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by Unknown

  Delirious with passion, she only then realized that in another moment the thin barrier of silk would be gone altogether and he would have full access to her most intimate space.

  He slowly pulled the bunched material of her gown up onto

  her stomach, leaving her entirely exposed to him. She opened her mouth to speak—though what she wanted to say she had no idea—

  but then his fingers were threading their way through her tight curls to explore what was underneath, and everything else left her mind.

  Not even in her wildest dreams did she imagine that a man

  could do what The Disciplinarian was doing to her.

  He spread her gently and slid his index finger along the full length of her, sliding along her inner lips and up to circle around her sensitive bud. The blood rushed to her head at the bold intimacy of the act, but she barely had time to be aware of how wet she was becoming before he continued with his motion, stroking and exploring her.

  “You are so beautiful in your passion, Clarissa, so responsive. It takes my breath away.”

  His agile finger continued to acquaint itself with her body, while at the same time accustoming her to his touch, teaching her to trust it. To trust him. She began to respond to the subtle but insistent pressure of his finger, to push up against it, to arch her body in pleasure when he stroked a particularly sensitive spot. The feelings were incredible, and yet she felt herself straining for something else. Something more.

  She thought she could hear his breathing speed up, and feel his finger start to shake, yet when he spoke his voice was very definitely in control.

  “Your first lesson taught you the erotic power of touch. This lesson will end by teaching you a woman’s pleasure. Are you ready for that lesson, Clarissa?”

  She frowned. A woman’s pleasure? How much more sensa-

  tion could she possibly bear? “Everything you’ve done tonight has brought me pleasure,” she said honestly.

  “But not the ultimate pleasure,” he replied.

  She paused. Could this ‘ultimate pleasure’ be the ‘more’ she was craving? Could there be some sort of erotic logic to all this?

  She swallowed hard. Dare she risk surrendering to a pleasure she might never be able to experience again in her life? But on the other hand, could she risk passing up an opportunity she might never have again?

  “Teach me,” she said softly.

  “Sweet Clarissa,” he said in that rich, honeyed caress of a voice.

  “Trust me completely in this. Give yourself to me and experience what it is to be a woman.”

  The controlled urgency in his voice frightened her a little, but his words were so sinfully seductive that she shivered with anticipation. He still had her wrists restrained above her head, pinned to the mattress with one of his hands, so there would be no fighting him, no resisting this now that she’d made her decision.

  She would trust him completely, and give herself to him as he’d asked.

  His fingers resumed their intimate exploration. This time she could feel his thumb and middle finger spreading her wide, opening her up to his inspection. Slowly he circled her with his index finger, sliding along her secret lips and up to stroke her tiny bud.

  All this he had done before, and Clarissa relaxed into the rhythm of his touch, the familiarity of it. She could feel herself getting wetter, responding to his caress, shifting and arching her hips so that his fingers stroked her right where she wanted them.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “Take control. Take your pleasure.”

  Encouraged, she arched herself up more fully against his fingers, wanting firmer contract with him. And that was the moment he sank two fingers deep inside her, eased by her slick wetness and her accommodating position.

  She cried out in surprise and shock.

  “This is for you, Clarissa. All for you. Just enjoy it.”

  His fingers stroked slowly in and out of her, stretching her, spreading her, sliding into her welcoming wetness. The intimate invasion was more erotic than anything she could have dreamed, and for the first time in her life it made her wonder what it would be like to welcome a man into her body, not just be grimly forced to accept it as part of her duty as a wife.

  She fantasized about The Disciplinarian’s male member, how it would feel where his fingers were now. If it would give her the same pleasure. With that image in her mind, she moved in response to the slow stroking motion, taking his fingers deeper into her body, shifting her hips this way and that so she could feel him stroking her from the inside.

  Oh, this was good. Very, very good. She couldn’t hold back a small moan.

  Immediately she felt his thumb come around to start stroking her little bud in time to match the motion of his fingers. Her pleasure instantly doubled. Impaled by his magic fingers and at the mercy of his insistent thumb, she felt her breath speed up, and that rush of blood again to her brain. She began to squirm under his hand.

  “That’s it, Clarissa. Just let go and give yourself over to the pleasure.”

  As if she needed one more point of stimulation to convince her, she felt his fingers hook slightly inside of her to stroke a new inner spot. The pressure of his thumb on her bud increased, and she was caught suddenly in an escalating tension, a rising tide of pressure, forcing her up toward some unknown point.

  “Ah… ah… ah! ” It crested violently, causing her body to convulse in wave after wave of incredible pleasure. She felt herself contracting fiercely around his fingers, and he rotated his hand, feeding her pleasure. She nearly came up off the bed with the intensity of the aftershocks he caused with that intimate motion. She gasped and shook, and finally collapsed in an exhausted heap in the center of the bed, desperately dragging air into her lungs.

  He slowly removed his fingers and drew her gown back down

  to cover her. Above the ringing in her ears, she heard him whisper,

  “You are beautiful in your passion, Clarissa. Now you must count to thirty.”

