Robert and Clara - Bathtime

The arrival of the Earl of Oxbridge and his lady at the George and Dragon caused more excitement than the freak show with the pig faced lady. Ned Briarly, the peddler who had found them limping at the side of the road and given them a lift to the village, basked in the reflected glory and didn't have to pay for a drink for the rest of the week.

The Earl lived up to everyone's expectations of what a real life Earl would be like. Even dripping wet and supporting a lady so cold she was turning blue, he exuded authority. He demanded that a roaring fire be set in their best room, that a hip bath and a dozen buckets of hot water should be prepared, that wine and food should be brought up and that the local magistrate should be called to deal with the highwaymen who had robbed them.

Robert himself couldn't care less what the locals thought. All he wanted was to get Clara warm again. Her lips were turning blue and her teeth were chattering so hard he feared she'd break them.

Once inside, he dismissed all the servants, tested the water in the hip bath, and stripped Clara. The tapes on her dress had tightened into knots, so he just ripped it off her. She didn't utter a word of protest, which worried him more.

He picked her up and put her down in the bath. She squealed in protest. "Too hot. I'm burning," she said.

"It's luke warm, not hot at all. You are so cold. Sit down and let it take the chill out of you."

She did. When she was lying back against the linen covered edge of the bath, he picked up a bucket of hot water and carefully poured that in. Then he did the same again with a second bucket. Her teeth still chattered but her skin was beginning to pinken. He poured her some wine, then took the hot poker from the fire and plunged it into the tankard. When the wine was hot, he handed it to her. While she was drinking, he more hot water to her bath.

She handed him back the empty tankard. "I shouldn't be drinking in the bath."

It was the first sensible thing she had said since they crawled out of the river, but he frowned at her. "Yes, you should. You need to get warm again." Robert refilled it with more hot wine and handed it back to her. "Drink it all." She obeyed, and he poured in another bucket of hot water.

"You do know you're committed now?" he said. "You've just allowed me to claim you as my lady in front of the whole town of Newbridge without a single protest. You have to marry me now."

She choked, and he caught her tankard before it could spill into the bath. She glared at him. "You're relentless. Do you ever give up?"

"Not when there's something I want. And I want you." He took the tankard out of her hand and refilled it. Her skin was now bright red.

"What about Isabelle?" she asked in the most uncertain voice he had ever heard from her.

"That bitch!" He poured himself some wine, opened his coat and sat on the floor beside her.

To his consternation, her eyes filled with tears. "Clara, what's wrong? I didn't mean to distress you."

She tried to wipe the tears with the hand holding the tankard. "You're a big, stupid," she paused, searching for the word, "MAN. And I thought you were in love with Isabelle."

"Does this mean you could love me a little?"

"I have for a long time, you overbearing oaf, and I knew you didn't love me." He leaned over and kissed her. Her mouth opened eagerly for him and she put the arm not holding the tankard around his neck to pull him closer. She tasted of wine and passion and he couldn't resist deepening the kiss. It was like coming home.

Only the chill of her skin stopped him hauling her out of the bath and into his bed. He broke off, and fetched another bucket of hot water.

"Look," he exclaimed. "Your breasts are floating."

She glared at him. "And this is why you are still single at the age of thirty six."

He laughed, then pulled off his sodden boots and coat. "That's better," he said, flexing his shoulders now that they were free of the weight of the wet wool. The heat from the fire immediately warmed him. He opened the top of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Clara watched with appreciation.

He found a wash cloth and soap. "Lie back and relax, I'm going to wash you." He lathered the cloth and started at her feet, carefully washing each toe and massaging as he went.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Robert moved onto her calf and was smoothed the washcloth up and down. The water was almost at the top of the bath, so Robert scooped out a bucketful to make room for more hot water. Then he started to wash her arms. He couldn't resist brushing a kiss into the crook of her elbow.

He told her to scoot down in the bath so that he could wash her hair. He spent a long time lathering it and rubbing the river out of her hair.

"I feel guilty letting you look after me like this," Clara said.

"Relax. I like looking after you. It makes me feel all big and strong and manly."

"We wouldn't want you to feel small and womanly. By all means, proceed." Clara relaxed into his attentions.

"So why was he trying to kill me?" she asked suddenly.

Robert winced. "My fault, I'm afraid. He saw the sketch I drew of you."

She flinched. "The one with no clothes?"

"I'm afraid so. It was obvious that we were intimate." He stopped, struck. "Oh damn, he must have seen the Special Licence as well, and knew I was going to marry you."

She sat bolt upright in the bath, sloshing water over the sides. "The what?" she demanded.

