What She Needs (12 page)

She could smell him, the musky male scent of him, and suffered the urge to wrap her arms around him, too, or maybe run one hand through his thick hair, his head resting gently on her shoulder now—but she didn’t. Because she wasn’t sure how this part worked. And she wasn’t
at all
sure she should let him know, that despite the fantasy situation here, she was feeling a little connected to him just from being so close, so weirdly personal.

Finally, he rolled off her, onto his side on the desk, withdrawing his erection—a move that left her feeling oddly abandoned.

“You okay?” he asked, suddenly back to being Brent now.

She hesitated, weighing her answer. “I think.” Then she gave her head a soft shake. “It . . . wasn’t what I expected.”

When she found the will to meet his gaze again, he’d propped up on one elbow. “What were you expecting?”

The question made her shift her eyes back away, embarrassed by the more innocent visions in her head. “It was silly, really.”

“Tell me.”

She took a deep breath and tried to be honest. “Something . . . softer. Satin sheets and violin music, maybe? Some kind of romantic beach tryst. Something I might . . . really fantasize, like you said.” Then she sighed. “Something that, now, I don’t think you’d
ever
arrange for me—since your goal here is fixing whatever you think is wrong with me, not just making me feel good.”

“My goal is to do both,” he clarified.

Jenna found herself blinking uncomfortably. “I’m just not sure this was . . . me.” She motioned around the room, then peered down at the clothing she only half wore.

“You
came
. Hard,” he pointed out, sounding just a bit arrogant.

She pulled in her breath, unable to deny it. “I just don’t know . . . what all that was about.”

Brent couldn’t explain it to her—too much information, too much detail, would only screw up the effects of the sex. Still, he found himself wishing he could, because she’d been brave coming here today and he felt a little bad for her now. He probably should have anticipated an uncertain reaction—but again, he just wasn’t used to fucking anyone who wasn’t thrilled to be here. Usually, people were happy after fantasies—sometimes exhausted but replete, other times delighted and giddy, and everything in between. “Remember I said you have to trust me,” he reminded her.

“I did—and I’m not sure I liked what happened.”

He thought about going soft on her, but the truth would be better for her in the long run. “You just don’t
want
to like it. Because it’s a lot dirtier and more complex than satin sheets and violins.”

She tilted her head. “Are you implying there’s something
wrong
with satin sheets and violins?”

“Not at all. But you wouldn’t have felt half as much. And you wouldn’t have come nearly as hard.”

“It would help if I knew what I was supposed to take away from it.”

Maybe, maybe not. She might not appreciate knowing that a big part of this was about making her obey him—so that he could get her through her fantasies without her balking at his every instruction.

He’d also wanted her to start playing with the concept of being a bad girl. Girls like Jenna, who’d absorbed a lot of negative sexual content growing up, usually went one of two ways—all the way bad or all the way good. Jenna had been a hard-core good girl, the kind who would be mortified if anyone ever thought she was bad—but he’d just shown her that she
could
be a bad girl and the world wouldn’t stop spinning, the sky wouldn’t fall. Right now, she saw things too much in black and white, not appreciating shades of gray—and there were
lots
of shades of gray in sex.

“I can’t go into it with you,” he explained. “But you need to loosen up and feel what it made you feel. Not the I-wanted-satin-sheets part. Forget what you wanted and feel what you got. Not just the orgasm. All of it.”

Next to him, she took a deep breath and he could sense how hard she was thinking. Finally, she said, “I . . . wanted you to make me do it. I didn’t . . .
want
to want it.”

“I know that,” he said simply.

“Well, isn’t that a
bad
thing? I mean, I’m smart enough to know that probably isn’t the healthiest sexual desire in the world.”