  “Wha—what?” she gasped, still breathless.

  “While you lay there, count to the number thirty,” he said again.

  “Slowly.”

  She had no idea of the reason behind his strange request, but she did as he requested. Then she paused and waited, listening for him in the room.

  All she heard was silence.

  She waited a long minute more, then dared to remove the silk scarf covering her eyes. The Disciplinarian was not in the room.

  She glanced over to her bedside table. His small metal strongbox was also gone.

  He’d left her without saying a word.

  As she looked in disbelief around the room, she saw that he had left her a token of his visit. On the pillow of the bed was a peacock feather.

  And she’d lay odds it was one plucked from her own hat.

  The Disciplinarian: Chapter 5

  Jared paced furiously in his room.

  Back and forth, back and forth he walked, until he lost count of his steps and threatened to wear a path into his rug.

  He had only one thing on his mind.

  Clarissa Babcock.

  And how desperately he wanted her.

  A moment ago, he’d had to call on every last ounce of his control as The Disciplinarian to force himself to leave her. But oh, how he’d longed to take her in his arms after feeling her powerful climax, tear the silk from her eyes and revel in the sated look on her face. That newfound look of awareness. And to know with a basic male satisfaction that he had been the one to put it there.

  Even now he longed to rush back to her room, tear off her nightgown and show her with his own body how good she could truly feel.

  He wanted it so badly he was in physical pain. His cock was straining against his trousers—protesting, frustrated, demanding attention. He actually considered throwing himself onto his bed and grinding himself into the pillow, imagining it was Clarissa’s soft body beneath him.

  Never in his life had he met a woman with such uninhibit
ed passion, such unrestrained abandon. Many times during her lesson, Jared’s hands had shook and his mouth had gone dry from the sheer force of the desire she’d aroused in him. It was inconceivable that Charles Babcock didn’t know what a prize he had in his wife.

  Jared had always been able to keep the women who were sent to him at arm’s length, to treat them merely as students, despite the times—and there had been several—when they’d offered to show their gratitude to him for the lessons he’d taught them. But he’d always believed his satisfaction came from showing them how to deal with the unbearable situations in their lives.

  From being able to save them from the same fate as his sister.

  He should think of Clarissa also as a student, albeit of a different kind. The carnal kind. He should wash her scent off his hands right now and resolve to treat her with the same casual indifference he treated all those other women. Learn to be satisfied with the fact that he had helped her as he’d helped them.

  He must look at this coldly. Analytically. He’d simply taught her a lesson tonight. She’d learned that she could enjoy the sexual act.

  He brought his hand up to inhale her scent. His fingers were still slick with the evidence of her arousal, and he could still remember the incredible sensation of sliding them deep inside her.

  The memory of how she’d taken him, moved instinctively be-

  neath his hand, and experienced sexual pleasure for the very first time made him shudder with his own frustrated passion. He’d felt her body clutch at his fingers, literally tremble and shudder beneath his touch. His head spun with the sense of power it gave him, and he inhaled her scent again. He knew that only one thing would truly satisfy him, and that was to bury his face in this essence, her very core, and taste her sweetness firsthand. His blood raced at the thought of it.

  Bloody hell, he was out of his mind!

  He shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful she’d looked

  when he walked into her room tonight, or admiring her courage in letting him instruct her in the most basic of lessons. He didn’t want to think about her intelligence, or the way they had conversed last night over dinner on everything from politics to religion. Better to attribute this burning desire for her to basic lust, because he knew it could never be anything more than that. She was married, and he could never have more of her than what she would give him this weekend.

  What she would give him…

  Or what he could give her?

  He halted abruptly in his pacing. He had taught Clarissa tonight that she could experience sexual pleasure. He had intended tomorrow night to go one step further and teach her how to take control when her husband made sexual demands so she could at least insure her own satisfaction during the act. He had two particular sexual positions in mind that she could use to guarantee it. That had been his plan, but now…

  Charles Babcock cared not one whit about Clarissa’s pleasure, but Jared found he cared about it a great deal. Another lesson came to mind, a much more pleasant one. One designed to teach her just how much she could enjoy the sexual act. Not a lesson in how she could take control, but a lesson in ceding control. Jared wanted to give her a climax even more earth-shattering than tonight’s. If Clarissa were destined to a lifetime of serving her husband, wasn’t it the least Jared could do? To give her a pleasure this weekend that she could remember the rest of her life?

  He would do this first for her, and then he would teach her how to control her husband.

  He groaned. Bloody hell, who was he fooling? He wanted to

  pleasure her for himself alone, to see the satisfaction on her face.

  He was treading on very dangerous ground here. She was a trea-sure, a temptation, and this was sheer torture for him. He must get himself under control!

  With a snort of frustration, he threw himself into the wing chair next to his bed, unbuttoned his trousers, and took himself in hand.

  But by God, if he didn’t imagine Clarissa’s face in front of him at the moment of his release.

  ***

  Clarissa tossed and turned in her bed. It had been hours since The Disciplinarian had left her.

