Anew: Book Two: Hunted (13 page)

Finally, I get around to admitting that I’m only out here
because I’m postponing the moment when I’ll have to leave Amelia--again. Once I
know that she’s all right, I’ll have no excuse to linger and plenty of reason
not to.

Might as well get it over with.

I take the floating stairs two at a time. The small,
discrete lights embedded in the upper floor provide the only ambient
illumination but it’s enough to see by. I can hear the ripple of water in the
garden’s stone and bamboo fountain but another sound punctures the
stillness--soft, desperate moans.

My first thought as I race into the bedroom is that Amelia
was injured in the escape from the Crystal Palace and unforgivably I didn’t
realize it. What I see seems at first to confirm that. She’s thrown the covers
off and is curled on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, hugging herself as
though she’s trying to disappear. Tears course down her cheeks. My breath
leaves me in a rush. Deep inside, in the darkest most primal part of myself, a
scream of fury rises. A red mist moves in front of my eyes. Whoever has harmed
her, I will take them apart piece by piece and crush them out of all existence.

But first…

I’m about to scoop her up and carry her down to Medical
rather than wait for them to reach us when I suddenly realize that Amelia’s
eyes are closed and moving rapidly under the pale lids.

I force myself to breathe and take a closer, marginally
calmer look. What I see fills me with anguish.

She isn’t physically hurt after all but that’s scant
comfort. Instead, she’s clearly in the grip of what must be a gut-wrenching
nightmare.

Amelia

A
n immense shard of
glass slices into me, splitting me open. My blood and organs flow out, a
writhing mass drifting all around me.

I would scream but I have no breath. Helplessly, I bang
against the wall of the gestation tank, desperate to attract the attention of
the white-coated technicians standing just beyond. Busy with their dials and
monitors, they ignore me.

The shard shifts, digging deeper. The pain is unbearable.
Horror fills me. I am dying without ever having lived. I will never fill the
sun on my face, hear the laughter of children, know the love of my brother and
grandmother.

I will never be with Ian.

My struggles redouble. I thrash frantically, desperate for
an escape that I am terrified does not exist.

Iron bonds surround me. I am pressed against stone that
feels oddly warm and pliant.

A voice--low, urgent, tender--whispers, “It’s all right,
sweetheart, you’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Slowly, the fear that grips me begins to ease. I take a
breath, followed by another. The claustrophobic sense of being trapped once
again in the gestation tank slips away. A hand--strong but gentle--strokes my
back. Pleasure shimmers along its path.

I open my eyes.

And meet Ian’s amber gaze, shadowed by what looks strangely
like fear. I don’t make the mistake of thinking that such a seemingly
indomitable man isn’t as prey to that emotion as anyone else but he’s normally
far better at concealing it. Not tonight though. Something has broken through
his defenses, if only temporarily.

I’m far too distracted to ponder what that could be. We are
stretched out on his bed together, my body nestled tightly against his. I can
feel the soft fabric of his sweatpants and T-shirt against my bare skin. But
I’m more distracted by the heat pouring off him and the strong, steady beat of
his heart under my cheek.

 “Are you all right?” he murmurs.

I don’t know how to answer because I both am and am not. The
nightmare is over but its effects linger, filling me with a desperate need to
affirm that I truly am alive and free. I murmur something in response but all
my attention is focused on the feel of him pressed along every inch of my body.
The pleasure he gave me so recently still resonates but incredibly I want more.
My nipples harden as inner muscles clench.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when I don’t
respond.

Oh, god, no.
To speak of such things is to make them
real in a way I cannot bear. I would rather do anything than that.

“I could ask you the same.” I’m not sure that I’m ready to
hear the details of what happened to him with his father but I am certain that
we need to address the shadow that still haunts him. “Do you want to talk about
it?”

He doesn’t pretend not to understand what I’m asking but he
still shakes his head. “I can’t. I probably should have years ago with a
professional but I didn’t and now…I just can’t.”

The anguish he tries to hide from me is heart wrenching. At
that moment, I conceive an even deeper, more visceral loathing of his father
and everyone else involved with his damnable “club” than I have yet
experienced.

The coil of fear that has been wound so tightly inside me
since the attack on the Crystal Palace began suddenly snaps. I know exactly what
we both need. Squirming against him, I push myself upright and press my hands
against his broad, sculpted shoulders, holding him down. His eyes widen
slightly but he lets me.

