Yorkshire, 1879I am alone…
When Ivy Leavold is left destitute by her brother’s death, she is taken in by her cousin’s brooding, tortured widower—Julian Markham. Handsome and possessive, it’s not long before Ivy falls for him. But Mr. Markham has dark secrets, secrets that may put Ivy in danger…
I am afraid…
As Ivy unravels the mystery surrounding her cousin’s death, she falls deeper and deeper in love with Julian, who opens her body and her mind to his indomitable will. But even as he draws pleasure and desire from her night after night, Ivy can’t shake the feeling that their passionate affair may end in violence…
And I’m completely his.
*** The Awakening of Ivy Leavold is the first book in the Markham Hall Trilogy. It is 40,000 words.***
For Mature Audiences only**
Oh my stars that was a great read! I loved Ivy. As a fan of historical romances, I’m used to either the naïve virgin, the headstrong and independent virgin, or the thoroughly debauched widow. So Ivy’s wild virgin persona is an original one for me and I loved her. Equally as entrancing is the dark and brooding Julian Markham – he is most definitely sinfully sexy.
When Ivy’s brother dies, she is left homeless and penniless when she is forced to sale the family home to settle his gambling debts. Fortunately, Ivy’s solicitor tracks down her cousin’s husband and convinces him to take her in. As Mr. Markham is frequently away on business, Ivy’s welcome to his home is quite frosty by the head housekeeper, Ms. Brightmore, making an already dark and dreary home even more uninviting. But being as she has nowhere else to go, Ivy is determined to make the most of it. Once she meets Mr. Markham she’s not sure which will be the most difficult task – avoiding the temptation that is Mr. Markham or giving in to the temptation that is Mr. Markham. And the chemistry between the two is so intense that it was amazing to me that they held out as long as they did before physical intimacies occurred. Julian’s inadvertent seduction of Ivy as he fights his desire to have her makes for several titillating foreplay scenes.
Rather than the suggestions of sex that most historical romances contain, The Awakening of Ivy Leavold is quite graphic in some scenes – which makes for an extremely erotic read. As much as I enjoy the suggestive nature of most regency romances, I found this to be a refreshing change. I cannot wait to see how Ivy and Julian’s relationship progresses and what secrets will be (hopefully) revealed about Violet’s death in The Education of Ivy Leavold. Ms. Simone I do hope you’re writing quickly.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, feeling every line of his body through his clothes, feeling his hips pressed against mine.
He didn’t answer, but his lips were on my neck, hot and scorching, and then he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers. He hooked an arm around my leg, raising it up, and then I could feel the hot length of his cock pressing against me, hard and urgent.
I slid my hands through his hair and then pulled his head back so that I could kiss him. The blindfold kept everything in complete darkness—reducing everything to sounds and touch—but that was all I needed, because at that moment, the head of his cock pressed up against my folds, and I thought I would never need any other sensation again. I could live forever with only this feeling—the blindfold silky against my eyes, his dinner jacket soft on my breasts, his wide crown slowly, oh so slowly, pushing in, caressing me, separating me.
“Oh, wildcat,” he moaned, his head buried once again in my shoulder.
“Oh, God. You feel so good. Make me stop. Make me stop.” He pushed further in and I gasped.
“Don’t stop,” I begged.
We stayed there for a long moment, me pinned against the wall, his breath against my neck, his cock barely inside of me. I could feel every heartbeat, every pulse, and all I wanted was for him to finish it, to thrust all the way inside, and fuck me against this wall, right where anyone in the house could see.
With a throaty exhalation, he pulled away, his lips leaving my neck, his hips parting from mine.
“No,” he said again, and he finally sounded in control of his voice. “I can’t.”
Sierra Simone is a librarian who writes unabashedly sexy books with brains, beauty and big words. She lives with her hot cop husband and family in Kansas City.
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