i beae453328863969

by Unknown

  Would he put his hands on her body again tonight?

  She certainly hoped so. She ran her palms lightly over her breasts, skimming her nipples, remembering how the teasing pressure of The Disciplinarian’s feather had caused them to pucker in reaction. And minutes later, how his fingers had scandalously followed, fingertips raking lightly across her already pebbled peaks.

  The memory sent a shiver of pleasure through her. She squeezed her legs tightly together, remembering how The Disciplinarian’s expert fingers had made her feel there as well. How he’d entered her, explored her and then encouraged her passion until she’d exploded with pleasure. She let her own hand slip between her legs, feeling what he had felt, sliding a tentative finger inside herself.

  The sensation was pleasant, but it wasn’t the same. It only made her frustrated, agitated, and anxious for something more—more of his hands, more of his fingers, and, God help her, maybe even more than that.

  ***

  Jared cursed himself for a fool.

  There was no reason for him to be sitting here in his room, alternately shifting uncomfortably in his chair or launching himself out of it to anxiously pace the perimeter of the floor. No reason at all to wait, as time dragged endlessly by, for the moment he could go to Clarissa.

  What was there to stop him, after all? He was The Disciplinarian. He was the one with the power here, the man in charge. He could go to her right now if he so wished!

  He actually turned and took a step toward the door.

  No. Not yet. Can’t go yet.

  He dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. There were rules to be followed, strict rules that he had set himself, for his protection as well as his students’. True, Clarissa’s case was completely different to any ‘instruction’ he’d given before, but there were still rules. Rules of conduct. Rules of propriety. Yet that didn’t stop him from wanting to bend those rules this time, bend them until they threatened to break.

  He thrust a hand into his vest pocket and yanked out his watch.

  Four in the afternoon. A whole five minutes later than the last time he’d looked.

  Bloody hell. He threw himself back into his chair with a groan.

  She had accepted the bath he had ordered Soames to offer her.

  With any luck, she wouldn’t linger in the tub, but would instead hurry through her ablutions, as anxious as he was for their meeting tonight.

  His fingers dug into the leather arm of his chair as a vision of Clarissa, naked in her tub, sprang into his mind. All creamy white skin and luxurious black hair. Full breasts and luscious quim.

  What he wouldn’t give right now to trade places with that bar of lavender soap she was using, to be able to run over every inch of her perfection, explore every nook and cranny of her body. All her intimate places.

  The image made him groan aloud. Every nerve ending in his

  body screamed at him, urging… demanding that he rush to her room and offer his services as her personal bath servant. He gritted his teeth at the thought, and considered calling for Soames to tie him to his chair.

  He was dangerously close to the edge of his control.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He had no right to her. He wasn’t her husband. He had been hired to be her teacher.

  But that didn’t stop this intense craving he felt for her.

  He stood and pulled the watch from his pocket again. This waiting and wanting were killing him. The sooner he got her out of his system the better. After tonight, he would be able to get himself back under control, and calmly and impassively give her the lessons she’d been sent here to learn.

  All he needed was a little taste of her to satisfy him.

  At least he bloody well hoped so.

  The Disciplinarian: Chapter 6

  Clarissa still didn’t know what to expect from The Disciplinarian, whether he wanted her fresh and clean for a new ‘lesson’ or whether the bath had simply been a courtesy before sending her home. She had to consider that, having done what he’d been paid to do, he may have merely felt she might want to rid herself of any remnant, any memory of their intimate behavior last night.

  Instead, she found she wanted more of it.

  She’d been perched anxiously on the edge of her bed for the last twenty minutes, trying to prepare herself for either scenario, when the knock came at her door. She heard the key scrape and turn in the lock.

  She swallowed and stood as the door swung open. Soames en-

  tered with the dinner tray, followed closely by The Disciplinarian himself. She kept her eyes downcast, afraid of what she might read on his face, but ironically, her lowered gaze caught on the very thing that answered all her questions.

  The Disciplinarian held his strongbox under his arm.

  There will be a lesson tonight.

  Clarissa let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  She risked a glance up to see that The Disciplinarian was staring at her, an odd expression in his eyes. They were unnaturally bright, and his face was a bit flushed, as if he’d just endured some strenuous exercise. Even his breathing was quick and shallow.

  She closely searched his face. At least there was no trace of disgust in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be revolted at her wanton behavior of last night.

  He nodded at her curtly and gestured with a hand toward one of the chairs. She obeyed the unspoken command and crossed the room to the dinner table. As soon as she had been seated, he put his strongbox on the floor at her feet.

  She swallowed and stared at the thing. She knew very well what it meant, what it would mean for her later, and despite the fact that this was what she wanted, a rush of nerves assailed her, causing her to grip the four-inch tall wooden pineapple carvings at the ends of her armrests and squeeze them anxiously.

  The Disciplinarian stared at the gesture.

  “That will be all, Soames.”

  The servant had been laying the places for dinner, but his head jerked up in obvious surprise at The Disciplinarian’s words. “Sir?”

  “That will be all. Leave us.”

  “But, sir, I haven’t—”

  “Now, Soames. Out.”

