by Unknown
Bloody hell! I am The Disciplinarian. I am the one who should be in charge—
She moved before he could finish the thought, inching above him, holding him steady as she positioned herself at the tip of his cock, and then taking him slowly into her body. He could feel how ready she was, hot and slick and wet, and it took every last ounce of his already tenuous control not to give himself over to the incredible sensation and thrust himself deeply up inside her. Instead, he held rigidly still, allowing her to take command, to dictate the pace, to use his body for her own pleasure.
It very nearly killed him.
She twisted and she wriggled, taking him deeper inch by ago-nizing inch, until his jaw ached from gritting his teeth, and he had to force himself to think about the upcoming harvest on the estate.
The rose crop that was nearing the end of its season. Yesterday’s foaling of Princess’ filly—which he’d inadvertently named Clarissa.
No, no! Think of anything but Clarissa!
“Tell me, is this right?”
His eyes snapped open and he stared up at her in disbelief.
Bloody hell, she’d taken nearly his full length inside of her and she was asking if she was doing it right?
Don’t even think about how incredibly right it is!
“You’re doing it right if it feels good to you,” he managed to get out from behind his clenched teeth.
“Let me try this posting then.” She raised herself nearly off him only to lower herself fully down again, slowly taking his cock back inside her body, more easily this time, and certainly deeper.
It was almost more than he could take. His fingers dug into her hips as he tried desperately to prevent her from moving.
Harvest. Roses. Horses. Crops. Harvest—Yes, the back forty acres will have to be planted next year…
“Hmm,” she mused. “That’s nice, but I’d like to try the other.”
“The other?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes. The gallop technique.”
The gallop. Heaven help him!
She began to rock her hips slowly, following his previous instructions, undulating her body along the length of his cock. This was passion as he’d never experienced it. Every roll of her hips was a perfect stroke of pleasure for him. He was fully inside her, touching her in the most secret and intimate of places, his cock caressing her velvety inner flesh. He wanted to reach up and wrap his hands around her breasts, only managing to stay the desperate urge by sheer force of will. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. He wanted Clarissa to be the one in control here, practicing her lesson, taking her pleasure. As long as she kept her movements slow and steady like this, he could almost convince himself that he was merely the instrument of her instruction, despite how hard he was fighting his own physical instincts.
I may survive this after all…
That tiny bud of confidence was short lived.
“Oh! Oh! ”
As Clarissa leaned back slightly, both her movements and her breathing suddenly began to speed up. Jared intuitively knew she had found her rhythm, the perfect pace she could ride to her climax. She was using his body now, and when he heard her surprised little gasps of pleasure, he knew she wasn’t far from her peak.
He felt the sweat break out on his brow as he fought against his own body’s natural instinct to respond to her, to match her rhythm and join her in the familiar dance of release. Instead, his grip tightened on her hips and he urged her on toward that peak alone, whispering words of encouragement, bucking his hips so she could feel him more fully—and more deeply inside her—until she blindly grabbed fistfuls of his shirt with both hands, and rode him until she screamed out her climax.
It was only when Jared felt her body contracting violently around him, clutching his cock in wave after wave of pure bliss, that he could no longer resist his own release. He abruptly pulled her off of him so he could come in hard, jerking spurts of pleasure, ruining his shirt, but at least saving her from any risk of pregnancy.
And saving her from her husband’s anger, because now she’d go back to him exactly as he’d demanded— warmed up and ready for an heir .
Jared had done his job, but the accomplishment left him cold.
Empty inside. Clarissa would be leaving tomorrow. He’d taught her everything he could, but somehow it wasn’t nearly enough.
He wanted more.
He wanted her.
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 9
Jared was vaguely aware of Clarissa curling up into a tight ball—and deliberately turning away from him on the bed—as he struggled for breath in the aftermath of his climax. Bloody hell, he had embarrassed himself in front of her, spilling his seed all over his clothes, undoubtedly shocking her to her very toes.
He glanced grimly at her rigid back. It had been nearly the best sexual experience of his life, could only have been better if he had reached that sexual peak simultaneously with her and spent himself inside her luscious body. He wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time, wanted the thrill of taking them both to the height of passion, and then plunging with her into that shattering release, sharing that exquisite intimacy with her.
He had to stop himself from reaching out right now to take her in his arms.
She’s married.
How pathetic he was. The notoriously strict Disciplinarian, undone by his own student.
In love with his own student.
With a silent curse, he tore at the buttons of his cuffs and then his shirt collar, pulled the ruined garment up and over his head, and tossed it onto the floor. It was only then that he realized that Clarissa was crying quietly next to him. He quickly stuffed his still partially erect cock back inside his trousers and hastily tried to right himself.
“Clarissa,” he soothed, turning anxiously to stroke his fingertips down her bare arm. “I’m sorry if I was rough just then, but I couldn’t risk your safety.”
She curled into an even tighter ball and her sobbing grew louder.
“Sweet Clarissa, please don’t cry,” he begged. He wanted to comfort her, but kissing the soft skin beneath his fingertips, as he longed to do, would be disastrous. Pulling her into the crook of his arm to lay her head on his bare shoulder would be too intimate.
