Anew: Book One: Awakened (12 page)

I swallow with some difficulty
but whether from fear or excitement I can’t say. Most likely both.

“But it’s still a part of you,
isn’t it?” I ask. “Those men you sent to find me, they aren’t just a normal
security force.”

He shrugs. “What’s normal in
this world? If you’re asking whether they’re ex-Special Forces like me, yes,
they are. But enough of that. Hodgkin mentioned that you found the greenhouse.
What do you think of it?”

The abrupt change of subject
leaves me at a loss but only for a moment. “It’s remarkable. I had no idea that
so much food could be grown so efficiently in such a relatively small space.”

Ian nods. Clearly, this is
something that matters to him. “The trick is scaling that up,” he says. “Much
larger versions of that greenhouse are being used to improve food security
where that still remains a major issue.”

“You support those efforts?”

“The foundation I set up does.
It’s not a cure-all but at least some conflict could be eliminated if food
could be produced more efficiently. We’ve had the technology to do that for a
long time. The problem is getting it implemented in regions with corrupt
governments, entrenched cultural practices, and the like.”

I can’t help thinking that a
world with less conflict would also be less in need of what he sells.
Apparently that doesn’t concern Ian. This side of him, as a man genuinely
trying to make a positive difference in the world, is new to me but it doesn’t
come as a surprise. True, he pushed me painfully close to my limits in the spa
but I still don’t have an impression of him as a man who is callous or cruel,
only very deliberate and determined.

I am still thinking about that
when we finish dinner. The more I get to know Ian, the more reassured I am that
my instinct to trust him comes not because of how I was imprinted but from my
own growing confidence in the man he is.

“Would you like a brandy?” he
asks when Hodgkin has finished clearing.

I shake my head. Honestly, all I
really want is him. I can no longer avoid admitting, if only to myself, how
deep that longing goes. I want to stand in his arms and feel the steady beat of
his heart in rhythm with my own, to hear his laughter, to know what he thinks
and feels, to ease his sorrows and bring him joy.

Heaven help me. What I’m
experiencing feels perilously close to how love is described. But surely that isn’t
possible, not so quickly and perhaps not at all for me. I don’t even know if I
am capable of such a depth and breadth of emotion. But how I long to find out!

“In that case,” Ian says,
“there’s something I’d like to show you.”

He stands and holds out his
hand. When I take it, he leads me into the shadows near the gallery, to a place
where little light from the palazzo intrudes. His arm around my waist draws me
close against his warmth. I feel the smooth fabric of his shirt and beneath it
the taut, toned muscles of his chest and abdomen against the bodice of my
dress.

A tremor runs through me. In
response, he tightens his hold. Long fingers slip under my chin, pressing
lightly.

“Look up,” he says.

I do and a gasp escapes me.
Streaks of light are falling across the sky, one after another in rapid
succession.

“The Lyrids meteor shower,” Ian
says softly. “The dust of a comet that humans have been seeing and wondering at
for thousands of years. Until a few centuries ago, whenever we saw something
like this, we thought the stars were falling.”

And we still wish on them as
they leave the heavens and descend to earth. But I don’t say that to him. I’m
afraid I’ll feel foolish. All the same, a wish forms in me, no less real for
being held silently in my heart.

All the pain and helplessness of
how I came to be, the childhood I was denied, the years spent floating in
emptiness will be redeemed if I can find within myself the capacity to love and
be loved.

“They’re beautiful,” I say,
watching the streaks of cosmic dust, reminders of how vast and mysterious
creation truly is.

“Beautiful,” Ian agrees. He is
looking not at the falling stars but at me. Softly, he says, “I’ve been remiss
with you, Amelia. I didn’t let myself take into account how new everything is
for you.” Is that tenderness I see in his gaze? “Every experience has been your
first, hasn’t it? Every sound, every taste, every touch--”

His hand strokes down my body,
cupping my behind. “I’ve been selfish,” he says. “It’s time I made amends.”