  What would she have seen in his eyes at the moment of her violent climax if she hadn’t been blindfolded? Disgust at her wanton-ness? Shock at her eager and total abandon to a stranger’s touch?

  Cynical amusement that she, a married woman, never knew pleasure like this existed?

  Clearly he had been repulsed by her shameless behavior, since he had run off so quickly.

  She’d been both embarrassed and excited during his lesson, encouraged by the patient tenderness of his instruction, actually wondering what it would be like to welcome a man— this man—

  into her body, while all the time he’d been appalled by her. She blinked back mortified tears.

  You are beautiful in your passion, Clarissa.

  If that were true, if he’d truly meant it, then why had he run away?

  You humble a man with your honest and uninhibited responses.

  This is for you. All for you. Enjoy it.

  She’d trusted those words, let go of every inhibition and given herself over to his expert tutelage. What had she done wrong? Why had he left so suddenly?

  Perhaps now that The Disciplinarian had proven he could ‘warm her up’ he felt that his job was done, his duty to Charles fulfilled.

  How ironic that The Disciplinarian might want nothing more to do with her, while she wanted nothing more than to have his hands on her again!

  She buried her face in her pillow.

  She didn’t want to think about how attractive The Disciplinarian was, or about the intense pleasure she’d felt at his hands, or how much she desperately wished she had married a man like him instead of her own husband. The Disciplinarian was a kind man, a gentle man, one who actually seemed to respect her as a person.

  If she thought she’d been miserable in her marriage before, now she realized just exactly how much was missing in it. This time she didn’t even try to stop her tears when they came.

  ***

  Jared hadn’t slept.

  His night instead had been filled with elaborate fantasies of all the things he wanted to do with Clarissa Babcock, and he had finally given up on sleep altogether when his body had presented him with another painful reminder of just how much it wanted her.

  He knew none of his erotic scenarios would be fulfilled, except one. The one he’d planned for tonight. After tonight, after he’d tasted her and gotten her out of his system, he would concentrate on coldly instructing her on how to manage her husband.

  First he’d need to visit the village again.

  And then find some way to pass the endless hours until supper.

  ***

  Clarissa practically jumped out of the window seat when the

  knock came on her door late in the afternoon.

  The Disciplinarian was early! She hadn’t expected him until supper, if at all. Her relief was overwhelming, but now she wondered just what it was she would face when he came through the door.

  What did it mean that he had come? That there was another lesson to be learned? That he hadn’t found her wild abandon of last night completely abhorrent? Or had he come simply to tell her that her lessons were finished?

  The loud knock came again.

  “Come,” she called tentatively.

  She was astonished to see the servant Soames enter, alone. He bowed at her, looking uncomfortable in the extreme.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he began, but then seemed at a loss for words.

  “Yes?” Clarissa prompted, his discomfort adding to her own sense of foreboding.

  “The master, er, the master wonders, well, whether you’d like a bath.”

  Clarissa blinked and felt the color rise in her cheeks. “A bath?”

  Soames cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Clarissa’s mind raced. Considering Soames’ obvious discom-

  fort, this was not a courtesy made a
vailable to every ‘guest’ of The Disciplinarian. But then, The Disciplinarian himself had told her that he had never ‘instructed’ anyone in quite the way he was instructing her. Was this bath a luxury or a necessity? What exactly did The Disciplinarian have planned for her tonight? And did Soames have some inkling of it, of what was truly going on between them?

  Clarissa felt herself blush again, but she forced her mouth to open. If it meant that The Disciplinarian would be coming to her tonight, she knew her answer. “I’ll take the bath.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Soames bowed and backed to the door.

  He was gone for only an instant, and then he and another man, one she’d never seen before, were carrying in a copper tub. They set it in front of the fireplace.

  “My apologies, ma’am,” Soames said, “but I’m not allowed to build a fire for you.”

  Clarissa bit her lip. Clearly fires were off-limits in case whatever reluctant student The Disciplinarian was currently ‘instructing’

  decided to try and burn the house down.

  “Quite all right, Soames. It’s a warm day today.”

  Soames signaled the other servant, who quickly brought in a three-sided screen, and set it up next to the tub to keep in some of the heat while Clarissa bathed. Soames himself brought in an armload of towels, and the two men carried in bucket after bucket of hot water, which they quickly poured into the tub.

  The whole ritual took less than ten minutes. Then the door was locked securely behind them, and Clarissa found herself alone in front of the steaming tub.

  She slipped the nightgown over her head and climbed into the copper container, sinking into its warm depths. She was careful to drape her hair over the rim to keep it out of the water. She longed to wash it, but with no fire, it would never dry before The Disciplinarian’s visit.

  She scrubbed herself clean with the creamy lavender-scented soap, and then allowed herself to lean back for a self-indulgent soak.

  She closed her eyes and allowed the wet heat to caress her body even as the steam curled her hair riotously. The heavy liquid turned her thoughts languid as well. Was there a particular reason The Disciplinarian needed her to be freshly washed tonight? Did this mean he had another particularly intimate lesson to teach her?