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

by Suzy K Quinn

  ‘How so?’

  I pull the sleeves of my top the right way around. ‘Well I’m hardly going to … you know, lose control when other people are around.’

  ‘So what are you planning on doing?’ Marc demands. ‘Acting by numbers? The audience want real passion, not cardboard.’

  ‘Then how can I do it?’

  Marc stalks back and forth. ‘You practise. You listen to your teacher. Do you remember what happens after this scene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  I think for a moment. ‘Nicky refuses to teach her unless she follows his exact instructions and doesn’t question him.’

  ‘Exactly right.’

  ‘And he asks her to do weird things,’ I continue. ‘Like dancing in the dark. But she can’t ask why.’

  Marc strides right up to me, looming over the bed. ‘In the bedside drawer there are two sets of handcuffs. I want you to take them out.’

  I laugh. ‘Now who’s losing control?’

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Sophia.’ He takes the top from my hands and throws it to the floor. ‘You won’t be needing that.’

  ‘Really?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Because it sounds like you’re not thinking about the movie anymore. There are no handcuffs in any scene I remember.’

  ‘Trust me.’ His lips flicker.

  I consider arguing with him. But the truth is, I want Marc so badly. And handcuffs sound pretty good.

  Turning around, I crawl over the bed and towards the bedside table. ‘This drawer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Inside, I find two gleaming sets of handcuffs, both silver and heavyweight.

  ‘Take them out,’ Marc instructs.

  I lift the clanking handcuffs, feeling their weight as I pass them to Marc.

  ‘Lie on your stomach,’ Marc demands. ‘Face on the pillow.’

  I do, my cheek finding soft cotton, my arms stretched up in anticipation.

  ‘Well, well, Sophia.’ I hear the smile in Marc’s voice. ‘You certainly have learned a lot since we first met.’

  Marc dangles the handcuffs along my back, letting cool metal stroke my skin.

  I gasp, then stammer, ‘I thought I was always a good pupil.’

  ‘You’ve certainly learned how to position yourself ready for restraint,’ Marc remarks. He clicks the cold handcuffs on my bare wrists, cuffing me to the bedpost.

  I moan, my eyes already half closed.

  If I wasn’t certain, to the very bottom of my heart, that Marc loved me, I would hate this side of him. But the truth is, I love being his captive, bound and ready.

  I wait, listening to Marc moving around the room.

  A lock clicks and the wardrobe door slides back and forth.

  I turn my head, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happening. But I can’t see much.

  Then Marc’s hips come into view. He’s naked, except for black jockey shorts. One hand resting on my naked back, he says, ‘I want you to stay in character,’ he says. ‘Understood?’

  I would never guess, from the quiet command of his voice, that he is rock hard.

  ‘I’ll try,’ I stammer.

  His hand leaves my back, and a swish of blue and green waves near my face.

  What is that?

  41

  It’s a peacock feather, I realise, blue and purple strands coming into focus. Where did he get that?

  I moan, as Marc strokes the feather down my back.

  ‘You are Violet,’ Marc orders. ‘And you will react as she would react. Or I won’t let you come.’

  The feather reaches my backside.

  A moan catches in my throat, but I give Marc a hard look, knowing that Violet would stay strong.

  ‘You’re being an excellent pupil.’ Marc strokes the feather back and forth over my buttocks.

  It’s a struggle to stay in character, but I manage to say, ‘You won’t break me, Nicky. I’m stronger than you think.’

  A firm hand parts my legs, and Marc lowers the feather inside my thighs.

  I keep firm eyes on Marc.

  ‘Very good,’ Marc remarks. ‘There’s hope for you yet.’

  The feather is right between my legs now – into the heat that’s begging for him.

  Marc swishes the feather around.

  I bite my teeth together and glare at him.

  But I don’t moan.

  Marc swirls the feather, lazily stroking it between my legs and over my buttocks. Then he rests it on the small of my back.

  There’s a clicking sound as a vibrator whirs to life.

  You’ve got to be kidding …

  ‘Marc. You can’t be serious,’ I say. ‘How can I possibly stay in character if you use that on me?’

  Marc stands right by my face.

