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

by Suzy K Quinn

  There’s a gentle knock at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ Marc barks.

  ‘Oh. Um … hi,’ calls a soft voice. ‘It’s just me. Seraphina. Is this a bad time?’

  ‘Come in,’ I call out.

  Marc unlocks the door, and Seraphina leans tentatively into the room, Ivy tight against her chest.

  ‘Are you two settling in okay?’ she asks.

  I give a tired smile. ‘Fine.’

  ‘I thought I’d take Ivy for a little walk. Is that okay?’

  I look at my baby, sleeping in Seraphina’s arms. She’s screwing up her face in her sleep, which tells me she’s uncomfortable and will wake soon.

  I feel a wave of tiredness wash over me, knowing that usually I’d have to rock and shush her, or push her in the pram over something bumpy for the best part of an hour.

  But today I don’t have to.

  Seraphina is offering to help.

  ‘The hotel have a special stroller all ready for us,’ Seraphina continues. ‘It’s fur-lined, would you believe. Luxury!’

  I smile.

  ‘That sounds great,’ I say, relief softening my shoulders. ‘A walk is exactly what Ivy needs.’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ says Seraphina. ‘I’ll pack plenty of bedding. And milk. She won’t be cold or hungry. You can trust me.’ She gives me a big smile.

  ‘I know,’ I say. And I mean it.

  11

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Marc observes, the moment the door closes. ‘Why don’t you catch up on some sleep? The beds here are said to be the most comfortable in the world.’

  My eyes wander to the big, downy white bed. ‘But we’re in Switzerland,’ I protest. ‘I want to see things.’

  ‘There’ll be time for that later.’ Marc locks the door again.

  I feel myself yawn, quite without meaning to.

  Marc laughs. ‘Bed, Sophia. Right now.’

  I climb out of my jumper and jeans, sliding under the duvet in just a t-shirt and underwear.

  Lying on the huge, soft bed, I’m stroked by silky cotton.

  Soon, I’m lost in sleep.

  When I wake, Marc is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me.

  ‘How long did I sleep?’ I ask, rubbing my eyes.

  ‘Most of the day.’ Marc is looking at me intensely, like I’m some precious thing that might break if he doesn’t pay attention.

  ‘Really?’ I sit up. ‘Is Ivy okay?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Marc runs a hand up and down the duvet, stroking my legs. ‘She’s still with Seraphina.’

  ‘You let me sleep all day?’

  ‘Almost all day,’ says Marc, turning to the window. ‘You needed it.’

  ‘You can’t have been sitting there the whole time?’

  ‘I was. More or less.’ Marc turns back to me. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Really well.’ I notice a pinky sunset through the tall windows. ‘Wow. It really is late.’ I swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Is Ivy in Seraphina’s room?’

  ‘Yes. But you’re staying here. Rest and recuperation is your job today. Husband’s orders.’

  I laugh. ‘I’ve just had a rest.’

  Marc frowns, shaking his head. ‘Not nearly enough.’

  I push the duvet back. ‘How many hours have you been watching me, exactly?’

  His lips twitch. ‘Five.’

  ‘And you’ve just been sitting here with me?’ I say, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. ‘Didn’t you want to explore this amazing hotel?’

  ‘I’ve seen hundreds of amazing hotels.’ Marc reaches forward to stroke hair from my face. ‘You’re more beautiful than all of them.’

  ‘This room is incredible,’ I shield my eyes against the setting sun.

  Feeling soft carpet under my feet, I stretch again.

  Marc’s lips flick into a smile. ‘There’s more.’ He stands, opening a door by the bed. ‘Take a look.’

  ‘Oh my god.’ I hop onto thick carpet and wander towards the door. ‘Wow. It’s like being in a spa.’

  The whole room is white marble, flecked with silver and blue. Essential oils sit on a glass shelf, next to plate of fish-shaped chocolates.

  Sinks are cut into the wall, and a giant round bathtub rests on golden feet.

  ‘This can’t be all for us,’ I breathe. ‘It’s huge.’

  ‘For us and nobody else,’ says Marc. ‘I want you to take a long, relaxing bath before dinner tonight.’

  ‘But Ivy—’

  ‘Is absolutely fine.’

