by Unknown
She hesitated. After a moment, she parted her legs slightly.
His fingers strayed toward the invitation of her sex. He heard her gasp when his hand covered her there, parted her, played with her. Penetrated her.
“Take control,” he encouraged. “Move your body so that you have more contact with my fingers, my hand. Insist on your pleasure. How does this feel?”
“So… intense.” She said, panting. “Fingers… so deep.”
He rotated his fingers inside her and she writhed beneath him, moaning loudly in pleasure. “Please… I can’t—”
“Yes,” he murmured. “You can.” And to convince her, his left hand abandoned its hold on her back and slipped into the deep vee of her gown to play with one breast. He tugged the nipple to a taut peak, while with his right hand he tugged with a similar motion at the sensitive bud between her legs.
“Ah— ah,” she cried, as he built the pressure, teasing and gently pulling, until she began to convulse violently beneath his fingers and finally went limp across his lap.
Bloody hell, she was so responsive. So ripe for his touch. So primed for passion. She was perfect, and he had made her that way.
It was going to kill him when she left tomorrow.
He pulled her gown back down to cover her slightly pinkened bottom, and helped her stand. He saw her legs threaten to buckle, so he swept her into his arms, and walked to the head of the bed, where he gently laid her down.
As her eyes fluttered open, he leaned over her and swept a wayward curl from her sated face. “You see? There is a way to enjoy your husband’s punishment. Just remember these things: you must dictate the terms. And you must spread your legs—no man can resist a woman’s sex when it’s offered to him like that. Then take your pleasure from it.”
He frowned.
“One last thing. What we just did is likely to inflame a man’s passion. If your husband takes you afterwards, just remember that you have claimed your equal pleasure, on your terms.”
He didn’t like the way her eyes went instantly to his groin at those words. There was no blindfold tonight, no way for him to hide how powerfully she affected him. If possible, he seemed to grow even bigger under the blatant interest of her gaze. But there was still another lesson to teach her.
However, for that one he was going to need a glass of wine for courage.
He was about to turn and head back briefly to the dinner table when her hand suddenly snaked out to caress him.
He froze, paralyzed. He could only stand there as her fingers tightened around his cock. As her hand slid slowly up and down the length of him.
“You have not claimed your equal pleasure,” she said in a tentative voice.
He gasped and caught her by the wrist to still her movements.
He allowed no student to touch him. It was The Disciplinarian’s Rule Number One, but then, no woman before had affected him as Clarissa had.
He wanted her touch. He longed for even more than that. But he could never have it.
She’s married.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding into her captive hand—just once—before pulling away.
To hell with the wine. He was going to need all his wits about him for this next lesson.
“Move over,” he said. “I’m getting into bed with you.”
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 8
Clarissa held her breath as The Disciplinarian laid down next to her on the bed. She was on her back, afraid to move a muscle, afraid even to turn her head toward him for fear of breaking this fragile spell.
He was in bed with her.
She’d wanted this so desperately. What would he do now? What would he say? She could feel her pulse racing as she stared at the ceiling, waiting in eager anticipation for his next move.
“Do you ride, Clarissa?”
She blinked. Those were not exactly the passionate words she’d expected to come pouring from his mouth after she’d dared to touch him as she had.
After he’d held her wrist so tightly and thrust himself blatantly into her hand.
It was obvious that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but it sounded now as if he were trying to make small talk. Polite conversation. How absurd. “Ride?” she asked. “A horse, do you mean?”
He, too, was lying on his back. “Yes.”
She frowned. “Well, certainly. On occasion.”
“Clarissa, a man rides astride.”
She frowned again. “I know that.”
“Do you know the differences in a horse’s gait? Between a trot and a gallop, for instance?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m going to teach you to have sexual relations in that same fashion. I’m going to show you how to guarantee your pleasure when your husband demands his marital rights.”
Clarissa gasped in shock. What was he talking about? Was he going to take her from behind like some rutting animal? Or—
“Come and sit astride my hips.”
“What?”
“Come and sit atop me, with your thighs straddling my hips, like a man straddles his horse.”
She had to form the picture in her mind before she could respond. “You want me to—to ride you—like a man rides a horse?
To sit on top of you and ride your male member?”
“Yes. This way you will be in control. You can dictate the pace, the position, the depth of penetration, and, as a result, your own pleasure.”
Clarissa almost swooned at his words. Not only were they going to have sexual relations, but he was going to let her control it so that she would have the greatest pleasure possible! He was going to give her his body so that she could experience a woman’s climax with a man. She wanted this so much, wanted it with him. She could feel herself getting wet in anticipation.
“Mount me, Clarissa.”
It was an order from The Disciplinarian, delivered in that honeyed tone of command, but it was an order she willingly obeyed.
