Ivy Series Teacher Student Romance - Boxed Set: Romance Boxed Sets for Kindle Unlimited (Ivy Series - Teacher Student Romance Book 7)

by Suzy K Quinn

  I see him lift the candle from its holder.

  ‘Marc. What are you—’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Marc snaps. ‘And keep still.’

  I know the candle is somewhere behind me, and feel a sharp sting on my back.

  Ouch.

  What was that?

  It’s hard not to cry out. But I don’t.

  I wait, my skin singing with electricity and anticipation.

  ‘Marc?’

  I feel the sting again, and realise it’s hot wax. The heat and the sticky, pulling sensation couldn’t be anything else.

  I hear myself moan with pleasure.

  Marc gives my buttocks a sharp slap. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

  He presses the candle back into its holder, then paces behind me.

  I try to turn, but he puts a hand to my scalp, holding me still. ‘Don’t move.’

  ‘This again?’ I murmur. ‘Don’t speak. Don’t move. What next?’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘Wait?’ I say.

  ‘Wait.’

  Marc’s hand leaves my head, and he takes a seat at the table.

  I can’t see his face, only his foot resting on his thigh and his wine glass lifting, then lowering.

  I wait. ‘Marc—’

  His wine glass lowers. ‘I told you to be quiet.’

  I sense him watching me as he takes another sip of wine.

  The wax on my back is hard now, crisping and pulling at my skin.

  ‘This is becoming unbearable,’ I moan.

  Marc stands and walks behind me. ‘Unbearable? Really?’ He drapes a hand over my buttocks, letting his fingers lazily stroke my skin.

  The effect is like an electric shock – his fingers moving back and forth, teasing, working me into an almost insatiable need for him.

  ‘Please Marc.’ I twist under his fingers. ‘Please. I can’t stand it.’

  Marc ignores me, his fingers still sending tingles all over my body.

  ‘Marc.’

  A napkin is bundled up and pushed into my mouth.

  I moan against the white cotton, almost delirious with pleasure as Marc’s fingers continue to caress.

  I want him so badly.

  Just when I think I can’t take anymore, when I’m about to pull the napkin out of my mouth and beg for him, Marc rests an authoritative hand on my back side.

  He turns me over, lifting me onto the table so I’m staring up into intense, blue eyes.

  We watch each other, chests heaving.

  I know he’s as desperate for me as I am for him, but the intense passion in his eyes is so controlled. He could walk away right now if he had to. But there’s no way I could.

  As I watch him, Marc frees himself from his trousers.

  God.

  I strain my neck to look down.

  Maybe he’ll make me wait again. He might make me beg for him.

  But to my relief, Marc lines himself up and enters me little by little, watching with stern eyes. Then he pushes all the way inside in one, long stroke.

  ‘Oh!’

  I suck in so much air that a yelp catches in my throat, and I let out a strangulated half gasp, half cry.

  ‘Ooooh. Marc. Oh god.’ I grab his buttocks.

  Marc puts firm fingers over my mouth and begins to move.

  His rhythm is slow, but deep and unrelenting, his eyes holding mine.

  I moan and squirm under him, unable to keep still. But then his hands come to my shoulders and I’m pinned firmly in place.

  ‘Oh god Marc.’ My eyes close as he slides into me over and over again.

  I wrap my legs around him and feel the soft cotton tablecloth scrunch up under my backside.

  My fingers grasp Marc’s backside tight, pulling him deeper inside.

  God.

  I am so tense and alive and desperate for him.

  Our bodies move together, over and over again, and I’m totally lost in sensation, barely able to breathe.

  Warmth builds up and I find my eyes opening, searching for his.

  I am so full. So complete. Our bodies fit perfectly together as Marc rocks me back and forth, building up all those good feelings.

  ‘Oh Marc. Marc. I’m coming. Oh god, I’m coming.’

  My legs tighten around him and warmth floods my body.

  As I melt into the table, Marc takes my chin and holds me so our eyes meet.

  He looks intense. Angry. Protective. But as I carry on coming, Marc’s eyes flood with light, and I know he’s coming too.