“It’s one of the things we’re going to be working on,” he told her, then heard himself confiding a little more than he probably should. “But for now, it’s something that satisfies you, so I used it to help get you . . . into the game.” Part of this had indeed also been about making her take what she subconsciously needed him to give her. She’d made it clear last night that she wasn’t comfortable admitting what she craved, that she wanted the guy to take the lead, so if that made her do what he wanted for a while, he would play to that. Then later, he’d make her advance beyond that attitude.

In the meantime, though, if it pleasured
her
and allowed
him
to take her in new directions, he’d be the dominant lover she required. And he’d enjoy it, since being dominant in bed came naturally to him. “The main thing, sunshine, is what I keep telling you—you need to trust me. And you need to do what I tell you. You need to understand that anything I demand of you is ultimately going to pleasure you.”

“Maybe you make me do things that actually pleasure
you
,” she suggested, switching on her argumentative side, “but they really won’t pleasure
me
. Maybe people don’t take pleasure in the same things.”

He only sighed. Did she really think he was that dumb? “Of course they don’t—we all have certain things that get us off more than others. But again, everything I’m doing is for your own good.”

“Making me talk dirty? That’s something that turns guys on—but not girls.”

At this, he couldn’t contain a small laugh. Poor Jenna—she was so naïve in some ways. “Sunshine, I can assure you plenty of women are excited by dirty talk.”

She pursed her lips and looked him in the eye, appearing to weigh his words, deciding if she believed them. “Maybe it does a little more for me when
you’re
doing it—but
I
don’t enjoy doing it.”

He considered it progress that she’d even admitted
that
much. But she was missing the point. “For your information, making you talk dirty doesn’t have much to do with whether or not you enjoy it—maybe you will and maybe you won’t. Right now, it’s about getting over stigmas.”

She looked skeptical. “Stigmas? What do you mean?”

“You
know
you avoid certain words, sunshine.”

“Maybe I just don’t find them appealing,” she argued.

“Or maybe you’re afraid there’s something wrong with saying them.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

“Then say them.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Because if you can’t even say certain words, how are you ever going to attain real sexual freedom?”

“I can say them. You told me to say them and I said them.”

She had. But it had been a strain for her. And purely mechanical. “Well, from now on, I expect you to say them a lot more. I want you to start thinking of having sex as fucking, of my penis as my cock, and of your vagina as your pussy—or your cunt.”

She flinched, visibly.

And he said, “See? You’re afraid of the word.”

“I’m a writer, Brent, and for
your
information, words don’t scare me. But I happen to think of that
particular
word as a very derogatory term for women.”

“Then that’s a problem,” he said matter-of-factly, “because you
should
be thinking of it as what’s between your legs.” He reached down and flicked a fingertip through her slit for good measure, enjoying it perhaps a bit too much when she gasped in unbidden delight. “This is another example of how you’ve let one negative perception color your whole view. It’s a body part—a fucking
beautiful
body part. That’s all. You’ve given the word more power than it deserves, Jenna. Turn it into nothing but a body part and you’ve taken the power
back
.”

She said nothing, looking both stunned and as if—maybe, just maybe—she was realizing the truth in what he’d said.

“Tell me what’s between your legs,” he instructed.

“My . . . cunt,” she whispered.

“Very good,” he said softly in reply.

Just then, she drew in her breath, knit her brow. “Were you really mad at me for not, you know, shaving the very top, too?”

He grinned, conceding. “No. It looks incredible, by the way.”

She smiled as if she’d just caught him at something. “Aha! So that part
was
for you.”

He laughed at her sureness, then shook his head. “No. That, too, is for you. To make sure you’re very familiar with your body, comfortable with that part of yourself, fully in touch with the parts that bring you the most pleasure. And by the way,
keep
it shaved while you’re here.”

“Fine. But if you like it this way, how can you be sure it’s not at least
partially
for your benefit?”

He tilted his head, thinking it was cute as hell the way she argued these points, seemingly forgetting she wasn’t all that comfortable talking about such things. “Okay, to be fair,” he confessed, “let’s say it was for both of us.”

