The Punishment of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 3) (14 page)

Fuck…that pussy. Just…
fuck
.

My hands still dug into her hips and I forced them to relax. If I stayed in her much longer, I would get hard again, and since I knew she would want me to fuck her again and again, I had to be the one to make sure her body got a break. She needed it, whether she thought she did or not.

“I want you to do that to me every day,” she said, her voice small in that particular way that told me she was moments from sleep. “You have to promise.”

“Oh, I promise.” I pulled out of her and bent down to kiss her cunt.

“Good,” she sighed happily.

“You are such a good pet,” I praised her, untying her restraints next, making sure to kiss each and every red line the rope had left. But by the time I made it back to her face, her eyes were closed and her breathing had started to deepen. I smiled and brushed the tousled hair away from her face.

After I’d cleaned up, I crawled back in bed with her, even though I wasn’t the least bit tired. I curled my body around hers, breathing in the sweet, clean scent of her hair, curling my hands protectively around her stomach.

I had wanted all of her just a moment ago, to consume her and to have her consume me in turn, and when we were fucking, sometimes it felt as if it would never be enough, as if I could never fuck hard enough to get as close as I needed.

But as I held her, feeling the swelling of promise in her abdomen, I realized that I did have her. Because I’d allowed her to have all of me. And we would continue on like this every day, each delight better than the last, each high higher than the one that came before it. I had my wildcat and she had me.

Forever.

Don’t worry! The Victorians aren’t finished with you guys yet. Look for Silas and Molly’s story coming this fall. In the meantime, if you would like to keep up to date with new releases as they come available, please
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Sierra Simone is a librarian who writes unabashedly sexy books with brains, beauty and big words. She lives with her hot cop husband and family in Kansas City. You can stalk her on
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Thanks to Laurelin Paige, my universal constant. To Kayti McGee and Melanie Harlow, for all the Renaissance babies who can’t even. To Geneva Lee, my first critique partner and best source of hard words.

To Tamara Mataya, editrix extraordinaire! Thank you for taking the time to make sure all the penises are grammatically correct.

To all the ladies who shower me in blog love, thank you, thank you! To Jen, Angie, Tarah, Paula, and Candi, along with Angie and Jenna—you girls make it easy for me to come out of my introvert cave—especially when you make my books into such beautiful teasers!

And, on a more somber note, thank you to my mother, who died of breast cancer this winter. You never knew that I was writing smut before you died (which was probably a good thing) but I know you would have still have been proud in your own way. I probably wouldn’t be the happy, raunchy, Scotch-drinking woman I am today if you hadn’t given me free rein in the library as a girl and let me borrow all your old V.C Andrews paperbacks (in retrospect, probably when I was still a little too young for them.) This book was the first thing I wrote after you died, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever written because I had to learn to believe in happy endings again.

I miss you. I hope there’s Scotch where you are.