  ‘Christ. Sophia. Sophia.’

  We gaze at each other, and I see he’s open to me right now. As vulnerable as I am. It’s beautiful.

  We watch each other for a long time. Then Marc strokes my hair and the red line on my breast.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ he asks, fingers dancing back and forth.

  I shake my head.

  17

  As Marc carries me up to our bedroom, I try not to think about my hands being tied behind my back earlier.

  I’m sure Phillipe didn’t notice …

  It’s sort of dangerous, in a way. This obsession we have with each other. And yet I control Marc too, in my own way. We both know that.

  The lobby is totally empty and the hotel’s revolving front door is locked closed – both of which I suspect is Marc’s doing. There’s a doorman outside, but he has his back to us.

  With gentle thuds, Marc carries me upstairs and into our bedroom.

  ‘You were right,’ I murmur, as Marc lowers me onto soft sheets. ‘I needed to let go.’

  ‘You mean submit to me.’ Marc offers his handsome, Hollywood smile.

  ‘No. That’s not what I mean.’

  ‘That sounds like a challenge, Mrs Blackwell.’

  I shake my head against the pillow. ‘It isn’t.’

  Marc climbs onto the bed bedside me, propping himself on his elbow. ‘I take challenges very seriously.’

  I roll to face him. ‘Lucky it isn’t a challenge then. I already told you. We’re too consenting adults doing something we both enjoy. No one is submitting to anything. We’re both agreeing.’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes are hungry again. ‘You’re agreeing to submit. You did everything I told you. Absolutely everything.’

  ‘That’s not the same as submitting,’ I say, holding back a yawn.

  ‘This really does sound like a challenge.’ Marc pulls the duvet over me. ‘You want me to prove to you that you’re submitting? That I’m dominating you? Taking charge of you?’

  I blink at him with tired eyes. ‘No. I don’t want you to prove anything. There’s nothing to prove anyway.’

  He kisses my forehead. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Sleep now, Mrs Blackwell.’ He tucks the duvet around my body. ‘And tomorrow, we will show our beautiful daughter the sights of Switzerland.’

  ‘What about our appointment?’ I say, struggling to keep my eyes open.

  ‘That’s not until the afternoon.’

  ‘Will we take Ivy with us?’ I ask, watching as Marc stands and takes off his suit jacket.

  ‘No.’ Marc hangs his jacket on the chair. ‘Seraphina will take care of her.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what this appointment is all about?’

  ‘Sleep now.’ Marc sits beside me on the bed again, slipping off his shoes. ‘You need to rest.’

  I wake up to bright sunshine and jerk upright.

  Ivy.

  It takes a moment to remember where I am, and that Ivy is with Seraphina.

  Groggily, I rub my eyes and check the clock.

  8am.

  It feels good to sleep in.

  Marc isn’t beside me, so I’m guessing he’s working out.

  I grab a soft towelling robe from the bathroom and hurry to Seraphina’s room.

  18

  ‘Hey Sophia.’ Seraphina opens the door with a smile. ‘How was your night?’

  Ivy is on her shoulder, blinking up at t
he bright hotel lights.

  I beam at my beautiful little baby and reach out to take her. ‘Good morning, gorgeous girl.’ I fold Ivy against my shoulder, scrunching up my chin so I can look at her. ‘I had a great night. Did Ivy sleep okay?’

  ‘Pretty well,’ says Seraphina. ‘She only woke twice. Honestly, she’s been no trouble. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Like a log,’ I admit, loving Ivy’s warmth and softness. ‘The first full night since she was born. I feel amazing. Like a new person.’

  After a breakfast of melt-in-the-mouth almond croissants and hot, fresh coffee, Marc and I walk Ivy around Montreux.

  It’s a pretty, chocolate-box town of wooden-beamed houses, framed by dove-coloured mountains and sparkling blue water.

  We eat lunch in a seafood restaurant overlooking Lake Geneva – a simple place, where we pick our own fresh fish from a bed of ice chips. I choose lightly barbequed lobster, served with piles of French fries and a green salad.

