The Principal's Office by Jasmine Haynes Page A

dream. He wondered how he could give it to her.
    “You’re like the fantasy,” she whispered.
    “An escape?”
    She nodded. That wasn’t a bad thing. Role-playing, fantasy, it was all a way to get her to drop her barriers.
    Propped on his elbow next to her, their skin flush together, her heat reaching inside him, he played with the ends of her hair. “You did well tonight.”
    “Oh, did I?” She raised a brow saucily.
    “Yes. I’m pleased with you, and I have to decide what we’ll do tomorrow night.”
    “
Tomorrow
night?” She rose off the pillow.
    “You’ll have your sons back on Sunday, so I don’t intend to miss a moment.”
    “I’ll be exhausted.”
    “You mean you don’t have an orgasm every day?”
    She blushed again, a pretty pink hue. It was answer enough.
    “Then we have to be sure you do,” he said. “The more orgasms you have, the more you’ll need.”
    “Isn’t that the opposite of how it really works?” Her eyes flitted away as though she’d already found the answer for herself.
    “No. A woman begins to crave orgasms. I want you to crave mine.”
    Yes, he wanted her to crave his orgasms, the ones he was responsible for, whether she gave them to herself while she fantasized about him or he gave them to her with his mouth, his hands, or his cock.
    He leaned close, breathed in the scent of his come on her skin, then whispered against her hair, “Tomorrow night, I will do all the touching. And you will come more times than you can count.”
    RAND WAS RIGHT. HE WAS
ALWAYS
RIGHT. BY THE TIME SHE GOT home, she needed another orgasm. She smelled his come on her, and she came. She thought about his promise, how he’d execute it tomorrow night, and she came again. She thought about her fantasy burglar,and the orgasm simply dragged her under. She thought about all the nights in the week, all the things he could do to her, and she came again and again until she was so exhausted she couldn’t move.
    He was dirty and carnal. A voyeur and an exhibitionist. He was kinky.
    Gary would never have watched her masturbate. He would never have come on her or rubbed his semen into her skin as if it were lotion. It had been so much more intimate than sex. Her definition of intimacy was changing. Intimacy was trusting a man enough to do things for him that you would never do for anyone else. The things your mother would have washed your mouth out with soap for mentioning.
    Kinky wasn’t bad; it was incredibly intimate. She would do just about anything he asked her to. What exciting thing would he want from her tomorrow night?
    AFTER RETURNING FROM LUNCH THE NEXT DAY, RACHEL LOGGED into her personal email. She didn’t make a habit of checking it at work, but if Rand had something special in mind for tonight, like a particular outfit or something he wanted her to bring, she might have to stop on the way home. Yeah, yeah, it was an excuse to get a kick out of talking to him, even if it was only email.
    She’d given him her cell number, now her email address. Pretty soon, she’d tell him her last name and give him her home address. But Rachel didn’t care. At the oddest moments, during her morning work routine, while she was getting ready for bed, she’d smell him, as if he were standing right behind her. He was intoxicating. He’d gotten into her head.
    Her heart skipped a beat. There it was. His email handle was generic, as was hers, and the subject merely read “Tonight,” but her pulse started to race anyway.
    She opened the email.
    Meet me at 8:30 on Skyline exactly 6.9 miles north of Highway 9, left-hand side.
    He wanted her to go up to Skyline? Skyline Boulevard traversed the summit of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Six-point-nine miles north along Highway 9? There was nothing there that she could remember, although she wasn’t sure whether that was past Woodside or not. Whatever. There was
something
there, and Rand had a plan.
    “Yes, sir,” she typed back, mentally saluting. It was fun, a game,