Read Corrected by the Colonel Online

Authors: Celeste Jones

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance

Corrected by the Colonel (5 page)

BOOK: Corrected by the Colonel
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"I am sure you do." Colonel Sinclair's thumb, thoroughly lubricated by the cream from her sex, pressed against her bottom hole. "But that does not tell me much about them." He applied more emphasis to the puckered opening.

         
"I mean to find out why someone who portrays herself as a proper lady," he stroked back and forth over her opening and she gasped "wears shoes that have been repaired repeatedly." He breeched the entrance while he continued to speak. "Is not wearing the latest in fashionable undergarments for ladies." He probed further, "and does not know the difference between a footman and a Colonel in the army." Cassandra clenched her muscles to bar him further entry. And to stem the quiver building deep within her at his penetration.

         
Undeterred, he slapped her upturned bottom. "Relax, Miss Sheridan. It will go easier if you do."

          
He pumped his digit in and out of her backside and Cassandra felt the rosebud of her bottom open further. She wanted to fight against him, or at least believed she ought to, but his dominance made her want to cry out for more.

         
"Good girl." He thumbed her hole while the fingers of his other hand rubbed the nub of her clitoris.

         
Cassandra had never experienced anything so hedonistic. Heat roiled through her nether region. Her hips bucked and her breath came in labored gasps. It was wanton and improper and so deliciously naughty.  Cassandra lost all control of common sense. A wave of emotion and longing swept over her.

         
When Blaise removed his thumb she tipped her bottom upward in search of contact. Without the fullness of his digit in her anus, she felt empty. Her moan echoed through the stable when he plunged back into her waiting hole.

         
"You are quite the naughty little harlot, are you not, Miss Cassandra Sheridan?"

         
She ought to have objected. Slapped his face for calling her a harlot, but given that her hips were pounding back and forth in rhythm with his plunder of her ass while begging him not to stop, the only thing that didn't make her a harlot was the absence of an exchange of money.

         
Frankly, it felt so good, if she had any money she'd give it to him just to assure his continued attentions to her throbbing bottom.

         
The only sounds in the stable were the rhythm of their hoarse breathing as each focused on sensual pleasure, one giving and one receiving. An unfamiliar wave of molten heat scorched Cassandra's body and just when it reached a crescendo, Blaise made one final thrust into her hole, she shuddered and collapsed over his thighs.

 

Chapter Four

         
Colonel Blaise Sinclair gazed at the woman splayed across his lap, the sweet curve of her cheeks reddened by his discipline and her bottom hole pillaged by his dominance.

         
Her bound hands added to the sensuality of the entire vision before him.

         
If he'd had any sense, he would have packed his bags and left as soon as he laid eyes on Miss Cassandra Sheridan, but he hadn't and now nothing could tear him away from her.

         
The blame for his predicament fell squarely on his shoulders. She had not set out to snare him with her fiery spirit, golden curls and winsome blue eyes. No, he was not the man whose attention she sought. She had made that abundantly clear.

         
She stirred across his lap and his cock strained against his pants. How he wished to pillage her with more than just his thumb, but even he knew that would be crossing a line.

         
He was not opposed to crossing lines, but he was also a patient man.

         
Usually.

         
He assisted Cassandra in raising herself up and he seated her on his knee. Her face, softened by her climax, had lost its tense edge and he could see the beautiful young lady beneath the tough façade she'd created.

         
Spent, she rested her head on his shoulder and gazed up at him with her sky blue eyes.

         
He reached behind her and untied the leather which held her wrists together, then gently massaged her hands and arms. Though more delicate than his battle-worn hands, there was tell-tale evidence that her hands had spent some time at hard work.

         
He pressed his lips to the center of her palm and was rewarded by her sudden inhalation of breath.

         
He drew lazy circles with his tongue and Cassandra plunged her other palm into his hair. He turned his attention to her mouth and pulled her close, covering her delicate lips with his own. She moaned deep in her throat and pressed into him, her hand clasping the back of his head.

         
Her lips moved tentatively under his and he coaxed them gently into responding to his kiss. When she relaxed into the kiss, he deepened the contact. She stiffened at his first intrusion into her mouth, but soon locked both hands into his hair while her tongue danced with his.

         
Finally Blaise forced himself to stop. He set her next to him on the bench, then stood and paced the room.

         
When he glanced back at Cassandra, she had her head down and soft tears fell onto her hands that were clasped in her lap.

         
Determined not to be swayed by her tears, Blaise forced himself to find out more about Cassandra Sheridan. He told himself he owed it to his cousin to make sure she was a proper prospect for a wife, but truth be told, he wanted to know everything about her for himself.

         
Not trusting himself to be too near, he stood and stared down at her, using his most commanding tone.

         
"Now, Miss Sheridan, if that is your name, please explain to me who you really are and what you are doing here?"

         
Cassandra scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks then looked up at Blaise, her eyes a sea of hurt. "Is that what this was all about? Is this one of the ways the army teaches its officers to interrogate prisoners?"

         
Blaise raked his hand through his hair and heaved a lengthy sigh. "No, it is not." He paced away then turned to face her. "What happened between us was not planned. I have no explanation for my behavior other than that I behaved badly."

