The Blackwell Lessons (2 page)

3

Back at the townhouse, Marc carries me upstairs. But instead of heading to the bedroom, he takes me to the huge, marble bathroom.

The lights are low and orange, like candlelight. But over the sink they’re fluorescent so you can see well enough to do makeup and brush your teeth.

Marc sits on the edge of the giant red-ceramic bath and perches me on his knee while he runs steaming hot water. Then he helps me out of my wedding dress.

‘I thought you might enjoy a bath.’

‘Isn’t it a bit late?’

‘Don’t contradict your husband.’ He undoes my bra and helps me climb out of my panties. ‘Get into the bath.’

I raise a teasing eyebrow. ‘Is this how married life is going to be? You ordering me around?’

Marc gives me his stomach-melting smile. ‘Exactly right. Now get in, Mrs Blackwell. Before the water gets cold.’

I climb the steps to the marble bath, then lower a foot into the water.

‘It’s hot,’ I say.

‘All the better to get the blood flowing. Sit.’

Obligingly, I step right into the bath and sit in the hot water.

‘Now lie down.’

‘Marc, I—’

‘Do as you’re told Mrs Blackwell. Or there’ll be consequences.’

‘What sort of consequences?’

Marc’s lips twist. ‘Consequences.’

‘Um …’ I run my fingers over the surface of the water, ‘I
really
don’t feel like lying in the water just yet.’

Marc’s smile grows. ‘Is that right? Well, Mrs Blackwell. Now we’re married, I will take disobedience very, very seriously.’

My breath quickens. ‘How seriously?’

‘
Very
seriously.’ Marc takes off his clothes, and I watch his beautiful, muscular body glow under the flickering light.

His skin is pale and flawless, his limbs long and lean with perfect muscle tone.

He steps into the bath and kneels behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

‘Ready to see how serious I am?’

‘Ye-es,’ I stammer.

He takes a bar of soap and puts a hand against the small of my back, then runs the soap slowly and determinedly up to the nape of my neck.

His touch is so controlled. So precise.

Once the soap reaches my neck, Marc works my hair around his palm and pulls tight. Then he turns my head and kisses me.

When he lets me go, I’m gasping for breath.

‘Bend over the bathtub.’

Without speaking, I move to a kneeling position, and lean forward so my breasts press against the cold marble and my backside lifts out of the water.

Marc circles my buttocks with the soap. ‘You’re red already. But there’s always room for improvement.’

He rests the soap on a marble ledge. Then his hand comes down hard on my buttocks.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

I gasp and moan, my fingers gripping the cold marble.

‘Good?’ Marc asks.

‘
Yes
.’

His hand comes down again. Three times. Six times … I’m losing count.

Just as I’m getting pleasantly sore, Marc stops and rubs his palm round and round on my stinging skin. Then his hand slides between my thighs, up and around, making tingly circles in all the right places.

His hand slides free again and he spanks me like before. Slowly. Rhythmically. With just enough time in between to leave me aching for more.

‘
Ooohhh
.’

He grabs my hair and jerks my head back. ‘I
do
enjoy disciplining you.’

‘Oh
god
,’ I moan.

Marc flips me over. He scans my face for a moment, his eyes stormy. Then he kisses me with a surprising softness and pulls me onto his lap, my legs around his hips.

I feel the hardness of him in the water between my thighs.

He slides a little of himself inside me. Enough to tease me and make me want more.

I moan and grab his strong, muscular arms.

‘More. Please! Give me more.’

‘Since it’s our wedding day …’

He forces me down onto him and I let out a yelp of pleasure as he goes deep inside me.

‘Don’t move,’ he instructs, pinning me to his lap with a strong arm.

He leans over to pick up the soap again. Then he takes my arm and gently washes it from top to bottom.

I moan with pleasure at the gentle movements on my skin and the full feeling of him inside me.

Marc moves the bar of soap over my neck. Then down my other arm.

When he moves the soap down to my breasts, I drop my head back in pleasure.

He makes circles, washing me carefully and precisely. Then he washes my stomach and back.

I can feel him inside me the whole time, and every little jolty movement sends shivers of pleasure around my body.

‘When I was younger,’ Marc whispers, dropping the soap between my legs, ‘they used to wash our mouths out at school. For bad behaviour.’

‘You were badly behaved at school?’

‘Very.’

Marc begins to rock back and forth, and the soap moves with him.

‘Oh Marc.
Marc
.’ My head drops back again as I sway on his lap, and my hair tumbles down so the ends touch the water.

Marc tilts his hips forwards so the soap rubs me harder. His expression is stern and remorseless.

‘Oh god.
Oooooh
,’ I moan.

I throw myself against his chest, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders as his pace increases.

Marc strokes wet hair from my cheek and holds me tight.

The slippery soap is doing amazing things between my legs as Marc moves.

I feel his beautiful hard muscles against my breasts and smell his amazing, crisp, clean skin and hair.

Marc grabs my buttocks and lifts me up and down in the water.

Splash, splash, splash.

I can’t bear it any more.

‘Oh god! God! Marc! I’m going to come.’

Burning heat spreads between my legs and over my whole body.

It feels so amazing in the hot water. I let my eyes close. Every part of me feels soft and beautiful.

‘Yes.
Yes
,’ says Marc. ‘Sophia. Yes!
Sophia
.’ He forces himself harder inside me and then he comes too, pulling me onto his lap and squeezing my buttocks.

We grip each other tightly.

The water laps around us.