  It’s easy food, cooked perfectly, and I love it.

  ‘So can you tell me now where we’re going this afternoon?’ I ask Marc, taking a sip of sparkling mineral water.

  ‘Sophia,’ Marc smiles. ‘I hope our daughter grows up with more self-restraint than you. I’ll teach you patience if it kills me.’

  After lunch, we drop Ivy back at the hotel for her nap.

  I’m reluctant to leave her again. But it’s ridiculous to feel guilty when she’s asleep. Seraphina will take good care of her.

  ‘I miss Ivy already,’ I tell Marc, as we walk back into town.

  ‘You may not believe this,’ says Marc. ‘But I miss her just as much as you do. I have no desire to be away from her more than is necessary. But some time is necessary. Especially in your case. A rested mother is a happy mother.’

  I have to admit, I feel amazing today. Fantastic. But something is nagging at me. Marc was right about me needing rest. And he was right about something else too – that rest is helping me think clearly.

  I really do want to act again.

  For once, I don’t try to push the thought back down. I’m so refreshed out here in the cool, mountain air.

  Ivy is fine with a nanny. So what’s stopping me from acting?

  It’s sounds so simple. But there’s one thing that isn’t so simple.

  Marc.

  19

  ‘You look thoughtful, Sophia.’ Marc shades his eyes from the white sunshine. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

  Automatically I shake my head. ‘Just curious about this appointment. That’s all.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Marc’s gaze is stern.

  I nod, managing a smile. But I don’t meet his eye.

  It’s not the right time to talk about acting. Not yet. Marc’s so sure I’m not ready for another movie, but I’m more grown up than he realises. I don’t always need him to show me the way.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ says Marc, a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Honestly.’ I shake my head, managing to return his smile. ‘It’s nothing important. So where are we going?’

  We turn onto a street of grand, tall buildings.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ says Marc, shielding his eyes from the sun, ‘we’re here.’

  We come to a stop outside a mini castle with little yellow turrets and international flags flying.

  It’s funny to see a building like this sitting casually on a street corner, but here it is – a princess palace right on the street, with beautiful green and grey mountains in the background and a lake at its feet.

  ‘It’s … a school,’ I say, reading the sign.

  ‘One of the best schools in the world,’ says Marc, looking over the building.

  I look over the pretty, criss-cross windows. ‘So what are we doing here?’

  ‘We have an appointment with the headmistress,’ says Marc. ‘About Ivy’s education.’

  I turn to him. ‘Her education? She’s a baby.’

  Marc takes my hand between his palms, warming my fingers with gentle strokes. ‘The best schools fill up quickly. If we want Ivy to go here, we need to apply this year.’

  I know my brown eyes are wide with confusion. ‘But we live in the United Kingdom. Why would Ivy go to school here?’

  ‘Ivy should have the very best.’ Marc kisses the tips of my fingers.

  ‘So we’d move to Switzerland when Ivy is school age?’ I say, looking over the yellow turrets. ‘How would you teach at Ivy College?’

  ‘I was thinking of sending her here as a young woman,’ says Marc, letting my hand drop. ‘Twelve, possibly. Thirteen.’

  ‘That seems an awfully long way away. So what – we’d move to Switzerland when she was twelve or something?’

  ‘We wouldn’t have to move,’ says Marc. ‘This is a boarding school. The girls stay here and come home in the holidays.’

  I stare at him, a cool breeze stinging my cheeks. ‘You’re joking. Right? You think I’d send our daughter away from her family?’

  ‘She’d be twelve years old,’ says Marc, looking up at the turrets. ‘This is one of the finest schools in the world. Don’t you want the best for our daughter?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think sending her away is for the best.’

  ‘I don’t want her away from us either,’ says Marc, his gaze softening. ‘But I can’t put my feelings first. I want what’s best for her, not me. There would be no problem with security. I’d arrange the very best—’

  ‘What’s best for Ivy is being with her parents,’ I interrupt. ‘I can’t believe you’d even consider something like this. You lost your mother, just like I did. Do you seriously think we should deprive our own daughter of her parents?’