  Marc turns a tap, and hot water gushes into the bath.

  I catch a glimpse of us in one of the mirrors – me in my t-shirt and underwear, looking startled and sleep-crumpled.

  Marc is handsome and stern beside me, sliding hands under my t-shirt and lifting it over my head. He drops my clothing over a towel rail, then undoes my bra, watching me in the mirror as he pulls it free of my arms.

  Behind us, the bath steams and bubbles.

  ‘Are you intending to join me in this bath?’ I whisper.

  Marc’s hands drop to my waist, pushing my panties from my hips.

  I feel the skin-warmed fabric drop to my feet.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Marc is still watching me in the mirror, and I see my naked breasts rise and fall. ‘Into the tub with you, Mrs Blackwell.’

  He helps me climb into the high marble bath, holding my arm firmly as my feet find hot water. ‘Sit down.’

  I laugh. ‘What’s my next instruction? Beg? Roll over?’

  His lips twitch into a smile. ‘I might make you beg. I’m not sure yet.’

  My body gives a little shiver. ‘Well, if you could warn me now. So I can get used to the idea.’

  ‘I don’t give warnings.’ He guides me down into the bath, and I go where he wants me, sinking into hot, bubbling water.

  Heat stings my skin as I stretch out my legs.

  ‘It feels amazing in here,’ I say, feeling bubble jets massage my legs.

  The water level is rising by the second and my body gets lighter.

  Marc watches me, a half smile on his lips. ‘Lie back in the water.’

  ‘You don’t want me to beg yet then?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet.’

  I lie back, feeling my hair spread out underwater, loose and swaying like a mermaid’s.

  Marc unbuttons his shirt, watery light dancing over his firm chest.

  I watch as he pulls his shirt free, mesmerised by his perfect, long, toned body.

  ‘So are you joining me in here?’ I ask.

  ‘I think I should. Just to make sure you don’t drown.’ He continues to undress, and I see the size and length of him rigid in his black underwear.

  When he pulls his jockey shorts free, I can’t take my eyes off him. Or more specifically, the rock hard part of him that’s pointing right at me.

  ‘You know I can swim, don’t you?’ I say.

  Marc’s long, tall body steps into the bath. ‘All the same, I think for your safety I should join you.’

  His eyes are intense, and he is long and hard, casting a shadow over my stomach as he straddles my body.

  God, he is perfect. Toned, rippling abdomen and hard pectoral muscles move under the low light as Marc kneels between my legs and dips his head.

  ‘Oh god,’ I moan, as his tongue finds me. ‘Oh god Marc.’

  Marc quickens his movements, sending electric shocks over my whole body.

  I moan and cry out.

  He moves back on his haunches. ‘Now then. We had a lesson about anticipation yesterday, isn’t that right?’

  I can’t speak. My whole body is tense and throbbing and begging for him to put his mouth back.

  Marc smiles, one eyebrow raised. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ He turns me over in the water and rests me along his thigh. ‘Comfortable?’ he asks, his hands firmly on my hips.

  I feel his knee between my breasts. ‘Depends how you look at it,’ I gasp, desperate to feel him inside me.

 
‘From this position,’ says Marc, ‘You look very good indeed.’ Gently, he slides me back and forth over his leg.

  ‘Oh Marc,’ I moan. ‘Oh god.’

  ‘I hope you understand,’ Marc murmurs, running a warn, wet hand up and down my back, ‘that lying to your husband has consequences.’

  12

  ‘I do. I do understand.’ I gasp, my eyes squeezing tight shut. All I can feel is Marc’s hard thigh rubbing between my legs.

  ‘You won’t lie to me again, will you?’ says Marc, his voice stern and authoritative.

  ‘No,’ I moan. ‘Oh god.’

  ‘Good.’ Marc moves me back and forth. ‘As you know, I punish bad behaviour.’

  He slides me around on his hard thigh, his hands tight on my hips.

  ‘If you promise me you’ll behave yourself,’ Marc whispers, ‘you’ll get a reward.’

  My body is so hot. I can barely breathe.

  ‘Will you behave yourself in future?’ says Marc, clenching my hips tight in his fingers.

  ‘I will,’ I gasp. ‘I will behave.’