He thought she’d look happier about that—instead, it appeared she already had something else on her mind.

“What?” he asked. “What’s going through that head of yours
now
?”

“I guess I was just wondering . . . do I . . . excite you?”

She had to ask? “Of course, honey. Did you not feel that hard dick?”

She flushed slightly, prettily. “I mean, you’ve been with a gazillion women and this is your job, so . . .”

He couldn’t help reaching up, brushing a long wisp of hair back from her face. He hated that he’d somehow made her doubt his true attraction to her. “If you think this is work for me, sunshine, think again. When I walked in and saw you, I nearly came in my pants, right then and there.”

“Really?”

He simply tilted his head and gave her a look. Could she honestly not know how appealing she was, how hot? Then again, maybe she’d never let herself be in many positions to find out. “You make a
bangin’
naughty schoolgirl, honey. And it’s important to me that you know just
how
fucking sexy you really are.”

“Important professionally or personally?”

“Both,” he said, without elaborating. Because it was true, and he knew she needed to know that—but there was a damn fine line here and he couldn’t cross it or they’d both end up regretting it. Even beyond this fantasy, he was the teacher here and she was the student. That was all there could really be. So he changed the subject. “I’m going to give you some homework.”

She lowered her chin. “What makes you think I’m going to continue with this?”

She could argue if she wanted, but he’d seen enough to know without doubt—she’d come too far not to want to keep going. “Because you’re starting to trust me. You’re starting to figure out that maybe you
do
have a few issues to work out and you’re willing to let me help you do it. Now, homework.”

She simply rolled her eyes again, so he went on.

“I want you to spend some time thinking back over everything that happened today, all of it, and examine how you felt at each point. Figure out the things that excited you and those, if any, that didn’t. If they truly
didn’t
physically excite you, ask yourself why? Think about what made you feel sexy and hot. Think about what made you nervous or afraid. Then make a list of the positives—one list of things that made you feel sexy, and another of things that turned you on. Even if they don’t seem PC—it doesn’t matter. Be honest with yourself. Lesson number one—sex isn’t supposed to be politically correct, sunshine. Pleasure is far more complex than good taste allows for, so you have to let go of all that when you’re in bed.”

“Is that it, on the homework?”

“Before you go to sleep tonight, call the front desk and tell them you have something to deliver to me. Put your lists in an envelope— there should be some in the desk in your room—and someone will pick it up.”

“Ah, so you’re going to
see
the list. I thought maybe it was just for my own self-awareness.”

“Afraid not, sunshine. It’ll help me know where we stand in your, uh, tutorial. So, again, be honest. There’s nothing you could say that would shock me or change my opinion of you. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

She grinned. “I’ll just bet you have.”

He returned the smile, then began to push to his feet and finally zipped up his pants. After which he took her hands and pulled her to an upright position on the desk. “I’m gonna go. You can stay here as long as you want, take your time. No one will be in to tidy things up for a few hours.” Then he leaned a little closer and lifted his hand to her face. “I’m proud of you, sunshine. For letting yourself do this.”

She looked so pretty just then, so strangely innocent. At some point while they’d talked, she’d pulled her bra back into place, but she was still the naughty Catholic girl sitting there with her pussy nearly on display—looking as pure as the driven snow. “Can I ask you something?”

His voice came out too soft. “Sure—anything.”

“Are . . . we allowed to kiss? Because I’ve noticed we haven’t.”

He drew a deep breath. How could he explain this? “It’s not against the rules, but . . . given how many rules I’m breaking here already, I don’t know if it’s the best idea.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly trying her damnedest to sound as if it didn’t matter at all—but he felt in his gut how much she yearned to be kissed right now, how much she needed what had just happened on this desk to matter, even just a little.

And he
shouldn’t
validate it, because he couldn’t ever let her believe the sex between them was more than what it was—a phenomenally pleasant time between two people while one of them educated the other. Yet something about the expression on her face made his chest feel like it was caving in.