My palms tingle as I skim them down his bare arms, savoring
the sensation of muscles bulging beneath taut skin. I love this evidence of his
strength, of the power he’s so skilled at holding in check. But I also resent
it. I want him to give himself to me completely, holding nothing back.

Slipping my hands under the bottom of his shirt, I pull it
up as I explore the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles, lingering over his
flat nipples. A low groan breaks from him.

In my urgency, I’m shameless. Without waiting for
permission, I pull the shirt up over his head and drop it onto the floor.
Sitting back on my haunches, uncaring that I am wearing only the McClellan
diamonds and a smile, I luxuriate in the sight of him. His sweatpants are tied
below his naval, exposing the hard V of muscle arching downward and the trail
of dark, silky hair thickening to his groin. The soft fabric conforms to the
swell of his erection, already impressive.

I can only marvel at my greed for him. Despite having been
driven so recently to heights of orgasm by his oh-so-skilled mouth and fingers,
I desperately want to feel him deep inside me, filling and stretching me,
completing me as only he can.

 The ache between my thighs grows more insistent. I
pull the pins from my hair and toss them aside, letting the chestnut strands
fall over his chest as I bend and swirl my tongue around his nipple. Is he
anywhere near as sensitive there as I am?

Hmmm, maybe not as much but he’s hardly immune. A long
shudder runs through him. “
Amelia
…”

Whatever he’s going to say--warn me, discourage me,
whatever--I don’t want to hear it. There’s only one way I know to silence him.
I lower my mouth to his, teasing his lips apart, and at the same time slip a
hand into his sweatpants, brazenly stroking his length. My fingers can’t meet
around his girth. I’m amazed by my body’s ability to contain him in the throes
of passion.

The tip of my tongue traces the ridges of his teeth and
slips deeper, stroking with the same rhythm as my hand. He groans. His hands
fist in the sheets, the veins and tendons of his arms standing out in high
relief.

In the thickening silence, I hear only the rush of my own
blood, know only the touch and scent of him. Everything else--the room, the
world, all the clamor of recent events--fades away. Driven by overwhelming
need, I yank his sweatpants down further, freeing his cock, and keep yanking
until I can pull them off and toss them aside. I know from experience that
Ian’s reflexes are lightning fast but he makes no move to stop me. His gaze is
hooded, his breathing harsh. I can feel the heat pouring from him.

I am so tempted to mount him at once, take his magnificent
cock deep inside me and ride him to sweet oblivion. But I want what I always
have, a righting of the balance between us, a way to offset the seemingly
overwhelming advantage he has by virtue of having lived so much more than I
have. I possess little of memory or experience but I was gifted with knowledge,
even if it is still largely theoretical. I’m determined to make the most of it.

Without taking my eyes from him, I treat myself to a long,
slow lick up the shaft of his cock and swirl my tongue all around the crest. He
tastes clean, a little salty, delicious.

 “
Damn
,” he mutters, his head falling back to
expose the pulse beating in his corded neck.

Emboldened, I close my lips around him and suck just the first
inch or so into my mouth. Taking him like this makes me feel daring and
powerful but still wanting more. I angle my head so that I can take him deeper
and suck harder. His low, guttural moan thrills me. Taking him completely is a
challenge but I’m up for it. My head bobs up and down, a little further each
time until my nose burrows into his pubic hair. Stilling my gag reflex, I work
the muscles of my throat along his length.

He arches his hips, his hand clasping the back of my head,
holding me in place.

“Fuck, Amelia!”

The raw groan of his pleasure drives me wild. I’m throbbing
with need for him. Hardly aware of what I’m doing, I slide a hand between my
legs and find my slick, drenched clit. Lightly at first, then more desperately,
I stroke myself. His pre-cum slides down my throat, driving me even closer to
the edge. I’m soaking wet, swollen and throbbing, and I still can’t get enough
of him. The pleasure is so intense that it teeters on the edge of pain. My
entire body quivers. I lift my gaze and meet his, seeing in his eyes the same
fierce, primal hunger that consumes me.

