Free The Principal's Office by Jasmine Haynes

known a man so carnal, so verbal, so seductive.
    “Put your hand between your legs and pretend it’s me.” He mesmerized her with his voice, his words, until her hand was moving of its own volition. She traced the folds of her sex, pushed inside, trailed a moist finger over her clitoris.
    “Tell me,” he urged. “Talk to me.”
    “I’m so wet. I wish you were here. I want to taste you the way she was tasting him.”
    “You want to suck my cock.”
    “Yes.” She closed her eyes and imagined she could smell his tantalizing, musky sexual scent. “I want to suck you. I want to taste it and like it.” She’d never liked doing it for Gary. She wanted to do it for Rand. She didn’t care why it was different, whether it was Rand’s sensual nature that begged for it versus theroutine of marriage dulling her senses. “I want to know how you taste,” she murmured, her mouth watering for him.
    All the while her fingers moved and circled and dipped until her body was arching off the bed. She panted. “Yes, yes, I want to feel you in my mouth. I want to suck your cock deep, lick it, drain it, swallow you whole.” She’d never let Gary come in her mouth, but she was overcome with the need to drink Rand.
    “I will be your first, your best. I will make you come until you scream, with my fingers and my mouth and my cock.” His voice was like a caress along her skin. Suddenly all the desire of the night, the excitement of watching, the fear of the unknown, then this, a man listening to her masturbate, it was all too much, too fast, and she felt a lightning bolt shoot down to her clitoris, burst with heat, then flash back out to every limb and beyond. She cried out his name as she came.
    In her altered state, she believed she heard him shout out, too, and as she floated back down, she thought,
I did it, I really did it.
“Did you come?” she asked, hearing the hint of shyness in her voice.
    “Fuck yes.” His voice was guttural, sexy, satisfied.
    She laughed, feeling almost giddy. “You say
fuck
a lot.”
    “Only for you.
Fuck
is a good word. It’s hot, it’s needy. It means a man will do anything.”
    “As compared to
making love
.”
    “Making love is good; it’s reverent. But it’s not desperate. I want you desperate for me like I’m desperate for you. Sex is best when it’s fucking desperate, when you can’t get enough, when you think about it all the time, when it consumes you. That’s when you want to
fuck
.”
    She felt her heart beat hard and fast in her chest, her head swirling with his words. “But you didn’t touch me tonight. If you were desperate, wouldn’t you have just done what you wanted todo?” She’d turned down the heating since she was going out, and her bedroom was cool. She felt chilled and pushed her dress down her legs.
    “Desperation heightens when you don’t get what you want.”
    God, then she was desperate for him, so desperate.
    “Rachel, next time you come here, bring your vibrator.”
    Oh.
Oh yes.
    The Bluetooth beeped in her ear. Call waiting. It was probably one of the boys. “I have to go.” The last vestige of heat from her climax drained away. She thought about explaining, but the phone beeped again, and she realized that cutting him off was better than any explanation. It would add to the desperation he claimed he needed. It would be like that moment in his house when he told her to leave, the uncertainty, until he said he’d fuck her if she didn’t go. The push-pull, the up-and-down that made everything hotter.
    So she simply tapped on her Bluetooth, hanging up, then answered the other call. “Hey.”
    “Are you all right?”
    It took her two seconds to realize it was Bree. “Oh. Yeah. I’m fine.” Better than fine. She glanced at the side table clock. Ten-oh-one. “You’re punctual.”
    “You’re my friend.”
    Rachel understood there was great meaning in that. “Ditto.”
    “Are you still with him?”
    “No.”
    “Was it good?”
    She