Page 4 of The Education of Ivy Leavold
Between his driving cock, his fingers on my clit and the one working in my ass, I could feel it building, like a storm, heavy and unstoppable. In fact, it almost frightened me. Everything in me felt too tight, too taut, and I felt brittle, like I would shatter if I stood before the oncoming waves.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, and as the words came out, I realized they were about more than the pleasure threatening to break me.
“I know,” came the deep voice of my lover. “But I’m not. I’ll be right here with you.”
And then another finger pushed into my ass. I made another noise, impossibly close now.
“That’s it,” Mr. Markham encouraged, the circles on my clit growing relentlessly rough. “Show me how you can come.”
It started deep within me, near the head of Julian’s cock, the muscles spasming outward so hard that tears pricked at my eyelids. It ripped through my folds, through my clitoris, through my ass; it tore up through my chest and down to my legs, seizure after seizure, clench after clench, and my mind abruptly switched to blackness, my only focus on the soaring surf that took my body. I was bucking my hips, trying to grind myself back into Julian and I was only distantly aware of the wild noises I was making.
Bit by bit, the waves subsided, leaving me breathless and quivering and acutely sensitive to the fingers and cock that still worked me. A second orgasm gathered itself within, whirling and swirling.
“I’m going to come inside you,” Mr. Markham said, his words breaking into a groan. “I’m going to fill you with my seed. And when you’re full of me, you’ll remember that it’smeyou’re marrying,meyou belong to, andmethat you love.”
And then he gave a soft moan. “Yes, here it comes. Oh, God, Ivy. I love you so fucking much.”
A groan sawed out of his mouth and I felt him pulse hard inside of me, a never-ending heat and throb, and my body responded in kind. My second climax came at that moment, softer and milder than the first, but strong enough to milk him, strong enough to make me cry out again.
He was still coming, thrusting and panting, and then with a shudder, everything about him stilled. We stayed like that for a moment, his fingers and cock still buried inside of me, our limbs limp and sated, my mind slowly flickering back into conscious thought.
He abruptly pulled out and flipped me over onto my back. He spread my legs with his hands, stepping back like an artist examining his work. I once again propped myself on my elbows, and I could see his cock, still glistening and erect, the occasional aftershock still making it jerk.
He used a finger to probe my entrance. “I wish you could see this, Ivy,” he said. “It’s beautiful. My cum spilling out of you. I want you to walk around every day like this, with my seed in your cunt, so that you will belong to me even if I’m not with you. Every day.”
“Every day,” I repeated, my voice hoarse from screaming and grunting.
He buttoned himself up, gathered a blanket from beside the sofa, and gently wrapped me in it. Once I was safely in his arms, he grabbed the shredded remains of my dress and carried me up to his bed, where he unlaced my corset and put me between the sheets.
“Can you promise me something, wildcat?” he asked, laying down next to me. “As my future wife?”
“Mmm?” The sheets were so soft.
His fingers touched my hair. “Promise me that you’ll never ask me about Violet’s death. About the night before it happened. Please.”
“Why?” I managed to say. It was such a strange request, maybe even a disturbing one, but my mind was so heavy, so tired, and my soul was still singing.
His arms tightened around me. “Just promise.”
If I had been fully awake and not fresh from being fucked senseless, then I would have been alarmed at this. Alarmed at the deliberateness with which he had waited until I was at my most vulnerable, my drowsiest. I would have wondered what he wanted to keep secret and why.
But I wasn’t fully awake or fully aware—and maybe even if I had been, I would have promised anyway. Because I loved him. Because I wanted him to keep loving me. Because I didn’t want anything to keep us from each other.
And I didn’t want to believe that he could have killed Violet. His secret was something else, surely. He was ashamed that they had fought that night. He had said things he now regretted. It couldn’t be anything graver than that. I refused to let it be.
“I promise,” I murmured sleepily. I meant to say something else, about how I trusted him no matter what, but my mind seemed unable to compute even basic thoughts. Instead, I kissed his fingers as he brushed the hair away from my face, and I fell into a deep slumber as the worries rattled in their small boxes deep into my dreams.
I woke from sleeping like a tree wakes from winter, unfurling my limbs and stretching, feeling promise and contentment in the future, though I did not know exactly why.
I rolled my face into the pillow, unbelievably soft, unfamiliar, and then my other senses came to life. I smelled the grass and sunshine smell of Mr. Markham, I saw the richly embroidered hangings above the bed, I felt the delicious twinges from bruises both inside and out—bruises I had begged for the night previous.
And then it came to me, all of the memories, all of the decisions, everything from last night: I had agreed to marry Mr. Markham. I had said yes.
I became aware of another presence in the room, and I looked over to see Mr. Markham sitting in a chair across the room from the bed, his long legs stretched out before him, his green eyes watching me like a predator watches prey. Intently. With ownership. But this observation didn’t frighten me. At least, it didn’t frighten me in the sort of way that would persuade me to avoid him. Rather, it electrified me.
He was wild and feral, like myself. We were the same—solitary animals forced into human skin.
I sat up and stretched some more, feeling muscles pull and complain in ways that recalled the way the carpet had felt under my toes as I was bent over a table.
