Where the Ivy Grows (#2 Bestselling Devoted Series) Page 5
‘Marc!’
16
Moments pass.
Just as I’m getting really impatient, Marc returns with a pair of silver handcuffs dangling from his fingers. They look heavy duty, and I wonder for a fleeting moment if they’re real police issue ones.
I swallow. ‘Where did you get those from?’ I ask.
‘The car.’ Marc stands at the foot of the bed watching me, still obviously trying to get his breathing under control. God, he’s so handsome. But my heart skips a beat as I eye up the handcuffs. I feel the familiar Marc Blackwell turmoil of emotions: fear, excitement, confusion and lust, all mixed together in one sexy bundle.
‘I’m going to handcuff you to the radiator and fuck you until you can’t see straight.’
Oh. My body shivers at those words.
I pull myself up on the bed. ‘Marc -’
‘Off the bed.’
We’re back here again – Marc taking charge. Marc dominating me. My mind is in turmoil, but my body knows exactly what it wants. It’s betraying me, and my legs swing off the bed. I want him. So badly. In whatever way he chooses.
Marc scoops me up and carries me towards the window. There’s a stout metal radiator underneath it – an old-fashioned one, like the sort we used to have at school.
He lays me on the floor, and I feel the heat from the radiator against my scalp and soft carpet under my back.
Marc presses his palms against my legs, and I shiver. There’s no defying him now, and we both know it. I’m belted into the Marc Blackwell ride, and all I can do is hold on tight.
He’s watching me with such force that I’m unable to tear myself away from his eyes. I see the hunger in them, but he’s fighting his urges, forcing himself to slow down. That’s what the handcuffs are about, I realise. They’re helping him stay in control. Which is something I seem to have lost the ability to do.
I struggle up towards him, but Marc’s strong fingers take hold of my ribs and lay me back down.
Marc takes the handcuffs, and the heavy metal links clink together. I swallow, hard.
‘I’m sure you remember how pleasurable it can be to be restrained.’
I gulp, feeling my hair grow static against the carpet. ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’
Marc grabs my hand. He hits a handcuff against my wrist, and I feel metal encase it. There’s a clicking sound as Marc squeezes the cuff tightly shut.
I watch him admire my wrists for a moment. Then he feeds the other cuff around the pipe connecting the radiator to the floor. Taking my free wrist, he fits the handcuff around it.
I’m now totally in his power.
My arms are above my head, restrained by the cuffs and held tight to the radiator. I move my hands and hear the clang of metal on metal. I really am held fast. If I move too much, I’ll burn my hands on the radiator pipe.
Having restrained me, Marc gets to his feet and paces back and forth. He has that powerful look in his eyes, that hunter look, but I can also see by his heaving chest that he’s struggling to hold it together.
My breasts move up and down against my ribcage. I lay there, naked and wanting him, but unable to do anything without his say so.
‘Wait there.’ Marc heads for the door.
‘Wait?’ Are you kidding me? I fidget in the cuffs and am rewarded with a radiator burn along my fingers. ‘Ouch!’
Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Do as you’re told and you won’t get hurt.’ He vanishes through the door.
Oh, I’m so frustrated now. This is too much. There’s teasing, and there’s taking things too far. I try to slow my breathing. To still the rush of hot blood racing around my body. But it’s too much. I want him, I want him, I want him.
Minutes pass and my body is going into a frenzy. Knowing he’s near, but not being able to have him, is driving me wild. Too wild.
I buck and pull against the handcuffs in a hopeless attempt to free myself, but all I manage to do is burn my hands.
Just when I think I can’t bear it any longer, Marc’s tall, broad silhouette appears in the doorway.
‘Are you trying to torture me?’ I shout.
‘A little. But in a good way.’
‘In a good way?’
‘Your orgasm will thank me for it.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘The hotel jewellery shop. I had to buy something for you.’
17
Marc’s left hand is closed around a black velvet box, and I eye it suspiciously.
‘What do you have?’ I ask.