He draws back a little, gently
clasps my face in both his hands, and looks into my eyes. The contact is so
intense, so intimate that I forget to breathe.

Softly, he asks, “Do you still
want to discover what it’s like between us when you have control?”

I am suddenly, unaccountably
shy. After all, I did rather boldly proposition him only a few hours ago, not
to mention my earlier behavior in the shower. But now, feeling the heat and
power of his big, hard body against mine, my imagination fires wildly. Ian on
the golden bed, my hands, my mouth free to savor him as he has me--

I don’t doubt the sincerity of his regrets or that this is
difficult for him. But longing overwhelms me, overriding all else. Heart
pounding, I look up at him through the veil of my lashes and nod.

Amelia

I
an stands in the
center of the golden room, watching me. My hand is still warm from holding his
as he allowed me to lead him from the gallery, up the wide, curving staircase
and through the bedroom’s double doors emblazoned with a seashell design
evocative of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea. I don’t fool myself that
we are there by anything other than his choice yet I feel almost dizzy with
daring.

I wanted free rein and it seems that I have it but I have no
hint of how to begin. All that knowledge I thought I possessed seems to have
deserted me.

I’ll just have to improvise.

I stand back a little and survey him. As nervous as I am,
I’m also undeniably aroused. It occurs to me that I could enjoy this game.

“Don’t you think,” I begin, “that you’re rather
overdressed?”

“I suppose I am,” he replies, playing along. “What would you
like me to take off?”

I resist the urge to say “everything” and instead smile in
turn. “Your shoes and socks.”

He looks a little surprised but shrugs. With athletic ease,
he stands first on one foot, then on the other, and unlaces the gleaming black
leather oxfords, removing them both without taking his eyes from me. The socks
follow. When he’s tossed them aside, I moisten my lips and plot my next move.

“Your jacket,” I say.

Before he can begin to remove it, I move closer and slide it
from his broad shoulders, down his arms, catching it in my hands and laying it
over the back of a chair. Standing in front of him again, I take his left hand
in both of mine, raise it to my mouth, and trace my tongue over each of his
fingertips before lightly biting the pad of his thumb.

He sucks his breath in sharply. Emboldened, I remove the
silver-grey iridium cufflink at his wrist, noting as I do the light dusting of
dark hair against his tanned skin. His gaze is smoldering by the time I free
the second cuff and slip both into a pocket of his trousers. My fingers linger
for just a moment, stretching down through the sheath of fabric toward his
groin.

“You’re good at this,” he says warily as I reach up to
loosen his tie. It’s a rich, dark amber, the same hue as his eyes, and made of
finely woven silk that has a soft luster and a lavish feel similar to suede.

I twine the tie around my fingers and slip it into his other
pocket, again lingering for just a moment. Glancing down, I see his erection
straining against the buttons of his fly and wonder just how bold I’m prepared
to be.

His shirt is next and I take my time undoing it one button
at a time, revealing as I do more tanned skin tautly drawn over sculpted
muscles and fine, dark hair that thickens in a line toward his abdomen. I pull
the shirt out of his waist band, ease it from him, and toss it on the chair
along with his jacket. My breath catches. He is all hard sinew and muscles
beneath taut, sun-warmed skin. His torso and limbs are long, perfectly
proportioned to his height. He is muscular without being bulky, the epitome of
masculine power and grace.

Gazing at him, I smile. “I think I have to sit down for a
moment.”

He laughs but stops abruptly when I perch on the edge of the
bed and hold out a long mostly bare leg. “You’re so good with shoes,” I say.
“Would you mind giving me a hand?”

Slowly, he wraps both hands around my ankle and pulls me a
little further forward so that I have no choice but to fall back on my elbows.
I’d remind him of who’s in control here but his fingers stroking all the way up
my calf to the sensitive skin behind my knee distract me. I have to fight the
urge to squirm. Smirking, he undoes the fragile clasp and releases the strap,
easing my shoe off.

I take a breath and hold up my other leg. “This one, too,
please.”

