The Naughty Corner (8 page)

“Wha—” She never finished adding the
t
.

He put his hand over her mouth. “Do what I say. Don’t argue. I’m dying to see your fingers in all that sweet cream.”

Even in the reflection, he could see she was wet and ready. The sweet, aroused scent of her sex rose around them. “Touch yourself for me,” he demanded.

She could still balk.

Yet Lola laid her head back against his shoulder and slipped her fingers down, down, down. His heart had started again, pounding against the wall of his chest.

“How often do you touch yourself? How often do you make yourself come?” He needed to know.

“Every night,” she murmured. Her fingers moved, circled, swept down, up.

He wanted to take her right then. Open his jeans, shove deep inside her. Watch his cock impale her in the mirror. But not yet. No, they needed to build to that.

Her nipples beaded against the thin sweater. His mouth watered. He might go crazy if he didn’t lick her, touch her. But it was the need, wanting her but not letting himself have her, that pushed him higher.

“Put your finger in my mouth.” It was the only way he would allow himself to taste her. For now.

She raised a hand, rubbed her index finger teasingly along his lower lip. Then he sucked her in. He licked and laved, tasted the sweet saltiness of her cream. Heavenly.

He let her hand fall away, immersed in the taste of her. “Undo the top four buttons on your sweater to just below your breasts.”

The mirror distanced her. He couldn’t read her expression, only the slight hesitation as she held her fingers aloft just inches from his lips. Then she exhaled and began working the buttons loose.

Her breasts weren’t large, but the creamy skin she revealed with each popped button made him salivate. He brushed her hair aside, then hooked a hand around her abdomen and hugged her closer in order to look over her right shoulder. Her nipples were hard, enticing beads against the sweater.

“Pinch your nipples,” he whispered.

She slipped her right hand inside the open sweater. The material fluttered, and she gasped, her bottom tensing on top of him as she arched slightly.

“Is it good?” He wanted to hear her say the words.

“Yes. The pain. Like when you spanked me, it hurts so good.”

He placed his palm over her hand, forcing her to squeeze her breast tightly. “Let me feel you do it again.”

The mirror reflected their coupling, his large hand on hers, his knees between hers, parting her legs, and the sweet, tempting triangle of her sex.

Then she pinched, gasped, tensed, and Gray felt his body ride the edge of climax, not tipping over, but ready, so goddamn ready for her, he might actually go mad if he didn’t have her.

6

LOLA ARCHED AND MOANED, HER NIPPLE SENSITIVE, TENDER,
electric.

She’d masturbated, but never for a man. And certainly not every night as she’d claimed. Terrified of the twins sneaky ways, she’d tossed out her vibrator. And she hadn’t touched herself since they’d arrived. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d become sex crazy the moment she saw Coach Gray Barnett.

But oh God, the feel of him against her back as she spread her legs, his hard ridge of flesh against her bottom, the heat of her own touch accompanied by his gaze, his mouth, warm and wet, suckling her finger, then his hand on hers as she tweaked her nipple hard, harder. It set her on fire.

“More,” he whispered.

He was big and broad, his hot hand engulfing hers, urging her. Lola pinched herself again, twisted lightly until the pain became unbearable pleasure. She arched, rolled her bottom slightly. His cock seemed to throb beneath her, and he groaned.

This wasn’t punishment. It was exquisite torture. She wanted him to touch her, his fingers on her nipple, his hand between her legs. His cock in her.

“Hell, that is so good, baby,” he crooned in her ear. “Cup your breasts, keep pinching both nipples.” He dragged the lapels of her sweater aside and placed both her hands over her breasts. “Yes, just like that.”

In the mirror, she saw him reach for something on the table beside the chair. The blindfold? The gag? There’d been so many different toys lying there in wait for her.

It took her a moment to identify the light electric hum and recognize the cylindrical device in the mirror. The vibrator. He widened his legs, spreading hers, clamped a strong arm across her abdomen, and set the buzzing vibrator to her clitoris.

Lola cried out. The view in the mirror was mesmerizing, the sheer wantonness of it. She was spread out for him, exposed, her body twisting, rolling, arching against him. The heat was overwhelming, her whole body on fire, hot, wet, sizzling.

