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

by Suzy K Quinn

  ‘Marc, there’s no need to be jealous.’

  ‘Not jealous. Protective.’

  ‘Whatever you want to call it, you don’t need to be concerned about Leo.’

  ‘I think you and I are going to have to disagree on that one.’

  ‘I wish you could forgive him for that paparazzi thing. He really didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘I’m trying, Sophia. Believe me. The way I feel about you – it’s all pretty new to me. Sometimes, I have a hard time dealing with how strong these emotions are.’

  ‘New to you?’

  ‘Love is a first for me. You know that.’

  I glance at Sammy, who has dozed a little over my shoulder. ‘Same here,’ I reply.

  There’s a moment’s silence.

  ‘I love you Sophia,’ says Marc. ‘Always.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘Always,’ comes Marc’s soft reply. ‘And your needs will always come first. If you need to be with your father, I’ll go shopping alone.’

  Oh, the thought of not seeing him today … but if Dad needs me, then that’s just the way things will have to be.

  ‘Being away from you is so hard,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ says Marc. ‘And it doesn’t get any easier.’

  Sammy begins to fidget, and I start rocking him back and forth until he’s still.

  ‘I guess, even if I don’t see you today, at least we’ll have Christmas day,’ I say. ‘I know it’s probably not your usual Christmas, hanging out in some small cottage in a middle-of-nowhere village.’

  ‘As long as I’m with you, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.’

  18

  When I leave my bedroom, I hear Dad snoring and am happy that he’s fallen back to sleep. Better that than he comes downstairs and gets in my way while I’m trying to clean.

  ‘Come on Sammy,’ I say, creaking down the staircase. ‘Let’s get you some milk.’

  Down in the kitchen, I find the formula milk tub is dry and crusty and full of lumps. I see a bottle in the sink that I guess Dad must rewash every morning.

  Putting Sammy in his high chair, I give the bottle a really good scrub and then sterilise it in a pan of boiling water. I flick the kettle on.

  ‘It’s a wonder you haven’t been ill,’ I mutter, running the bottle under the cold tap to cool it down, and then mashing up formula milk into warm water from the kettle. ‘But … Dad’s just not cut out for this sort of thing.’

  How could Genoveva leave Dad alone with Sammy like this? She must realise he doesn’t know up from down when it comes to childcare.

  I scoop Sammy from the chair, noticing his bottom is now stuck with crumbs, and lay him in my arms to drink his milk. Then I go looking for a diaper, because he’s soaked through.

  In Sammy’s room, there are only empty diaper wrappers, but I find a creased up, grey diaper stuffed under his pram and change him.

  After I’ve brushed my teeth with no toothpaste and washed my face with no soap, I decide the first thing Sammy and I need to do is head to the shops.

  Sammy has no clean clothes, so I dress him in a baby ski suit with ketchup stains on it, sit him in his pram and head out to the convenience store to buy supplies.

  *****

  Half an hour later, I’m back home with a plastic bag of essentials: baked beans, sliced bread, tea and eggs for Dad’s breakfast, milk, formula, diapers, baby food and wet wipes for Sammy. I also buy bin bags, toilet roll, washing-up liquid, soap and toothpaste.

  I wipe Sammy’s chair down, then settle him in there with a rattle and some baby porridge.

  When I’ve fed him, I make myself a hot cup of tea and set to work.

  The more washing and cleaning I do, the more jobs I seem to find. Washing the plates, for example, makes me realise how dirty the draining rack is, so I have to stop to scrub it all over. And when I take the bins out, I realise Dad can’t have put the wheelie bin on the curb since Genoveva left, so I have to haul the green bin, along with sacks of rubbish, down the front path and onto the pavement.

  I wash two loads of Sammy’s clothes before I can even start on Dad’s laundry, and by ten o’clock I’m sweaty, dirty and my hair is standing up all over the place. But the house is looking much better, and I feel good.