When that shoe follows its mate, Ian keeps hold of my ankle
and moves a little closer so that my bare foot brushes his groin. I gasp as my
toes wiggle against his erection.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asks, holding me in
that position.

I can’t deny him a rueful smile, acknowledging the effect
he’s having, but I’m not about to concede the game. “Let me think,” I say and
take my time, all the while letting my happy little toes explore him.

It becomes a contest to see which of us will cave first. To
my delight, Ian finally shoots me a wry look and releases my ankle. I can’t
help but notice that he’s slightly flushed.

“Well played,” he says.

I smile and get back up from the bed but I’m feeling far
from confident. Without my shoes, the top of my head barely comes to Ian’s
shoulders. I’m all too aware of him gazing down at me as, concentrating
intently, I undo his belt. Although I try to avoid direct contact with his
skin, my knuckles brush against the hard muscles of his abdomen just above his
fully erect cock. He sucks in his breath even as I do the same.

I finally manage to slide his belt out of the loops of his
waistband and am about to add it to his jacket and shirt when he takes it from
me. For a moment, he stretches the leather strap between his hands, tugging
hard, before tossing it on the foot of the bed.

“Just in case you get tired of being in charge,” he says.

I know he’s trying to fluster me and he’s succeeding. The
thought of what he could do with that belt is all too distracting. Once again,
I feel the balance of power shifting inexorably back to him.

“That won’t happen.” I thrust my fingers into his waistband,
making quick work of the button there. That just leaves--

His impressive erection strains the buttons of his fly.
There is no way I will be able to unfasten them without caressing him.

“Please do continue,” he says with a smile that is pure
challenge.

I glance up at him, noting his amusement but also seeing the
molten hunger in his gaze. He’s not remotely as immune to this game as he would
like me to believe.

I decide to find out just how much effect I’m having.
Cupping my palm against his groin, I curl my fingers inward, letting his weight
rest in my palm.

With mock concern, I say, “My, these pants are awfully
tight. You really should have a word with your tailor.” I throw in a soft
tut-tut. “Getting these buttons undone isn’t going to be easy. I hope you’re
prepared to be patient.”

He makes a low, primal sound deep in his throat. I watch
fascinated as his hands clench into fists at his sides. It occurs to me that I
don’t necessarily want to discover how far I can push him. My eyes flick to the
belt lying on the foot of the bed. I decide to ignore it.

“You know,” I say as I tackle the first button, “I’ve heard
of this remarkable invention. It’s called the zipper and it’s been around for a
couple of hundred years--”

“For God’s sake,” he mutters. “Are you trying to drive me
insane?”

I’ve been bending over slightly to get a better hold on the
button but now I look up and see-- All my muscles clench at the sight of the
fire burning in his eyes. I may be in trouble here.

I also seem to have developed a reckless streak. “You’re a
giving-up-control virgin, aren’t you?”

The notion startles him. His breath hisses between his
teeth. “Amelia…”

I’m getting a 'last warning' vibe. My instinct for
self-preservation rears its head, better late than never. Tucking my fingers
into both sides of his fly I pull hard. Buttons shoot off in all directions. In
the next instant, he springs free into my waiting hands. Oh, my. I’ve never had
a Christmas morning but I feel as though I am right now. I don’t want to just
unwrap my present, I want to unravel it.

His cock fascinates me. It’s such a study in contrasts, at
once velvety smooth and hard as steel. And the way it transforms…!

I can’t begin to imagine how nature came up with so unlikely
yet impressive an appendage.

Rather than lose myself in my enjoyment of it, I slide my
hands around to his sculpted ass and ease his trousers and briefs down the long
line of his legs. I can’t help but notice how powerfully developed his thighs
are, the muscles honed and bulging. Perhaps he skis? If he does , it must be
with fierce, no-holds-barred intensity. I think of what else he does that way
and flush.