She rolled onto her side and then rose up on her knees. His eyes were dark, intense, alert as he watched her approach. He held out his hand as she reached his side, in order to steady her while she lifted one leg over his body and settled it on the other side of his hips. She was astride him now, the side slits of her nightgown giving her thighs ample room to maneuver. She slowly lowered herself down onto his hips, boldly pulling the nightgown out of the way so that she could feel the material of his trousers directly against her naked flesh.
She was shocked at her own boldness. It was brazen, shameless.
And terribly exciting.
He obviously thought so, too. She noticed that his pupils had dilated, his chest was rising and falling quickly, and another part of him had risen even more prominently than when she’d touched it a few moments ago.
She reached out her hand, eager now to acquaint herself with the instrument of her future pleasure.
He gasped as her fingers closed around him. “No! You are not allowed to touch me.”
She frowned at that, since she had just touched him a moment ago and he’d certainly seemed to enjoy it. His hands suddenly came up to lock onto her hips, and he pulled her down hard against him, grinding her against his body. With her thighs spread wide as they were, the friction of the rough material of his trousers, coupled with the hard muscle of his sex beneath it, was so intense that it nearly sent her right over the edge. She moaned loudly at the unexpected pleasure of it, but her involuntary response made him stop cold.
Clarissa waited, panting, frustrated. She could easily have climaxed just by rubbing up against him like that. A few seconds more and it would have been all over for her. If she felt such excitement from just this simple contact with him, how would she possibly hold out for more than a moment when he was finally inside her?
Inside her.
Breaching her. Buried deep. Penetrating. Pleasuring her. She wanted that and she wanted it now. Her whole body shuddered in anticipation.
He obviously misunderstood
her reaction.
“Clarissa, don’t fear me,” he rasped. His hands were still on her hips, but his grip on her abruptly relaxed. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Sorry for what?”
He grimaced. “For getting carried away. For caring more in that instant about my own pleasure than yours. Forgive me. I’m just a man. A man who finds it very hard to resist such a beautiful, sensual woman.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening in surprise. He truly thought her beautiful? Sensual? She rolled that amazing observa-tion around in her head for a moment. What a difference from Charles, who barely even noticed her anymore, except to find fault.
And who never showed more interest in her body than to attempt to plant his seed and be done with it.
She looked down at The Disciplinarian’s intense face. She actually felt beautiful and sensual in his hands. His patient instruction these last three days had made her realize that a woman could feel desire in the hands of the right man, and not simply have to endure her marital obligation. The Disciplinarian’s tender attentions had made her secure enough in this newfound knowledge to openly, and often very vocally, e xpress her desire. The thought swelled her chest. “Don’t apologize,” she reassured him. “It was pleasurable for me as well.”
The Disciplinarian groaned loudly and thrust his hips up against her. “Bloody hell, Clarissa, you have no idea what you do to me with your artless honesty.”
Clarissa frowned. What had she said to provoke that frustrated reaction? She’d just wanted him to know that she found him as sexually exciting as he seemed to find her. Considering what they were about to do, what was wrong with that? “My lesson—”
“Yes, yes, your lesson,” The Disciplinarian quickly agreed, as if grasping at something that could calm him.
But being inside her surely wouldn’t do that!
“Clarissa, would you fetch us both a glass of wine from the dinner table?”
Her eyebrows flew up at his words. “You want wine? Now?”
“Please.”
Clarissa glanced at the table across the room, and then back at him, her eyebrows still raised in question. He nodded. Reluctantly, she dragged herself off him and slipped out of bed. She crossed the room and poured two glasses of wine.
“Better yet, bring over the whole bottle,” The Disciplinarian urged.
She bit her lip. What was the reason for his sudden hesitation?
He had called her beautiful, sensuous. His manhood was straining against his trousers at rock-hard attention. That meant he wanted her, didn’t it? So why the wine? His passion should be all the drug he needed. It certainly was all the stimulation she needed!
“Come now. Bring it here,” he said, obviously noticing the way she was lingering at the table.
She sighed and tucked the bottle of wine in the crook of her arm, and carried the two glasses across the room. He sat up in bed, propped several pillows behind his back, and took one of the glasses she offered, along with the bottle. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched in surprise as he quickly downed one glass and then a second.
“Right. Much better,” he murmured under his breath, as if he were talking to himself. He put down the glass and looked at her.
“Now then, where were we?”
His voice was too brisk, too brittle all of a sudden. Cool and efficient. Not the smooth, sensuous tone he’d been using just a few moments ago. And certainly not the voice a man would use to seduce a lover.
“My lesson,” she prompted.
“Yes. Right. Your lesson.” He eased himself back down flat onto the bed. “Well then, let’s get to it, shall we?”
Clarissa paused, the glass of wine still untouched in her hand.
Let’s get to it? Where was the romance in that? Where was the sensuous spell he’d always woven around her in order to ease her fears and set the mood for such intimate instruction? Let’s get to it?
Good God, it sounded almost as if this were suddenly a distasteful chore for him!
She carefully put her glass down on the bedside table. “What’s wrong?”
