Bound by Ivy

by S. Quinn

  ‘Oh Soph, that sounds brilliant,’ says Jen. ‘Truly. Of course, we’ll have to have marquees on standby in case it rains. And some sort of contingency plan in case the paths here get too muddy—’

  ‘It won’t rain,’ I say. ‘I know it won’t.’

  80

  When it comes to the night before the wedding, I don’t want to be separated from Marc until the last possible moment.

  I’m booked into the Ambassador Room at Ivy College so I won’t have to travel on my wedding day, but Marc is staying there with me until midnight. We’ve had enough separation this year to last a lifetime.

  When Marc and I arrive at the room, I’m blown away. It’s a huge ground floor suite that overlooks the lawns and woodlands, and it has ‘his and her’ bathrooms and a huge Jacuzzi pool.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ I tell Marc, as he places my rucksack on the leather luggage rack.

  I notice a huge white cellophane bag on my bed and run my fingers over the thick plastic.

  My wedding dress has been delivered.

  ‘Don’t go peaking in this bag, will you?’ I tease, picking up the hanger and heading for the wardrobe. ‘I’m superstitious, if you hadn’t worked it out already.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of your superstitions,’ says Marc, raising an eyebrow. ‘If it was down to me, we’d be sleeping in the same bed tonight.’

  He’s wearing loose grey cargo trousers and a plain black hoodie. I love that he can transform from James Bond smart to action hero casual, and still look equally mesmerising and handsome.

  I’m wearing a light summer dress made of crumpled linen fabric and embroidered with butterflies.

  My feet are bare, since I kicked off my sandals the moment we came into the room. I love having bare feet in summer.

  My hair is loosely plaited down my back, but as usual, some of it is struggling to escape, and tendrils fall around my face.

  ‘Why tempt bad luck?’ I say.

  ‘I don’t believe in bad luck. Not with you around.’

  Marc opens the French doors and leads me onto the huge ground-floor balcony.

  When I see what’s waiting on the wooden table outside, I put a hand to my mouth.

  ‘Marc.’

  Resting on the varnished wood, beside a bottle of red wine and two gleaming glasses, is an astonishingly beautiful bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Your wedding bouquet,’ says Marc with a smile. ‘You don’t believe it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bouquet before the wedding, do you?’

  The bouquet is a soft and glimmering orb of ivy, woven with the reddest roses I’ve ever seen. The ivy and roses are so fresh and natural looking it’s as if the bouquet could be growing wild in the woods.

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘That’s one superstition I’ve never heard of.’

  81

  We drink wine and watch the sun set over Ivy College.

  It’s a beautiful warm evening, and the red sky tells me what I already knew – that tomorrow will be perfect sunshine for our wedding.

  Marc and I talk and tease and laugh about how we first met. Thinking back to those early days feels so unreal now. It’s almost like we’re two different people.

  ‘Tell me again what you thought of me at my audition,’ I ask Marc, with a teasing smile.

  ‘You know what I thought of you,’ says Marc, pouring more wine into my glass. ‘I thought you were astonishing.’

  I grin. ‘Funny. Because you couldn’t have been colder towards me. I thought you were angry with me. That my audition hadn’t pleased you.’

  ‘I was a master at hiding my feelings back then,’ says Marc. ‘But now, I’m not so good.’ He takes my hands and begins running his thumbs back and forth over my palms, pressing in hard, firm strokes. ‘Do you want to know what I’m feeling right now?’ His eyes have that primal, hunter look in them.

  I laugh. ‘It’s pretty obvious.’

  ‘I’ll be gentle. I promise.’

  ‘You don’t have to be.’

  Ever since Marc rescued me from PAIN and moved me into the farmhouse, we’ve had the most amazing, loving, caring sex, and it’s been very beautiful. But ... I like the other side of Marc too.

  ‘I’ve missed your dark side,’ I say.

  Marc throws me that delicious, devilish smile of his. ‘My dark side?’

  ‘Yes. You know what I mean.’

  ‘I thought. After PAIN ...’

