Teach Me a Lesson (10 page)

Charlotte chose a conversational rather than confrontational tone. “Would you like to discuss your son’s issue during our time today?”

“I . . .” Jeanine hesitated. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an issue”—though that was exactly the word she’d used—“just kid stuff. We’ll get through it.”

Which meant her son was merely an excuse not to carry through with Charlotte’s suggestion. Of course, creating a fantasy with her husband about her being with another man
was
Charlotte’s idea, not Jeanine’s, and often a person had to come up with their own solution—or attempt a solution—for it to actually work.

Before Charlotte could speak or ask another question, Jeanine rushed on. “Look, okay, I was afraid.”

Admitting fear was definitely progress. Instead of pushing, Charlotte let Jeanine continue at her own pace.

“You see, if I even suggest I might do it, he’d actually
want
me to do it. He wouldn’t just fantasize. He’d keep pushing and pushing. He’s just that way. So it could all backfire on me.”

Charlotte knew how Jeanine felt. With Lance, Charlotte wanted it her way. She liked his orders, his authoritative attitude, his spankings, his willingness to play games, to experiment. But he’d pushed for more. And way too quickly to boot. She’d told Lola it was about obsession and addiction. But that wasn’t truly the case. It was about losing control of the situation. Charlotte wanted to lose control on her own terms, not someone else’s, especially not an authoritative older man who liked to dictate.

“So what you’re saying is that you’d like to be in control of the situation.”

“Well, yes,” Jeanine agreed, her brow furrowed as if she hadn’t truly considered that before. Feeling powerless was definitely one of Jeanine’s issues.

“And if you even suggest you’d like to fantasize about being with another man, then he’ll take over and force you to do it.”

“Uh . . . yes.”

“Then what’s our solution?”

“
Our
solution?”

Charlotte meant it the way she’d said it, the solution to Jeanine’s problem
and
hers. “Let’s come up with a remedy together. Let’s pretend we both have the same problem. Dealing with a man who wants his way.” Though Charlotte had to admit she could be putting that onto Lance when really it was her own neurotic fears creating the problem. After all, they did say that many psychologists and psychiatrists entered the field out of a desire to fix their personal neuroses.

But for now, she would deal with Jeanine as if they indeed had a common problem.

“I just don’t see that there’s a remedy, Dr. Moore.” Jeanine let an unpleasant whine enter her voice.

Charlotte wanted to squash it. “We’re both feeling out of our depth, that we’re losing control of the situation. How do we get that back? How do we stand up for ourselves?”

“By not playing their game?” With a slight rise at the end, Jeanine made it a question rather than a statement.

As women, they had to make it into
their
game. But first you had to figure out what the other party was after. “So what game are they playing?”

Jeanine rolled her lips between her teeth, not worrying about the smudges to her lipstick. Then she said slowly, thoughtfully, “David doesn’t want to admit that he’s got a sexual dysfunction . . . so he’s trying to get me to do kinky things that he thinks will turn him on . . .” There she trailed off, frowning, obviously having no clue as to why her husband would choose this way to bring a spark back to their marriage bed. “Because he doesn’t really want me?” She gave it that same rise in tone indicating a question.

“Let’s give it a positive spin. He does want you, but he’s having physical trouble, and he’s falling back on the old teasing you used to do together. Bringing your past relationships into your sex play.” It was a regurgitation of what they’d discussed last week, but Charlotte felt the wording was more palatable. Jeanine didn’t answer, her gaze inward, so Charlotte prompted, “How does that feel? The idea that he’s actively trying to find a way to bring sex back into your marriage?”

“But if he still desires me, why would he want to give me to other men?”

Charlotte held up a finger. “Let’s not think negatively. He does desire you. But he’s using unconventional methods.”

“But isn’t this all about what
he
wants, not what I want?”

Well, yes, it was, but Charlotte pressed on. “Let’s assume for the moment that he’s actually trying to bring back spark. How are you going to play along with him without compromising what
you
want?”

Jeanine stared at her lap. “I don’t see how I can.”