  The living room is clean enough for Sammy to crawl around, and he’s having great fun trying to pull himself up on the sofa, and chewing the toys that I’ve washed and dried for him.

  I hear Dad creaking around upstairs and set to work on breakfast for both of us – baked beans on toast with a fried egg on top.

  When Dad comes downstairs, his eyes light up at the clean house and the breakfast on the table.

  ‘It’s good to have you home love,’ he says, his words full of emotion. ‘I haven’t been coping. Well, I suppose that’s pretty obvious.’ He takes a seat at the dining table.

  ‘It’s okay Dad. You haven’t had an easy time.’

  ‘You’re the best daughter a dad could hope for. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I should have visited sooner.’

  Dad sits at the table. ‘This looks great, love. First decent breakfast I’ve had all week.’

  ‘What have you been eating?’ I ask, somewhat dreading the answer.

  ‘Cheap bacon sandwiches from the burger van on the industrial estate.’

  ‘What’s Sammy been having?’

  ‘Milk and a bit of my bacon roll.’

  ‘I’ll go shopping again later. Get some proper food in.’

  ‘Would you write down a few meals that I can do for Sammy?’ Dad asks. ‘Simple things. You know. That even someone like me can do.’

  I smile. My dad can make the simplest cooking complicated. He tried to make sausage and mash once. I still shudder at the places I found mashed potato.

  ‘Of course I will Dad, but you needn’t worry for the time being. I’m going to stay here a few days.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Of course. I’m not going to leave you and Sammy alone.’

  ‘You’ll still do your shows, won’t you love?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t let the audiences down. But I’ll make sure I leave you and Sammy with a good meal and instructions for his bedtime. Do you have someone who can babysit when you’re out working?’

  ‘I’m not working right now. I need to get my head together.’

  ‘I wish you’d called me before. What did you think? That I’d turn up on Christmas day and not notice what a state the house was in?’

  ‘I thought I’d have it cleared up by then.’

  ‘Ever the optimist.’ I smile, and I’m happy to see Dad give me a tired smile in return.

  ‘Something like that.’

  19

  After I’ve cleared away the breakfast things, I hang out the washing and spend the rest of the morning stocking up on supplies and playing with Sammy.

  I make a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches – finger sandwiches with marmite for Sammy, and cheese and pickle for Dad and I, washed down with mugs of milk from the local farm.

  While the three of us eat, I watch my dad and realise how glad I am to be here taking care of him.

  This last week must have been really stressful for him. He doesn’t have a clue when it comes to housework and cooking.

  He loves Sammy to bits, but he’s all fingers and thumbs when he changes diapers, and he can never quite remember how much milk Sam should have, and all the other practical things about looking after a baby.

  It’s really not his fault. It would be like asking me to drive Dad’s taxi. I’d have no idea how to work the metre, or the best route from the high street to the train station.

  ‘I wish I had time to get you a Christmas tree,’ I say, looking at the empty corner of the lounge where we’d usually put a real fir. ‘We went to the village earlier, but the grocers had sold out.’

  Dad chews a mouthful of cheese and pickle sandwich. ‘Sorry love. I meant to get one, but somehow Christmas Eve came f
ar quicker than I thought it would. So when’s your fella coming to stay?’

  ‘Marc? I’m hoping he’ll come tonight. After the show. It’s going to be weird having him as a guest here. But good weird, I hope.’

  There’s an awkward silence.

  ‘Are you angry at me?’ Dad asks. ‘About not giving the two of you my blessing yet?’

  ‘Not angry,’ I say. ‘Just … I guess a little confused. I love him so much, and he loves me. I don’t know how you can’t see it.’

  Dad sighs. ‘Genoveva and I moved in together quickly. And now I realise that maybe I didn’t know her at all. For her to leave Sammy like that … she’s not the woman I thought she was.

  ‘I couldn’t stand for you to be in the pain I’m in right now. You and Marc … it all seems very … I don’t know. Sudden. He’s so much older, and you’ve hardly known each other five minutes. I don’t want you making a mistake.’

