Read Online The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 4) by Sierra Simone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sierra Simone
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skirt and pinned both of her wrists above her head, rolling on top of her to keep her still while I spoke, my hard cock growing harder at the feel of her underneath me. “Do you think that you’re just a machine to me? That I only want to fuck you in order to satisfy myself?”
She opened her mouth but I cut her off, leaning down so that my lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I’d rather use my handkerchief than an unwilling wife. Do you understand?”
“Julian—”
I rolled off of her, our perfect afternoon punctured by my frustration. Frustration with her, yes, but mostly with myself. She’d given herself over to me, body and soul, and it wasn’t just a gift—it was a responsibility. It was my duty to resurrect the Ivy Leavold who was a woman, more than just a mother, but how to resurrect someone who flinched whenever I touched her? Who was as glassy-eyed and passive in bed as a timid schoolgirl?
George stirred, legs beginning to kick under his blanket. I sat and scooped him up in my arms as Ivy watched, cradled him one-handed as I gathered the remains of our picnic back into the basket.
“The sky looks like rain. I’ll meet you inside,” I said, not bothering to modulate the shortness in my voice. I regretted it the moment I saw Ivy look away, blinking quickly and clearly stung by my tone.
Fuck. Just— fuck .
A moment ago, we’d been in a dreamy summertime heaven, us and the perfect creature we’d made together, and now I was angry and she was hurt and the baby was awake, so I couldn’t address either my throbbing headache or my throbbing erection.
George yawned and then made one of those soft cooing noises that babies make which undo every wrong in the world. I melted. This was my wildcat, the mother of my son and heir, and I would learn to be patient with whatever this was, and to do that, I first needed to apologize, although the idea of apologizing for telling the truth chafed at me. Before George, I would have spanked her ass for being so distant with me. I would have fucked her until every confession, fear, and fantasy poured forth from her soul, and I would have punished her until I saw my bride flicker back to life.
But this was after George, and after George had new rules I didn’t understand yet.
“Wildcat…”
She’d stood and was now folding the blanket, facing away from me. “It’s fine.” She turned, tucking the blanket into the basket. “You’re right. It does look like rain.” She plucked George from my arms without looking at me. “We should get moving.”
That night, after Ivy and George had fallen asleep, I went downstairs to the library, where I poured myself a glass of Scotch and sat down behind my desk.
My headache had remained, dull and low, making me irritable all through dinner and beyond, and I’d done my best to stay quiet and out of the way, lest I wound Ivy’s feelings again.
But it wasn’t in my nature to be quiet and out of the way. It wasn’t in my nature to let things fester and lie hidden. This current situation was untenable and it had to be rectified, but I, for once in my life, had no idea how to proceed. I stood and paced around the library.
This was where I had first kissed Ivy. I’d wanted to stop myself, I’d wanted to hold back, because she’d been placed in my care and it was my job to protect her from men like me. But God, she’d been so delicious that night, so full of righteous fury when I’d told her not to fuck me in order to have a roof over her head, and then she’d slapped me, her eyes blazing and her lips parted…
Well, it was no wonder I lost control, was it?
And here—here was where I’d proposed to her, fucked her into saying yes. She was the most beautiful when she was the most defiant, and I’d relished her submission all the more for the fight that came before it, I’d relished her yes more, knowing that she hadn’t given it passively, that she’d given it only when I’d flayed her open with my touch.
She opened her mouth but I cut her off, leaning down so that my lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I’d rather use my handkerchief than an unwilling wife. Do you understand?”
“Julian—”
I rolled off of her, our perfect afternoon punctured by my frustration. Frustration with her, yes, but mostly with myself. She’d given herself over to me, body and soul, and it wasn’t just a gift—it was a responsibility. It was my duty to resurrect the Ivy Leavold who was a woman, more than just a mother, but how to resurrect someone who flinched whenever I touched her? Who was as glassy-eyed and passive in bed as a timid schoolgirl?
George stirred, legs beginning to kick under his blanket. I sat and scooped him up in my arms as Ivy watched, cradled him one-handed as I gathered the remains of our picnic back into the basket.
“The sky looks like rain. I’ll meet you inside,” I said, not bothering to modulate the shortness in my voice. I regretted it the moment I saw Ivy look away, blinking quickly and clearly stung by my tone.
Fuck. Just— fuck .
A moment ago, we’d been in a dreamy summertime heaven, us and the perfect creature we’d made together, and now I was angry and she was hurt and the baby was awake, so I couldn’t address either my throbbing headache or my throbbing erection.
George yawned and then made one of those soft cooing noises that babies make which undo every wrong in the world. I melted. This was my wildcat, the mother of my son and heir, and I would learn to be patient with whatever this was, and to do that, I first needed to apologize, although the idea of apologizing for telling the truth chafed at me. Before George, I would have spanked her ass for being so distant with me. I would have fucked her until every confession, fear, and fantasy poured forth from her soul, and I would have punished her until I saw my bride flicker back to life.
But this was after George, and after George had new rules I didn’t understand yet.
“Wildcat…”
She’d stood and was now folding the blanket, facing away from me. “It’s fine.” She turned, tucking the blanket into the basket. “You’re right. It does look like rain.” She plucked George from my arms without looking at me. “We should get moving.”
That night, after Ivy and George had fallen asleep, I went downstairs to the library, where I poured myself a glass of Scotch and sat down behind my desk.
My headache had remained, dull and low, making me irritable all through dinner and beyond, and I’d done my best to stay quiet and out of the way, lest I wound Ivy’s feelings again.
But it wasn’t in my nature to be quiet and out of the way. It wasn’t in my nature to let things fester and lie hidden. This current situation was untenable and it had to be rectified, but I, for once in my life, had no idea how to proceed. I stood and paced around the library.
This was where I had first kissed Ivy. I’d wanted to stop myself, I’d wanted to hold back, because she’d been placed in my care and it was my job to protect her from men like me. But God, she’d been so delicious that night, so full of righteous fury when I’d told her not to fuck me in order to have a roof over her head, and then she’d slapped me, her eyes blazing and her lips parted…
Well, it was no wonder I lost control, was it?
And here—here was where I’d proposed to her, fucked her into saying yes. She was the most beautiful when she was the most defiant, and I’d relished her submission all the more for the fight that came before it, I’d relished her yes more, knowing that she hadn’t given it passively, that she’d given it only when I’d flayed her open with my touch.
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