‘Something to prolong the torture. Or the pleasure. However you want to look at it.’
‘Oh, Marc. Please. No more. I can’t bear it.’
‘From where I’m standing, you don’t have a lot of choice.’
I glare at him. ‘You’d let me go if I asked you to, and we both know it.’
‘Is that what you want?’
I struggle against the handcuffs. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well, hurry up and make your decision, Miss Rose. I don’t have all day. It’s this way or no way. Do you want me to release you or not?’
I break his gaze, my eyes dropping to my heaving breasts. ‘No.’
‘I thought so.’
‘So what’s in the box?’
‘Something to make things even more unbearable for you.’ He gives me his spiky, mischievous smile and opens the box.
I see a long pearl necklace on pink satin.
Marc kneels between my legs and slips the pearls into my panties. Then he puts his palm flat against them and moves the pearls around and around.
‘Oh,’ I moan as the pearls rub against me. ‘That feels good. That feels so good.’
I look at him, my eyes hungry. He’s still fully dressed, kneeling by my thighs, but I see hardness in his trousers.
‘No yet,’ Marc growls, and I sense this is taking all his self-control too. He puts his palm flat against my panties, pushing the pearls harder against me. I feel their cool, smooth surface rub around and around.
‘Oh. Oh God, oh God.’
Suddenly, Marc whips my panties down.
The pearls drop down towards my buttocks.
Marc pulls my panties free, then lifts my thighs towards my chest so I feel a cool breeze around my backside.
He rests my legs over his shoulders, then slides the pearls between my buttocks and right up, up, feeding them one at a time up my backside ... oh!
I almost leap off the floor, and my eyes go crazy and wide. It’s such a weird feeling, having them in there, and I’m not sure I like it at first. I feel a few pearls hanging free, rolling around between my buttocks.
‘Relax.’ Marc lets his palm linger around my backside, then grasps my hips firmly with both hands and manoeuvres his crotch to meet mine. ‘You’ll enjoy it soon. I promise.’
The pearls are moving around as Marc manoeuvres me, and they’re starting to feel really good.
I squirm against the carpet, but that just makes the feeling more intense. My legs are still over his shoulders, and he grips my thighs tight so I can’t move too much.
Then he drops a hand to his trousers and frees himself, one long rod of hardness pointing right at me.
For a moment, I honestly don’t think I can take him inside me. Not with the pearls moving around. But as he inches himself between my legs, I realise I am so, so ready that it’s barely a struggle for him to slide inside.
When he’s all the way in, I feel so full and good that I can hardly breathe. He’s having trouble keeping it together too. I’ve never seen his jaw locked so tight or his eyes so intense and focused on mine.
Our eyes hold each other as we both try to breathe carefully. Slowly. But it’s difficult. I know he’s going to move in a moment, and waiting is a delicious agony that’s getting harder and harder.
Marc’s gaze drops to my breasts, and he trails the back of his hand over them and down to my stomach. Then he slides a hand around my waist and holds me firm.
‘Ready?’ he breath
es, his eyes flicking up to my face.
I nod and swallow.
‘Can you still see straight?’ He gives me that stomach-melting quirky smile.
‘Just about.’
‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’
He moves his hips around in a circle, touching parts of me that have never been touched before.
18
‘Oh God, oh God,’ I moan.
With the pearls moving too, it feels like my whole body is alive with pleasure.
‘Oh. Oh,’ I cry, closing my eyes and letting the sensations overcome me.
Marc stops circling and begins moving back and forth, getting deeper with every thrust. Even with my eyes closed, I feel his stare burning my eyelids. I’m his now, all his, and he has no intention of letting me go.
Shivers of friction and pleasure wash over me until I don’t know up from down, and as for seeing straight ... I’m way too dizzy.
I feel Marc’s fingers tighten around my waist and hear him cry out – a long, low moan that sends waves of pleasure through my chest.
He’s moving harder now, and I feel us both getting lost in each other. There’s nothing but our two bodies moving together and my wrists rubbing against metal.