"The Special Licence. I didn't tell you about that?" Robert tried to look innocent. From the fury in Clara's silver eyes, it wasn't working, so he picked up a bucket. "Close you eyes while I rinse your hair," and he poured it over her.'

She spluttered, pushed the dripping hair away from her face. "No, you never mentioned anything about a Special Licence. You, sir, are entirely too high handed."

"Robert. We're gone past formalities. Or perhaps you should call me Roberta, since I'm now a lady's maid." He soaped the cloth and began a soothing rub on her back.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but allowed him to continue his ministrations. "He saw a Special Licence," she prompted.

"And knew I planned to marry you as soon as possible. He probably thought you were already pregnant."

Clara made a distressed noise, and Robert gentled his touch. "Don't pay any attention to him. I'll take care of you." His voice hardened. "And of him."

Robert made an effort to keep his touch light and to keep the fury out of his voice. "He'll never bother you again, I'll make sure of that." He dropped the wash cloth and rubbed the soap between his hands. "Lie back so I can wash the rest of you."

He smoothed his hands over her torso, paying particular attention to her breasts. He caressed them, learning their texture and weight, and what to do to please Clara most.

"They are not that dirty," she murmured.

He flashed her a quick acknowledging smile, then returned his attention to to her breasts. "Very important to get them all clean and happy. See these nipples here, I think they might need to be kissed clean." And he suited action to words.

Clara moaned. He continued his ministrations until her breathing was choppy and she was writhing in the water. Then he moved further down her body. The hip bath was narrow and forced her to keep her thighs close together.

"Put your feet up on the edge of the bath so I can wash you," Robert said.

Clara, still looking dazed, didn't move, so he picked up one foot and lifted it to rest on the edge of the bath. "You're so bossy," she said, sitting upright and bringing her foot back down.

He smiled at her. "You like bossy, admit it." He put his hand under the water for her foot. "Sometimes." She moved it out of his way. "I just don't know if I could stand being married to a man who was so overbearing."

Robert's heart stopped beating for a painful second. Clara was the second woman today to tell him that he was too domineering to marry. And she was the one who counted.

"I--" He wanted to promise he would change, but it would be a lie. "I can't be a Milquetoast" he said.

She smiled, amused at the thought. "I know that. But there must be something in between." She lay back and looked up at him. "The thing is, I'm bossy too."

It took him a moment to grasp what she was saying. "You mean?"

"I want you to prove that sometimes I can be the one in control." Her eyes flickered to the bed.

"You want to call the shots in bed?"

She nodded. "Yes. You do nothing unless I tell you do."

"That's all it will take and you'll marry me?"

She nodded again. "Easy. Let's get started." He lifted her straight out of the bath and wrapped a linen sheet around her.

She held up a hand to stop him. "This is your idea of me being in control?" He stopped. Blinked. Muttered an apology. "I will dry myself while you get cleaned up. And I decide what I'm going to do to you."

Robert stripped out his remaining clothes in seconds. Too impatient to call for another bath, he stepped into the one Clara had been in and scrubbed himself thoroughly to get rid of the river stink. Clara was still working knots out of her hair when he stood up and poured the last bucket of water over his head.

The floor of the bedroom was awash with spilled water and littered with soap, clothes and drying sheets, but he didn't care. He grabbed the last linen sheet and rubbed himself dry.

"Now, lie on the bed," Clara told him.

He did, then reached for her, intending to pull off the sheet that was still wrapped around her.

She stopped him. "No. You can't touch me. Raise your hands over your head and hold onto the bed frame."

"This is silly," he grumbled but grabbed the wooden frame. The position left him feeling exposed and slightly uncomfortable. "For how long?"

"Until I tell you to stop. If you let go, there is no chance I'll marry you."

"You're serious?"

"Oh yes. Now lie there and be quiet."

He did. She didn't move, just stood at the side of the bed, looking at him. Her eyes darkened. Even that was enough to send the blood rushing to his shaft. "What do you think?" he asked.

She took a breath. "I don't know where to start."

She moved closer to the bed. "I've seen pictures in books, but they look nothing like you." She caressed his shoulders. Her touch was light, tormenting. "In my books, all the men are much thinner, nothing like as broad across here as you."

She leaned over to span his shoulders with her hands. The position put her close to his mouth and he longed to reach up and kiss her. He forced himself to stay still.

She ran her hands over his chest. "None of them have muscles like this." She explored, digging her fingertips into the muscles.

"And definitely, none of them are covered with red hair." She pushed her fingers through the hair on his chest, testing the texture. The sensation was maddening.