At the same time, I have a sudden, fleeting image of how I
must look to him at this moment. Suspended over him, my lips stretched tightly
around the base of his cock, his length thrusting deep into my throat, my hand
working frantically between my thighs. I have feared being no more than a
receptacle for him but this is my doing, my need. I am in control and loving
every moment.

“
Enough
,” he rasps and begins pulling away even as his
hands reach for me. His intent is clear but I’m having none of it. Very
lightly, I close my teeth around his shaft as I suction him even harder. My
determination is his undoing. He gasps and stiffens, his back arching as he
comes in hot gushing spurts down my throat. The sight of Ian in the throes of
ecstatic release is too much for me. A few more hard, swift strokes of my clit
are enough to make me come with him. Pleasure crashes through every inch of my
body. White hot bolts of light glow behind my eyes. Every concern, every fear,
every thought dissolves in utter completion.

When I am next aware, I’m lying in his arms. His voice is a
low, rasping rumple. “Holy shit, Amelia.
”

He sounds deeply satisfied and confounded all at the same
time. The combination prompts a giggle from me. I prop myself on an elbow and
look down at him.

 More seriously, I say, “I am not a delicate little toy
that will break if you don’t handle me just right. Do you get that now?”

He stares at me with wariness that touches my heart. He is
so vulnerable in ways that I am just beginning to understand. Cautiously, he
says, “I may need a reminder from time to time.”

“Whenever,” I say, relief flowing through me and lean closer
to him. “Wherever. I love sucking your cock. I love the way you feel along my
tongue and in my mouth but most of all, I love taking you into my throat.” My
voice drops a notch as I confide, “I fantasize about having you that way
someplace where we could be discovered at any moment. We aren’t but still, is
that awful of me?”

 His breath hisses. With some difficulty, he says,
“Uh…no…that’s actually-- You fantasize about me?”

“Far too much. I do my best to hide it but sometimes I get
so wet--”

A strangled sound breaks from him. He moves too quickly for
me to realize what is happening before I’m on my back, flat on the bed, staring
up at him. His big, hard body straddles me. His lean cheeks are flushed, his
breathing harsh. His cock--which even my scant experience has never prevented
me from appreciating--decides that now isn’t the time for a nap after all.

“I like these,” he says, touching the diamond collar that
encloses my throat and the matching bracelets around my wrists. His voice is
raw, his gaze fiercely hot. “More than I should.”

“Then I’ll never take them off.”

“Yes, you will.” He reaches around to the nape of my neck
and undoes the clasp. Removing the necklace carefully, he places it on the
bedside table. The bracelets follow along with all the rest. A groan escapes
him as he clasps my hips, drawing me closer, making me vividly aware of how
rapidly he has become aroused again.

“I want to give you jewels,” he murmurs, twining the
loosened tresses of my hair around his wrist. “I want to the world to see that
you are mine.”

His words move me deeply. I want to slow down, to cherish
every moment, every touch. But ten days of agonizing abstinence added to the
erotic image that his words convey tell me that won’t be possible. Later
perhaps, not now.

“
Please.”
I am lost in him, in us, in how I know we
are together. Nothing else exists. My thighs quiver as he eases himself between
them. He holds his weight on his arms so as not to crush me but even so I feel
surrounded by him, controlled, even owned in a way that has nothing to do with
any damn paperwork. My nipples are taut and aching. I need his touch
desperately.

“You’re playing with fire, Amelia,” he says. “We both are.”

“I’m not playing at all.” I rake my nails down his back hard
enough to leave marks. “I’m too angry. Not at you,” I add quickly, “although if
you go on being so stubborn, we could get there. I’m angry at all the horrible
things that have been happening. At the people responsible for them. At
everything that has come between us. Life is too precious to waste on hatred
and violence.”

“You’re right,” he says, gazing down at me. His hand cups my
jaw, holding me still for his hot, fierce kiss. His mouth takes mine, his
tongue plunging deeply as his lower body rocks against mine. The friction of
his hard cock against my clit drives me wild. I buck against him, desperate for
more. A keening moan breaks from me.

“Ian, I need you!”

“Damn right,” he says, looming above me, big and thick and
ready. “Your hot, tight pussy is mine. Your wet, gorgeous mouth, mine. I want
all of you, every possible way. There’s only us, baby. I’m going to fuck you so
hard that you’ll forget about everything else.”