  Soames arched an eyebrow at The Disciplinarian’s harsh tone, and Clarissa could have sworn she saw a look of concern cross the servant’s face.

  Whatever it was that was worrying the servant, he kept it to himself. “Yes, sir.” He dutifully left the place settings unfinished, bowed shortly to them both, and backed from the room.

  Clarissa looked uncertainly at The Disciplinarian. He came and knelt on the floor in front of her chair, turning it slightly to face him, and began to stroke one of the hands that clutched the armrest so tightly.

  “Are you hungry, Clarissa?” he asked in his low, smooth voice.

  She didn’t know how he wanted her to answer that. He’d just sent Soames away before he’d had the chance to serve their dinner, but he was using his Disciplinarian voice, that sweet-as-honey tone that let her know this was somehow part of the lesson.

  “Are you hungry, perhaps, for something other than food?”

  Now she knew what to say. “Yes.”

  She was hungry for another lesson.

  He smiled, though the expression in his eyes was still oddly intense.

  “I’m hungry, too,” he admitted, his gaze running from her face down the length of her body.

  The bold words made her shiver with excitement and a little fear. Last night he’d calmly and rationally explained her limited choices, the practical necessity of his lesson, and she’d reluctantly agreed to it. Although the things he did to her were wild—even beyond her imagining—she’d felt he’d always been in control. Tonight was different. Tonight he seemed possessed by some fevered need. She wanted his hands on her, but this intensity frightened her.

  He seemed to sense her hesitation, because suddenly the fierce look in his eyes was gone.

  “Don’t fear me, Clarissa,” he murmured, continuing to stroke her hand with
his index finger and then slide to trace the contours of the pineapple carving. “Tell me, did you enjoy the things I did to you last night?”

  She sucked in a quick breath. Any answer she made would

  clearly reveal her sexual naiveté, but he had probably already guessed that by her husband’s complaints and her own artless physical response. She just nodded.

  “And did you enjoy your woman’s pleasure, your first… climax?”

  Her eyes widened at his shocking language, the brash intimacy of speaking about such a private thing, but again, she nodded.

  He smiled fully at her then, a sinful, seductive smile that actually took her breath away. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, because tonight I’m going to make you feel even better.”

  It’s a good thing she was sitting down, because Clarissa felt the room abruptly start to spin. Her breath came in short gasps, her heart began to pound and her blood roared in her ears. Better than last night? Impossible!

  He must have seen the look on her face because he leaned in closely toward her ear, and lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “Oh yes, Clarissa, it is possible.”

  That voice was a seduction in itself. Low, smooth, rich, it was almost a physical caress. The way he said her name, in three syl-lables, Cla-ri-ssa, on a slow, silky breath, was pure temptation. It pulled at something inside her, something that needed whatever he wanted to give her.

  She had to stop herself from eagerly shouting ‘ Show me!’

  “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

  She gripped the pineapple carvings again, but said, “Yes.”

  “Do you trust that I can please you?”

  God help her, she knew he could! “Yes.”

  “Then let’s begin.”

  She caught her breath as he reached for the lid of his small strongbox, and he stopped to look up at her, reassurance again in his eyes. “I want to do this, Clarissa. I want to please you. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to learn the ways to control your husband when he demands his conjugal rights.

  “Tonight I want to be all about your enjoyment. Last night I taught you that you can experience sexual pleasure. Tonight is for showing you just how much you can enjoy it, when a man will take the time to please a woman.”

  The look of frank honesty on his face left her speechless. He cared for her in some way, cared at least that her life after she left him would have some pleasant memories of her otherwise difficult marital obligations.

  How could she refuse what he offered her? “All right,” she breathed.

  He just nodded, and reached inside the strongbox, drawing out another black silk scarf. She knew it was different than the one he had used on her last night because she had slept with that one under her pillow.

  He slowly stood and walked behind her chair. She craned her neck to follow his movement, but he stopped her.

  “Keep your eyes forward.”

  She held still as she heard him smooth out the silk. Then he held it out just inches in front of her face. “Remember, the blindfold is not meant to frighten you, but to free you. To let you feel things more powerfully.” He draped it across her eyes and secured it behind her head, shutting out her vision entirely.

  Her sense of hearing once again sharpened to compensate for her lack of sight, and every nerve ending in her skin came alive in anticipation of his touch.

  He stayed behind her chair but placed his hands on her shoulders and then slowly ran them down the length of her bare arms.

  Her flesh tingled along the path he took, her body reacting eagerly to the warm, sensuous stroke. His fingers circled themselves tightly around her wrists. He whispered into her left ear. “Trust me.”

  In one smooth move, he tugged her wrists off the armrests and guided her arms to wrap around behind the chair. Clarissa felt her back arch and her breasts thrust against the thin silk of her gown in the awkward position.

  “Lace your fingers together,” he ordered in his Disciplinarian voice, and she intertwined her fingers behind the chair. “Good,” he approved. “Now, whatever you do—whatever I do to you—don’t let go of this grip.”

