The Naughty Corner (34 page)

She spent money when it was necessary—like on the ergonomic chair—and she pinched her pennies on things that didn’t matter—like brown-bagging it. Brown-bagging could be much healthier since you chose your own ingredients. Pinching the pennies was worth it.

Sometimes she ate her lunch outside, but today, seated at her small conference table, she gazed out the blinds at a sky that was heavy with dark clouds, rain threatening at any moment. Last week, Halloween had been gorgeous, in the seventies, warm enough for short sleeves, but come November, the temperature had dropped and the clouds rolled in. November in the San Francisco Bay Area was typically one of the rainier months, though not always. Sometimes the beginning of the month brought a deluge while on Thanksgiving Day you could practically eat outside. That’s what she loved about the Bay Area, the variety.

Since she had a student meeting at one o’clock, Charlotte should have been studying the file open on the conference table in front of her. Instead she was thinking about spanking, not the discipline kind, but the fun kind. Lola loved her sex play with Gray Barnett, though even after three months, she was still scant on details. But these days, Lola damn near glowed. Charlotte didn’t think it was
just
the kinky sex. It was Gray. For the first time in ten years, Lola had a real relationship. Charlotte was happy for her best friend.

But she kept thinking about spanking. And wild sex. And how long it had been since she’d had sex, wild or not. Besides, as a therapist, it was her duty to find out what this bondage thing was really like from an experiential perspective. Although she’d start with just the spanking. And damn if she didn’t get hot and bothered thinking about that. She wanted to try it. Needed to. If she’d heard this kind of sentiment from a client, she’d have started using the word
obsession
, but Charlotte wasn’t obsessed, just curious. Highly curious. Extremely. Okay, maybe slightly obsessed with sex itself and the lack of it in her life for the past six months.

All right, work, she needed to stop daydreaming. Flipping a page in the folder, she absently stabbed a fork into her salad. Somehow the plastic tub had moved—God only knew how or when—and her fork almost upended the container. She grabbed the fork clattering on the table, spraying balsamic dressing across another folder, but she managed a magnificent save before the entire salad was tossed to the beige carpet. The only casualty was her apple, which tumbled off the table and rolled under the desk. Hopefully the carpet saved it from bruising.

She went down on her hands and knees, stretching an arm beneath the desk, her face and chest practically smushed to the carpet before she could reach the errant apple. Ah, got it.

“Lose something, Miss Moore?”

Charlotte gave a tiny squeak and banged her shoulder on the underside of the desk. She snapped up straight, the apple in her lap, and smoothed her skirt down over her knees with one hand.

Principal Hutton lounged in her doorway, arms crossed over his white shirt and red tie, shoulder braced on the jamb.

Damn. Busted with her butt in the air.

“Are you all right?” he asked politely.

“I’m fine.” Her shoulder only smarted a little. She held up the apple. “A delinquent. Tried to hide from me under the desk, but I found it out.”

Principal Hutton raised a brow. “I trust you didn’t bruise its fragile ego.”

“Oh no, never.” She waved the apple in the air. “Absolutely bruise free.”

She was in a unique position, sitting back on her calves. Principal Hutton, at six-one or so, had always towered over her petite height of five-two-and-a-half—okay, maybe it was a quarter instead of a half—but from down here, he was a veritable giant, his chest broad, his shoulders wide, his thighs muscled from his daily runs. He was definitely attractive, she’d never questioned that, with salt-and-pepper hair, swarthy skin, and sharp, aristocratic features. And all those muscles. His female students were in awe of him. Not so Charlotte. At forty-eight, he was ten years older than her. And she liked her men younger. Once, a long time ago, she’d almost married a man who was more than ten years older. After a narrow escape, she’d realized that if she wanted autonomy in her life, in her career, and in her relationship, she’d be far better off with a younger man, one who would cede control to her. Only when it needed ceding, of course.

Yet, from down here on the floor, she was seeing Principal Lance Hutton in a whole new light. Or maybe it was the spanking thing infecting her thinking. Whatever the reason, he was suddenly more than merely attractive. He was big, he was strong, he was sexy.

She’d be willing to bet that receiving a spanking from Principal Hutton would be incredibly hot. And his age wouldn’t matter at all. In fact, it would elevate the experience to mind-blowing.

Yes, yes, yes, Principal Hutton was the man she needed for this new adventure she intended to embark on.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

With a bachelor’s degree in accounting from Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo, Jasmine Haynes has worked in the high-tech Silicon Valley for the last twenty years and hasn’t met a boring accountant yet! Okay, maybe a few. She and her husband live with numerous wild cats, one of whom has now moved into the house. Jasmine’s pastimes, when not writing, are speed-walking in the Redwoods, watching classic movies, and hanging out with writer friends in coffee shops. She is the author of classy erotic romance and the popular Max Starr paranormal romance mystery series, and also writes quirky, laugh-out-loud romances as Jennifer Skully. Visit her at jasminehaynes.com and jasminehaynes.blogspot.com.