Charlotte suspected Jeanine still had a desire to wallow in her misery. “If it were me,” she said, “and I had a man dictating what he wanted”—which she did—“I’d lay down a few rules first.”

At this, Jeanine seemed to perk up, raising her gaze to meet Charlotte’s. “Like what?”

“First I’d
tell
him this was only a game. Make sure he understands.” The principal knew it was a game, one
she’d
actually started playing, not the other way around. “Once we’re both clear that it’s not reality, then we can say to each other that anything goes, that we can enjoy it without recrimination, and that either one of us can call a halt to it at any time.”

“So you’re saying I should insist I only want to fantasize and not actually do anything. And that’s my rule. If he starts trying to push me to do things I don’t want to, then the fantasizing ends.”

Now she was getting it. “Yes. Exactly. Make a rule for him and stick to it. Give him a boundary. And a consequence if he crosses the boundary.” Charlotte had made the rule. She’d told Lance that a whole night wasn’t in the cards. But she hadn’t given him a consequence. She didn’t want to issue an ultimatum. Because she didn’t want to stop. The sticky part was how badly she’d wanted to stay. Obsessed. Addicted. Her problem wasn’t the same as Jeanine’s at all.

But, luckily, they were analyzing Jeanine, not Charlotte.

“Do you feel comfortable with rules and consequences?”

Jeanine was staring at her lap again. “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at following through.”

“Just tell him what you want. And ask him what he wants.”

Charlotte gave herself a wry inward smile. Those words were so easy to say, yet so hard to actually do. Asking Lance what he wanted could cause all sorts of problems she wasn’t willing to deal with.

She just wanted to have fun without any pressure. Why had she suddenly made everything so complicated? Lola was absolutely right.

Note to self: Stop overanalyzing.

* * *

YESTERDAY’S SESSION HAD ENDED WITH JEANINE DECIDING TO
tell her husband that she wanted to fantasize
only
. She wasn’t committing to anything more. The appointment had also ended with Charlotte deciding that she definitely wanted more fun and games with Principal Hutton, and all she had to do if he started getting dictatorial was to put him in his place with an unequivocal
No, I’m not doing that
. Just the way she had on Friday night. Problem solved.

Melody Wright was scheduled for eleven o’clock. Last Thursday, Charlotte had discussed Melody’s issues with her assistant principal, just to keep her up to speed. Then she’d had a five-minute conversation with Mr. Gunderson, Melody’s science teacher. The only additional piece of the puzzle he could add was the boy’s identity: Eric Collins. An older man in his early sixties, Mr. Gunderson was buried in his science. He hadn’t paid attention to the intricacies of teenage relations until Melody dumped the sugar water on Eric’s head. All he knew was that they were lab partners, nothing more. Was Lydia right? Had they been an item in middle school?

This morning, Lydia had searched out Charlotte to tell her there’d been another incident just before first period. After a brief, angry verbal exchange, Melody had grabbed Eric’s backpack out of his hands and thrown it down on the concrete, spilling its contents. Nothing had appeared to be damaged, no teachers or monitors were present, and no students had ratted out Melody. Lydia didn’t consider that telling Charlotte was “ratting out.” Charlotte didn’t consider it a major offense in and of itself. It was the pattern that worried her.

Okay. This gave her much to deal with in her session today. But first, she was obligated to tell Lance everything she’d learned. Charlotte knew it for the excuse it was. She’d been waiting all morning to see him, her nerves keyed up.

Mrs. Rivers pursed her lips but waved Charlotte right on in as if the principal had been expecting her.

The blinds closed over his window, presumably to cut down on the glare, Lance gazed intently at his computer screen, chin propped on his fisted hand. “Please close the door, Miss Moore,” he said without looking up. “Sit,” he added, with neither a
please
nor a
thank-you
, when the door was closed.

Charlotte wasn’t about to let him start dictating to her. She didn’t like being ignored either. “I prefer to stand.”

“As you wish, Miss Moore.” Finally he glanced up, and the slow burn in his eyes as he raked her with his gaze made her wet.