“Step out,” I say softly when the garments reach his bare
feet. I’m on my knees as he does so. I can feel his gaze burning me but just
then I don’t have the courage to meet it. I need all I do have to accomplish
what I want most.

Brief flashes of erotic images are all well and good but
practical details would have been nice. Resting back on my haunches puts me at
eye level with that magnificent cock. I study it, trying to decide on the best
approach.

Above me, Ian says huskily, “It might help to think of it as
a popsicle.”

“I doubt they make them this big,” I reply but I take his
point.

I’ve never had a popsicle or an ice cream cone but I can
imagine what I would do with one. Daring greatly, I touch the velvety tip of
his penis with the tip of my tongue. Touch and taste and touch again until I’m
licking him all the way around including an extra sensitive spot I discover on
the underside.

I can’t help but notice how stimulating he finds this. Out
of the corner of my eye, I can see his fist clenched so tightly that every vein
and corded tendon stands out in high relief. Clearly, he is fighting to stop
himself from seizing control.

His willingness to resist his most primal urges in order to
give me what I want thrills me but I suspect that I’m on borrowed time. Better
make the most of it.

Licking is fun but taking his tip into my mouth and sucking
it is funner still. Funner? My brain is shutting down or at least the portions
that I no longer have any use for. Along with grammar, I’ve disconnected from
shyness, embarrassment, and any degree of reticence whatsoever.

On the other hand, even after all that’s happened since I
awakened, my capacity for sexual exploration and pleasure comes as a shock.

And not just to me. Ian groans suddenly and opens his fisted
hands to clasp my head at the same time he eases his cock deeper into my mouth.

Thickly, he says, “Oh, yeah, baby, just like this.”

Oh, no, not happening! I pull back immediately and look up
at him. “Put your hands behind your back.”

He blinks at me in disbelief. “What?”

“Hands, behind your back. I’m in charge here.”

He takes a long shuddering breath and for a moment I’m
certain that he’s going to refuse. His eyes are blazing with a feral light that
sends heat radiating through me.

At last, he says, “Fine. You. In charge.”

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I’m going to pay for my
assertiveness but I don’t care. This is liberating, heady, wonderful.

He wanted to be deeper. Let’s see just how deep I can get
him. I tilt my head back, creating a straighter path for his cock. The result
is all the more intensely arousing. Ordinarily, even the thought of swallowing
anything so thick and hard would be off-putting but this is Ian and I crave him
in every way possible.

Still, I have to breathe. Reluctantly, I draw back,
releasing him just enough so that I can take a quick, deep breath, before
sucking and swallowing him right back to where I want him.

The sounds in the room become primal--his groans, the soft
gurgles that escape me, the wet slap of flesh to flesh. I adjust my position
slightly, stroking my hands up his thighs and around to his buttocks so that I
can caress the seam of his heavy sack, scratching lightly along it with my
fingertip. The effect is more than I could have hoped.

He lets out a strangled cry and gasps, “Stop now, Amelia, or
I’m going to come down your throat.”

I take him at his word and redouble my attentions. He curses
and his hands, still behind him, grasp mine tightly. Fingers interlacing, we
hold on to each other as the shudder that rips through him reverberates through
my arms, my breasts, down straight to the wet, clenched core of my being.

I would cry out but my mouth and throat are filled with his
thick, hot come jetting into me. I swallow, adjusting to the musky saltiness
even as I take it as my reward for what I can do to him. When it stops at last,
he is still in me, still at least half-erect. I pull away slowly, look up into
his eyes, and smile as I lick the last drops from my lips.

His eyes are wide and dark, his mouth slack. He stares down
at me with a mixture of stunned amazement and awe.

“Fuck, Amelia…” Abruptly, he shakes his head as though
trying to clear it. A faint smile plays across his face. “Are you trying to
kill me?”

He bends down and helps me to my feet. I’m grateful for that
as I’m more than a little unsteady. Without letting go of me, he brushes his
knuckles over my cheek. His voice is low, husky, and laced with a note of
amusement that seems directed more at himself than at me.