Raw

I chalked it up to the fact that I was almost forty that I forgot to revisit a very important and unanswered question until two days after our uninvited guests had departed: How did my fiancé know my shrink, a.k.a. Mistress Lydia?

I remembered just as I got to my appointment with Dr. Pritchard that Friday, but I didn't feel comfortable asking her. That and the fact that she wanted to limit our visits to once a month now distracted me. I knew it meant I was recovering. But it also meant I wouldn't have the familiar sounding board I'd grown used to this past month. Then again, I think that's partially why she made that decision: she didn't want me to become dependent on her.

I left with a heavy heart that our time was through for another four weeks. After several hours of working on my book, I'd almost forgotten the question again until Malcolm texted me that he was on his way home from the late meeting at school. He said he hoped I had good session with the head doc, and did I want pizza for dinner?

I placed the order and then paced the kitchen, rehearsing how I would approach the topic. I waffled between a direct approach and letting it slip into our conversation casually. Which would he be more likely to answer?

The sight of his car pulling into the drive made me pause. I switched to wringing my hands. Then I strained to hear the garage door closing. The sound of the car door as he shut it.

"How do you know Dr. Pritchard?" I said before he'd even fully crossed the threshold of the back door. Direct and impatient had apparently won.

He leaned in to give me a quick kiss before he shucked off his coat. "Hello to you, too."

I watched him sift through the mail and then sit down at the lunch counter facing the kitchen. I stayed standing on the kitchen side and took a deep breath. "I want to know how you know Dr. Pritchard."

He chuckled for a moment. "Did you order the pizza?"

"Yes." I glanced at my watch. "It should be here in thirty minutes. Now please, answer my question."

He looked up then. When he noticed I wasn't smiling or laughing, he said, "You're serious."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me why it's so important?"

"Because, it is. Is she one of the strippers you hung out with in France?"

His smile disappeared. "No."

"Is she an ex-girlfriend?"

He shook his head. He abandoned the mail and clasped his hands on the countertop instead. Finally, he realized I wasn't going to drop the subject.

"An ex-partner in the scene?"

"No, Becca."

I felt my hands fisting at my side. Why was he making this so difficult? I restrained myself from stomping my foot, but just barely. "Then how—"

"I know her from the club in Chicago."

"I figured as much. And you just what? Thought a psychiatrist with a penchant for whipping men was the perfect solution for your abused girlfriend—"

"Becca!" He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "She is—or rather, she was—Daphne's shrink."

I scrunched up my nose. "Why couldn't you just say that in the first place?"

He reached out to clasp my hands. "Because it really isn't any of your business. I helped a friend get professional help several years ago. It was extremely successful. So I called on that professional to help me now as a favor."

When I exhaled, it felt like I was releasing all the tension in my body. I knew the truth now. And it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined it would be. Go figure.

"Why she did it wasn't important. The fact that you are comfortable talking to her so you can feel better is. But then she wrote that note. I knew it was inevitable you'd ask questions."

I nodded.

"To be honest, it was a relief that you had forgotten to ask me again that night at the airport. I didn't want to dig up old wounds. You're seeing Lydia because of the pain your brother has caused you. Your brother and his wife, Daphne. I'm sure last summer has come up as well. You've made such progress. I didn't want to hinder your healing, and I thought that knowing the connection was there because of Daphne would do just that."

I lowered my eyes to where his thumb was brushing my knuckles. God, I hated it when he had a point like that. It made me feel so dumb that I hadn't considered all of the implications.

"But you are persistent. I love that about you." When I gave him a soft smile, he added, "Usually."

I wished I had a stool to sit on now. So what, I shared a shrink with my estranged sister-in-law? It actually made sense now why Dr. Pritchard would stop taking notes whenever I mentioned Daphne's name. But now I wondered what the doctor thought of me when I complained about Daphne...a woman who had been just as damaged—if not more—than I was. Especially now that I knew the three of us women shared a taste for nonconformity when it came to sex.

"Are you okay?"

When I didn't respond, he squeezed my hands. Then he tipped my chin up and asked me again.

I nodded this time. It was a relief that I didn't have to worry about seeing my doctor again knowing she had some sordid past with my fiancé. But I felt a twinge in my chest when I thought of my long-lost friend now. How she had tried to warn me that night at the club. But then she had played into the charade, as well, by dragging me to Jesse's house as a distraction until we had to get to the ceremony. The ceremony that drove a wedge between all of us.