After a moment we look into each other’s eyes, breathing fast.

‘So.’ Marc twists my wet hair around and squeezes water out of it. ‘Still the best day of your life?’

‘Definitely.’

4

I wake the next morning in the townhouse bedroom, surrounded by fluffy white feathery pillows.

‘Good morning,’ I say, seeing Marc’s beautiful profile glowing in the sunlight as he lies beside me.

‘Good morning Mrs Blackwell.’

I feel a grin tug at my lips. ‘We got married yesterday, didn’t we?’

‘Yes. And now you’re mine forever.’

‘I was always yours forever,’ I whisper. ‘Married or not.’

‘But now everyone else knows it too. Other men, specifically.’

I laugh. ‘Just because you want me doesn’t mean every other man does.’

‘Oh believe me – they do,’ says Marc. ‘You’re just too adorably innocent for most men to pass up.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for that.’

‘I thought you were never going to wake up.’

‘What time is it?’ I murmur.

‘Nearly nine. If you’d have slept any later, I would have thrown cold water over you.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

Marc laughs. ‘No, I wouldn’t. Well – not to wake you up. There are more enjoyable ways to use cold water.’

‘Are there?’

‘Yes. And as your husband and former teacher it’s my duty to show you
every
way imaginable.’ He kisses my neck and whispers, ‘But right now the doctor is waiting. Come on sleeping beauty. Rise and shine.’

‘So early?’

‘Yes. Breakfast in the limo. You’ve even got time for a quick shower.’

‘After the bath last night? You’re saying I need to shower?’

Marc runs his fingers into my hair. ‘I wouldn’t care if you never showered again. But I know you enjoy showering every morning. And I’m not about to take any pleasure from you, no matter how small.’

I pull myself up and notice the gleaming silver band on my finger.

‘Marc. We’re
married
.’

‘I’m glad you remembered.’

‘I’m
Mrs
Blackwell …’

‘Correct. You are my wife. And I will take care of you, Mrs Blackwell, until your dying day. I will never, ever take you for granted. You will be on a pedestal for the rest of our married life.’

‘How did I get so lucky?’

Marc’s eyes are clear and soft. ‘It’s me who’s lucky. For you to accept me. And to love me. For what I am.’ He claps his hands sharply. ‘Right. Doctors.’

‘Can’t we be just a little bit late?’ I plead, shuffling my body towards him. ‘We haven’t
actually
consummated our marriage in bed yet, and—’

Marc takes a deep breath. ‘You, Mrs Blackwell, are testing the very last ounce of my self-control.’

‘But would it be so bad if we just—’

‘You have an appointment. I am never late, which means
you
will not be late. No matter how much temptation you throw my way. Your health is more important than anything.’

‘But there’s nothing
wrong
with me exactly.’

‘I didn’t say there was.’ The smile is back on Marc’s face. ‘In fact, I’m hoping the doctor will confirm everything is very, very right.’

5

In the limo, I have an attack of nerves.

Yesterday, thinking I could be pregnant … it wasn’t real. But now we might find out for certain. What if I am? Is it too soon? Will Marc really be happy about it?

As usual, my nerves mean I feel a little sick. And I don’t want to eat or drink anything.

Marc has ordered a whole breakfast menu for the limo journey – fresh fruit, cinnamon brioche buns, smoked salmon bagels. It’s delicious food, perfectly presented, but the thought of eating makes me feel queasy.

Marc tries to coax me like an anxious parent.

‘Just a sip of fruit juice? A tiny bite of brioche? You should eat something, Sophia. It’s not good not to eat.’

‘I really can’t.’ I lean against his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry Marc. It all looks delicious, but I can’t.’

He strokes my hair. ‘Don’t be sorry. Is the smell of food making you sick? I can get rid of everything.’ He leaps forward and bangs on the glass. ‘Keith, we might need to make a stop—’

The car slows down.

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I insist. ‘We’ll be there soon.’ I swallow and look out of the window, trying to keep the sickness down.

I feel even more nervous as the car pulls up on Harley Street.

‘These buildings look like your townhouse,’ I say, gazing at the beautiful three-storey Georgian houses.

‘
Our
townhouse,’ says Marc, leading me towards a shiny black door. ‘As of yesterday, half is legally yours.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Maybe I should sell my half and travel the world.’

‘As long as I can travel with you.’

‘As if I’d travel anywhere without you.’

By the door, a shiny brass plate says, ‘Doctor Karen Christian – Private Physician’.

‘How well do you know this doctor?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know her at all,’ says Marc. ‘But she comes highly recommended.’

‘By who?’

‘You mean
whom
.’ Marc smiles. ‘She comes recommended by Denise Crompton. Happy?’

‘Yes.’

Marc opens the door, and we find a clean, quiet waiting area with glass coffee tables and leather sofas.

‘It’s quiet,’ I remark, looking around.

‘Of course,’ says Marc. ‘I didn’t want anyone staring at you.’

‘What did you do – ban all the other patients from turning up?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Marc’s lips twist. ‘I booked up every appointment in the clinic this morning.’

‘Marc, you didn’t have to—’

‘Yes I did.’

A door creaks open and a lady in a green nurse’s uniform appears.

‘Ah! Mrs Blackwell. Right on time.’

It takes me a moment to realise she’s talking about me.

I can’t resist sharing a grin with Marc. ‘You booked me in as Mrs Blackwell?’

‘It’s your name.’

The nurse smiles. ‘Will you come this way please? Dr Christian will see you now.’