by Unknown
She moaned with the sheer pleasure of it, letting go of any doubts, ceding him absolute control, giving herself over into his expert hands.
He gave a little moan himself at her willing surrender, and slipped a second finger inside her, while his thumb came around to circle her sensitive bud. The two sensations at once nearly sent her to that violent climax of last night, but, as if he knew, he abruptly stopped the motion of his hand. When her heart slowed its racing and she could breathe again, he started up the motion once more, this time locking his mouth onto her breast as well.
Clarissa was sure she would swoon from the pleasure this time.
The three intensely intimate sensations threatened to swamp her, and she realized she wanted to drown in this wild decadence. She wanted to be caught in that spiral of pleasure that carried her up and broke her apart, but once again he stopped, as if alerted to how close she was to that pinnacle of passion by her gasping moans of pleasure.
Again, it was only when her breathing slowed and her pulse rate calmed that he resumed his attentions, his lips back at her breast, his right hand still stroking her.
Every time he started up again, it seemed he added another twist, another new physical sensation to his attentions. Each time he drove her higher, and more quickly, to that peak she wanted to reach.
But with his mouth pulling at her breast and his hand playing her so expertly, she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to concentrate on anything beyond what he was doing to her. And when she felt his thumb pressing hard against her little bud and his fingers curl inside her to stroke her as they had last night, she bore down on his hand, wanting even more contact, needing every new pleasure he could give her.
So it came as a stunning surprise when he abruptly shifted his thumb and covered her bud instead with his mouth, sucking on her, pulling strongly as he had at her breast, forcing her tighter against his lips with the pressure of his left hand behind her bottom, while still stroking her from the inside with the fingers of his right.
She gasped and then screamed, as her body convulsed in wave after wave of sharp, jolting pleasure. Stunning, earth-shattering, indescribable pleasure. On and on it went, endlessly, until she thought she’d die from it.
Then she was boneless, panting, every part of her body trembling in the aftermath of such a violent climax, but he was not done with her yet. He kept his mouth on her, gently sucking, lightly nipping, his tongue taking its time now in a languid exploration of her, his fingers twisting slowly inside her and making her body clench with dozens of tiny aftershocks.
It was too much. And yet she didn’t want it to end.
He withdrew his fingers from her finally and replaced them with his tongue, the soft velvety feel of it running over her feminine opening and then probing deeply inside, tasting her as she’d feared, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she had feared it.
He drew back and her body actually felt the loss of his lips.
“Open your mouth.”
Clarissa barely heard the softly spoken words, but she obedi-ently parted her lips.
He slid his fingers, still covered with the evidence of her climax, into her mouth. In surprise, her lips closed around them.
“Taste, Clarissa. You are pure honey, heavenly nectar, absolute perfection. That is what a satisfied woman tastes like to a man.”
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 7
Jared had made a terrible mistake.
One taste of Clarissa Babcock had not satisfied him, and now he feared not even a lifetime of her would.
He stood leaning against his bedroom window, one forearm
braced against the frame, staring out over the gently rolling hills of his estate. The picturesque view was bathed in early morning light, but he saw nothing of it. His mind was focused instead on last night.
Clarissa.
He’d been so sure that if he satisfied himself with a taste of her, then he could assuage this lust, this urgent longing, and get her out of his system
Instead, she’d haunted his night long after he’d left her. Even now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He smiled, remembering how her nervous fiddling with the
carved pineapples on her chair last night had given him a sudden idea, a wonderfully wicked idea, and how he’d been so impatient to try it out that he’d ordered Soames away before the man could even serve dinner, without so much as a thought for Clarissa’s appetite.
She hadn’t protested. In fact, after her initial hesitation she’d been downright eager, willing, accepting of whatever he did to her.
Bloody hell, the sight of her with fingers laced tightly behind her chair and breasts thrust forward in blatant invitation had been so erotic that his cock had sprung instantly to attention. Rock-hard attention. Thank God he’d blindfolded her. She had no idea how powerfully she affected him, and the silk allowed him to hide that fact from her, ironically protecting them both.
He groaned.
He’d taken his time, done everything he could to please her last night. He had explored her perfect body without the barrier of her nightgown between his fingers and her luxurious skin, and it had been the most electrifying contact of his life.
And her climax! The intensity of it had shaken him as much as it had her. She’d been so spent, so sated by it that he’d actually had to carry her to her bed before he left her. And while he had obviously succeeded in his goal to give her a pleasure she would remember forever, it hadn’t satisfied him so much as made him want to crawl into the bed next to her and see if he could do it again.
She was so sensual, so responsive, every man’s fantasy woman, with a quim that tasted like sweet honey. He could have happily drowned in that honey last night.
He would never, ever forget the taste of her.
It had been an outrageous thing for him to do, sticking his fingers in her mouth like that, but far safer than what he’d actually wanted to do, which was to share the taste of her, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue.