“Pinch,” he ordered.

She could barely react to the command, her mind whirling in time with her body. But her fingers moved with a mind of their own, tweaking hard, pleasure-pain streaking down to her clitoris.

Oh God, oh God.

Maybe she’d cried the words aloud because he answered with, “That’s good, baby, you’re so beautiful, perfect. Take the vibrator, love it.”

She did love it. His punishment was bliss. In that moment, she was completely his, totally submissive. She’d have done anything for more of his sweet words, his hot touch.

Then he told her the next thing he wanted. “Rub yourself for me, baby, while I put the vibrator inside.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted. “Please, please, please.” Her body quivered and quaked as he entered her with the vibrator. She was so wet it slid deep easily, filling her. Oh God, she wanted it to be him. She wanted the fingers on her clit to be his. She wanted his tongue.

She gasped and moaned. Her body writhing, riding the vibrator, riding her fingers, rising higher, higher, twisting, turning, rolling. Inside her, the vibrator shimmied and shuddered over her G-spot.

And always there was his voice in her ear. “You like this, don’t you, dirty girl, sweet filthy slut. You love touching yourself for me. You love seeing how beautiful you are in the mirror. Oh yeah, baby, fuck the vibrator, yes, fuck it for me.” His speech got dirtier the more she rocked on him, his cock hard and throbbing. She moved her hips, working him as she worked herself.

Then she simply couldn’t watch anymore, couldn’t keep her eyes open. There was only sensation rocketing through her body. She panted, no words, just sharp little cries. Then, the explosion. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she curled over, bearing down on the climax.

On her own, she would have pulled her hands away, the pleasure too great, but he rolled with her, holding her tight with his arm, working the vibrator inside her, until she tried to wriggle away from him, from the intensity.

Finally, she lay curled in his lap, completely spent. She couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes. The solidity of his arms around her was the only thing holding her up. Otherwise she would have been boneless mush on the floor.

“You called me a slut,” she said softly.

His chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “It’s a term of endearment.”

Oddly, in his sexy voice, it had felt like an endearment, but she said, “You’re joking.” She couldn’t be bothered to raise her head.

He stroked her hair. “A little dirty talk is sexy.”

He was introducing her to a lot of firsts. Sexy, dirty talk. Touching herself for a man. Watching in the mirror. Giving him free rein with a vibrator. Other than spanking her, he hadn’t touched her up to this point, hadn’t kissed her, yet everything was utterly sensual. Intimate. Special.

“It’s time for you to go now.”

Now
that
was dumping the proverbial bucket of cold water on her.

“Oh, okay.” She scrambled off his lap. Where were her panties? Then she remembered. They were in her purse along with her bra. She hesitated. Should she grab her purse and go to the bathroom? Should she put them on in front of him? Or should she just leave and stop somewhere along the way?

She took one look at him sitting in the chair—all satisfied and smirking as if
he’d
had the orgasm—and knew she needed to get out as fast as possible. “Well, thanks, that was great,” she said, fumbling with the buttons of her sweater.

“It was perfect,” he said.

Perfect? She’d never been perfect. But if she was, then why was he kicking her out? Lola didn’t ask. She straightened her skirt, smoothed her sweater, adjusted her toes into her sandals.

He set the vibrator back on the table amid all the other dirty little toys, and she realized he’d been holding it the whole time she’d cuddled on his lap after . . .

Lola felt her cheeks burn, both sets. What they’d done didn’t embarrass her. His quick recovery did.
Done, see ya later, good-bye.
Like it meant nothing.

“I’m sure I’ll see you after training on Tuesday,” he said.

She hadn’t needed to interpret and analyze what a man really meant in a long time. Mike had been gone for ten years, and she was too old for that kind of adolescent ruminating. But really, what did Gray
mean
?

She absolutely would not ask. “Thanks”—which sounded odd under the circumstances—“talk to you later.” She almost ran for the door, but forced herself to move slowly, calmly.

“I want your email address and your cell phone number.”

His voice behind her stopped her dead before she hit the front entry tile. She turned. “What?”