  Clarissa swallowed hard at those ominous words, so full of the promise of what she both hoped and feared. She heard The Disciplinarian move around to the front of her chair and she cocked her head to try and follow his movement. She nearly jumped when she felt his index finger on her left cheek.

  “Relax, Clarissa. Just relax.” The deep tone of his voice was as hypnotic as his finger as it stroked her cheek, then began a slow path down the side of her neck to slide back and forth along her collarbone, pausing to lightly dip into the sensitive hollow there.

  He moved next to trace the skin at the vee neckline of her gown, running down one side and then back up the other, hesitating each time at the valley of her breasts, sending little shivers of delight through her. “That’s right,” he approved. “Just enjoy it. You are so sensual, so responsive to my touch. So honest in your reactions.

  Always believe that you are capable of—no, that you deserve equal satisfaction to a man.”

  His finger slid lower, across the silk of her gown to the slope of her breast. A second finger joined in then, leisurely heading for the crest, and Clarissa could feel her nipple tighten in anticipation. She was very aware that her position, with the pronounced arch of her back, was thrusting her breasts forward as if they were blatantly offering themselves to him.

  It was an invitation she wanted him to accept.

  She gasped in pleasure when he finally scraped his fingers across the hard pebbled tip, first one breast, and then across to the other. Her whole body seemed to clench in response to that stimu-lus, and she nearly came up out of the chair when his thumb and index finger began to squeeze and roll her nipple, encouraging it to get even harder.

  She moaned.

  She couldn’t help herself. She’d never felt like this, never felt these sensations he seemed to evoke in her so easily. He had magic hands, thrilling hands, and she’d never wanted to be at the mercy of a man’s hands as much as she wanted to be at the mercy of his.

  She was breathing so hard she didn’t notice that his fingers had paused at the ribbon of her empire waist…the ribbon tied just under her breasts.

  She felt him tug on the ribbon and loosen the bow. Her gasp this time was one of shock as he slipped the wide straps of the gown off her shoulders and pulled the bodice down, exposing her breasts to him and effectively trapping her arms against her body.

  It all happened so quickly that in the second it took her to consider opening her mouth to give voice to her sudden doubts, his own mouth had closed over one sensitive nipple and the protest died in her throat, replaced by a pleasure so intense, so powerful, that if she hadn’t been restrained by the material of her own gown she would have disobeyed his command not to let go of her grip behind the chair in order to hold his head against her breast more tightly.

  He alternated between lapping at her nipple with his hot tongue and sucking it into his mouth. The strong pull of his lips caused her stomach to clench and her legs to tremble, and sent a fire racing through her veins that reached down into her very woman’s center.

  With his left hand he played with her other breast, teasing it, alternating his hands and his mouth between both breasts, even burying his face between the soft mounds.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed.

  Clarissa wanted to feel embarrassment, or guilt, but this was too good, too powerful.

  He explored her breasts with leisure, tracing every inch of her with his fingers or his lips or the velvet heat of his tongue. He wor-shipped her breasts and she reveled in the attention, amazed that a man could have such an interest in a woman while demanding nothing in the way of his own satisfaction.

  Long minutes later, he pulled away from her.

  “You smell of lavender and taste of heaven,” he murmured, “but that’s not the last taste I want of you, Clarissa.”

  She fully expected him to return to her b
reasts after a comment like that, and so she was completely caught off guard when he suddenly lifted her left leg to drape it over the armrest of her chair, hooking it firmly behind something. Clarissa tried to move, but she was caught by the pineapple carving at the end of the armrest. The same carving she had clutched so nervously a few minutes ago, the same one The Disciplinarian had stared at. Did he have this in mind even then?

  He swung her other leg up and over the right armrest and Clarissa suddenly found herself awkwardly immobile, spread-eagled and vulnerable.

  That’s not the last taste I want of you…

  “Oh, no,” she choked out. “No, no.”

  But The Disciplinarian had already reached behind her with his hands, and pulled her bottom forward to the very edge of the chair in order to give himself greater access to her. The angle forced Clarissa’s head against the back of the chair, and she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Please…”

  “Better than last night, Clarissa. I promise. Relax and enjoy it.”

  The Disciplinarian’s hands were already sliding up the insides of both her thighs. With one hand on each, he dragged the material of her gown with them, going higher, exposing her skin, letting her know exactly what he intended, until he finally reached his goal.

  He tossed the gathered material up onto her stomach and out of his way, and Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut behind her blindfold, wondering, mortified, at what he was seeing, what he was thinking.

  What he was about to do.

  “Perfect.”

  He spread the silken folds that hid her womanhood, and then slid one finger along her length. She jerked at the initial contact, but his touch was gentle, his finger slowly exploring her, sliding up and down, then circling her sensitive nub. He had done this last night, and once she put aside her fear of his tasting her, her body began to relax and respond to him much the way it had before, shuddering with pleasure and shaking with need. Wanting more.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  He slipped a finger into her. She gasped at the invasion, but she could feel how wet she was by how easily he moved inside her. He drew out some of that creamy essence to spread it around her, lu-bricating her so that his fingers glided slickly along every intimate inch of her, stroking her, caressing her.