“Your husband—” he tried lamely.
“I hate you! ”
He supposed it was no more than he deserved. He had crossed a line, made a serious error in judgment by allowing the lessons to reach such levels of intimacy. By allowing himself to fall in love with her.
“Clarissa, please look at me—”
“Go away!”
His breath caught at the fierceness of her tone, the dismissal, the finality in it. This was not the way he wanted things to end between them, but she was giving him no choice.
It was over. Her lessons, their time together, everything was over between them.
“Clarissa,” he murmured, fighting to maintain his control. He quietly reached down to take her hand, brought it to his lips for a quick kiss, laid her palm over his heart for a brief instant, and then reluctantly let her hand drop. “I’m sorry. So very sorry.”
She had gone quiet in that moment, and he held his breath.
Waiting. For something, a signal from her, anything at all. But then she broke out into heartbreaking sobs, so he rose from the bed, grabbed his discarded shirt, and silently left the room.
***
Clarissa was inconsolable.
After The Disciplinarian had left her last night she hadn’t slept at all, alternating between blind rage and abject despair.
How dare he? How dare he teach her about the sexual act, show her how wonderful it could be between a man and woman, excite a passion in her she never knew existed, and then expect her to placidly go back to her husband?
How dare he do all those intimate things to her, get to know her body better than she knew it herself, drive her to the pinnacle of pleasure again and again, and then allow her to leave as if he didn�
�t care one whit about her?
He’d called her beautiful, sensual. His body had responded to hers in the most basic way. And yet he’d restrained himself last night, denying her that ultimate sharing of man and woman, the pleasure she felt sure a joint climax would bring.
Denying her the one memory she had hoped to carry with her forever.
Despite her best efforts last night to use her body to tempt him, he had still managed to stay in control, simply giving her a lesson, while she was completely out of control, head over heels in love with him.
How pathetic she was.
She’d tossed and turned all night, crying until she had no tears left, dreading what she knew the dawn would bring: the trip home to a man she despised.
When Soames had slipped silently into the room this morning with her breakfast tray, she’d pretended to be asleep. But the familiar smell of the hot chocolate wafting from the tray he’d left behind burned itself into her memory, and she knew it would forever remind her of this weekend with The Disciplinarian, the pleasure he’d given her and the heartbreak he was leaving her with.
Although she could have sworn she had none left, she’d felt a tear in her eye.
Then she’d noticed that not only had Soames brought her meal, he’d also brought her clothes, which he’d laid neatly across the back of the chair at the dressing table. Her reticule, gloves and hat were there as well.
Her hat.
One look at the peacock feathers stuck jauntily in its brim brought back memories of The Disciplinarian’s first lesson, and another tear to her eye. How was she ever to endure this?
She didn’t even know the name of the man she loved.
It was simply too much to be borne, but bear it she must, since The Disciplinarian had given her no indication that he wanted anything else but to send her home to her husband today. For a moment last night, when he’d kissed her hand and laid it so gently over his heart, she’d held her breath, waiting, hoping, but he’d said nothing except I’m sorry.
With a final choked cry, she slipped her hand under her pillow and withdrew the two black silk scarves The Disciplinarian had used during her first two lessons. She had hidden them there after each session, holding the memories they represented equally close to her. Now she sat up in bed and folded them again and again, until they were nothing but two tiny squares, small enough to fit into her reticule, and innocent enough not to attract notice. She would keep these with her always.
With a heavy heart, she silently ate her meal, stripped off her nightgown, performed her morning ablutions, and struggled as best she could into her stockings and corset, her undergarments and traveling gown.
Then, as if on cue, there was a sharp rap at her door, and The Disciplinarian entered.
He stood tall and elegant in his dark blue morning coat, black trousers and shiny black boots, obviously dressed for travel. She thought back to her first sight of him when Charles had introduced him. She had looked at him in sheer terror then, but it was not fear she felt now. It was sheer misery.
“I come to offer my services as lady’s maid,” he said, eyeing her dress.
Dare she let him help her? Would he be able to tell how her body longed for his touch if she let him so near? She had no choice, really. Without his help she couldn’t finish dressing, and she could hardly go home with her corset unlaced and the buttons of her gown undone.
She silently turned her back to him.
He crossed the room and stopped behind her. Clarissa could feel the heat of his body just inches away and longed to lean back against him, but she held herself rigidly straight. His fingers deftly began to tighten her laces, but even that small contact sent a shiver of desire through her, and she felt her body tremble.
His hands paused. “Are you all right?”
“Your… your fingers are cold,” she lied.
He hesitated, and then blew on his hands to warm them, quickly finishing up with her corset and turning his attention to the buttons of her gown. He was done too soon, and Clarissa mourned the loss of his touch.
“Ready?” he asked.
She glanced down at the bed. The memories of all he had done there to her came rushing back. I’ll never be ready to leave you. To go back to Charles!
“Yes,” she said quietly.
