Page 10 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
Instead, he went over the library door and turned the lock, coming back to the sofa. He sat, his leg pressed against mine, and I imagined I could feel how muscular it was, even through the layers and layers of clothing that separated us.
His posture was casual as he drank his port, and I followed his example, setting my glass down on a nearby table when I’d finished. I felt warmer, happier somehow. More relaxed. More daring. Perhaps I could talk to him about what happened today. I turned toward him.
“Mr. Markham, about today…”
“Yes?” His tone betrayed nothing but polite interest. I could have been asking him about the weather or the latest levy on carriage wheels.
I continued, fortified by the wine. “I don’t want you to take an unfavorable impression of me from it.”
He laughed. “I intrude upon you in a private moment, take advantage of you, and you don’t wantmeto think badly ofyou?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” I said, frowning.
His laughter faded away, replaced by a serious expression. “I’ve been thinking of it all day.” His fingers trailed against my hand and up my sleeve, until they came to rest against the bodice of my dress. “What are you?” he asked. “Some kind of spirit sent to tempt me?”
“I could ask you the same question.” And I couldn’t help myself. I had to touch him. I ran my fingers along the stubble on his jaw, marveling at the roughness of it, how scratchy it was and yet how soft the skin underneath. My hand dropped to his thigh, where I felt how right I had been—his legs were muscular and firm.
He jumped off the couch, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?” he demanded.
My heart jumped. He was just as affected by me as I was by him, and that realization thrilled me beyond measure. “Sir—”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“I am sorry for causing you distress—”
“Distress,” he stated flatly. “Yes, you are causing me immense distress.” He came to a stop in front of me. “Have you ever even kissed a man?”
I felt a little insulted. Despite what had happened here at Markham Hall, despite my admittedly untraditional upbringing, I had never done anything of the sort. I may have been wild, but I wasn’t loose. “Of course not,” I said. I’d meant to sound indignant that he’d even asked, but my voice betrayed something else: longing.
“You see? You are completely virginal, though Lord knows those lips and eyes don’t look the part.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “You have all of these firsts—kisses and caresses and more—left in front of you. You are completely fresh to the world of grown men and women.”
He took hold of my hands and helped me stand to my feet. “I think it’s best if we keep our distance from one another,” he said. My whole body wilted in disappointment. I wanted nothing less.
“Why?”
He pressed his forehead against mine just as he had this morning. “Do you remember me saying that I had become a creature of needs after Violet’s death? I wasn’t exaggerating and I wasn’t joking. I’m accustomed to getting what I want. And I want you.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I managed to ask. “Why can’t we want one another?”
“You don’t understand what I mean. When I say that I want you, I don’t mean your company or your conversation. I don’t want to pine over you and write you poetry. I mean,” he pronounced carefully, “that I want to bend you over this sofa and slide inside of you. I mean that I want to pin you to the ground and watch you squirm as I drive into you over and over again. I mean that I want to spend my evenings watching your pretty little head bob up and down on my cock.”
He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his breeches. There indeed was the object of his words, hard, so very hard, and thicker than I ever imagined. The knot inside of me threatened to snap. I wanted all of those things too, I realized, too aroused to feel embarrassed or shameful. I wanted him inside of me and I wanted to feel his mouth on me once more…
“You see now,” he said, lifting his head and looking me in the eyes, “why you must stay away from me. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who lets a man fuck her just so she’ll have a roof over her head.”
It took only a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, what he was implying about me and my sense of dignity…not to mention what he was revealing about his own concept of hospitality. My blood turned hot, scorching my own veins, ire pounding through me.
I slapped his face as hard as I could.
“I’m not a prostitute, and I’m more than capable of surviving on my own if I have to,” I said.
He turned his face slowly back to me, a handprint blooming on his cheek, each finger clearly delineated in bright red. I wanted to hit him again and again until he apologized, but as I raised my hand, he caught my wrist. We wrestled for a moment, his arms coming around my waist, and before I knew it, I kneeling on the floor, both of my arms pinned behind my back. He knelt in front of me.
My breath came quickly and adrenaline pumped through me, but it wasn’t fear I felt but a feverish rush instead.
“Oh, my little wildcat.” His voice was rougher than normal. “You give me no choice. I have to take this one thing from you. Just this once.”
He pressed his lips against mine. They were soft, oh so soft, and warm, and then he gently parted my lips with his own, and slid his tongue inside my mouth.
