Page 28 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
“A fine prologue,” Silas said. “But it is time for the main act.”
I reached for the blindfold again, but I was stopped once more. Mr. Markham slid an arm underneath my knees and back and lifted me, carrying me somewhere. We only went a handful of steps, and I could still hear all the guests, so I knew that we were still in the parlor. Mr. Markham sat, bringing me down to his lap. I sat facing out, still naked, and Mr. Markham spread my legs, his fingers once again finding my pussy, now swollen and slick.
“The others are playing now,” he whispered in my ear. “Would you like to know what they are doing?”
I nodded. His fingers had already found the tenderest part of me; he was rubbing in slow, light circles.
“They are watching as Silas undresses Molly,” he said very quietly. “He’s pulled off her dress and now he’s working on her corset—there goes her chemise. She’s almost completely naked now. Silas is kissing her—her lips and now her breasts and now he’s kissing her cunt. She likes that—she likes that very much.”
I could hear Molly’s gasps as Silas continued his ministrations. I made a gasp of my own when Mr. Markham slid a finger inside of me.
“Molly is impatient, just like you. She’s undressing Silas now, he’s letting her, and now she’s on top of him, sliding herself against his cock.”
I could feel Mr. Markham’s own hardness beneath me, could feel him respond whenever I ground against him.
“And now he’s grabbed her hips and pushed himself inside of her.”
Molly’s moans filled the parlor. I could hear the noises of others—heavy breathing, groans, and the sound of skin on skin.
“Everyone has joined in now,” Mr. Markham said softly. I turned towards him.
“Shall we?” I asked.
“No, Miss Leavold.” But his voice was ragged. Losing control.
“Please,” I said. “Please…just a little bit.”
“No.” This time his voice was more forceful. He picked me up once more and carried me out of the room.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded. He had stirred me once again, right after that first climax, and my body clamored for more. I wasn’t finished yet. I squirmed and kicked to get down, and then I was pinned up against the wall, the wooden paneling cold on my bare back.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, feeling every line of his body through his clothes, feeling his hips pressed against mine.
He didn’t answer, but his lips were on my neck, hot and scorching, and then he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers. He hooked an arm around my leg, raising it up, and then I could feel the hot length of his cock pressing against me, hard and urgent.
I slid my hands through his hair and then pulled his head back so that I could kiss him. The blindfold kept everything in complete darkness—reducing everything to sounds and touch—but that was all I needed, because at that moment, the head of his cock pressed up against my folds, and I thought I would never need any other sensation again. I could live forever with only this feeling—the blindfold silky against my eyes, his dinner jacket soft on my breasts, his wide crown slowly, oh so slowly, pushing in, caressing me, separating me.
“Oh, wildcat,” he moaned, his head buried once again in my shoulder. “Oh, God. You feel so good. Make me stop. Make me stop.” He pushed further in and I gasped.
“Don’t stop,” I begged.
We stayed there for a long moment, me pinned against the wall, his breath against my neck, his cock barely inside of me. I could feel every heartbeat, every pulse, and all I wanted was for him to finish it, to thrust all the way inside, and fuck me against this wall, right where anyone in the house could see.
With a throaty exhalation, he pulled away, his lips leaving my neck, his hips parting from mine.
“No,” he said again, and he finally sounded in control of his voice. “I can’t.”
I had a litany of protestations, of reasons why it was okay andrighteven, but then I felt the blindfold removed from my face. I looked at him for the first time in an hour, seeing the flush to his cheeks and the brightness to his eyes. He’d buttoned his pants once more, but a rigid outline was still visible. I reached for it but he grabbed my wrist.
“Go to bed,” he said.
“I’m not ready.”
He was breathing hard still, but his voice was steady as his eyes burned into mine. “Shall I wrestle you to bed, then?”
I didn’t answer, because I knew the answer was apparent in my face and eyes and in the way I arched my back to press against him. He let go of me and took a step back.
“Goodnight,” he said, and then he left me, naked and wanting, in the hallway.