  ‘What PAIN did is a world away from what we do together in the bedroom. You dominating me is part of who you are. Who we are. It’s why we fit so well.’

  Marc frowns. The square shape of his pale jaw and the sharp lines of his angular face are so beautiful in the setting sunlight. I find myself, as usual, slightly dazed by his handsomeness.

  ‘Come inside,’ says Marc, his voice dropping several notes. ‘Now.’

  He takes my hand.

  I stand, following Marc inside. He closes the French doors and draws the curtains.

  ‘Hmmm ...’ Marc scoops me up and lays me onto the bed. The linen is crisp and smells like apples. ‘Stay there for a moment. I’ll be back.’

  82

  After ten minutes or so, I hear the bedroom door opening again.

  Marc strides into the room.

  My thighs tighten when I see what he’s holding.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I ask.

  ‘The prop store behind Queen’s Theatre.’ He’s holding a cane – a swishy bamboo rod with bumps all along it. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t bring the silk rope with me that I ordered all those months ago.’

  Sensing me watching, Marc holds out the cane and flexes it between his fingers.

  ‘Is this an early wedding present?’ I breathe, feeling my lips stretch into a smile.

  Marc comes to the bed, his beautiful spiky lips twitching into a smile. ‘No. This isn’t the present. What comes next is the present. Lie back on the bed.’

  I rest onto the pillow, my eyes not leaving Marc’s. He’s got that wicked, deadly look on his face again. The one that leaves me weak at the knees. The one that has me begging for more.

  Marc lifts the cane and swishes it through the air. Then he smacks it against his palm.

  CRACK!

  Oh. How can that little sound make me wet already? But it does.

  ‘Are you sure you still want this side of me?’ Marc asks. ‘After everything that’s happened?’

  ‘Positive,’ I breathe, watching the cane as Marc rolls it between his fingers.

  Marc lifts my dress with the yellow tip.

  ‘Off,’ he instructs.

  I struggle out of my dress and lie back on the bed in my underwear – the fairytale set that Marc bought me when we took a trip to his island.

  Marc smacks the cane down hard on the bedside table, and a resounding crack echoes through the air.

  God, I’m wet now and getting wetter by the minute.

  Marc prowls around the bed, swishing the cane back and forth. I squirm a little when I see the outline in his cargo trousers. Huge and hard and fighting to escape.

  I feel the tip of the cane at the waistband of my panties. Marc flicks the rod under the elastic, pulling it taut and letting the waistband snap back against my skin.

  ‘Oh,’ I moan.

  ‘Those too.’

  I reach down to pull my panties off, but Marc smacks my fingers lightly with the cane.

  I yelp and pull my fingers back.

  ‘Yes sir,’ he prompts.

  ‘Yes sir,’ I say, putting my smarting hand to my mouth.

  ‘Take them off.’

  I wiggle out of my panties and watch Marc as he continues to prowl around the bed.

  ‘Roll over.’

  I roll onto my belly, hearing his footsteps still moving around the bed. I hear his deep breathing and try to work out where he is as he moves. Then I feel the tip of the cane under my bra strap.

  ‘This too.’

  I undo my bra and pull it over my arms, then fall onto the du
vet again, my head still pushed face down into the pillow. I can hear my own breathing and feel the heat of my breath against my face.

  Marc stops moving and there’s silence.

  ‘Marc?’ I whisper into the pillow. ‘Are you still there?’

  CRACK! Marc whacks the cane against the bedside table again.

  ‘I didn’t say you could speak.’

  Oh god, that sounds good.

  CRACK!

  There it goes again, and now I’m desperate for him.

  ‘Keep still,’ Marc barks, and I hear him pacing.

  I wait, growing wetter by the minute.

  ‘Spread your legs,’ Marc instructs, slipping the cane between my thighs. ‘Now.’

  I moan and move my legs apart.

  CRACK!

  This time, Marc smacks the cane hard against my left buttock and I leap an inch from the bed, giving another little yelp.

  I hear the swish of the cane and then, CRACK! It comes down hard on my other buttock.

  CRACK!