  ‘Good.’ He turns me around in the rapidly rising water, pulling me against his hips and sliding himself inside me.

  ‘Oh god Marc.’ The length and heat of him burns between my legs, and I stare into his eyes, unable to look away.

  ‘I love you,’ I moan.

  ‘I love you too.’ He moves hair around my shoulders. Then his hips pivot back forth, back forth.

  I’m weightless in the water, and all I can feel is Marc, hard inside me, sliding in and out.

  ‘Oh god Marc,’ I cry out. ‘Oh god. Please. Oh god.’

  ‘More?’ he murmurs, quickening his pace.

  I nod, eyes squeezing closed again. ‘More. Oh god, yes. More. More.’

  He thrusts his hips firmly against me, waves of water flowing around us as he moves over and over again.

  Hot water splashes, and I lean back, feeling Marc’s hands holding me tight at the small of my back as he pulls me onto him, going deeper every time.

  A dull, bruisey pleasure builds up inside me, ebbing and flowing like the water, and I begin to open into warmth and ecstasy.

  Marc watches me, his eyes hard and merciless, his strokes firm until I yield to him totally, my whole body softening as an orgasm floods my body.

  ‘Oh god.’

  I go momentarily limp.

  Marc catches me, pulling me against his chest. I feel his damp torso, hard and firm and oh so safe – my haven. The place I can rest.

  Arms wrapped tightly around me, Marc asks, ‘Was the anticipation worth it, Mrs Blackwell?’

  I nod against his damp skin. ‘Totally.’

  Marc reaches for a fluffy towel and wraps it around my shoulders, then lifts me out of the water.

  In the bedroom, he lays me on the bed, watching me with intense blue eyes.

  ‘I hope you’re feeling rested, Mrs Blackwell.’

  ‘Very.’ I smile sleepily up at him.

  Marc carefully dries my hands, and between my fingers. ‘You are a wonderful mother to our daughter. But it’s time you had a night off. There will be no decisions for you today. No responsibilities or worries. I will take care of everything, and you will do as you are told.’

  I laugh. ‘Is that so?’

  Marc strokes my arm dry with the towel. ‘There’s always a first time.’

  ‘You said we were going to dinner,’ I point out, enjoying the feeling of soft cotton as Marc pats my shoulders dry.

  ‘Yes,’ says Marc, stroking long pieces of my hair with the towel. ‘In the hotel ballroom restaurant. One of the finest in Switzerland. You’ll need something special to wear.’

  ‘I didn’t pack much special,’ I admit. ‘Rodney suggested evening clothes, but I told him I’m be in motherhood mode. Nothing to dress up for.’

  ‘Lucky I planned ahead.’

  When Marc has finished drying me, he carries me into the huge walk-in wardrobe, which is spot-lit and decorated with vases of fresh, white roses.

  Hanging in a mirrored show panel is a beautiful silk and lace gown. It’s a mysterious midnight blue colour and flecked with star-like sparkles.

  Marc lifts the dress by its hanger. ‘I had a local clothing boutique send up an outfit for dinner.’

  I feel myself smile. ‘That’s for me? It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it. Try it on.’

  I’m grinning now. ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘No underwear tonight.’ Marc helps me step into the gown and buttons up the back. ‘Understood, Mrs Blackwell?’

  I close my eyes at the feel of his fingers. ‘I don’t know about that,’ I breathe. ‘I might feel a little safer with panties on.’

  ‘You’ll always be safe with me,’ says Marc doing up the last button. ‘You should know that by now.’

  The dress is so pretty and light, and it fits me like a glove. Sheer sleeves end in embroidered points, like a medieval princess.

  Marc slips shoes onto my feet and ties silk around my ankles.

  ‘Stand up,’ he commands.

  I do, turning back and forth, letting the loose skirt spin a little. I catch sight of myself in one of the full-length mirrors and see a silly grin on my face.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I tell him.

  Marc takes my arm. ‘Shall we go to dinner?’

  13

  ‘Marc?’

  Marc’s arm, looped through my own, squeezes tight as we descend the sweeping staircase. ‘You’re thinking about Ivy.’

  I nod. ‘Are you sure she’s okay with Seraphina?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Marc. ‘Positive.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  A smile twists Marc’s lips. ‘I called. Every half hour while you were sleeping.’