"Good." He stood and rounded the counter to pull me into his arms. "Promise me you will tell me if you are having any problems with Dr. Pritchard? With anyone at all?"

"Mmm hmm." My breath came out shaky.

I had yet to say anything about my encounter with Jesse last December. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter. Even though Malcolm had thought the same thing about his platonic relationship with my doctor, in the end it, my new knowledge made things better. Clearer.

Just like I had not broached the subject of what he had discussed with our guests behind closed doors, I knew that nothing good could come from telling Malcolm that Jesse was a jerk. Besides, Jesse and Juliet were back in Europe. The past was in the past...or at least several thousand miles away.

###

Somehow, we managed to get through the bitterly cold winter. We did not speak of Jesse and Juliet. We did not speak of Daphne. And we did not speak of my brother. Although, I did cry when I noticed on the calendar that Drake's birthday was a week away. I battled about sending him a card. I loved him, but...

Dr. Pritchard had said it wasn't uncommon to have those feelings when there was an estranged relationship in a family. Especially, between siblings. She wouldn't affirm that any decision I made was right or wrong, though.

In the end, I chose to do what I felt in my heart: I sent a card. It was on Drake now if he decided to respond. I prayed that he didn't return it unopened. I'd rather he just throw it away than give me evidence that he wanted no part in my life if I didn't support him in every aspect of his. I told myself that each day that passed with no mail from him was a good thing. Wasn't it?

Spring kept us busy with writing midterms and final chapters. Malcolm was happy. I was happy. Sue was happy. Life was good.

The Friday that school let out for Spring Break, I decided to surprise Malcolm. I'd been there a couple of times. So after I checked in at the office and got a visitor's pass, I made my way to his classroom on the third floor.

A glance at my watch showed that there was still another fifteen minutes before the hallways would become a racetrack of hormones with one goal: the exit doors that led to freedom for the next nine days. I could wait in the hall and be run over. I chose to sneak into the classroom through the door at the back of the room, a benefit of being in an older school with larger rooms that had two entrances.

No one paid any attention to me as I quietly took a seat on a stool under the back blackboard, another relic of days gone by. Granted, the seats were only half-full, and the ceiling lights were only on in the front half of the room. I wondered if it was normally like this, or if a large portion of the student body chose to start vacation a day early. Those present hunched over their desks, probably watching the black arms inch toward the twelve and three on the white-faced clock at the front of the room.

Just below the clock, Malcolm had his back to the room as he wrote on the whiteboard in red dry-erase marker. It looked like A2+B2=C2, and the words 'Pythagorean theorem.' Seriously? He was trying to teach them something new within minutes of them emptying their brains of anything related to school? My poor man. He was too dedicated to his job.

I hooked the heel of my right pump on the lowest rung of the stool. I bent my left leg and propped my other shoe one rung up. Then I waited.

He finally turned around, mouth open, the marker in one hand and the eraser in the other.

I knew the moment he saw me because he dropped both items. I tried not to laugh as he chased the marker under his desk. When he stood again, I had my finger to my lips. I undid the bottom-most button and cinched the left side of my coat further apart, revealing the top of my white knee-high stockings.

He cleared his throat and told the class, "Forget it. You can talk for the rest of the hour."

The next ten minutes had to be the longest of his life. He sat staring at his desk while the noise level in the room rose exponentially. Every few seconds, he'd glance up at me. I guess to see if I was still there or if he'd imagined me. I'd tease him by adjusting my coat. His head would dip as if he were reviewing something very important. A couple of times, he fiddled with something in the desk drawers.

I kept an eye on the clock as well. I grew warmer with each minute that ticked by. And not just because I still had my coat on. I licked my lips, wondering what Malcolm was thinking. What he was feeling. A small part of me thought he might be upset with my intrusion. Adrenaline hyped up the rest of my body too much for me to care, though.

As the bell mercifully rang, the farthest door became a bottleneck as the room emptied. Over the cacophony building in the hallway, I heard a chorus of, "Goodbye, Mr. McClaren," and "Have good Spring Break, Mr. McClaren," from the front of the room.