  The cane comes down once more on both buttocks, and I flinch in pain – but good pain. I want this so badly. I’ve been waiting for this side of Marc to come out again, and it feels so good.

  ‘Roll over,’ Marc instructs.

  I do, rubbing my stinging buttocks. My bra stays on the bed as I roll over, so I when I face Marc I’m completely naked.

  I look up at him, and see he’s naked too.

  ‘How did you take your clothes off so fast?’ I ask breathlessly, taking in his muscular, naked body – the taut lines of his arms, the cut of his abs, his flawless pale skin and the light covering of brown hair on his chest.

  I notice that between his legs he is hard and firm, and so, so huge. Looking at him I wonder, as I often do, how on earth he’ll fit inside me.

  Marc’s lips curve into a dangerous smile. ‘Don’t you know not to speak until you’re spoken to?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  Marc comes closer and holds the cane up over my thighs.

  He brings the cane down fast, but stops inches from my skin.

  I flinch, waiting for the blow that doesn’t come. I moan as I watch the cane hover over my legs.

  Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Did you want something?’

  ‘Hit me. Please.’

  Marc gives me that devilish smile and raises the cane. Then he brings it down hard, CRACK, on my thighs, and I moan with pleasure.

  As the stinging sensation spreads up my legs, Marc picks up my ankles and rests them over his firm shoulders. Then he runs the cane up my inner thigh, and slowly strokes up, up, up until it reaches between my legs.

  I’m so wet that when he begins to slide the cane back and forth between my legs and buttocks, it slips easily up and down, and I moan as I feel the hard joins of the bamboo roll over me, bump, bump, bump.

  Just as I’m going insane with the pleasure of it all, Marc slides the cane out from between my legs and rests the tip on my stomach. Slowly, he traces a snaking line back and forth across my belly, and I shudder and shiver as the cane moves up my body.

  When the cane reaches my breasts, Marc slides the cane roughly across my nipples, back and forth, back and forth, the joins pushing and pulling at my skin.

  Oh god. It’s beautiful, delicious teasing agony, but I need more.

  ‘Hit me,’ I beg him. ‘Please.’

  83

  ‘I don’t think you can take it,’ Marc says, stroking the cane back and forth.

  I nod quickly. ‘I can. I can.’

  ‘I would never take you beyond your limits. You know that, don’t you?’ Marc lifts the cane high above my breasts.

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘But my boundaries are well and truly stretched.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Marc brings the cane down, once, twice, three times on my breasts, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

  ‘Oh god, oh god,’ I moan, as my nipples burn white hot and a stinging sensation creeps over my breasts and chest. ‘More. Give me more.’ I roll over.

  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

  Marc hits me hard on my backside.

  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

  When he stops I almost can’t see straight. God, it feels so good. So, so good.

  I’m about to beg him for more, but before I can, I feel Marc pushing my legs apart and climbing on top of me, his hardness pressing between my thighs.

  ‘I can only tease you for so long,’ Marc says, sliding himself into place, ready to push inside of me. ‘You’re irresistible to me, do you know that Miss Rose? Absolutely fucking irresistible.’

  I hear the tear of a condom packet, and feel myself shaking my head into the duvet.

  ‘Let’s do it without.’

  ‘Without?’

  ‘I want to feel you. All of you. We’re about to get married. I think it’s okay now.’

  ‘Sophia. I don’t want anything happening to you that you don’t choose. There could be consequences. A baby. Are you ready for that possibility?’

  ‘I’m ready for whatever happens. Are you?’

  ‘Very ready.’

  With that, he plunges inside me, all the way in – so hard and fast that it takes my breath away.

  ‘Ooooh,’ I moan, as I tighten around him, feeling him get as deep as he can. My buttocks sting from the pressure of his hips, and my breasts feel hot as they’re pushed into the bed.

  It all feels so, so good.

  He pushes my legs wider so he can get even deeper, and for a moment I’m not sure I can take it – how deep he’s going. But as he starts to move, I realise I can. That we’re made for each other, and his body is meant to fit with mine, even if it means pushing me to my limits.

