I pressed the flat of my palm against her back. “Be still, Mrs. Markham. Or I will pull out right now.”
She froze, but small sounds emitted from her throat that betrayed her abject distress.
“Now, where was I? Ah yes. You needed me, you were telling me precisely how you needed me by not using your signal, and I failed you. And for that, my wife, I am so, so sorry. It was my duty—my vow—to keep you and care for you, to break you and put the pieces back together every day for as long as we both lived…and instead, I coddled you. I treated you the very way you needed to be shown that you were not—I treated you as if you were fragile, as if you were powerless, as if you were weak. When all along, you needed me to show you how strong, how magnificent, how fucking beautifully powerful you are.”
She was crying now, crying from my words instead of my hands, and I leaned over her again to slide my arms underneath her and raise her up to a standing position. I had to bend my knees to keep inside of her, but fuck, the change in angle and the weight of her breasts in my hands had me nearly weeping too, trembling with the urge to fuck her hard. Especially when I felt those breasts grow heavier, when I felt her shudder, and then felt the wet warmth of her leaking against my palms. I knew many men shied away from this aspect of child-rearing, but I did not, because knowing that this sweet milky warmth was for the child that she had given me made me painfully, viciously aroused. The primeval male in me growled with pleasure, with the urge to create more babies with her, with the blind need to spill my seed inside my mate.
Her leaking milk while I was in her ass made her cry harder. “Julian, I can’t do this. I can’t be both. I don’t know where my heart is…”
I slid my hand up to press it against her chest. I wasn’t pumping now; I was simply inside her, against her…with her. “Your heart is mine, Ivy. To do with what I will.”
She sobbed at the sound of her name, which I had deployed intentionally—tenderly—because she needed to know that she was still Ivy to me—still my wildcat as well as my wife. “Your heart is mine. And George’s. And your own. You are Mrs. Markham. And my wildcat. And Ivy Leavold. You can be all of these things at once.”
“But how?” she pleaded. “How do I even start?”
“You start like this. We start like this.” I kissed the back of her neck. “One hour at a time.”
She didn’t answer directly, but I could feel her answer in the way she pressed against me, the way her sobs turned to mournful hiccups. And that made what I was about to do feel so unfair, so cruel, given her fragile state, but it was for the best. And besides…
“Our hour is almost up, Mrs. Markham,” I said and I pulled out of her, wincing at the loss, my entire pelvis throbbing with the need to fuck. Oh, how good it would feel to bend her back over and just pound my way into oblivion with no regard except for my need for release…
I turned her around, my own desperation somewhat alleviated once I saw hers scrawled across her face, alleviated with the tight stitch of love and adoration.
“You’re not—we’re—no, Julian, we can’t stop like this.” Her chin dimpled with more tears—frustrated ones—and there was a shine of fury in the back of her eyes that did nothing to diminish my raging erection. “You can’t leave me like this, again. Tell me you aren’t. Tell me that tonight you will finish this.”
I buttoned myself back up. “I can’t tell you that, Mrs. Markham. That would be a lie.”
Pure rage spilled across her beautiful features, and a thrill zinged through me, straight to my balls. If I took her now—she’d scratch me and bite me and whisper dirty, angry things in my ear.
God, I would come so fucking hard.
It was that primeval man that stepped forward and licked—yes, licked, not kissed—the tears from her cheeks. It was him that ducked his head and ran his tongue around her erect nipple, tasting the sweet milk meant for his young. All of her—milk and tears, breasts and cunt, soul and mind—belonged to him.
Belonged to me.
“Get dressed,” I said as I stood straight again, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “We only have about five minutes before Bessie will be expecting us, and I think she’d be rather shocked if you came before her like this.”
“No,” she refused. “Not until you fuck me, properly. I won’t get dressed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember you once daring me to wrestle you into your clothes. Is this you making good on that dare?”
In the time that it took for comprehension to settle on her face, she was in my arms. She struggled, thrashing and strong, and it took a considerable amount of effort to keep her restrained while I scooped her corset from the ground and wrapped it around her waist.
“No,” she was saying, “you can’t.”
“Do you have a word you’d like to say to me, wildcat?” I growled in her ear.
She stopped moving, just for a minute, which was long enough for me to hook the corset clasps in front. I used my own knee to buckle hers from behind, forcing her to the ground. She tried to wriggle free but I kept her on her stomach, planting a knee on her ass and a hand on her neck.
Goose bumps erupted all over her body, and she whimpered into the carpet, her hips moving under my knee as she ground her clit into the floor.
I slapped her ass. Hard. “I asked,” I breathed, finding the laces to the corset with my free hand, “if you had something you wanted to say.” I jerked the laces to tighten her corset, and she moaned, shaking her head.
Still holding her down with my knee, I tied the tightened laces in a bow. I looked down at myself; wrestling her into her corset, pinning her down with my knee, watching her reaction to being pinned down…I was harder than ever. I stood up as she rolled over, dazed, now half-dressed.
“Bad wildcat,” I said. “You’ve made me so hard. Come here and see what you’ve done.”
She got to her knees, now kneeling right in front of me, and she pressed her cheek against my erection, rubbing her face against it like a cat.