Even after the last student had disappeared out the door, Malcolm stayed seated at his desk. He hadn't looked at me in a good two minutes. I know because I counted them in my head as I watched him. The noise in the hall dispersed. Still, we sat in silence.

When he finally lifted his head, I was glad I was at the back of the room. I was too far away to see the look in his eyes, but he was not smiling. Okay, maybe I should have been more worried about his response. I gulped and gave myself a silent pep talk as he slowly pushed back from his desk and walked around it.

I waited until he had started toward me down an aisle between rows of chairs before I stood and unbuttoned my coat, letting it fall to the floor.

He froze mid-stride. Then he turned on his heel and walked to the door nearest him. Which he closed, turned the lock, and pulled the old-fashioned shade down over the window. He proceeded toward me again, this time along the wall to my left. He repeated the process on the door I had entered.

When he was still a couple of feet from me, I stuck out my lower lip and twirled my finger in one of the pigtails that I'd pulled my hair up into during a quick pit stop at the girls' restroom across the hall before I'd chickened out with my surprise. He opened his mouth, but I was faster.

"Mr. McClaren, I'm sorry for disrupting class. I'm here for my detention."

I don't know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he left it unsaid as his mouth closed and his jaw clenched. Even in the shadows at the back of the room, I saw the darkness take over the flicker of light in his eyes. Then I saw his eyes drop, presumably to my feet.

I could imagine him taking every inch of me in as he slowly lifted his head from my black high heels up my stocking-clad legs. He'd already seen that for the past ten minutes, but he seemed to take his time revisiting the view.

As I could see his gaze lifting, he seemed to pause. I wasn't sure if it was the plaid mini-skirt that showed more thigh than anything I'd ever worn. Or maybe it was the short-sleeved blouse that tied just under my breasts, creating a mountain of cleavage that would make any waitress at Hooters jealous. Quite possibly, it was the shiny belly necklace that floated in between where the skirt rested on my hips and the blouse supported my ample bosom. I'd secured a fake belly ring to my abdomen to loop the chain through, adding to the effect.

I'd felt a little silly when I'd purchased the schoolgirl outfit. But once I'd put it on at home, I understood why those girls at the convention had dressed the way they had for the exhibit. I felt damn sexy.

But now? Now I wasn't sure if this had been a good idea. Malcolm had yet to say anything. I hoped my knees didn't knock together, showing my nerves.

He took a step forward, and I stepped back involuntarily, bumping into the stool I'd so proudly perched myself on until just moments earlier. It wobbled and fell over. He pointed to the front of the room, and I hurried up the aisle.

It wasn't until we were both standing in front of his desk when he finally spoke.

"Ms. Rockland, you are a model student. Your disruption in class today was quite a surprise. I expected better behavior from you."

I let out a slow breath, glad to see he was playing along. "I'm sorry, Mr. McClaren."

"Please, bend over my desk."

I turned and rested my chest on his desk between two piles of books. My inhale was sharp when he flipped the back of my skirt up, revealing my ass to him. Had it been a bad idea to wear a G-string?

"Are you ready for your punishment?"

I nodded. Then I screeched as something smacked both butt cheeks. My ass stung like no tomorrow.

"Please respond aloud with 'Yes, Sir, Mr. McClaren.' Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir, Mr. McClaren," I managed, gasping.

"Very good. Now be a good girl and be quiet."

Something clattered next to my head. I stared at the wooden ruler he'd tossed onto the desk. Holy shit!

Suddenly, his hand smacked my left cheek. Then my right. Over and over again, he spanked me. I wasn't sure if this was my punishment for showing up in his class as I had, or if it was part of the roleplay. It wasn't exactly what I'd imagined we'd be doing.

I tried to relax, but the spanking actually aroused me more. Especially, when his hand smacked lower along the crease between my ass and my thigh. By the time he had finished, my ass burned and I could feel the wetness gathering between my legs.

"Stand up, Ms. Rockland."

I obeyed, although my legs shook even more than before. I prayed I wouldn't collapse.

"Turn around and kneel."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. McClaren," I said softly, obeying. My eyes widened as I faced him. Malcolm was unbuckling his belt. A moment later, he was holding his cock out to me.