  Marc moves hard and fast for a few strokes, pushing me back and forth into the bed like a rag doll. Then he flips me over, still keeping himself inside me, but lifting my ankles onto his shoulders again.

  I think I might come just from looking up into those intense, burning eyes of his, but I hold myself just on the brink, just on the verge of losing it.

  I see Marc is barely holding on too. His eyelids are fluttering and his jaw is held tight.

  ‘Oh god Sophia,’ he groans, his spiky lips curving even higher. He plunges forwards, letting out a long, low moan.

  That does it. I can’t hold on anymore. An orgasm rises up and up, until it’s pushing and pulling, sending waves of warmth and pleasure from between my legs, up over my whole body.

  My thighs clench around Marc, pulling him deeper, and I reach out to grab his buttocks, forcing him further inside me.

  Marc moans again, and I moan too.

  He rubs his hands up and down my legs, creating a gorgeous warm friction that makes my orgasm last even longer. His eyes are closed and he’s lost in me, just like I’m lost in him.

  After a long, delicious moment, he slides my legs from his shoulders and pulls my body against his.

  ‘You still want to be Mrs Blackwell tomorrow?’ he whispers into my hair.

  ‘I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.’

  ‘It’s nearly midnight.’

  ‘Maybe it won’t be bad luck for you to stay, after all,’ I say, desperate to hold on to this moment.

  Marc smiles. ‘We’ve had this discussion. You didn’t want to risk it. Remember? I don’t want you doing anything you might regret in the morning.’

  ‘Then I guess you’d better go,’ I say. ‘Before the clock strikes and you turn into a pumpkin.’

  ‘I’ll be back for you Cinderella,’ says Marc. ‘See you in the morning.’

  The next day, I wake to the most beautiful sunrise. It’s pink and orange and grey and just a whole rainbow of soft pastel colours.

  The dark green woodlands of Ivy College look more magnificent today than I’ve ever seen them.

  I’ve barely got out of bed and brushed my teeth before there’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Is there a bride to be in there?’ Jen calls.

  Smiling, I he
ad across the room to let her in.

  ‘Wow,’ says Jen, as I open the door. ‘Amazing room.’

  ‘I know. Nice, isn’t it?’

  For once, Jen isn’t all made up and picture perfect. Her long blonde hair is piled up in a messy bun on her head. She’s wearing a pink tracksuit and sunglasses, and when she whisks off the sunglasses, her eyes are clear of makeup.

  I stand back to let her in. ‘Thanks for getting here so early. I know you hate early mornings. And it must have been pretty hard leaving Leo Falkirk in bed …’

  ‘Anything for my best friend.’ Jen is carrying her huge metal makeup case. ‘Well. Are you ready for me to work my magic?’

  I take in a deep breath and let it out. ‘Yes. Ready. Let’s get started.’

  84

  After Jen has fixed my hair and makeup, Rodney arrives with croissants and coffee, ‘courtesy of Marc Blackwell’. And he brings something else with him. Something even better than breakfast.

  Tanya.

  ‘Morning all,’ she says, breezing into the Ambassador room. ‘I’m not late am I?’

  ‘No,’ I tell her. ‘Right on time.’

  It doesn’t take long before Jen starts fixing Tanya’s hair and makeup too, and soon we’re all prettied up and ready for the big day.

  I have to fight Jen off a few times when she hovers with the red lipstick, wanting to ‘make the most of those amazing lips’, but in the end we keep my makeup soft and natural, just like I want.

  The three of us stand side by side in the full-length mirror, grinning like idiots. We make a lovely picture – not because we’re all beautified, but because our arms are wrapped around each other and we’re all laughing, as Tanya jokes about Tom’s outfit for the wedding.

  It took him weeks to decide what to wear, apparently. He’s been scanning the internet every evening, looking for something suitable.

  ‘He’s like a girl when it comes to clothes,’ says Tanya. ‘But I love him anyway. I think he’s a bit jealous of my bridesmaid’s dress.’

  Tanya’s fern green dress is made of loose silk and cut on the bias. She and Jen are wearing exactly the same thing – simple silk gowns, gathered in all the right places. I picked a green that would suit both their colourings.