“I want to,” I whispered. It was the truth, pulled from me almost involuntarily. God, how stupid I was!
“So say it.” His teeth were nipping at the pads of my fingers now, nips that turned into bites, bites that turned into sucking.
I want to. So much.
He drew my finger into his mouth, and my breasts strained against my corset, my legs parting unconsciously. My protests about station and honor and the nature of Violet’s death grew fainter in my mind, dimming like lamps being turned down.
He moved forward and brushed his lips against mine, softer than the touch of a feather. This—this offer, this love—was unequivocally what I had hoped for in my most secret of hearts, the dream I only dared dream alone in the bitter hours of night. I would be cruel to myself—and to him—if I let these weak worries pollute a chance at happiness. Officer Mayhew himself had said that there wasn’t enough evidence to charge Mr. Markham with Violet’s murder. Wasn’t I making something out of nothing? Hadn’t we both suffered enough?
His kiss deepened and my eyes fluttered open to see his face as he kissed me. His eyes were closed, but there was no mistaking the vulnerability and the need, a need that superseded the sexual.
Love.
He’d admitted it: He loved me. And I loved him. Of course I would say yes.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Mr. Markham slid a hand behind my neck, tilting my face ever so slightly upwards and letting his fingers trail down my neck. They plucked at the modest neckline, which rested against my collarbone, and finding no purchase there, they moved down to my waist.
My mind began putting away my worries, one by one, shutting them into a chest and nailing it shut. Arabella went in one, Violet in another. Honor, decency, fear for my own safety, disparity of station and wealth…they all slowly packed themselves away, ordering themselves in rows in some distant corner of my mind. I could worry about them later. Right now, there was only Julian.
He pulled me to the edge of the couch and raised my skirts so that my legs were exposed. He pulled away, as if truly noticing my dress for the first time. “Why aren’t you wearing one of your new ones?”
“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight,” I said.
“The dresses are to be worn all the time, not just when I’m around. I want to know that you’re wearing only the best, even when I can’t see you. After we marry, I??ll buy you so many dresses that you’ll never have to wear the same one twice.”
I started to protest but my words were cut off when his fingers started tracing circles on my thighs. “I haven’t said yes yet,” I managed as his fingers crept higher, finding the edge of my underthings.
“What can I do to make you say yes?” he asked, leaning in to press his lips against my neck. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you. Money, jewelry, travels abroad…just name it and it’s yours.”
“I only want you, Julian,” I said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He made a deep noise at the sound of his name, and his kisses on my neck turned into fierce biting and sucking. I could not hide my desire now, spreading my legs as far as I could, desperate for his fingers to reach the part that most needed him.
But he wouldn’t satisfy me, not yet. His fingers danced just out of reach, refusing to go any further.
“Say that you’ll marry me,” he said again.
“I still don’t—”
His fingers stopped, his lips pulled away from my neck, leaving it cold and sensitive. He stared into my eyes, his own not giving any quarter. He wouldn’t let me skirt by on this; he wanted a firm answer and he wanted it now. He stood.
“Don’t leave,” I cried.
“Quiet,” he said. He was directly in front of me, his hips at the same level as my head, and even in the dim firelight, I could see the way his erection strained at his trousers. “Take it out,” he said.
I looked up at him, expecting to see lust but instead only seeing determination.
“Take it out,” he repeated. I shivered—not in fear but in excitement.
I unbuttoned his trousers, tugging them down to free his cock, which was magnificently stiff, taking my time so I could admire him. Every part of him was so virile, so male, and especially this part of him, which was stone hard and without regard for anything but its own fulfillment.
“Touch it,” he commanded, his eyes blazing down at me, and I did, running my fingers from the base to the tip, feeling the veins ridge under my fingers, feeling it jump as I caressed the sensitive underside. I remembered our time in the temple folly, how I had gripped him then, and I did so now, circling my fingers around him and sliding them gently up and down. I was rewarded with a hiss.
“Open your mouth, Ivy,” he said, trailing a finger from my lower lip to my chin.
I hesitated. This was something new to us. I had an idea of where this was going, but what if I did it wrong?
“Open,” he ordered again, his tone stern, and I obeyed without thinking, parting my lips. The smooth crest of his cock brushed against them once, twice, and then slowly pushed inside. I opened my mouth even more, allowing him farther and farther in, until he hit the back of my throat. My throat closed against the invasion, and I made a choked noise, but Mr. Markham didn’t stop. He slid out and in again, his hand on the back of my head, his eyes on mine the entire time.