  I see his hardness, straining against the thin material of his jockey shorts.

  God, I want him so much.

  He’s holding the vibrator – a long, metallic one with studded bumps all over it.

  ‘Try harder, Sophia.’

  I feel pressure on the mattress as Marc climbs on the bed, kneeling behind me.

  It’s torture – hearing the whirring of the vibrator and feeling the heat of Marc’s body.

  I try to turn, but Marc puts a firm hand to my cheek, holding me against the pillow. ‘Don’t move.’

  He lowers the vibrating cylinder to my back, rolling it back and forth.

  I stay rigid, thinking of Violet and her strength.

  Oh god.

  The vibrations roll down, down, over my buttocks and then to my legs.

  I feel the heat and movement as Marc pushes vibrating metal between my thighs.

  As he slides the vibrator inside me, I can’t hold back anymore. I moan, and squirm against the bed.

  Marc holds me firm, sliding the vibrator in and out.

  Oh god.

  Then he slides the vibrator right out and along, over the sensitive, burning heat between my legs.

  Back and forth, back and forth.

  Dimly I think, I want him inside me. But it’s too late.

  I come, throbbing against the vibrations and pulling against the handcuffs.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to do that,’ Marc says, his voice deep and authoritative.

  Sliding the vibrator free, he brings his other hand down to grasp my buttock.

  He holds me like that for a moment.

  Then he slides the vibrator into my backside.

  God!

  I nearly leap off the bed again, feeling vibrations thrum inside me.

  Marc squeezes my buttock hard – hard enough to leave a mark. But I barely notice. All I can feel is the heat of the vibrator.

  It’s uncomfortable, and I’m sensitive after my orgasm, but Marc is merciless, holding me in place and sliding the vibrator further, up and up.

  I gasp as he pushes it deeper, gritting my teeth against the achy pleasure pain as he slides it free and pushes it in again.

  Marc pulls me onto my knees, and my wrists catch in the handcuffs, suspending my arms in midair.

  I can barely see straight, but I don’t moan like Sophia would.

  God, this is too much.

  Marc knocks my legs further open with his knuckles, and I sense his hips getting into position.

  I nearly shout, ‘No. Please Marc, I can’t do it …’

  But thank god, he slides the vibrator free and gives me a moment – just a moment – before he pushes himself inside me, all the way in.

  After the vibrator, I’m uncomfortable. But as he starts to move, the good feelings build up again. All I know now is him pounding in and out, lighting me up inside.

  When I come a second time I can hardly breath.

  ‘Oh Marc. Marc.’

  The orgasm goes on and on, becoming another and then another. I can’t tell the sensations apart – my body floats along on one long wave of pleasure.

  Dimly, I feel Marc pull back. And then with one last thrust, he comes, pulling my hips onto him and
moaning, ‘Sophia.’

  We stay together for a moment, the handcuffs biting my wrists, Marc’s arms tight around my waist, holding me against his body.

  Then he gently unlocks the handcuffs and carries me to the bathroom.

  Marc sits me on his lap while he runs a hot bath. Then he slides me into the water and washes my body.

  When I’m clean, he wraps me in a soft bathrobe, towels my hair dry and carries me to the bed.

  He kisses my forehead. ‘Rest now. Tomorrow will be hard work. I’ll teach you more when I can.’

  ‘Will I rehearse with Benjamin Van Rosen tomorrow?’ I ask.

  Marc’s face darkens. ‘You and I should rehearse in the morning. I’m not sure of Nadia’s schedule, but I don’t want you rehearsing with that man alone. He’s not to be trusted.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ I ask. ‘Bring the husband along?’

  ‘If needs be.’

  I blink sleepily. ‘I hope you’re joking.’

  Marc frowns. ‘I’m not joking. There are some things you’re not ready for yet. But you will be. With practise. Benjamin is well known where women are concerned. Very well known. If he tries anything with you, I’ll kill him.’

  ‘You can’t possibly be jealous,’ I insist, stifling a yawn. ‘I haven’t even met him yet.’

  ‘Not jealous. Protective.’

  ‘Well you don’t need to be protective.’

  But through sleepy eyes, I sense Marc is still frowning.