Marc pushes my thighs further against my chest and gets even deeper inside. So deep that I inhale sharply, feeling a sting of pleasure as my backside tightens.
‘Oh my god.’
‘Wait.’ Marc barks. ‘Not yet. Don’t come yet.’ He reaches up to my backside and takes hold of the loose pearls. Then he pulls. Hard. And the whole string slides out, pulling and rubbing me in all the right ways.
It’s too much. I can’t take it. My body explodes in pleasure, and vibrations roll around my hips and thighs.
‘Marc. Oh God, Marc.’ I come hard, feeling myself throb against him and holding on tight. The pleasure is so great that, for a moment, I can only see white and orange. But as the world comes back to me in pieces, I turn to see Marc’s eyes are tightly shut and he’s breathing hard.
Marc moans as I tense and release around him. He grips my thighs tight and pushes himself deeper and deeper.
As warmth laps at my body, my eyes flicker open and I see Marc, his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed closed. He’s frowning, but I can see it’s a frown of pleasure.
‘I want you to come,’ I murmur, wishing I could reach up and stroke his face.
‘Not yet.’ Marc thrusts deep inside me with such strength that it moves me up the carpet. I feel friction burn my buttocks and hear Marc let out a long moan.
I squeeze and release myself around him, over and over again, pulling him inside me.
‘Sophia,’ he groans. ‘Wait. Sophia. No. I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop.’
His jaw unclenches, and he lets out a long, low groan as he pushes himself deeper.
He falls onto me, still moaning and moving his hips back and forth. I feel him soften and hear his breathing begin to slow.
His forehead creases up, then relaxes and his body feels loose in my arms.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him tight against me.
We’re so close right now, it’s like we’re the same person. The whole world has disappeared. There are no problems. There’s no real life. Only the two of us. And when we’re together like this, everything is okay.
After a moment, Marc’s eyes flick open, and he reaches up to the handcuffs and presses something that makes them spring open.
My hands free, I wrap my arms around Marc and he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I lie on him, feeling his hard body and seeing his beautiful face, lips slightly parted, eyes soft but staring, inches from mine.
‘That was amazing,’ I breathe, watching his dark eyelashes flick up and down.
Marc doesn’t reply. Instead, he reaches up to stroke hair from my face, but his eyes tell me that his thoughts are elsewhere.
I rest my head on his shoulder and see the amazing pale skin and tiny scars spread across his chest. I put my hand to the scars, feeling his dark chest hair under my fingers.
‘Marc?’
I feel as though I’ve broken something in him, but I don’t know what.
Marc doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just clutches me tighter, and I feel him beginning to slip out, centimetre by centimetre.
We lay like that for a long time. Too long. Something’s wrong.
19
When Marc finally lifts my body from his, he stares at the ceiling.
His eyes tell me he’s scared. He lost control and he didn’t want to. It frightens me, that look.
There’s a stray eyelash on his cheek, and I reach for it. He doesn’t stop me, but he doesn’t react either. It’s like he’s gone numb.
‘Make a wish,’ I say, holding out the eyelash.
For a moment, Marc doesn’t say or do anything. Then he pulls himself up onto his palms.
He blinks, smiles a soft but distant smile, and blows at the eyelash.
I feel like maybe he’s come back, just a little bit, but not all the way.
‘What did you wish for?’ I ask.
‘Nothing you’d want to know about.’ He sounds almost like Marc. My Marc. The one who climbed up my balcony last night and made love to me. But not quite.
‘I would.’
Marc sighs. ‘I wished that some things about me will always stay hidden from you.’
‘I don’t want anything to be hidden,’ I say.
He laughs. ‘You say that now. But trust me, sometimes ignorance is bliss.’
So I have lost him. For now, anyway. I feel sad.
‘When are we having the photographs?’ I ask, realising that this, like everything else today, has been arranged by Marc.
‘3pm. Not here. A studio near the Thames.’
‘Why not here?’
