The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 4) Read Online Free

buttons and ties as I sat and picked up my wineglass, adjusting my erection as I did so. I held the glass by the stem, pretending to watch the swirling liquid while really watching her. Her long neck, her strong arms. Her delicate shoulders appearing from the husk of her discarded dress. The compressed curves of her breasts and the narrow lines of her waist.
    She was undeniably beautiful like this…but she was more beautiful naked. I wanted all of her newly ripe flesh available for me to squeeze and plump, I wanted to run my fingers over every inch of soft skin, I wanted to trace the marks on her stomach, knowing that I put them there when I planted my child in her belly.
    “Continue undressing, Mrs. Markham. I’ll wait.”
    I savored my wine—a good red, laid down by my grandfather—and watched her progress, watched as she shucked her snowy white nursing corset and lace-trimmed petticoats until she was fully exposed to me, the flush on her cheeks mirrored by the one creeping up her chest.
    Finally, she stood completely naked, too aroused to be shy, too far gone in her own lust to question me.
    Which was exactly what I wanted.
    “Bend over the table, Mrs. Markham. No, not there, here. In front of me. I want to see your cunt while I finish my wine.”
    Slowly she stepped in front of me and slowly she bent over, stretching her arms out in front of her so that her back was flat enough that I could have balanced my wine glass on it if I’d wanted to. The table was just high enough that she had to stand on the balls of her feet to bend at her hips, and I wanted to devour the lines of quivering muscle that ran from her calves to her ass and then press my face between her legs and devour the silky wet heat there. And then I would stand up, unfasten my trousers and stab into her without any warning…
    I ran a palm over my throbbing hardness, letting out a silent breath and willing myself back to complete self-control. I had denied myself these past days along with her, and I was full to bursting with the need to fuck this woman.
    But the need to punish her was stronger, and so I would wait. I would feed the monster before I fed the husband.
    I took my time finishing my wine, enjoying how every moment without my touch, without my voice, seemed to unravel her. I could see her fighting the urge to turn her head and look at me, biting her lip to keep from speaking, which was a very good wildcat, very good indeed.
    I drained the wine and set the glass down as I stood up. I had planned on eating my dinner at a leisurely pace, on making her suffer more, but I couldn’t sit still a minute longer with her like this: legs shaking, ass up, pussy so close and so, so inviting…
    I unknotted my tie, grateful she couldn’t see how painfully hard I was, how my fingers shook as I yanked the fabric away from my neck. I managed to master myself enough to keep my hand steady as I ran it up her flank and over the curve of her ass, up to the delicate nape of her neck.
    “Ivy Markham,” I said, said it as if I were introducing her to an audience. “Ivy Markham. My wife .”
    Her control fractured and she turned her head to peer up at me, her dark eyes wide and pleading. If I hadn’t already been hard, that look would have done me in.
    She shrieked as my hand came down on her ass, hard enough that it stung my palm and I could see the livid lines of each finger on her skin. My cock twitched against my trousers, begging to be let free. I spanked her again, and again, and again, my breathing growing more ragged with exertion and arousal, my stomach clenching into a hot fist of angry desire.
    I was angry. Yes, I could feel it, such a twin passion to lust, both so fiery, so energetic, both restless, agitating, primal feelings.
    She could feel my anger too, I could tell, as her ass glowed red. Tears were sliding slow and silent from her eyes, dripping onto the tablecloth, and God, I wanted to lick those tears. I wanted to swallow her cries. I never