  ‘When you know you know. Isn’t that what you always said with Mum? That you were young, but you both knew you wanted to be together forever?’

  ‘And is that what you want? With this Marc fellow? A forever kind of thing?’

  ‘More than anything.’ I look down at my sandwich. ‘He’s the most amazing person. So amazing. Sometimes I wonder what he’s doing with someone like me.’

  Dad laughs. ‘Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? He’s crazy about you.’

  ‘But maybe one day he’ll realise that I’m not anyone special.’

  Dad drops his sandwich and reaches across the table to take my hands. ‘You’re very, very special, Sophia Rose. You’re one of the most special people going.’

  ‘Thanks Dad, but I think you might be biased.’

  ‘I can see that the man cares about you. But maybe you should take things a bit slower, that’s all. Go easy. There’s no rush. To talk about marriage already … it seems a little crazy.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel crazy to me. It feels right. But I need your blessing as well as your permission. I couldn’t marry him without both.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t give my blessing, exactly. But … there are certain things I’d need to be assured of before I said yes.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Marc and I can talk about that on Christmas Day. What does he drink? Brandy? Port?’

  ‘Whisky, I guess. And champagne. But he’s not a big drinker.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Dad tags a swig of milk. ‘So. What are your plans for today? It’s Christmas Eve – don’t you and Jen usually get up to something?’

  I twiddle my hair. ‘Marc was going to take me shopping, but there’s still more washing to put on so … I was just going to stay here, keep you company.’

  Dad sighs. ‘At the risk of completely going against what I just said, I don’t want you stuck here cleaning the house on Christmas Eve. You go out with your fella and enjoy yourself. Did you say he was going to take you shopping?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you hate shopping?’

  ‘This is a different sort of shopping,’ I say. ‘I’m helping him choose presents.’

  Dad pushes away his empty plate. ‘You enjoy yourself, love. Don’t stay here with me, moping.’

  I lean over to wipe Sam’s face. ‘You’re sure? You won’t be too lonely? And you’ll be okay with Sammy?’

  ‘I’m going to have you all day tomorrow. That’s more than enough.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Absolutely positive.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave some snacks out for Sammy. And I’ll leave supper out for the two of you, and clean bottles for Sammy’s bedtime.’

  ‘You go out and have fun, love.’

  ‘I’d better call Marc.’

  20

  Marc says he’ll pick me up at three o’clock in the limo.

  At half two, I pace around the garden, checking my watch every minute and watching time tick by.

  When the limo finally pulls up outside the cottage, my chest begins to flutter like there’s a nest of birds inside it.

  I run out of the house, flinging my coat around my shoulders.

  Before I can get to the car, the back door opens and Marc steps out.

  He’s wearing a fitted black suit, black shirt and black tie, and his hair is thick and loose over his forehead.

  Reaching me in two short strides, he lifts me clean off the ground and buries his head into my neck.

  ‘God, you smell good.’ He inhales deeply.

  ‘I missed you,’ I whisper, holding him equally tight.

  Marc scoops me into his arms and carries me to the limo. When we’re inside, he places me on the seat and kneels in front of me, his chest pressed close to mine, arms around my neck.

  ‘I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about you,’ Marc says.

  ‘Oh? And what you have been thinking?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you tied up, gagged, begging me to fuck you.’

  I swallow. ‘And they say romance is dead.’

  Marc gives me a deadly smile. ‘What isn’t romantic about making you come over and over again?’

  The limo pulls out onto the road, and I sway in Marc’s arms.

  ‘You do realise what a dangerous situation you’ve just walked in to?’ says Marc.

  ‘I thought your job was to keep me safe,’ I reply.

  ‘From everyone but me.’

  ‘Luckily I don’t want to be safe with you,’ I murmur. ‘Exactly how unsafe had you planned on being?’

  ‘I hadn’t made any plans at all,’ says Marc. ‘Except to fuck you in the back of this limo.’