She moved to his underarm. "Oh, this is so soft." He twitched, fighting the urge to grab her. She explored his armpit, caressing and fondling. He flinched away from the sensation. He had no idea the skin there was so sensitive.

"Anything else that's different?" he said hoarsely. He didn't know how much more of this he could stand. To his relief she put her hands back on his torso. Then she tormented him by feeling down his stomach, touching every ridge of muscle on the way. He sucked in his breath and she hummed in appreciation.

"I had no idea that a man's belly looked like this," she said. She tested his navel, marvelling at how small it was, then moved to explore the angle between his hip bones and his stomach. He shook under her touch.

While she was torturing him, the sheet he had wrapped around her came loose. She grabbed at it, then with a wicked grin, tossed it away. Now he could see her only inches away from him, but couldn't touch her.

She traced the line of hair that went from his navel to his groin and he held his breath, willing her to touch his staff.

Instead she turned around and moved to his feet.

"No," he howled.

She looked over her shoulder and stared him down. "Be quiet, be still and keep your hands where they are."

He forced himself to nod.

As punishment, she took a long time exploring his toes, exclaiming over their length, and the boniness of his ankles. He was shaking trying to stay still under her merciless fingers.

She knew what she was doing, damn it, and deliberately searched for the caress that made his breath hitch and his skin twitch. She ran her fingers along his shins, never touching the skin, just the hair. He writhed, it was liking having a thousand erotic spiders walking on him.

"Please," he gasped.

She ignored him and moved to his knees. "I've never seen a kneecap like this in any drawing." She traced its contours, then moved her hand to the back of his knee. He jerked so hard he feared he would break the bed. She smiled.

"But I suppose you need a big kneecaps with such splendid thighs." She ran her hands from his knees to his hip bones. "I've never seen thighs like this in books. See the shape of the muscles?" She tormented him by tracing the striations on his thigh muscles.

He clenched his teeth in an effort not to scream at her.

Finally, she moved up a few inches further. "And here, we have a most remarkable specimen, unlike any I've seen in books. See the way it rises from the darker hair, and strains upwards? Look how dark it is compared with the paleness of the rest of your skin."

She ran a single finger up along the length of his shaft, and he nearly came off the bed.

"Clara, please." She laughed at him and continued to explore.

"See how the top is engorged and already wet?" She put her hand on his shaft and lifted it to examine it more closely.

To his shock, she licked it. "Hmm, salty. But not bad." She looked at him challengingly. "I think I read something interesting," and then she took the head of his shaft in her mouth and sucked.

Robert howled. His hips rose up off the bed and he writhed. His fingers cramped holding onto the damned bed frame. "Clara, please." He couldn't have said what he wanted. To his relief, or his despair, he wasn't sure which, she stopped.

"You don't like that? How odd, I assumed that all men loved it. Never mind." And she moved astride his hips. Slowly and carefully, she lowered herself onto him.

"Ahhh!" It was heaven and hell combined. She felt so good, hot and wet and Clara. But she moved so slowly, it was driving him mad.

"Oh, this feels amazing," she said, rocking backwards and forwards. He moved in counterpoint, trying to deepen the pressure but she wouldn't let him. She leaned forward into his chest, bringing her splendid breasts closer to his mouth, but still out of touch.

This position was even worse, the slow movement and lighter pressure was like a silk scarf being dragged over his rod - maddening and arousing but not satisfying. He raised his hips, trying to increase the pressure.

"Clara, please." He writhed, struggling to find a way to supply the pressure he needed - and she did too.

"Please what?" She was still moving in that maddening rhythm.

"Please let me move. Release me."

"I love hearing you beg."

"I'll spend tomorrow on my knees begging, just let me go now and I'll make it good for you." Anything to end this torment.

"All right." The words were barely out of her mouth before he exploded off the bed. He turned her over onto her back, took possession of her mouth and slammed into her.

She tasted of wine and Clara and he couldn't get enough. He plundered her mouth like a conquer, determined that she would be his. He claimed her breasts, breaking off the kiss to suck at one nipple. She groaned.

He pulled her knees up to his hips and pounded into her. Her moans of pleasure grew louder and louder until she was screaming. He could not have stopped, but she was urging him on. The pressure built up until he erupted and he felt her shatter at the same moment. He couldn't have said which of them made the most noise.

He held her while she shuddered in his arms.

Finally, she looked up at him. "I was enjoying that."

"We'll do it again," he promised. "In a year's time."

She laughed.

"You'll marry me?" He wanted to make sure this time.

"If you insist." She yawned, closed her eyes and fell asleep.