‘I didn’t think it would be a good idea to publicise that we’re in a hotel room together. It just ... doesn’t set the right tone. The shoot should be tasteful.’
With that, he bounds to his feet and climbs into his boxers. Even when I’m feeling not quite right about him, as I am now, I still love seeing his body. The mounds where his buttocks peak out the top of his underwear, and the pale curve of his back, and everything so toned and tight and hard and manly. So different from me.
‘I’m not so sure me and tasteful go together,’ I say.
Marc smiles. ‘Oh Sophia, Sophia. Everything about you is tasteful. You’re genuine. Natural. And you don’t even see it, do you?’
‘What should I wear?’
‘Whatever you like, but I think you should accessorise with pearls.’
I laugh. ‘Marc, I’d really like to talk to you about -’
‘Sophia, I can’t have a deep and meaningful conversation right now.’ Marc opens a wardrobe and takes out suit trousers and a shirt.
‘How did your clothes get here?’ I ask, seeing more suits hanging in the space.
‘They didn’t. I had the concierge buy new clothes and hang them while we were being interviewed. There are some in here for you, too. But they don’t look like they’ll be to your taste.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’m meeting someone, and I’m already late.’
Someone?
‘Who? The woman at your house?’ I feel sick again.
Buttoning up his shirt, Marc stoops to give me a quick kiss on the forehead. Too quick, like he’s dismissing me. ‘Just someone, okay? Trust me, you’re better off not knowing who right now.’
He picks up his cargo trousers and reaches into a pocket. Taking out a burgundy leather wallet, he unrolls it and hands me a gold credit card.
‘Take this,’ he says. ‘The pin number is 1966. Old and New Bond Street are just around the corner. Designer clothing shops galore. Go buy yourself whatever you think you need.’
He hesitates as he places the card on the bedside table. ‘And Sophia?’ I hear his uncertainty.
‘Yes?’ I sit taller.
He shakes his head. ‘We’ll talk later, okay?’
‘Who are you meeting?’ I hear myself ask again, hating how desperate the words sound.
‘Someone from my past,’ says Marc. ‘Who I’m hoping might help me straighten out my future.’
I wish I could capture the look on his face when he says those words. Capture it, bottle it, hold it close to my heart forever. Because when he says my future, I see in his eyes what I mean to him. Just for a second. And then the light goes out, and I lose Marc to coldness once again.
‘I’ll have someone drive you to the studio, okay?’ he says. ‘Be in the room at two thirty. Until then, have fun. Buy whatever you like.’
He throws the room key on the bedside table. And then he’s gone.
20
Who is he meeting? Who? Oh, I’m driving myself crazy, especially as my brain gnaws at the thought of the woman in his house. I pace the suite, walking around the hallway, through the living area and master bedroom in a circle until I make myself dizzy.
After too many circuits, I slump onto the couch in the living area and decide to call Jen.
When I pull out my iPhone, I notice I have thirty-seven missed calls. I’ve never had more than three missed calls in my whole life. I scroll through the numbers. Most of them are London numbers I don’t recognise, but plenty are from Jen, Tom, Tanya and my dad.
Jen picks up on the first ring.
‘Soph? Oh my god, I’ve been calling and calling. Where are you?’
‘The Carlo,’ I say.
‘The Carlo? As in, the Carlo Hotel London? As in, by royal appointment to the Queen, the Carlo?’
‘Um ... yeah.’
‘Holy Jesus fuck! What are you doing there? Oh wait. Stupid question. You’re with Marc Blackwell. So I’m guessing you’re messing up the sheets.’
‘Was with Marc Blackwell,’ I say. ‘He’s gone. To meet someone. I don’t know who. We just had an interview with Gossip magazine.’
‘Gossip magazine?’ Jen practically screeches the words. ‘Oh my god. You’ve just become media royalty. Did you do a photo shoot?’
‘Not yet,’ I say. ‘We’re supposed to do one this afternoon.’
‘What are you going to wear?’