The Disciplinarian held out a hand to her. “Nothing is wrong.
Now come, climb on top of me.”
Clarissa stared at him for a moment longer, then took his hand.
Maybe his attitude would change once she was straddling him again. He’d certainly been interested a moment ago, bucking up against her like that and pulling her down hard to grind against his body. That was the man she wanted—the one who was desperate for her, his desire overriding even the iron control of The Disciplinarian.
She would just have to figure out a way to make him lose that control.
He helped to guide her back on top of him, her thighs spread wide across him, but he positioned her slightly lower on his body this time, just at the tops of his legs, well away from his groin.
She saw him take several deep breaths, and actually close his eyes. His hands made their way again to her hips.
“Now,” he said, his voice cool, all business. “Let’s start with the trot. In this particular gait, the horse’s motion alternates between one diagonal and the other, and, in fact, at one point all four legs are off the ground at once. Since the trot has that moment in mid-air, it is more comfortable for the rider and the horse to rise up and down on every other beat. A man will ‘post’ when his horse trots, rising up completely out of the saddle like this—” His hands tightened on her hips and he pushed her up off his body so that she was kneeling, her upper body straight, suspended above him. “And then on the off beat, he will come down into the saddle, like this.”
He slowly lowered her back down onto him.
“Now. When a woman has sexual relations with a man like this, she can use this posting technique to raise and lower herself on his cock. Up and down, just like on a horse, but riding a man’s cock, as deeply or as shallowly as she likes, until she climaxes.”
Despite herself, Clarissa blushed furiously at The Disciplinarian’s dispassionate recital of so passionate an act. It seemed shocking, downright scandalous. Who could have thought up such a method?
But the thought of being so intimate with a man, with this man—a man so willing to pleasure a woman that he would surrender his body to her—made her breathless with excitement.
“With the gallop,” The Disciplinarian continued, unaware of her wayward thoughts, “instead of an up-and-down movement, there is more of a rolling, undulating motion, to match the rhythm of the horse. Try it,” he said. “Try rhythmically rotating your hips against me, back to front.” His hands were still on her hips, and he guided her into a slow, rolling motion. “This way, with a man’s cock inside you, you can feel it deeply, stroking you in different places as you slowly tilt your hips. You can control the rhythm and the position to make it as pleasurable for you as possible. You can even lean forward, or back, if that feels better.”
Clarissa gave a little gasp. She could already tell this gallop was nicer than the post, since she could feel more contact with The Disciplinarian’s body with this broader range of motion.
“There,” he said, finally opening his eyes and looking up at her.
“That’s it. Do you understand both techniques?”
She nodded, and then took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m ready to try them.”
The Disciplinarian went completely still. “What?”
“I’m ready to try them,” she said, “to practice them, to see which one works best for me.”
In fact, she couldn’t wait to have him inside her. It’s what she’d wanted since he’d climbed into bed with her.
The Disciplinarian sucked in a breath. “Clarissa, that was the lesson. We’re not going to… actually do… I have never…”
Clarissa looked at the outright panic on The Disciplinarian’s face and understood everything in that moment. Understood that he had been very careful in how far they went in her sexual tutor-ing because he was attracted to her. Attracted enough to want to have her now, and
resisting the urge with all his might, because above all else, he was a gentleman and an honorable man. Despite his desire, he would rein in his own needs because of his respect for her, and for the job he’d been hired to do. He would never cross that moral line.
His sense of duty and honor only increased Clarissa’s admiration for him, but she was just as desperate as he was, although for an entirely different reason. She wanted it to be his face she saw, his body she felt in the future, even if it was her husband in her bed. She needed this memory of one perfect night to carry her through the rest of her life.
Looking down into the face of The Disciplinarian, she saw a noble man standing on moral ground, but it was shaky ground at best. She felt her own power suddenly, and realized he had done exactly what he’d said he would. He had empowered her. And now she was going to use her newfound control to take charge and demand exactly what she wanted.
She would show him how good a teacher he was.
With a smile, she reached for the buttons of his trousers.
Jared clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth threatened to shatter. What the bloody hell did she think she was she doing?
His hands were still on Clarissa’s hips, but for the life of him he couldn’t get them to move. He was frozen, unable to stop her deft fingers from easing the buttons of his trousers out of their fastenings, one after the other, until his cock sprung free of any con-straint.
This was what he desperately wanted, and the thing he most desperately feared.
“Please,” he rasped . But even he didn’t know what he was pleading for—for her to touch him or for her not to touch him?
His eyes rolled back into his head with pleasure as her soft hands closed around him, tentatively stroking, gently squeezing, making him harder than he’d ever thought possible. His cock felt enormous under her curious fingers, and he found himself thrusting against them for more contact, secretly thrilled that not even both her hands could cover the full length of him.
He had to find a way to stop this before things got completely out of control. Instead, he found himself letting out a strangled moan of pleasure as she ran the pad of her thumb over the sensitive tip of his erection.