Holding Court

by Celeste Rupert

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Holding Court

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-443-4

  ©Copyright Celeste Rupert 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2013

  Edited by Rebecca Douglas

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 3.

  This story contains 30 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 6 pages.

  HOLDING COURT

  Celeste Rupert

  Schoolteacher Clara lives a peaceful, solitary life when she’s away from the school house. That is, other than the nights when rich, powerful landowner Courtland Raymond comes to call.

  Court makes Clara do and feel things she’d never before dreamt of. He is forceful and dominant, and he always knows just what she needs. Their secret arrangement allows them to enjoy each other without the disapproval of the community they both rely on for their livelihood.

  Clara loves Court, and she’d do nearly anything to be with him forever, a real relationship, but she’s not willing to risk their stolen moments. But when their secret trysts are exposed, will she be able to hold on to Court? Or will she lose him forever?

  Chapter One

  Clara lifted the heavy iron kettle, her hands protected by the woollen potholders. The wooden floor was cold under her bare feet and she took the few steps across the tiny house to where the copper tub stood on tiptoes. As she filled it to the brim, steam rose, heavy with the scent of lavender oil—an expensive gift. She breathed in deeply before she returned the kettle to the top of the stove and went to the window. She used the heel of her hand to melt the frost on the window then placed her cold hand against her cheek as she peered out. It was late. The snow reflected the moonlight and made it bright enough to see the school house across the meadow. Clara watched the snow scuttling along the ground, blown by the force of the storm, then drew the blinds closed. For now, for tonight, she didn’t have to be strict Miss Wilder, the schoolteacher.

  She unfolded the tri-fold screen and set it up around the tub. The light from the fireplace and the lanterns shone through the crimson fabric of the screen, bathing the corner in a rosy glow. Clara untied the belt of her silk robe and let it slip off her shoulders, the fabric swishing against her skin until she caught it as it fell over her hands, before laying it on the back of the wooden chair that stood against the wall.

  Despite the cheery fire, the chill of the winter night crept into the house and Clara shivered, her bare skin reacting with goosebumps. She dipped a foot in the water and the sudden shock of heat against her cold toes made her recoil. First one foot, then the other adjusted to the warmth and she bent her knees, lowering herself to sit in the tub. The water was too hot, really, but after days and days of standing at the front of the draughty schoolhouse with the chill sinking into her bones, Clara revelled in the feeling of being too hot. She leant back against the copper side of the tub, sinking into the water up to her chin, breathing in the soothing scent of the lavender, the water warming her to her core. She smiled.

  He would come to her tonight.

  Clara reached for the soap she’d set on the nearby chair, getting a shiver as her wet arm was exposed to the air. It was his soap, the silky soft vanilla scented bar he’d brought her last time. She breathed in the smell, remembering. It had been fall then, the trees that surrounded her little home bright with oranges and yellows and reds, the air crisp. He’d come to her, his hands rough like always, his mouth demanding and hot. Clara’s breath caught as she remembered. She slowly scrubbed up and down her arms then lifted each leg out of the water to slide the soap over her skin, imagining it was his hands that touched her, smoothing over her breasts, down her stomach and between her legs.

  The bar of soap floated to the surface as her knees fell apart. She used her own hand to trace the path his had taken so many times, and she closed her eyes, her cheeks heating from more than the hot water as she tried to believe it was him—his fingers that circled the soft tissues, his fingers that plunged inside her again and again. The waves created by her movement splashed against her sensitive breasts, her nipples exposed to the cool of the air only to be submerged again in the scalding water. Clara bit her lip at the mix of sensations, holding so tightly to the edge of the copper tub with her other hand that it bit into her palm. She ground down with her thumb on the nub between her legs, trying to mimic his movements, his rhythm. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t him, and she panted as she fought for release. She pictured him above her, his face stubbled with beard and creased from the sun, his hair brushing her face as he kissed her, moved over her.

  He would come to her tonight.

  The knowledge was enough to send her over the edge and she cried out and heaved up, sending a wave of water over the edge of the tub, the splash hitting the wooden floor loud in the silence.

  She laid her head back against the edge of the tub and tried to catch her breath, her sensitised skin making her hyperaware of the water as it sloshed against her, the waves slowing until it was still. She could hear the fire crackling and strained her ears, hoping for the sound of snow crunching under his horse’s hooves, or the slam of the barn door that would mean he was on his way to her.

  There was nothing.

