Page 25 of The Education of Ivy Leavold
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice wavering as I worked myself on his shaft, feeling heat creep up my neck. “But I feel the same way about you. I want you to cherish me and to break me too. I want to rage at you and serve you. Oh, Julian,” I moaned as my channel stroked his cock. “Try to break me now. Please.”
His grip on my waist tightened and I felt his cock swell impossibly hard inside of me. He was hesitating, I saw, resisting that dark urge inside of him, and I didn’t know how to show him it was okay, that I needed that part of him right now or I would fly apart in doubt.
“I remember our signal,” I told him, as gently as I could while I rocked back and forth in his lap. “But please, hurry, I—”
And then I was on my back again and he was kneeling, holding my hips up and driving into my pussy as if I weighed nothing, as if he were using my pussy the same way he used his silk handkerchief—to get himself off with no other consideration.
“I am going to fuck you here in the road,” he said, each thrust slamming the head of his cock deep, deep inside. “I’m going to mark you with my cum. And then I’m dragging you back to the house, and I am going to fuck your ass until you’re sobbing and you know what it really means to be punished.”
I moaned with naked want at the thought, my clitoris throbbing with the idea of being treated so savagely, of his thick cock taking me wherever Mr. Markham wished it to.
“Does that make you wet? Me fucking your ass? Only sluts like to be fucked that way. Are you a slut, Ivy?”
I moaned again, incoherent with need, my orgasm building inexorably in my pelvis as Mr. Markham pounded into me again and again. “Little sluts have to be punished,” he grunted. “And fucked until their greedy little cunts are satisfied.” His fingertips dug into the soft flesh of my ass, hard enough to bruise, and I loved it, panting as the bright points of pain counterweighted the pleasure.
“I know you want to come on my dick. Show me how a little slut can’t help but come whenever she’s being fucked like she deserves.”
And then he ground my pussy against him, hard and fast, my bud rubbing against him and the head of his cock rubbing against the secret spot deep inside.
His eyes met mine, and his face was uncontrolled—uncivilized even—pure triumph and lust painting his sharp features as he watched me come unraveled. My pussy contracted and then exploded with sensation, vivid release ripping through me, making my back arch so far off the ground that only my shoulders still made contact with road. I writhed against it, trying to ride it out, but I had no control of my body—my hips were still firmly in Mr. Markham’s hands and raised up to his cock as he knelt. He held still as I clenched around him, his eyes fluttering closed. “Ah,fuck. That’s good, Ivy,” he breathed. “You come so good. I can feel it squeezing me.”
And then he drew my hips back and impaled himself in me again, his body staying stationary while he used my sated pussy like the rest of me was inconsequential. Then he abruptly let go, pulling out and fisting his cock, slick and wide and almost purple in its near-climax.
“Show me your cunt,” he ordered and I spread my legs wide. With a mutteredfuck, he jerked himself once, twice, violently hard, and a stream of semen shot onto my pussy.
“Now your tits,” he said and his voice was tight with the effort it took to control his orgasm. I hurriedly pulled down my bodice as far as it would go, exposing the tops of my breasts and the barest pink of nipple. Another rough stroke and he marked me there. “Your mouth,” and this was now barely a strangled rasp. I opened wide, and with a long panting breath, he jerked himself to completion, lacing my lips and my neck and my tongue with his ownership.
His cock stayed hard and red, and the lust in his face was barely dimmed as he sat back on his heels and looked at me, skirts above my waist and marked like his property.
“Where do you belong?” he asked.
“Here.”
“Whom do you belong to?”
“You.” And the answer was so easy, so natural, that I couldn’t believe I had fought it these past few days. And his role in Violet’s death—I would worry about that when the time came. For now, all I had to do was revel in his possession of me and my possession of him in return.
He rose from the road, and without bothering to tuck his still-erect dick back into his pants, picked me up and carried me over to Raven, who had been grazing patiently all this time. He climbed into the saddle, then easily lifted me in front of him. I stroked his exposed member as he turned Raven toward home.
“The servants will see,” I said as we rode back into the courtyard.
“I don’t care. I want them to know how hard you make me. Just as when they hear your screams tonight, they’ll know how satisfied I make you.”
True to his word, he dismounted and helped me down into his arms and carried me inside, his cock buried in my skirts and my skirts still tangled with my petticoats.
“About punishing me more tonight…did you mean what you said, in the road?” I asked as we bypassed the stairwell and walked toward the library.
Julian looked at me and then leaned his head down to speak in my ear.
“I meant every fucking word.”
No fire had been lit in the library, as it was midday, but the damp weather seemed to pervade the room, and I shivered as we stepped inside.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little. I’ll be fine.”
He set me down on a damask sofa. “Fine’s not good enough for my wildcat.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead and went to draw up the fire. I watched him as he knelt and laid wood on the andiron, his long legs folded underneath him, his powerful arms straining the fabric of his shirt and jacket.
