Page 64 of Taming Ivy
“Damnit...”Gliding into her slick heat was far too easy in this position. With a silent groan of anguish, he gave a compulsive, deep plunge and suddenly, everything within Ivy tightened around him.
It was the strangest sensation. Even with his vast experience, Sebastian never felt its like before. He tried to withdraw, to slow himself, to slow her, but it all rushed so recklessly, too quickly, too frantically. Ivy would not allow his retreat. Clutching him, she arched with a high, keening cry of pleasure.
A portion of his consciousness shouted at him, to withdraw before it was too late, but he could not resist. With a strangled curse, he thrust into her just one degree more. Taking her, branding her, marking her as his possession. The need to find release was excruciating.
“God, Ivy…I can’t stop.”
Her orgasm sent beautiful shivering waves reverberating throughout his entire body. She trembled beneath him. Catching her hips in an almost violent grip, he tried holding her immobile.
“Don’t stop.” Was her broken response.“Oh, please…Sebastian…please.”
He plummeted with her incoherent command, spilling inside her with a hoarse, muffled shout of male conquest, a forceful culmination of pent up desire and the need to possess. He barely heard Ivy crying out her pleasure. The throbbing satisfaction inside him was almost painful, the world fading to black as he gave himself to her. His heart, his very soul exploded from him, rocketing around the world before slamming back into his body with the fury of a lightning strike.
When sanity returned, Sebastian discovered the pieces of himself, the fragments missing for so very long, were right there before him. This girl, this exasperating, headstrong, mysterious girl, held them all along.
Such frightening sensations, he mused, these quivers of protectiveness unfurling in his heart for the girl lying damp and breathless beneath him. So foreign and yet, nothing ever felt more magnificent than holding her, feeling the quivering of her body. Slipping his arms under her shoulders, he folded Ivy closer to him, savoring the odd, fragile emotions, promising himself he would not be so selfish again in their lovemaking. Something extraordinary had happened to him, although it was all too terrifying to contemplate in its entirety.
As his heartbeat slowed, finding its normal cadence, he felt the slightest change sweep over her. Sebastian frowned, puzzled by the new, soft ripples.
She was weeping.
Rolling to his side, he positioned Ivy until she lay cradled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Tears splashed his skin, her breath moist where it feathered his neck. With soothing murmurs, he stroked her hair, brushing kisses against her forehead, but she did not acknowledge his caresses as a tangle of emotions escaped.
She cried for a long time, until only ragged breaths of exhaustion remained and she drifted into a restless slumber. Sebastian rose and threw on a silk robe, crossing the room to lean a forearm against the marble mantle.
There were so many things to consider, things lurking below the surface of his controlled veneer. Something far more lethal than revenge and punishment had wrapped itself around his heart. Rubbing his chest, he stared into the flames of the banked fire. It was harder than he imagined, scouring away the guilt plaguing him since that night in her father’s study.
A stark realization illuminated his entire being; twisting sensations evolving from the moment he laid eyes on Ivy at the Sheffield Ball. Emerging from the darkened corner of Kinley House’s entry hall and in the shadowy interior of his own coach. Unfurling in dazzling beauty on ballroom floors as he whirled Ivy to the lilting strains of waltzes. Feathering coyly during walks in the moonlight. Without warning, these emotions bloomed in the shade of a cove of elm trees and flourished while duels were fought with persistent bumblebees. But tonight- tonight everything burst forth in full conquering glory. Like a butterfly born in spring.
He needed Ivy. He wanted her. He longed for her smile, her touch, her scent.
I love her.
Loved her beyond all reason. Loved her fire, her sweetness, her soul. Her body. Her mind. All of her.
Tonight changed everything. Sebastian glanced at the bed, where the source of his confusion and the threat to his sanity slept in a tangled heap of white silk sheets and red rose petals. He wanted to crawl back beside her, gather her close and shield her from men who would hurt her, men like himself.
Gingerly, he touched his shoulder. Ivy was not completely helpless. Her teeth left their mark, and drunk or not, she fought like a true hellion. With the frustrated awareness of a man who planned for everything, who held purpose and reason for every action, Sebastian was suddenly unsure of his next steps. He made love to her…and it would never be enough. This obsession would never end. He wanted her for eternity.
How he would gain her consent, he had no idea, but on the morrow, he would obtain a special marriage license. Convincing Ivy Kinney to become his wife was a problem in need of a solution. But his wife she would be.
CHAPTER 18
The room tilted when Ivy sat up. After an endless, hovering, moment, it righted, but slowly and awkwardly, like a broken toy boat set adrift in a rough pond. Burning waves of nausea rose in her throat. Choking it down with determined swallows, she collapsed against the pillows with a tormented groan.
The silver ballgown lay draped over the back of a chair near the foot of her bed. Her undergarments sat folded and stacked in the brocade seat, her shoes lined up in orderly fashion beneath the chair, as though she had just slipped them off. She ventured a peek beneath the coverlet.
A peach colored nightgown. One she did not recall donning. Nor did she remember removing any clothing to put the flimsy garment on. Mangled white roses lay scattered everywhere; on the vanity table along with the diamond necklace, on the floor, in the bed. The red one was missing, but that was not out of the ordinary.
Pushing her tangled hair back, Ivy probed her temples. Her head throbbed as if a hundred tiny devils beat it with mallets. Wearily, she managed to pull herself higher onto the pillows, and in reward, unrelenting details of the night splashed across her mind.
Ivy swallowed back a sob of misery. She remembered arriving at the ball, men quickly gathering around her. Clayton, Danbury. Brandon Madsen watched with grave concern from the edges. The Earl of Landon held her arm, wishing to take her somewhere. Lady Wesley stopped him.
Lady Wesley? The lady in question had never been complimentary; there was no explanation for her involvement. Pressing her temples even harder, Ivy struggled to dredge forth more. She leaned against a wall, the cold brick soothing to her heated face. There were moments of sickness, dizziness and cursing and Lady Wesley babbling nonsense about French coffee.
Oh, God help me.
Had Sebastian truly carried her, tossing her like so much unwanted baggage into a luxurious coach with cream-hued leather seats?
