d held her close, she tipped her head back, smiled, then kissed him dreamily.

Until she’d abruptly gone menopausal, jerking up in the seat, shoving him away. “I’m leaving.” And she’d marched out. Just like that.

He’d shrugged at her rapt audience as if to say,
Women: can’t live without ’em, can’t kill ’em.
He’d followed her out, leaving the bills she’d earned on the bench, unsure if he was supposed to gather them up like her pimp. He didn’t know if she’d wanted only to see how much she was worth, or if she’d actually wanted to be paid. In his gut, however, he believed that with the cash in hand, she’d start having regrets later, and he wasn’t about to let there be any regrets over this weekend.

He understood teenagers better than he did women. Nah, not true. She was pissed because he’d gotten her to do more than she’d intended.

She threw her handbag on the bed, then paced over to the table and chairs near the window. Her knuckles whitened as she fisted them across the top of the nearest chair. “Somebody could have videoed us and by morning, I’ll be on the Internet.”

He didn’t mention that nobody would recognize her. With the makeup, the outfit, the hair, she didn’t resemble Rachel Delaney, mother of two teenage boys.

She looked like the sexy MILF in
American Pie
. But he wouldn’t say that. Big mistake.

“Video cameras aren’t allowed,” he said reasonably.

“Someone could have used their phone,” she stormed, pulling the chair away from the small round table. She didn’t sit, however. Instead, she stomped to her overnight bag on the valet tray and unzipped it. Rooting around inside, she stopped suddenly and pointed at the chair. “Sit,” she ordered. “And don’t say a word.”

He didn’t smile. He’d never seen her in such a temper, and it actually turned him on. She’d done a number on him when she came in The Bordello. Maybe it was the residual effects because he hadn’t had his own climax. Whatever the reason, his slacks were tight across his groin as he sat.

She bent to her task again, tossing things around in the small case. She couldn’t have carried
much
, but carry
something
she had, because she smiled maliciously when she found it.

Not
it
,
them
, he saw when she held up the prize. Two scarves, one a plain yet sexy red that matched the fuck-me heels he’d bought her, the other red with tiny swirls of black in it.

“Put your hands behind your back,” she demanded.

Rand barely kept the smile off his lips. The little wench. She wasn’t angry; she’d planned this charade. He played along, crossing his hands behind the chair back.

She had the angry stomp down pat, then she pulled a scarf tight around his wrists and tied it off.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

She whirled on him, standing right in front, leaning down until her nose was in his face. “Payback time,” she whispered. “Remember what you did to me in my very own house?”

“Fucked you until you begged,” he muttered.

“Raped me,” she snapped.

Oh yeah, this was payback. And he was going to love it.

She covered his eyes with the second scarf.

“You will be at my mercy,” she said softly. “I can do anything I want to you.”

She should have undressed him first, but he didn’t men-tion that. This was her show. She’d been fucking hot in The Bordello. She was hotter now. He loved that she wanted to take control. She’d thought it out, too, came prepared with the scarves. Then she was on him, straddling his lap as she had in The Bordello, but with the chair instead of the bench, she was so much closer, so much more in control, her thighs taut along his.

She held his chin in her hand. “I am going to fuck you. I am going to ride you for as long as I please. You will not come until I’m done with you. Do you understand?”

Christ, he understood; she was going to kill him with need.

“If you feel close to climax, you better tell me so I can stop until you have yourself in hand again.”

“What if I don’t?” he tested, just to see what she’d do.

She pinched his nipple hard through his shirt. Heat shot down to his cock, started it throbbing and his balls aching.

“I will punish you,” she whispered. “You won’t like it.”

“I’ll do whatever you say.” He’d love it. No teenage boy, he could hold off his orgasm, drive her absolutely crazy, until she was begging to feel the pulse of his climax inside her.

Reaching down between their legs, she cupped his balls,
squeezed. His eyes damn near rolled back in his head. Then she touched herself, the back of her hand caressing him. Maybe she 
was
going to drive him crazy.

Slowly, she drew her hand out, and he smelled her scent as she raised her fingers to his lips, rubbing her moisture over them.

“Lick it off,” she whispered. “That’s me. Taste me.”

Robbed of sight by the scarf, his other senses seemed stronger, and she was ambrosia, sweet, creamy, sexy. “More,” he begged. Christ, he could drink her.

She slapped his cheek, not hard, merely a tap. “Don’t ask for anything. You only get what I give you.”

She loved the power; he could feel it on her, smell it like perfume. “Yes, ma’am.”

This time when she put her hands down between them, she unbuckled his belt, undid the buttons of his slacks, and pulled down his zipper. “Good boy.” Her voice was soft, melodious, as she reached inside his briefs to wrap her hand around his cock.

She stroked him slowly, rubbing the tip with her thumb, slipping in the pre-come that had gathered there. “Look at that. You’re ready. I didn’t even suck you. You’re such a slut, you already want it.”

“I’ve wanted it all night long.”

“Right,” she drawled, squeezing him tightly. “That’s why you wanted one of those girls to give you a lap dance.”

“I didn’t want them. You asked for that.”

She slapped her hand over his mouth, her scent still rising up from her fingers. “Don’t you say a word. Don’t try to deny it. You’re a man, and you took me there hoping I’d let you screw some other woman in the heat of the moment.”

Clearly it had been a fear. It had never been his intention. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted: her.

She dropped her hand from his mouth, trailing her fingers down his shirt to his pants again. “I’m going to do you so well you’ll never look at another woman.”

Didn’t she know that had been true for weeks now? She was his only focus.

She moved slightly. He heard the tear of foil. A condom. She’d obviously brought her own, made plans. He loved games. The fact that she was making up one of her own shot him higher.

Rising over him, she took his cock in hand. “I’m going to fuck you,” she said softly as she rolled the condom onto him. He was so hard, it made the job easy.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, and he loved the word on her lips. He loved it when she let herself go and talked dirty.

Then she lowered herself onto him, her thighs taut as she controlled the movement. Even through the condom, she was slick and hot.

“Oh.” She rubbed his crown in her heat. Then, one hand guiding him, the other braced on his shoulder, she slid down quickly, taking him deep. “Oh yes,” she said on a quiet breath. “Yes.” She stopped, held, flexed her muscles around him.

Christ. He wanted to touch her, see her, revel in the sight of her, feel the texture of her skin against his fingers. That was the torture in this; he couldn’t see or touch.

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said again, and began to rise and fall on him.

Fuck, yes. He loved that word in her sexy voice. Her body gripped him on the inside, worked him. She always did that, an unconscious clenching that heightened the effect she had on him.

“Fuck you, fuck you,” she cried out. Behind the scarf, he saw her as she’d been in The Bordello, lost to everyone around them, aware only of his hand beneath her skirt, touching her, making her wild. Him, only him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She took him on the wild ride now, the slip-slide of his cock in her, his harsh breaths rasping in his throat. He liked talk, touch, feel. She was killing him by denying
him, and yet it was so damn hot, the come built in his balls, throbbed through his cock.

She wrapped her hand around his neck, dug her fingernails in, chanting that special word at him, her breath puffing across his face, her taste on his lips, her scent clouding his mind. When her body began to spasm on him, he couldn’t hold back. Letting go. Losing himself in her. Lost.

RACHEL HADN’T SLEPT WITH A MAN OTHER THAN GARY IN ALMOST
twenty years. Rand didn’t snore, but he was big, and he took up more than half the bed. She couldn’t see the clock so she didn’t know the time, but with the curtains open, she knew it was still dark outside. She estimated she’d been awake about half an hour.