She realized he was anything but ignoring her. If she touched him, she knew she’d find him hard. If she moved to his side of the desk, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. Oh yeah, she was the one in control here. He was just baiting her.

He lounged back in his big leather chair as he contemplated her. “What can I do for you?”

She’d intended to start with a discussion about Melody Wright and Eric Collins, pretending her visit was all business. But what she really wanted was to knock the polite conversation right out of him.

“We need to establish some limits.”

His lips twitched. He might have been smiling, as if she’d said what he was hoping for, but Charlotte couldn’t be sure. “I’ve been reading up on the subject,” he said. “And you’re right. A dom and his sub need to have limits and a safe word between them.”

Too late, she realized that standing before him was a mistake. It made her submissive and subservient, as if she were a slave who wasn’t allowed to sit or relax until her master granted her permission. In addition, establishing safe words and limits according to what
he
dictated wasn’t what she’d meant at all.

He went on before she formulated an answer. “How about simply using the word
no
for anything you truly don’t want to do?” He shifted, clasping his hands over his abdomen. This time there was no doubt about the smile, the curve of it exceedingly wicked when accompanied by the heat in his gaze. “If you don’t use the word
no
, you’re tacitly agreeing to do whatever I say, and that you’ll let me do whatever I want.”

She glared, but there were all sorts of physical reactions that gave her away, a flush creeping across her cheeks, her suddenly tight nipples, the rush of moisture between her legs. Sex scented the air, pheromones, arousal,
her
scent. But she needed rules. What were they supposed to be? Oh yes. “My limit is that I’m not spending the night with you.”

“If your master commands it, why not?”

He was going too far. “Look, I never said we were dom and sub—”

“No, we’re principal and student.” He arched that devilish brow of his.

“It’s just a game.”

“Of course. But we need to make it fun.”

“Then if I’m the student, there’s no way I can spend the night with my principal.”

He smiled indulgently. “Then I won’t tie you to my bed for the entire night. Only part of the night. Shall we say midnight as your curfew?”

“I . . . well . . .” She wanted to fight, but he’d agreed to her rule: no spending the night. She could leave by midnight. She’d gotten what she asked for; she just wasn’t sure she’d won the battle. And God, she wanted to be tied to his bed, completely at his sensual mercy.

“All you have to do is say no if you don’t like it.” He said the words with little more than the movement of his lips, just the form of them, hardly a sound.

No. No. No.
He was taking control. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was a soft, breathy “Yes.”

* * *

DONE. HE HAD HER.

He’d been waiting for her to come to him, the blinds closed, a budget spreadsheet on his monitor, the numbers failing to hold his attention. Now she stood before him, hands clasped behind her back as if she were begging him to bind her again. Her lips were plump and kissable, her natural perfume musky and sexual. Beneath the silky white blouse, her beaded nipples showed clearly, even through the covering of her bra. Her red skirt flared over her hips and was perhaps two inches too short to be circumspect, offering him a glance of creamy thigh that made his mouth water.

Friday night, he’d come harder than he had in more years than he could count, either with a woman or by his own hand. He’d liked having her bound. He’d enjoyed doing whatever he chose to do. He’d loved the heated feel of her red ass against his palm. But all of that had been nothing to the grip of her body around his cock, the way she’d milked him. She’d loved it all, too, despite the rule about not spending the night with him. She’d drawn him into the game in the portable that day after detention. She’d goaded him in his office. For some reason, Charlotte Moore liked turning over her control. It made her hot, got her off. The surprising thing was how much he’d liked it, too.

But to make sure . . .
“If,”
he stressed, “you don’t want to be punished, all you have to do is behave.”

“Yes, Principal Hutton.” The green of her eyes was deeper than the brightest emerald.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss, Miss Moore?” As nonchalant as he appeared, he was hard and aching beneath the desk, almost panting for her to do something, anything so he could touch her.

“Uh . . . well,” she began, her eyes flitting around the office as if she couldn’t recall her excuse for seeing him. “Oh yes, I wanted to tell you I’d updated Alice on the Melody Wright issue last Thursday.”