  With a sigh, she sat up, enjoying a residual tremor. She began to unwind the thick, heavy braid from her head, pulling the pins that held it in place and dropping them on the floor behind her, each pin landing with a clatter. She tugged the strands of hair loose from the braid and rubbed her head, her scalp singing at being free from the pull. Her dark hair contrasted starkly to her pale skin as she looked at it lying against her chest and arms. Clara ducked beneath the water until all her hair was wet, then scooped up the soap and rubbed it through her hair into a lather. She massaged her head and smoothed it through each strand, then ducked beneath the water again and again, until it was rinsed clean.

  Reluctantly, Clara left the warm tub, twisting her hair into a heavy rope to squeeze the water from it. The towel felt rough against her body and made the silk robe he’d given her feel even silkier when she slid it over her damp skin.

  Clara stoked the fire and pulled the wooden chair close. Her brush, silver backed with soft bristles, lay on the mantle. She shook out her wet hair, her back to the fire, and began to work the tangles from her long tresses. Between the heat of the fire and the strokes of the brush, her hair dried, and still Clara brushed, stroke after stroke, until her hair was silky smooth. She turned and held it in front of her, watching the way it shone in the firelight.

  He always admired her hair.

 
He should have arrived by now. At the realisation, Clara felt worry creep into her thoughts, edging against her anticipation, and she did her best to turn her mind away. It was simply the snow—it was bound to slow his trip. He would come soon.

  She looked down at the pale silk dressing gown. It clung to her breasts, tied tightly around her waist. Clara knew she looked beautiful in it, but he’d told her in the note that she should be naked when he arrived. She knew what would happen if she disobeyed.

  Clara smiled to herself. She set the brush back on the mantle then turned down the lamp and when she crawled into bed, she still wore the silk robe.

  Chapter Two

  Courtland Raymond turned up the collar of his coat against the wind and fought the urge to spur his horse. It wasn’t the horse’s fault he was late and breaking a trail through the deep snow wasn’t an easy task. The horse was taking him towards Clara and that was all that mattered.

  Clara.

  He closed his eyes, shutting out the dark prairie winter with its drifts of snow. He rolled his head on his shoulders and tried to release the tension, along with all that had caused it. He blocked out all the little details of running the ranch, of the politics of the fast growing community and instead he saw Clara, with her dark hair all around her, surrounding all that creamy soft skin. Lavender. She’d smell of lavender.

  Court breathed in the cold air that smelt nothing of lavender and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He’d been away too long this time, far too long. He touched the bundle he carried in the inside pocket of his sheepskin coat. He pictured Clara’s face when she opened her present and smiled to himself.

  Only a few more miles to go.

  * * * *

  A blast of cold air woke her, and Clara snuggled deeper beneath the blankets until she realised what the cold air meant.

  Court.

  She flung the blankets back and sat up—he was here. He stood just inside the door, big and broad, with his hat in his hands. In the dark, she couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his eyes on her. She stared for a moment, so glad he was finally really there, with her. Then, she launched herself out of bed and across the room.

  He met her halfway and she leapt into his arms, her arms around his neck as he bent to take her lips. Clara drank in his kiss, parched for the taste of him after all the time they’d been apart. His mouth was rough on hers, the stubble of his beard scraped her face and all the while his arms, like two solid bands of steel, crushed her closer to him. His woolly coat was covered with snow and Clara shivered as it melted into her robe. Court broke the kiss and brought his hand up to her face. He looked down at her, stroking his thumb slowly over her cheekbone.

  “Clara,” he said, his voice husky and low. Then he kissed her again, more slowly, cupping the back of her head with one hand, while sliding the other down the silky rope to pull her closer. Abruptly, he stopped and pulled back. He frowned at her. “What are you wearing?”

  Clara put on what she hoped was an innocent look. “The dressing gown you gave me.” She looked down at herself. The silk was damp, darkened in big patches where the melted snow had soaked through to her skin. She shivered again, aware that her nipples showed through the thin fabric.

  “Did you read my letter?” His voice sounded loud in the silence of the room.

  “Yes.” Clara let her voice falter, as though she’d forgotten the instructions.

  “Then you’ll have to be punished.”

  Clara shivered again, this time nothing to do with the cold, as a thrill of anticipation went through her. She thought she saw a glimpse of white teeth as he smiled, but it was gone in an instant, his face serious and shadowed once again.

  “Take it off,” he said. “I rode all this way, and I’m cold and tired and I didn’t come to see you all covered up.”

  Clara fumbled with the knot, and took a deep breath to steady her hands. The belt untied, she let the slippery fabric slide off her shoulders and down to the floor. She heard his intake of breath, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, and she waited, her breath coming short as he looked at her.

  When he finally did speak, his voice was raspy. “You should always be naked.”

  “So should you.” Clara moved towards him, but he held up a hand to stop her.

  “I’ve had a long cold ride, and the first thing I need is a hot bath.” Court took the few steps to sink into the wooden, high backed chair. “Would you mind?”