Even he knew that to kiss her would be disastrous, far too intimate, crossing a line from which he might not be able to step back.
He was already much too close to that line.
***
Clarissa didn’t want to wake up. She was dreaming of a dark-
haired man, blissfully wrapped in his strong arms, making slow, sweet love with him.
“Beautiful.”
He was naked, his lean body warm and silky against her skin, gentle as he moved inside her.
“Perfect.”
She felt him everywhere, his mouth on hers, his hands at her breasts, his rigid manhood surging into her, urging her up toward that elusive goal he called ‘a woman’s pleasure.’ Except it was never elusive with him. He’d sent her to that peak and over its edge both times they’d been together.
“So passionate.”
She was at the edge of that peak right now, and she arched her hips toward him, taking him deeper, increasing their contact, the sensations mounting until she felt that magic moment of climax.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him as her body convulsed with the sheer pleasure, the pure power of it.
Moments later, heart still pounding, Clarissa reluctantly opened her eyes. She realized with surprise that she was indeed in bed, but her arms and legs were wrapped tightly around her pillow.
She frowned in confusion, looked at the empty room, and then almost laughed out loud. It seemed The Disciplinarian had created a monster—it appeared she didn’t actually need him anymore, she only needed the idea of him to send her into paroxysms of pleasure.
That thought gave her pause. She might not need him, but oh, how she wanted him. He had shown her how beautiful the sexual act could be between a willing man and woman.
Almost.
They’d experienced every intimacy but the one she’d just played out with her pillow. He’d called her beautiful, her body perfect, her reactions passionate.
He’d even been moved enou
gh by what they’d done to share the taste of her climax. She’d been utterly shocked at that, scandalized by such a thing, but he’d said she tasted like honey to him, like perfection. He was obviously as affected by their lessons as she was.
Did he want her as desperately as she wanted him?
Clarissa bit her lip. If The Disciplinarian truly wished to send her home with memories that would comfort her in the years to come, he would have to give her himself tonight. Nothing less would do.
***
Jared sent Soames into Clarissa’s room with the dinner tray first and waited outside her door, pacing in measured steps, until he heard the clink of china as the servant set the table. He was determined to use anything at his disposal to delay facing her, to deflect this mad urge to rush in and take her in his arms.
Not even rationalizing the situation during the day had cooled his desire for her, so he had practiced schooling his features into a mask of calculated indifference in the hope that he could fool her, if not himself.
It should be second nature to him by now. He held all his students at arm’s length, and always had.
But Clarissa was no ordinary student. And his feelings for her were anything but ordinary.
Too soon Soames reappeared at her door, his duties done. The servant shuffled off and Jared took a deep breath before entering Clarissa’s room. She was already seated at the dinner table, and gave him a brilliant smile as he entered.
Her beautiful face, lit up in obvious welcome, was almost his undoing.
She’s married, Jared reminded himself sternly, clenching his jaw in resolve.
He had no strongbox this evening, had no need of it for the lessons he’d planned, and he watched as Clarissa’s eyes immediately noticed his empty arms and then shifted to his face in silent question.
He took a deep breath. I must do this.
“Come now, Clarissa,” he said sharply. “I have no need of blindfolds or tools of seduction tonight. You will be leaving tomorrow.
Tonight is for learning the cold, hard facts of how to deal with your husband.”
He saw her flinch, as if his words were a physical blow, a painful reminder of something she’d rather not face. But face it she must, and he must show her how.
Last night had been pure fantasy, but tonight they had to deal with harsh reality. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Let’s eat first,” he said, sitting down at the table.
But neither one of them touched much of the food on their
plates. Clarissa pushed her meat around for a while, and Jared had no appetite at all. Not for the food, nor for the instruction he was about to give her. After a few moments, he gave up the pretense of eating altogether and threw his fork onto his plate. Clarissa jumped at the clattering noise it made, while he leaned back in his chair.
He forced himself to relax, to slow his breathing, to slide into his persona of The Disciplinarian.
There was nothing else to be done.
“You said your husband has hit you.”
She paled visibly at his words. He hated himself for the cool, detached tone of his voice, but he needed to establish control here, to put a safe teacher-and-student distance between them.
“Don’t,” she said, a frown pulling down the corners of her mouth.
“We must,” he responded matter-of-factly, steepling his fingers and regarding her closely. “It’s why you’re here, after all.”
“Please—”
“Just answer the question,” he interrupted, ignoring the plea in her voice. “The first day we met, you said your husband hit you.”
She scowled at him then, a look he hadn’t seen on her face since he’d first brought her to his house more than two days ago. Good.
Anger was far easier for him to deal with than that dazzling, heart-wrenching smile she’d given him a moment ago.
“He hit me for the first time the day you picked me up.” She ground out the words.
He knew what mortification it cost her to admit that. She was not the only woman in the world to marry for reasons of security or wealth or social advancement and then find herself in an unhappy marriage. God knew there would be no need for The Disciplinarian if that were the case.