  ‘Here?’ I whisper.

  ‘You had no complaints before.’

  ‘I did, if you remember.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Marc slides my hair behind my shoulder and starts running his lips along my neck.

  I shiver.

  ‘Our first argument,’ Marc murmurs against my skin. ‘I remember it fondly.’

  ‘What else do you remember?’ I whisper, melting as his lips do their work.

  ‘Fucking you that night, even though I swore I wouldn’t. Being amazed by how irresistible you were. How you broke down my self control.’

  ‘You were pretty tough to break,’ I say, feeling shivers run down my neck as Marc works around it, grazing the skin with his lips. He pushes his lips firmly against my throat and sucks gently.

  I give a little unexpected ‘oh’ as the pressure does its work.

  Marc sucks harder, running his tongue back and forth. Then he slides my coat from my shoulders until it’s bunched up behind my back.

  Underneath I’m wearing a long red sweater and my usual skinny jeans – dark black today. I’m not wearing Converse, though. It’s too cold. Instead, I’ve chosen scrunched up grey ankle boots in suede leather.

  Marc works both hands under my buttocks and pulls me too him, kneeling higher so the hardness at his groin presses between my legs.

  He pulls off his tie in one elegant movement and holds it up in front of me. ‘Hold out your wrists.’

  21

  ‘Marc, really? Here?’

  ‘Now,’ Marc barks.

  Oh god. It’s such a turn on when he takes charge of me.

  Obligingly, I hold my wrists out, and Marc takes them in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the delicate white skin. He presses his thumbs tight against my pulse points until I let out a little moan.

  His eyes hold me, watching me with such intensity that my insides are turning softer and softer.

  Still looking straight into my eyes, Marc presses the insides of my wrists together and holds them tight with one strong hand. Then he strokes the tie back and forth over the backs of my hands, teasing me.

  ‘Are you going to tie me up?’ I whisper, feeling hot to the point of exploding.

  ‘Do you want me to?’ Marc asks, with a quirky tilt of his lips.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  ‘I want you to tie me up.’
<
br />   Marc groans, and his eyes cloud over, going all soft and carnal. His lips drop open. ‘God, I love hearing you say that…’

  He looks down at my wrists and wraps the tie tight around them, pulling the two ends hard so my wrists snap against each other. Then he ties a complicated knot with a long, loose end.

  ‘Another quick release knot?’ I say, my voice hoarser than ever.

  ‘Of course’

  ‘You must have been a great boy scout.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I never joined.’

  ‘So where did you learn to tie knots?’ I ask.

  ‘Someone taught me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Marc runs his fingers up and under the sleeves of my red sweater, slowly and gently. ‘It’s okay. It’s not what you think. I worked backstage when I was a teenager. Between acting jobs. I’d help set up the stage and move equipment. There are a lot of knots backstage. The stage manager gave me a first class course in knot tying.’

  He moves his hands back down to my wrists. ‘It was very useful training.’

  ‘I guess it would be,’ I murmur, feeling his fingers through the cool silk of his tie.

  ‘God,’ Marc moans, gazing at my bound wrists. ‘You look so good tied up like that.’

  I feel him throb between my legs.

  He fixes those deadly blue eyes on me, then in one swift movement he lifts my arms high above my head.

  ‘Oh!’

  He’s bound my wrists in just the right way, so when they’re above my head they feel like they belong there.

  There must be a suit hook in this part of the car, because when Marc lifts my wrists they catch on something, and when he lets them go, I’m held in place.

  I pull my wrists left and right to test the theory and I find I’m held fast.

  Marc’s eyes darken. ‘Is it wrong that I like seeing you struggle like that?’

  ‘Only if I wasn’t into it.’ And I am. Oh god, I am. Being restrained like this, with Marc watching me like a tiger about to pounce, totally helpless and at his mercy … I can already feel how wet I am, and Marc has barely touched me.

  Marc is breathing hard, watching me. His eyes are hungry, and I know mine are too.