  ‘Christ.’ Marc tips his head back. ‘I’m trying to put Ivy first and myself second. The education she’d have here … it’s second to none. And she’d make connections for life.’

  I cross my arms. ‘She has you as her father. I hardly think she’s going to be short of connections.’

  ‘Would you want her forever in my shadow?’ he asks.

  ‘No, but … I don’t understand how you could think this would be best.’

  ‘Sophia.’ Marc turns me to him, his shoes clipping the hard pavement. ‘It will hurt to send Ivy away. It will hurt both of us. But what about her? Think about the life it could give her.’

  My stomach is like ice. ‘You haven’t thought this through.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Marc puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ve thought this through to the point of obsession. I’ve been researching schools since Ivy was born.’

  ‘I’m her mother.’ I twist away from his hand. ‘My say is most important.’

  ‘And why is that?’ Marc demands.

  A group of laughing schoolgirls troop past us, pushing their way through wooden doors into the school.

  ‘Because I’m with her all the time,’ I tell Marc. ‘I know what’s best.’

  Marc gives a humourless laugh. ‘I think we’ve already established you don’t always know what’s best.’

  I look at the pavement, considering the truth in that. I have been tired recently. I haven’t been resting enough. And I’ve been so scared of anyone else having Ivy …

  Marc was right. It’s been wonderful having a nanny. More importantly, Ivy is fine with someone else. But this is totally different. I turn back to the school, casting my eyes over the yellow stone.

  There’s a brass sign by the door, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  ‘Work, play and good values,’ I read. ‘There’s something missing from that statement. What about love?’

  ‘Christ. Ivy will have love. All the love in the world.’

  I shake my head. ‘Not here she won’t. I don’t know why you think this would be best for her.’

  ‘From an educational point of view, there’s no better.’

  ‘Please Marc.’ I take his hand. ‘You have to listen. This isn’t just about me missing Ivy. To send her away from us … it just feels wrong.�
��

  Marc looks down at his hand in mine. ‘I fear someone will be very disappointed today, Sophia.’

  20

  ‘I won’t be disappointed,’ I insist. ‘Because we’re not sending Ivy away, and that’s that.’

  ‘It’s not you who’ll be disappointed.’ Marc’s eyes soften. ‘It’s the headmistress of the school. Because I’ll be cancelling our appointment.’

  ‘Oh Marc!’ I smile up at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ He pulls me into a hug.

  I feel relief wash over me, my cheek finding Marc’s chest, warm under his white shirt. ‘Thank you. I thought I’d have a fight on my hands.’

  ‘You’d be a worthy opponent.’

  I turn to the building’s pretty yellow turrets. ‘So what now? Since I’ve just ruined your afternoon plans?’

  Marc holds me tight. ‘Home. Back to the UK.’

  I nod, liking his arms around me. I’ve enjoyed the break, but it will be good to get back. That silver parcel is still waiting …

  I sit cross-legged on our big, squishy sofa, staring at the shiny silver box.

  It lays on our coffee table, practically winking at me.

  Open it.

  A steaming mug of hot chocolate balances on my knee, but I barely feel its heat.

  Open it and read the script. You’ll probably hate it. And then there’ll be no problem.

  If I open the box and love the script, a whole world of problems will rain down on me. Arguments with Marc. Guilt at leaving Ivy with a nanny. Fear of performing after a long break.

  Marc is teaching. Ivy is sleeping upstairs. And I am torturing myself.

  Open it.

  Impulsively, I put down my hot chocolate and grab the box, pulling the lid free.

  The contents are exactly as they were – a folded, silver card, which I take to be an invitation to the Riviera Film Festival, a letter printed on thick, buff-coloured paper and the weighty pages of a movie script.

  I want to dive right in and read the script, but I unfold the silver card first.

  Sure enough, it’s an invitation to Riviera Film Festival.

  I’ve never been one of those actresses who dreamed of awards, but the Riviera is one of my favourite ceremonies.