Hers was an intolerable situation, but she must come to terms with it and find a way to deal with it, or else fear for her life every time her husband got angry.
Jared could help with that. He believed, given Charles Babcock’s comments when he’d turned her over to him that Babcock’s rage was fueled by his frustration over the lack of an heir.
He swallowed hard. “If you will let me, I can show you a way to restrain your husband’s rage, to hopefully prevent the beatings, even turn his anger into an experience that you can enjoy.”
“Enjoy?” she asked incredulously.
“Clarissa,” he said slowly, “a husband has the right by law to strike his wife. We cannot change that. You are basically his property, his possession. But you can diffuse his anger and turn his punishment into your pleasure. I will show you how.” He rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Come. Stand up.”
“I will not!”
“This is your lesson for tonight, Clarissa. Possibly the most valuable one I can teach you. Now stand up.”
She stared at him, and he wanted desperately to show his caring, his concern for her, but knew he couldn’t. He had to continue the necessarily cold instruction of The Disciplinarian. I’m trying to help you, sweet Clarissa.
She stood uncertainly. “Why are you doing this?” she demand-ed, her voice nearly cracking. “Why are you being so cruel?”
The anguish in her voice brought him up short. He looked at her, opened his mouth, then closed it. Maybe if he confessed everything to her, she would understand his motivation in all this. He had never shared his story with any of his students, not even those who’d openly hated him and who never understood what he’d actually been doing for them.
“If I am being cruel, it’s in order to be kind, Clarissa. My own sister, Amelia, was killed by her husband, beaten to death in a domestic rage. It is the reason I became The Disciplinarian, to make sure it would never happen to another woman, if I could possibly prevent it.”
Clarissa just stared and said nothing, taking in what he’d said.
“Clarissa, husbands send me their difficult wives to ‘instruct’
them in how to be more biddable, and I do teach them, but not exactly the lessons their husbands expect. I told you once before that I help women, not hurt them. I empower women by showing them how to control their men.
“It’s never been about sex, I’ve only taught them ways to manipulate. But your case is different. You don’t ever have to practice this lesson I’m about to give you, but won’t you at least let me show you one way to deflect your husband’s anger when he threatens to strike you?”
He could see the battle in Clarissa’s eyes, the way she struggled against the wretched unfairness of her situation. But reason won out, as he’d hoped it would, and she grudgingly nodded her agreement.
“Good. Now, when your husband rages and you believe he may strike you, say to him, ‘I deserve to be punished, I know, but let me show you how The Disciplinarian prefers to punish a woman.’ He won’t be able to resist that challenge.”
Her eyebrow reluctantly came up in question.
“Then say to him, ‘Your bedroom or mine?’ and watch how his anger begins to dissipate as his passion begins to build.’
“But I don’t want his passion!” she protested.
“Yes, you do,” Jared insisted. “You want to use his passion to fuel your own. I will show you how. Come with me.”
He led her to the foot of the bed, where he sat down. “You must lead him here, like this. Make him sit at the edge of the bed. Then you must drape yourself across his knees, and offer up your bare bottom to the slap of his hand. Tell him to discipline you this way.”
“What?” she cried, even as he maneuvered her acro
ss his lap and pulled up the silk of her gown to expose her smooth rear cheeks.
She struggled under the weight of his left arm as it pinned her down, while his right hand began a slow caressing of those delicate orbs. They were perfect and pink, full and lush under his fingers.
Gorgeous. He felt his own breathing speed up, while he heard hers catch suddenly in her throat.
“Trust me,” he soothed. “I won’t hurt you.”
She stopped squirming long enough for him to raise his hand and bring it down in a stinging slap, then another.
She shouted more in outrage than in pain, and tried to buck off his lap, but he held her down with his left arm while soothing her cheeks with his right hand.
“Instead of arching up like that, try grinding your hips down against my legs,” he instructed. “The contact of your woman’s center with the hard muscle of my thigh should be quite pleasurable for you.”
She stilled completely at the shocking bluntness of his language, and though she was still breathing heavily he knew she was considering his words.
He drew his hand back and slapped her bottom again, then
once more, gentler this time. He felt her press down hard against him and heard her gasp of surprise at the resulting sensation. She wiggled her hips experimentally for more contact, and he had to grit his teeth as his cock hardened automatically in response to her artless passion.
“Good,” he forced out on a level breath. “And when that pressure isn’t enough to satisfy you, open your legs slightly.”
She balked at that. “I will not!” She struggled again, but he held her down using only enough pressure to keep her in place.
“Open your legs,” he urged. “I want to show you exactly how pleasurable this punishment can be. Have I hurt you yet? Be honest.”
“You haven’t, but he surely will!”
“He won’t. He’ll be so stunned, so aroused that he’ll forget all about your punishment. He wanted you ‘warmed up’ and no man can ask for warmer than this. I’ll wager not even his mistress is this inviting. Now open for me.”