What She Needs (10 page)

Although, as she removed more and more hair, she began to think maybe she understood why it aroused guys, too. Usually, it was almost as if the vagina were
hiding
behind the pubic hair.
This
put it completely on display—she could truly see it, everything about it. Although, she didn’t shave
all
the hair off. She decided to leave an oval patch above the slit. She wasn’t sure why—but while she could understand the merits of baring herself, leaving a
little
hair somehow just felt . . . safer, or maybe more normal.

A mere glance in the mirror after she wiped the remnants of shaving cream away made her more aware of the way she was built, of the split in the center and what it opened to. And when she ran her fingertips over the skin to either side—wow, she’d never felt anything softer. Yeah, no wonder guys liked it this way. Would Brent like
hers
this way? She shivered in anticipation, then oozed with moisture.

As she stepped into the shower, she felt . . . new. Or maybe just different. She was a woman who shaved her intimate area, a woman who was preparing to meet a lover for an evening of hot sex. The very act of running the soap over her freshly tanned skin—over her shoulders, breasts, stomach, and lower—made her feel sexy, ready. She could be like other women. She could be like Shannon. She could surprise Brent even more—and maybe show him she didn’t need as much help with her sexuality as he thought.

Twenty minutes later, she stood before the mirror in her sexy new lingerie—part lace, part sheer white fabric. Her nipples, clearly visible, shone darkly through, and the panties left her denuded mound noticeable as well. The bra was cut low and built to shove her breasts upward, making them look high and round.

Usually, she thought she looked pretty in an average way. Right now, dressed for sex in a sophisticated bra and thong, with her long brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, with her face tanned and her eyes and lips freshly made up—she thought she looked like a knockout, like a woman any man would be lucky to be with.

Last night, she’d thought
she
was lucky to be with a man as gorgeous as Brent. But tonight, she felt much more his equal.

Smiling to herself, she slipped into a pair of shorts and a baby blue tank, then stepped into her beaded flip-flops. And by the time she walked out the door, the map to room 222 clutched in her hand, she wasn’t even nervous anymore. She couldn’t wait to see what Brent had in store for her.

T
he map led Jenna along a series of winding paths across the grounds that soon felt like a maze. But each path was marked with small signs that told her she was going the right way. As she walked, she felt herself becoming more and more isolated—she heard no voices or movements other than the occasional bird in the palm and banyan trees overhead. And with each step, the lace of her thong rubbed against her, heightening her arousal.

Finally, she emerged from a foliage-lined path to find herself face-to-face with a non-descript brick building that didn’t seem to fit the surroundings. Consulting the map, she saw it labeled simply as SCHOOL—and her fantasy was to take place inside it.

Pulling open the heavy front door, she followed a dark hallway lined in old-fashioned green tile, passing numbered doorways, then made her way up a set of stairs to the second floor, finally reaching room 222.

Biting her lip, her stomach churning a bit, she twisted the doorknob and stepped inside—only to find herself in a tiny room, not larger than a walk-in closet. It contained a padded bench, a row of hooks on the wall above, and a large oak wardrobe. As well as another door.

A white card rested on the bench, so she snatched it up.

Jenna sucked in her breath. So there were more props here. She began to get nervous again.

At the same time, though, the juncture of her thighs still tingled and she suffered the sense of having come too far to turn back, the sense that whatever pleasure he’d laid out for her, she owed it to herself to experience.

Still, when she opened the wardrobe, she gasped—at the sight of a small white blouse and short plaid skirt, à la naughty Catholic schoolgirl.

Okay. So she’d been wrong, as in ridiculously naïve. This wasn’t a soft, romantic fantasy. This was . . . kinky. And she clearly should have paid more attention to the emerging school theme. What was
that
about?

Yet he’d told her there would be costumes involved and roles to play, so maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised.

And it could be worse. He only wants you to be a sexy schoolgirl.
And at least she’d
been
a schoolgirl before, even if not a sexy or Catholic one.

As she reached for the skirt, she started to wonder why she wasn’t stopping this now, why she wasn’t backing out and changing her mind, screaming, “Marie Antoinette!” through the door and running like mad in the other direction.

But she didn’t allow herself to go there. Since something was telling her to put on the outfit.

Lust, she decided. It was lust. It was wanting to be with Brent Powers again. It was the way her feminine mound pulsed from all the anticipation, the way desire stretched all through her now, the same as last night at dinner. And maybe, just maybe, it was . . . realizing that she’d never again in her life have this unique opportunity, at a place where no one knew her or would judge her, and maybe she actually wanted to have the experience.

Of course, she knew what happened at the Hotel Erotique wouldn’t really
stay
at the Hotel Erotique—it would come with her and be a part of her for the rest of her existence. So if she ended up with regrets . . . well, she’d had very few in life so far. So if that happened, she would simply push it aside and consider it an honest mistake.

Thus it was lust and curiosity and the invisible sense of arousal permeating everything here that had her zipping up the scandalously short skirt, which began well below her navel yet barely covered her butt, and tying the tight white, short-sleeved blouse—no buttons—under her breasts.

Then she spied the shoes on the floor of the chifforobe—white strappy platform heels like strippers wore. Oh my. She’d never even thought about putting on such a pair of shoes before, and she questioned whether she could walk in them, but . . . she’d decided to do this, right? So she sat down on the bench and slid her feet into the ultra-sexy heels, then stood to look in the long mirror inside the wardrobe’s open door.

Whoa.

She blinked, studying herself from head to toe, trying to adjust to this new image of herself.

She looked downright sinful. Naughty indeed.

And . . . oh God, she
liked
it.

She’d just become . . . every man’s dirty fantasy. Fresh moisture pooled in the area she’d so recently shaved, and she was stunned to discover she could get so hot looking at . . . herself.