          
"Behaved badly? Is that what you call it?" Cassandra stood, turned on her heel and left the barn.

 

***

 

           During the remainder of the day he did his best to stay away from Cassandra, but by dinner time, Colonel Blaise Sinclair sat in his room at Hadley Hall, a letter in one hand and a freshly repaired shoe in the other. He had to chuckle. This visit to his aunt’s home had certainly been much more interesting than he had anticipated.

         
For as many years as he could remember, he had made an annual pilgrimage to visit his mother’s sister’s family. As he got older, he had railed against the forced familiarity with the formidable Lady Tyndall and her rather dull children, but he had promised his mother to go at least once a year and now he made the trek to honor her memory.

         
Over the years he had developed strategies for minimizing his time spent confined with his relatives. He felt a bit of a cad for planning to avoid his two cousins, but they had so little in common and once he had been to war, he felt even more distant from his genteel relatives.

         
He had been much delighted to find Miss Cassandra Sheridan in residence upon his arrival at Hadley Hall. Not that he had any notion of stealing her attentions away from his cousin, but because her belief that he was a servant rather than an army officer in uniform had provided him with much amusement.

         
And now that he had spent time alone with her, and most inappropriately, he had other notions of amusement in mind which made their episode in the stable look like a church picnic.

         
The wise course would be to bundle the letter and shoe together, return them to Miss Cassandra Sheridan, make excuses for his early departure and get as far away from Hadley Hall, and Miss Sheridan, as possible. Perhaps he could request an overseas assignment.

         
But he could not do it. He had an obligation to stay and find out what plot she planned and to protect his cousin from her if necessary.

         
Yes, that was the only reason he would stay. Stay and pay very close attention to her.

         
It had nothing to do with the sight of her lying over his lap, her wrists bound with leather and her creamy backside exposed for his view and chastisement. And it most assuredly had no effect on him when he had stroked her inner thighs and felt the evidence of her desire trickling toward his fingers.

         
And above all else, he had been completely impervious to the way her mouth opened to his and her body melted against his chest when he had kissed her.

         
Determined to be finished with one Miss Cassandra Sheridan, he wrapped the letter and shoe in a piece of paper with the intention of leaving them in her room while she sat with Lady Jane in the drawing room.

         
He had been trained to infiltrate enemy lines under heavy fire and in life threatening circumstances. A quick in and out of a lady’s bedchamber ought to be accomplished in seconds.

         
Unless that lady was indulging in a leisurely bath during the middle of the day rather than assisting her hostess with an intricate embroidery pattern.

         
He opened the door to Cassandra’s bedchamber silently and stepped inside before he realized he was not alone.

          
Blissfully unaware of his presence, eyes closed, she leaned back against the copper tub, her hair falling in loose golden curls that nearly reached the floor.

          
Her delicate feet dangled over the bottom rim of the bath and the rosy peaks of her breasts poked through the surface of the water.

         
He knew he should leave. Turn and go as silently as he had entered.

          
But he could not. He stared, mesmerized by her youth and innocence. The relaxed delight on her face as she luxuriated in the warm cocoon of the bath kept him frozen in place.

         
She moaned, arched her back and pressed her feet to the bottom rim of the tub giving him an unobstructed view of her femininity, ripe and pink. The blonde ringlets above dripped water over the crevice of her womanhood.

         
Captivated by thoughts of touching and tasting her. So engrossed in his imaginings and the sight of her, he dropped the bundle in his hands.

         
It hit the floor with a resounding thud, startling both of them out of their respective reveries.

          
Cassandra’s eyes flew open and she stood. Her mouth gaped as if to scream. Before she could utter a sound, he moved behind her, his strong arms held her wet naked body against his while his hand covered her mouth.

         
She struggled against him. Watching her in the bath had nearly been his undoing and now her silky wet body writhed against him until his cock ached against his pants.

         
He bent his head, taking in the scent of her soap and innocence, and whispered in her ear, “I am not going to hurt you. Do not make a sound. You do not want the whole household to find us like this or it will ruin your plan to marry my cousin.”

         
When he said ‘marry my cousin’, a wave of melancholy assailed Blaise. Owen could never appreciate her passion. No, she was meant to be his and he intended to have her, regardless of the truth of her background.

         
He looked into her eyes and she nodded her agreement so he removed his hand from her mouth, though the touch of her soft lips against his palm had been enchanting.

         
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, attempting to cover herself with her hands.

         
“I have come,” he lifted her from the tub and set her on the floor, then reached for a towel to dry her body, “to return your shoes and letter.” He worked the towel over her soft skin and reveled in the sight of her creamy flesh pinkening under the friction from the towel.

         
“Stop that!” She grabbed the towel from his hands and wrapped it around herself, then found her dressing gown and put it on as well.

         
Once she had covered herself minimally she turned back to him. “Well, you have accomplished your mission, so please leave.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

           Cassandra left the barn earlier that day utterly confused. She knew she ought to loathe Colonel Blaise Sinclair, particularly for the liberties he had taken. Yet she could not. Not only could she not bring herself to despise him, she had been completely unable to think of anything but the sensations which had coursed through her body at his touch.

BOOK: Corrected by the Colonel
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