“Your punishment doesn’t simply end when I let you walk out the door. Sometimes you will need to be at my beck and call over email or on the phone.” His face was impassive, his tone neutral, his eyes dark, but there was a sense of command about his rigid stance. He’d have made a great dictator. “And no, I’m not joking,” he added.

She didn’t get it. He didn’t have sex with her, well, he
did
, but it was this weird one-sided thing. “Do you
only
like to watch and spank and do things over the phone and email?”

He laughed. “We’re just getting started. Don’t rush things.”

She cocked her head. “What if the twins don’t misbehave?”

He raised one brow. Her question didn’t require a verbal answer. Of course, they’d misbehave.

So did this mean he wanted her? “Do you have a pen and paper?” she asked.

He stepped around her, entered the kitchen, grabbed a pad off the counter by the phone, and returned to hand it to her.

Lola scribbled everything down and shoved it back at him. “There. Satisfied?”

He smiled. “Extremely.” Then he cupped her cheek, held her with his gaze. “You are absolutely perfect, my dear. And I will have you again.” Then he handed her the purse off the table, opened the door, and ushered her out.

Perfect.
He had her with that one word.

* * *

GRAY CLOSED THE DOOR. HIS HEART HAD STOPPED POUNDING,
but his cock was still rock hard and throbbing. It was only with his last ounce of willpower that he’d managed not to undo his jeans and take her.

She obviously had no clue how close to the edge he’d been. Which was good. He still retained the upper hand.

Returning to the living room, he began clearing away the evidence of his debauchery.

Rafe had called this morning to say his mom was letting him use her car to go to the movies with some of his friends. He wanted to stop by afterward. Gray knew why. Rafe was angling for a car of his own, and most likely the visit was for a little buttering up. Gray didn’t con himself into thinking his son actually wanted to spend time with him.

If Rafe hadn’t said he’d stop by, Gray probably wouldn’t have been able to let Lola go.

But he had her number, in more ways than one. And he would use it to his advantage when the time was right.

* * *

DAMMIT, SHE’D LEFT HER PHONE ON THE CAR’S CONSOLE. HOW
the hell had she missed stuffing it in her purse? The whole time she’d thought she had it with her, but obviously not. Now it was flashing with messages. Instead of listening right then, she backed out of his driveway and drove half a block down. She didn’t want Gray to think she was waiting for him to come out to her car.

“We’re running the test in fifteen minutes.” Frank. Giving her a fifteen-minute lead time. Just like an engineer not to consider that it would take her at least fifteen minutes to get there. The time stamp on the message was twenty minutes ago.

The next message. George. “Where the hell are you, Lola?” Ten minutes later. She could strangle engineers.

Frank. The third message. “Dammit, Lola, we can’t wait all day. It’s Sunday, for Christ’s sake.”

She narrowed her eyes as if the two of them were right in front of her. She’d left all those messages for them, not one answer, then suddenly it was an emergency. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d been sitting on Gray’s lap with a vibrator in some very erogenous zones. Even if she’d put the phone in her purse, she wouldn’t have heard it ring. She wouldn’t have heard a jet landing on Gray’s front lawn.

She dialed back on one of the missed calls. Frank answered, “Yo.”

“Don’t start without me.” She used Gray’s you-will-do- what-I-say-or-else tone. “I’m on my way.”

“Three minutes,” Frank said.

“Fifteen,” she countermanded. They were just yanking her chain.

There was no time to stop to put on her bra and panties. She’d pop into the ladies’ room at the Fletcher plant before she went to the lab.

She didn’t speed, but her foot was heavier on the accelerator than it should have been, and she punched it at an intersection in order to get around a slow-moving truck.

The twins would probably return from the movie before she did, but what the heck, they were almost sixteen. They could stay home alone. And maybe, for fear of her wrath if they damaged anything, they might be good. Did they have to earn trust before being given it? Or should she give it to them, which in turn would teach them to be trustworthy? That was like the chicken and the egg question.

By the time she arrived at the plant, the afterglow of really hot sex had completely dissipated. Now she was just a slut with no panties or bra.
Slut
, in this case, was
not
a term of endearment.