  42

  The next morning, I wake to bright sunshine as our automatic curtains whirr open.

  Blue ocean glimmers all around, and in the distance I see a hazy, colourful line – the coast of Spain.

  I sit up.

  Whoa. We’re at Spain already.

  Marc isn’t beside me, but that’s no surprise.

  I know his habits by now – he’ll be at the gym, and back when he thinks I’ll wake up. I guess he didn’t account for the automatic curtains.

  Tanya took care of Ivy last night, and I have to admit it was amazing getting another full eight-hours sleep.

  Wandering onto the sundeck, I watch the colours of Spain get clearer and brighter.

  It’s hot.

  Enjoying the sun, I pick up the deck phone and order an early breakfast – orange juice, sliced avocado, roasted seeds and poached eggs on toast. Ivy won’t wake up for a while, and it’ll be good to eat without any distractions.

  My food arrives within ten minutes, and I have it outside, watching Spain get sharper.

  As I finish my last bite, I hear Marc’s voice behind me, low and soft.

  ‘You’re awake.’ He kisses the top of my head.

  I smile. ‘Good morning to you too.’

  Marc is wearing grey jogging bottoms, the cord tied tight along his muscular abdomen. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I find myself breathing in his amazing smell.

  ‘The curtains opened on their own,’ I tell him.

  ‘Looks like you’re not the only one up early,’ says Marc, pointing to the horizon.

  A gleaming white motorboat skips and jumps over the water.

  ‘That boat is a long way from land,’ I note.

  ‘Because they’re headed for our ship.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I ask.

  Marc smiles. ‘Nadia always likes to make an entrance.’

  ‘Nadia’s on that boat?’

  ‘Among others.’ Marc grabs a bottle of mineral water from the deck mini bar, and takes a long gulp.

  Together, we watch the motorboat. It hops nearer and nearer, and soon a floating jetty is lowered.

  I shield my eyes against the sun, watching as Nadia is helped onto the jetty.

  She looks great in tight, leather trousers, a fur gillet and long, black hair full of volume.

  ‘Isn’t she overheating?’ I remark, thinking of her fur and leather.

  ‘Nadia is Spanish,’ says Marc. ‘She’s probably freezing. Ah … just as I thought. She has company.’

  Marc’s right – Nadia isn’t alone.

  A blond man steps onto the jetty too. He wears Ray-Ban sunglasses, white shorts and a polo shirt. His skin is smooth and tanned, and his hair slicked back like a 1940s gangster.

  Benjamin Van Rosen.

  I have to admit, he is extremely good looking off screen, as well as on.

  ‘Christ – I thought Nadia had more sense,’ Marc growls. ‘Arriving with him like this … his ego will get even bigger.’

  ‘It’s going to be weird,’ I hear myself say. ‘Acting with someone so famous.’

  I watch, as Benjamin saunters onto the boat.

  ‘So famous?’ Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘And here I was thinking you cared about calibre, not sidewalk stars.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘The man has an ego the size of a planet,’ Marc snaps. ‘It would have been better he’d stayed a z-lister.’

  I shield my eyes.

  Benjamin is shorter than I’d imagined he would be – but then most movie stars are. Marc is the exception to that rule.

  A bunch of paparazzi line the port, all snapping and flashing away.

  ‘You’d better get dressed, Mrs Blackwell,’ says Marc. ‘You’ll be meeting your new cast member soon. I hope he lives up to your expectations.’

  I dress in a light vest and flowery shorts – a little girly for me, but I team the outfit with my traditional converse.

  As I’m pulling on my shoes, a crew member arrives with a message – we’re to meet Nadia and Benjamin immediately, at the top-deck amphitheatre.

  ‘Quite a sense of occasion Nadia has,’ Marc remarks, as he reads the message.

  ‘I thought you liked theatres,’ I reply, lacing up my trainers.

  ‘Since meeting you, I’ve liked them more and more.’ Marc gives me that half-smile of his.

  I grin back. ‘I hope you’re not planning on repeating what we did at the Globe.’

  Marc folds the message and slots it in his desk drawer. ‘Not with Benjamin Van Rosen looking on.’

  ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ I say.