He gestured to the door with his hand, and she gathered up her reticule, gloves and hat, and followed him as he led her to where his carriage stood waiting on the cobblestone drive. Her feet calmly carried her forward even as her mind screamed for her to dig in her heels and refuse to go.
But all she could do was hold onto her dignity. It was the only thing she seemed to have any control over.
Soames was standing beside the carriage, and opened the coach door as she approached. The Disciplinarian handed her up, climbed in himself, dropped onto the bench seat across from her, knocked on the carriage roof, and off they started.
And so it was over. The most life-altering weekend of her existence had come to this quick and insignificant end.
They rode in strained silence for almost two hours, until The Disciplinarian finally cocked his head and asked, “Will you be all right?”
The look on his face and the concern in his voice triggered something in her, broke the dam she’d been struggling to build around her emotions. The hell with dignity! If she was destined to go back to Charles, she would at least give The Disciplinarian a piece of her mind, let him know just how angry she was.
“How could you do this to me?”
“Clarissa—”
“How could you show me how beautiful the sexual act can be between a man and woman, and then expect me to go back to my husband!”
She saw a troubled crease appear on his forehead. “Clarissa, my lessons have been…” The Disciplinarian swallowed hard. “Let’s just say I’ve been conditioning you this weekend, so that you can respond to certain stimuli, enjoy marital relations with your husband, take control when he makes his demands. I’ve tried to help you.”
She stared at him, furious at both his facile explanation and his sanctimonious tone.
“Damn you! You haven’t helped me! Before I met you, I never knew about a ‘woman’s pleasure,’ or that my body could react so—so incredibly to a man’s touch. Marital relations were simply something I endured, but never enjoyed. And now, because of you, I’m doomed to know that I will never experience pleasure like that again. It would have been better if I never knew what I’d been missing! ”
He looked surprised and horrified at her words. “No, no, Clarissa, don’t say that. I’ve shown you a way to stay alive, to escape your husband’s wrath. You are a sensuous woman, one who could experience sexual pleasure no matter who your partner is.”
“No matter who my partner is? ” Clarissa’s fury knew no bounds now. “It’s not sexual pleasure I love,” she cried shrilly, wanting to curse him for an idiot, “it’s you!”
The shocking words hung in the air between them.
Jared stared at her, forgetting to breathe. Had she just said she loved him? He looked quickly around the swaying carriage, trying to figure out if this was some cruel dream. He actually reached out to touch the door handle. Solid. Cold. Real.
No dream.
He looked back at Clarissa. There was a stunned expression on her pale face, her body frozen as if waiting in terror for his reaction to her stunning revelation.
She loves me!
His heart swelled in his chest. He went down on his knees on the carriage floor between their two bench seats, took her face between his hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. He dragged his lips across hers until her body abruptly unfroze from its rigid set, and she flung her arms wildly around his neck. And he kept kissing her until her mouth opened to his and he thrust his tongue home, claiming her mouth, claiming her, finally giving her what he’d wanted to for so long.
The man behind The Disciplinarian.
“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away only long enough to get the frenzied wo
rds out, then swooping back for another kiss. “I love you, Clarissa.”
She was crying now—tears of happiness, he hoped—but he
couldn’t seem to stop himself. His lips had a mind of their own and they wanted to touch her everywhere—her eyelids, her nose, the tempting lobes of her ears. He cursed the high collar of her traveling gown because his lips wanted access to her perfect neck, that long, graceful swan’s neck. He groaned with the wanting of it.
“Wait… please… ” she gasped.
Her protest was feeble, but it was the dash of cold water he needed. He sat back on his haunches, struggling to catch his own breath, realizing the enormity of what had just happened here.
She loved him! And he loved her. He wanted to shout his joy to the world. As it was, he couldn’t seem to wipe this silly grin off his face. He took her hand in his and kissed each of her fingertips, unable to stop himself, unwilling to break this new, emotional contact between them. “Let me turn the carriage around.”
She looked at him, her eyes widening.
“We’re already at the outskirts of London,” he pointed out. “Let me give the order to the coachman to turn the carriage around.”
She gasped. “What are you saying? That you want me to stay with you, to—to live with you? Forever?”
He almost laughed at the look of surprise on her face. “Yes, sweet Clarissa. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I love you. I can’t let you go back to that brute of a husband.”
Husband.
The word suddenly lay like a chasm between them.
“Charles…” she murmured, as if just now fully understanding what Jared was saying. “You want me to leave Charles and run away with you.”
Jared paused, his happiness dissipating slightly. Why was she hesitating? Surely she didn’t want to risk her life by going back to her odious husband.
But the longer she paused, the clearer the situation became. He had no right to encourage her to wifely desertion, even to desert a man like Charles Babcock. While Jared could offer her his heart and his home, he couldn’t give her his name in marriage—merely a lifetime spent in the shame of adultery. Divorce could only be decreed by an act of Parliament, and even then only if Charles Babcock agreed to it, which was highly doubtful because of the social embarrassment it entailed. Any property or dowry she had brought to her marriage legally belonged to her husband now, so if she left him she would have nothing.