And she knew instantly, she wanted Brent to see her this way. She wanted him to know she could look like this.

Not that she didn’t remain nervous as hell. She was nearly as nervous as she was turned on. But in this moment, she wanted to find out what waited on the other side of that closed door more than she could have imagined a few hours ago. Brent had seduced her again, it seemed—this time with risqué clothing and written commands. But that was who he was—a wildly seductive man. She’d accepted that about him quickly and surrendered to it. And she felt like Alice in Wonderland as she reached for the doorknob, gently turned it, and stepped through the metaphorical rabbit hole.

She found herself in a large schoolroom. She could even smell old books, aging wooden desks, and the scent of chalk. Moving farther into the space, she glanced down at the teacher’s desk to find props that made it feel all the more real: a teacher’s gradebook, a pencil holder, a couple of history textbooks, and a wooden bin filled with tests, marked with red ink. When she noticed the one on top bore the name Jenna and had received an F, written in angry red strokes, she fought to conceal a smile. She was beginning to understand her role here.

Except that it still surprised her to walk around the front of the desk in her sexy heels, clicking loudly on the tile floor with each step, and see a nameplate that read: FATHER POWERS. “Oh,” she murmured, discovering his role as well.

“Do you know why I made you stay after school today, Jenna?”

At the sound of the deep, sexy voice, she looked up with a start to see Brent had entered the room through another door in the back, wearing the black suit and collar of a priest. And—oh God—if it was possible, he looked even hotter than he had last night, a mere glimpse of him making the mound beneath her short skirt flutter. But maybe it was just because she hadn’t seen him since then—maybe she’d forgotten exactly how good-looking he was.

“Answer me!” he snapped. “Do you?”

“Um . . . no.” Lord, she was flustered. She’d never been much of an actress and hadn’t had a chance to think about this aspect of things.

He proceeded up an aisle between rows of desks until he stood only a few feet away, after which he gave her a once-over that told her he liked what he saw. When their eyes met again, her breasts seemed to swell within the tight cups of her bra. “You’re consistently late for class,” he said without breaking the gaze, “you fail all your tests, and you try to tease and distract me with your body. You’re a very naughty girl, Jenna.”

Again, she felt the response between her thighs, even if she didn’t quite understand why.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked, eyebrows raised. And wow, he was good in his role, since she actually felt a little intimidated by his brusque manner—nothing like the man she’d met last night.

“Um . . . I’ll try to do better?” she managed.

“Not good enough, Jenna. I’m going to have to teach you a lesson—you’re going to learn who’s in charge here once and for all. You need to be punished.”

Punished. She swallowed, not sure what he meant. “How?” she whispered.

He never took his eyes off hers. “Bend over my desk,” he said. Then he stepped past her and used one arm to sweep half the desktop’s contents to the floor in a loud clatter that made her flinch—which she felt in her panties as much as everywhere else.

God. Despite her arousal, well . . . this changed things. It was a far cry from the romantic sex she’d hoped for. And maybe the schoolgirl outfit had made her anticipate something . . . well, at least playful—but they’d just left playful behind. “Seriously?” she asked.

He looked positively outraged by the question, his expression actually making her take a step back as her heart pounded against her ribs. “When I give you an instruction, you do it. Do you understand?
Now, bend over!
”

Jenna sucked in her breath and slowly moved to where he stood. Biting her lip, she leaned over the big desk until the upper half of her body rested on it. She turned her head sideways, toward him, to try to see what was coming, not at all sure she was ready for it.

“Lift your skirt up over your ass,” he demanded.

In response, even in her subdued position, lust continued to flow through her veins. After all, she’d
wanted
to show him—all through her preparations, she’d
wanted
him to see her. And despite the weirdness of being bossed around this way, as she reached behind her to flip up the tiny skirt, revealing the strip of lace there, her arms felt heavy, warm.

Upon seeing her bottom, he let out a low sound of approval that ran all through her.

But when he brought the flat of his hand down on her rear for a stinging slap, she cried out, stunned. Maybe she should have understood that was coming, but somehow she’d gotten too caught up in the moment to really expect it.

“Tell me you’re a bad girl, Jenna,” he instructed her from above.

She let out a breath and said the words. “I’m . . . a bad girl.” But it sounded so odd coming from her throat, in a voice too meek, disbelieving.

He brought his palm down to deliver another slap. “Again,” he commanded.

“I’m a bad girl.” Better this time. Stronger. Not that she was sure why that mattered to her. But at the moment, she found herself compelled to appease him.

Another hard, spanking blow—and again, she yelped slightly. He wasn’t being gentle and it hurt. “Tell me you like showing me your ass.”

“I like showing you my ass.” As she said it, though, her eyes fell shut. She just didn’t usually think of her rear as her
ass
. And to tell him such a truth, because it
was
true . . . felt strangely difficult.

He spanked her again, and this time, his voice deepened slightly—she could hear the stark lust in it. “Tell me you want to show me your tits.”

Another word she never used. And another truth she felt at her core but found it painful to admit. Yet as a writer, she knew words were only words—she wasn’t offended by them, just not accustomed to using certain ones. She knew guys liked that particular word, so if he wanted to hear it, if it would keep him from being angry, fine. “I want to show you my tits.”

An additional slap of his hand made her wonder if her . . .
ass
was turning red, and if that turned him on. “Tell me you want me to play with your wet pussy,” he instructed—and for some reason, she felt that one in her gut.

“I—I never talk that way, so . . .”

“You do
now
. What I command, you do. Now say it!”

She let out a breath. She’d realized he was a know-it-all, but she hadn’t foreseen him being so . . . mean. Words so foreign-feeling had never left her mouth, but she focused on getting them out in a calm, obedient manner. “I . . . want you to play with my pussy.”