  ‘No. I really don’t.’ Marc reaches for my hand.

  43

  By the time we reach the top deck, the ship’s engines have started again and we’re slicing through the water, away from the Spanish coast.

  ‘So will Michael get taken to shore?’ I ask Marc.

  Marc checks his watch. ‘He should already be on dry land now. I gave orders for the whole thing to be handled discreetly.’

  I look across the water to Spain, wondering what Michael will be up to. ‘You know, Marc, Michael was just trying to be a good uncle.’

  ‘He needs to try harder.’ Marc quickens his pace.

  The air is fresh and warm, but brisk as the ship’s motion pulls us through the breeze.

  ‘Oh come on,’ I say, making quick steps to stay by his side. ‘Stowing away on a ship? I think that’s trying pretty hard, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But in the wrong way. Look – I’m not ruling out what you’re saying. I appreciate Michael has a good heart. Perhaps we’ll work out a plan back in England. As long as he can prove to be responsible.’

  We continue along the deck until we reach the back of the boat, where a full-sized, open-air amphitheatre is nestled around the curved stern of the ship. It’s like a sunken wedding cake – tiered rings graduate down to a circular stage.

  Nadia sits within the theatre on a graduated seat, ankles crossed, takeaway coffee in her hand. She’s gesturing animatedly and talking loudly.

  Benjamin stands beside her, hands in his cream shorts pockets, looking serious in black sunglasses.

  ‘Hey guys.’ Nadia calls, waving us over. ‘Come and meet Benjamin.’

  Marc and I walk along the seat row, single file, me in front.

  Benjamin shields his eyes from the sun, his gaze lingering on me unapologetically.

  I reach back to take Marc’s hand.

  ‘Good to see you.’ Nadia ju
mps up to kiss me enthusiastically on both cheeks. ‘Of course, you’ve heard of Benjamin. Right?’

  Beside her, Benjamin drops sunglasses on his eyes. ‘A pleasure to meet my fiancée in person.’ He reaches out to shake my hand. ‘My word, you’re beautiful aren’t you? Quietly so, but beautiful. Childlike. Is that the word? Definitely marriage material.’

  I manage an uncomfortable laugh, sensing Marc’s anger behind me.

  ‘Marc Blackwell.’ Benjamin lets his fingers slip from mine. ‘When did I see you last? Somewhere in Hollywood?’

  Marc’s grip on my hand tightens. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I hear you stole my part.’ Benjamin raises a blond eyebrow.

  ‘You heard wrong,’ Marc growls.

  Nadia puts a hand to her forehead. ‘Guys. Come on. Let’s start friendly. Okay? So listen – today you all need to get a suntan. And rehearse the hell out of these scenes. I’m expecting magic when we reach Saint-Tropez.’

  Benjamin turns to me. ‘Can you make magic, Sophia?’

  ‘Um …’ I glance at Marc.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ Benjamin continues. ‘Meet me here at 11am and we’ll try out the wedding rehearsal scene. Okay?’

  Marc pulls me back, so I’m almost behind him. ‘Sophia is rehearsing with me this morning.’

  Benjamin laughs. ‘Well when you’re done, I’ll take my turn.’ He reaches to grab a schedule from Nadia.

  I sense Marc’s rage simmering.

  ‘Hey,’ I whisper, putting a hand on Marc’s chest. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘He needs to be careful,’ Marc growls back. ‘Or he’s going to find himself swimming home.’

  44

  Marc and I decide to go for coffee before we rehearse, so we can talk over the script.

  We stop at the third-deck coffee bar, and Marc orders us espresso shots and Spanish nougat.

  ‘So how about this script, Mrs Blackwell?’ Marc stirs his espresso. ‘You’ve hardly said a word about it. Usually you’re full of opinions.’

  I flip pages. ‘There’s not much to say.’

  Marc watches me. ‘Nothing you’d change?’

  ‘No.’ I take a sip of sharp, strong espresso. ‘ I just want to do it justice.’

  Marc drinks his own coffee. ‘You don’t have to be perfect.’

  ‘But I do want to be perfect.’ My hair is blowing in the sea breeze, and I push it behind my ears.