  I laugh, checking to see my feet are meeting the steps. ‘You’re as obsessive as I am.’

  ‘Possibly more so.’

  We reach the marble-floored lobby area, walking under a magnificent chandelier.

  ‘You know, I think it might be okay,’ I decide, learning into Marc’s firm body. ‘Ivy staying away over night. I trust Seraphina. And today has been … needed.’

  ‘Ivy won’t be away,’ says Marc, sliding his arm free and taking my hand. ‘She’ll be just down the hall.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do.’ Marc squeezes my fingers. ‘But I agree with you. I think she’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have set this up if I felt any other way.’

  Phillipe meets us in the lobby with a jerky bow. ‘Mr and Mrs Blackwell! I am hoping you are enjoying our hotel so much. I have your table, as promised. No request is too difficult for such important guests. Please come with me.’

  ‘Request?’ I ask Marc.

  ‘I have something special planned,’ say Marc. ‘To ensure your continued relaxation.’

  Phillipe leads us into the hotel ballroom restaurant – a huge, domed space of crystal chandeliers, cream-marble statues and pillars. Gold-framed mirrors decorate the walls.

  It must be the hotel’s main restaurant. I mean, it’s just magnificent. Yet only one small table sits in the grand space.

  The table is set for two.

  ‘Is this … just for us?’ I ask Marc, looking around the empty ballroom.

  ‘Just for us.’ Marc squeezes my hand again. ‘I didn’t want you disturbed by other guests this evening. So I booked out the whole restaurant.’

  I laugh – more out of surprise than anything else. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘You’re right. I didn’t have to.’ Marc leads me to our table. ‘But I wanted you all to myself.’

  ‘This room is amazing.’ My voice echoes around the domed ceiling.

  ‘It’s hosted kings and queens,’ says Marc. ‘So you’ll fit in just fine.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ I say, as Marc pulls out my chair.

  The table is set with flickering candles, napkins folded to look like roses, an orchid centrepiece, bone china plates and crystal wine g
lasses. There are eight pieces of cutlery around each plate.

  ‘Marc, you’ll have to help me,’ I whisper, taking a seat. ‘I don’t understand Swiss cutlery.’

  ‘The cutlery here is the same as at home.’ Marc pushes my chair in. ‘There just happens to be a lot of it.’

  ‘How will I know what to do with all that cutlery?’ I ask. ‘And the glasses …’

  ‘Sophia, relax.’ Marc takes a seat opposite, fixing me with intense eyes. ‘There’s no one else here. It’s just you and I.’

  ‘Phillipe is here,’ I whisper, glancing back at our butler.

  Phillipe, standing by the golden double doors, smiles and gives a little wave.

  Marc frowns. ‘Not for long.’

  ‘I hope you’re not jealous of our butler,’ I say, turning back to Marc.

  ‘Not yet.’ His blue eyes darken. ‘Do I have any reason to be?’

  I laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  While I’m mentally counting the cutlery, I have a thought. ‘Wait Marc. Maybe I should check on Ivy before we eat.’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘But what if she’s—’

  ‘Seraphina would call,’ says Marc, opening a bottle of mineral water. ‘Everything is under control.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about Ivy?’ I insist.

  Marc pours fizzing Berg mineral water into my glass. ‘Every minute of every day. But I learned to delegate years ago.’

  ‘Delegate? Is that code for bossing people around?’

  ‘Careful Mrs Blackwell.’ Marc places the Perrier bottle on the table, then fixes me with his intense eyes. ‘I haven’t nearly finished with you yet. That bath earlier was just the beginning.’ He opens up his hand. ‘Take a good look. You’ll be feeling more of this later if you continue to talk back.’

  Suddenly, Phillipe appears by my elbow.

  ‘Oh!’ I turn to him, blushing.

  ‘Wine, madam?’ Phillipe holds out a chilled bottle of white wine, wrapped in a white napkin.

  I wonder how much he heard.

  Marc remains totally unembarrassed, his palm still resting on the table.

  ‘Fill both our glasses,’ says Marc, his eyes not leaving mine.

  ‘Yes sir.’ Phillipe pours wine with a flourish.