  Clara set herself to the task of heating water and refilling the large copper tub, all the time aware that he was watching her, his eyes following her back and forth as she worked. She felt her face heat as she thought about how she was on display—every curve—then she thought about him touching those curves and other portions of her anatomy heated as well.

  Finally, the tub was full, the steam from the surface filling the dimly lit room. Clara went and stood before him, wishing he’d touch her. Court stood, so close to her that Clara could feel the soft wool of his coat against her breasts.

  “Undress me.”

  Clara tore at the buttons on his coat and shoved it off his shoulders. She heard his deep chuckle as it hit the floor, felt it rumble through his chest as she started on the buttons of his shirt. She tugged it open, eager for feel of his skin, but found instead his red long underwear and another row of buttons. Clara sighed and opened them one at a time, finally pulling it open to reveal his muscled chest. She spread her palms against his skin—he was so warm, like there was a fire inside him, emanating heat. Clara followed her hands with her mouth, licking and kissing her way from the hollow at the base of his throat, down his breastbone and across to one flat nipple. He caught his breath as she licked it then scraped it with her teeth. He closed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her away.

  “Later,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “You’re supposed to be undressing me.”

  Clara took a deep breath then nodded.

  She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and it fell to the floorboards, then she did the same with the long underwear, which dangled from his waist, the red woollen arms just brushing the floor. She reached eagerly for his belt, unbuckling it and sliding it slowly from the loops, her eyes on his. Just as she was about to drop it on top of the growing pile of clothing, he took it from her hand.

  “I’ll just hang onto this,” he said, a wicked grin creasing his face as he slowly coiled the leather belt around his hand.

  Clara shivered again and returned to the unfastening of his pants. She pressed the palm of her hand against him—she could feel he was already hard and ready for her, but she knew he wouldn’t take her, not yet. She unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the pants and long johns all together. She pushed the fabric lower as it bunched around his knees, and followed it until she was crouched at his feet. He sat back down and offered her a foot. She grabbed at the heel of his boot to tug it off.

  “Wait.” He stopped her. “Those boots have been on a mighty long time, I think you’ll need a little more leverage that that.” She looked up, confused. “I think you better turn around.” He quirked an eyebrow and she looked at the ground, her face heating at the embarrassment of what he wanted her to do.

  She straddled his outstretched leg, presenting him with her bare bottom, her legs spread as she tugged the boot free and pushed his trousers and sock down off his foot.

  “Now that is a view,” he said behind her as he lifted the other foot for her attention. She stepped across and repeated the procedure. The last of his clothing removed, she started to step away, but he caught her hips and held her in place. “A hell of a view,” he said again. Clara twisted to try to see him just as he released her with one hand and laid a loud, stinging, open-palmed smack across her backside. She squealed, jumping out of his grip, and he chuckled. “The only thing better than that ass of yours is that ass of yours with my handprint on it.” He stood, placing his hands on her upper arms and turning her away so he could see his handiwork. “It’s like a brand that
says you’re mine.” He traced the red mark with his fingers, gentle now, and she leant back into his chest. He brought his other hand up to her breast, weighing it in his palm, teasing his thumb over the nipple.

  Clara’s breath caught in her throat. “I am yours,” she said, her voice soft. He held her tighter for a moment then stepped away, and Clara stumbled backwards at the loss of his support, his heat, his strength.

  “A bath first,” he said, sounding a little out of breath himself. He grinned at her. “Didn’t you forget something?” He touched the brim of his battered hat, and Clara stood on tiptoes to reach it, leaning close so her breasts touched his chest, so close that she took the opportunity to taste his lips as she swept off his hat. She hung the hat on the back of the chair then turned back to look at him, big and broad and naked and hard in the firelight, and she sat down abruptly on the wooden chair, suddenly weak in the knees.

  He grinned at her and stepped into the tub. “You aren’t going to just watch and make me bath myself are you?”

  Chapter Three

  She watched as he lowered himself into the water. The bar of soap was close to hand, and Clara moved to the tub. She bent over Court, rubbing the soap over him, then letting it float on the water as she smoothed the lather over his skin. She stretched to reach his far shoulder, and he moved quickly as her breasts swung past him, capturing a hard tip in his mouth. Clara caught her breath, bringing her wet, soapy hands up to tangle in his hair, to pull him closer. He sucked hard, and Clara bit her lip as the heat of his mouth coursed through her veins. He teased her nipple with his teeth then let go, and Clara rocked towards him, not wanting him to stop, until she realised he was reaching for the other breast. She leant forward, adjusting her position to get the neglected nipple aching for attention into the wet heat of his mouth. His mouth opened, his tongue reaching for the tight point and she moved again, to get even closer.