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The Lesson Plan -- Jasmine Haynes

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The Lesson Plan
Lessons After Hours, Book 5
© 2014 Jasmine Haynes

“There is no one who writes pure erotic fantasy better than Haynes.”
~ Heroes & Heartbreakers

“Filled with steamy lust and wicked humor…”
~ RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

High school guidance counselor by day, sex therapist by night. Her two worlds are about to collide…

Charlotte Moore’s passion in life is helping people—by day, that means preparing her students for the realities of looming adulthood. By night, it means assisting their parents with what’s happening behind closed doors. Or what isn’t happening. And Charlotte has come up with an amazing plan for supercharging her clients’ sex lives.

That’s where Principal Lance Hutton enters the picture. He’s sexy, he’s older, he’s her boss. And he’s the perfect test subject. All he has to do is mete out a little punishment. To her. If it works for her, she’ll suggest the new method to her clients. It’s a win-win. Especially when Charlotte more than enjoys the extra discipline Principal Hutton wields.

But when Charlotte’s after-hours occupation is exposed, her day job is suddenly on the line. And so is the principal’s career.

Previously published in 2014 as “Teach Me a Lesson.”

Lessons After Hours
Past Midnight
, Erin & Dominic
What Happens After Dark, Bree & Luke
The Principal's Office, Rachael & Rand
The Naughty Corner, Lola & Gray
The Lesson Plan, Charlotte & Lance

Read Excerpt

The Lesson Plan
Copyright 2013 Jasmine Haynes

Charlotte worked Tuesdays and Thursdays as a guidance counselor at the same high school she’d graduated from twenty years ago. She had, in fact, planned her future in this very office, from the opposite side of the desk. Carpeting had been installed over the linoleum tiles, but the desk was the same, its veneer slightly more battered, as was the credenza beneath the window, though now it was filled with her files. She’d requisitioned a small conference table and four accompanying chairs, two of which sat in front of the desk, and her chair—she’d bought it herself—was ergonomic.

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 Thanksgiving Day you could practically eat outside. That’s what she loved about the Bay Area, the variety.

Charlotte had been a part-time guidance counselor at the high school for the last five years. Since she had a student meeting at one o’clock, she 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 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 several 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 inch 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 in the three years since he’d become principal—with salt-and-pepper hair, swarthy skin, 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, 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.