"Now open your mouth." He pressed the tip between my lips and grabbed onto my pigtails. "Suck, like a good girl. Next time you'll think twice about talking in class without permission."

I kept my hands in my lap as I twirled my tongue around the crown. I teased the tiny hole, licking away his precum. He was already semi-hard by the time he pressed further into my mouth. Oh yeah, he was turned on by this.

He thrust into my mouth, holding my head still by his grip on my hair. Then he would still his hips and use my pigtails like handlebars and pull my face closer to him or push my mouth away. The whole time, he stared down at me, his mouth a hard, thin line.

My eyes stayed on him, blinking occasionally. I didn't fight him. Not even when he went balls-deep and held us both still for a moment. We'd worked on my gag reflex enough that I could handle a few long seconds. But my eyes still watered, and my slobber dribbled out of my mouth as he withdrew.

When he'd had enough of fucking my mouth, he helped me stand up. Without a word, he patted the top of the desk. I hoisted myself up on it, and he laid me back, pushing the books aside.

One minute, I was looking up at him, licking the saltiness of his arousal off my lips. The next, he lifted my legs, spread them apart so my ankles were on his shoulders, and yanked the G-string aside. I cried out as he thrust inside of me. I bit my bottom lip when I saw the warning in his eyes. Locked doors or not, someone could get suspicious.

Euphoria swept over me. We were in his classroom. On his desk. Having sex. Teacher and student in roleplay, but also in life. That is how we'd met. I'd dared to be insubordinate today. To top him. And God, it felt good for him to punish me. Yet, I felt rewarded, as well, for my actions.

I was aware of his grunts. The clanking of his belt buckle as it hit the wooden desk with each thrust. The possessiveness of his hand as he pulled one corner of my shirt down and cupped my breast. The roughness of his other hand as it gripped my hip, his fingers digging, holding me in place.

One of my shoes fell off and clattered to the floor. He leaned forward, bending me in half, and tugged with his teeth at the knot tying my top together until it came loose.

I had little time to enjoy him releasing my breasts as he pulled out of me and flipped me onto my stomach. My breath came out as a short gasp, and then I moaned as he slid into me again from behind. His hands reached around and under me, gripping my breasts.

I arched back to him, my hands pressed flat against the desk. God, I loved this man. I loved how he filled me. Surprised me. Completed me. Thank you, Jerry McGuire.

I was on the cusp of my orgasm when he withdrew once more. This time, he did not penetrate again but came against my legs. Then, he spanked me with an open hand. I lost count of how many times. Tears formed in my eyes, but they were from frustration that I hadn't found release.

Suddenly, his fingers pressed up into me, his thumb grazing my clit. I sobbed on his lesson plan book. Neither one of us seemed to care at this point what noises we made. He stroked me until I shook beneath him.

When I'd calmed down, he helped me stand. I had bent down to retrieve my shoe when he said, "Ms. Rockland, I pray that you have learned your lesson?"

I nodded, which earned me another smack on my already raw ass. I stood upright with a start. "Yes, Sir, Mr. McClaren!"

"Very good. Now behave yourself and enjoy your Spring Break."

I bit my lip as I secured my top. I waited until I'd reached the back of the room to wipe my eyes and nose with the back of my hand. I shrugged on my coat and untied my hair, processing the scene in my head.

I'd enjoyed it. I liked the roleplay. I liked that we hadn't needed to use bondage to get excited. I liked that he—

"Becca?" His voice was so soft behind me.

I froze, uncertain of what his intent was. Slowly, I turned to face him.

"You are the sexiest woman I have ever known," he whispered before he gently pressed his lips to mine. His arms enveloped me, drawing me against his chest where I felt his heart still beating wildly.

"So you're not mad at me?" I asked when he'd allowed me to come up for air.

"Honey, I told you that you could have me any time or place you wanted it. Including school. I'd find a way. Although, it looks like you beat me to it." He kissed me again. Then he kissed my wet cheeks. His thumb brushed at a fresh tear that trickled from my eye as I blinked. "What I'm mad about is those ten minutes where I could see you and those damn kids were in the way. And that damn clock would not move fast enough."

I giggled and brushed my hand through his hair that was damp along his temple. Then I stepped back and flashed him the schoolgirl outfit. "I bet you didn't expect me to be wearing this, did you?"