Page 6 of The Education of Ivy Leavold
“I said,not yet.”
I tore my gaze away from his cock and met his eyes. They were as they always were—coolness warring with passion, pain warring with pleasure. Torture and guilt and shame, underscored by desires that he would never be able to deny himself.
Those eyes searched mine, asking questions and demanding answers.
Can I take from you?
Yes. Please, God, yes.
Satisfied, he let go of my jaw. “Are you wet?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Show me. Touch yourself.”
Without hesitation, I ran my fingers over my clit, sucking in my breath as I did. I was already so aroused, so swollen, that I knew it would only take a moment’s work to bring myself to climax. I pressed my fingers against it once more, circling and circling as hard and as fast as I could, my core already beginning to clench.
Mr. Markham caught my wrist in his hand. “No,” he said sternly. “This is not for you.”
My lips parted in surprise. He had, of course, denied me pleasure often in the past, but now that we were to be married, surely those obstacles that had held him back before were removed?
I should be upset, I realized.I should be furious.But God, that stern voice, that command. That implication that I was only here to be used, to be an instrument to bring him satisfaction.
It made me more aroused than ever. I trembled with the need for release, my nipples painfully peaked, my breath now shallow and panting.
“Put your fingers inside,” Mr. Markham said slowly, deliberately, as if talking to a servant. “Put them all the way in.”
I complied, unable to stop the small whimper that escaped me.
“Now pull them out.”
I moaned now, missing even the paltry stimulation of those two fingers.
“Hold them up so I can see.” He examined my fingers in the muted light, turning them this way and that, acting oblivious to the way I was spreading my legs even farther, trying to grind myself against my heel, the floor,anything. He sucked my fingers into his mouth, licking and voracious, and the sensation of his tongue flicking across my fingertips was enough to drive me mad.
He removed them from his mouth, but kept them pressed against his lips. “In my heaven, Ivy,” he said, “there is no food to eat, but only your pussy. When I taste you, I know that I’ve tasted salvation. Now place your hands on my knees. You are not allowed to touch yourself under any circumstances.”
“Please,” I croaked. “Mr. Markham, please.”
“Shh. Quiet. Watch.”
He took the dress and wrapped the soft fabric around himself. “This is where your tits were, Ivy. Where they were rubbing against the dress. Do you know that the night you came here, after we spoke, I came to this very room, to this very chair, and pulled out my cock? It was already hard—it had been hard from the moment I held your wrist in my hand and felt the delicate skin there. I could feel your pulse, your very lifeblood, so close to the surface as I held you.” His hand moved slowly up and down his shaft, rubbing the cotton against himself. The wide crest of his crown appeared and disappeared, and damnhow I wanted it inside me.
“I couldn’t wait to get undressed or even take off my shoes. I unbuttoned my trousers only enough to free my dick and then I worked myself harder and faster than I have since I was a schoolboy. I wanted one of your dresses then to climax in. I wanted you to watch as I did it.”
His hand moved faster now, and I could hear the fabric rustling as it brushed against the chair and the wool of his pants. “I had to settle for my hand, of course, watching cum spill over onto my fingers and onto my waistcoat when I knew, even then, that it belonged in your cunt, on your tits, in your hair.”
My fingers were gripping his thighs so hard that I knew they’d leave marks. I also knew that he liked it, he liked it when I repaid his dominance with fierceness, when I submitted but with teeth and scratching and twisting.
“Watch now,” he said. “I’m going to come on this dress. I’m going to mark it. Destroy it. Because you are mine now. You wear the dresses I give you. You climax when I say you can.” His breath was ragged now, rough like unpolished granite, rough and lovely. “Say it,” he said. “Say that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathed. “My body belongs to you. My pleasure belongs to you. Only you.”
His other hand caught my face once again. “Only me.”
“Only you, but please, I need—” My hands were already sliding off his legs. I couldn’t help it. I had to touch myself, had to. I was almost weeping with the agony of it.
Effortlessly, he grabbed both my wrists, his long fingers keeping them pinned together at his knee. His eyes glittered green with triumph. “Here it comes,” he growled. “Watch.”
