Anew: Book One: Awakened (30 page)

I don’t want to think about it
but I possess enough knowledge of the world to realize that had I been given to
a different sort of man, I would have awakened to a nightmare.

It is suddenly vital that he
understand what I know beyond any shadow of doubt is true.

“You’ve never harmed me, Ian. On
the contrary, I’m well aware that you went to great lengths to avoid doing that
even to the extent of letting me go. That’s not the behavior of a man who finds
pleasure in hurting a woman.”

A low groan escapes him, filled
with longing that pierces me to the quick. Yet his chillingly impersonal
manipulation of my body does not cease. Nor is it any less effective because of
the emotional distance he keeps between us. I truly do try to resist but I’m
too ready, too primed--

He stops. I’m right on the edge
when
he lowers his head and rakes his teeth down
my neck, nipping the curve of my shoulder just sharply enough to send a jolt of
exquisitely pleasurable pain through me.

“Tell me what you want, Amelia,”
he commands.

It takes all my strength to
remain silent. I know what he wants me to say, to beg him for, but I have far
greater priorities than my own satisfaction.

“Tell me!”

His tongue strokes the small
injury he has inflicted. His fingers move. I clench around him, the muscles in
my belly painfully tight. I’m so close…

“I have told you!” I wail. “I
want you to be safe!”

“Why? What difference does it
make to you?” He lifts his head and stares down at me. His eyes are shuttered but
behind them I sense a raging fire that threatens to consume us both.

“Humans want to survive,” he
says. “It’s how we’re made. What I’m about to do will assure your survival. Why
would you care about anything else?”

“Because I do. Because there is
more. Emotions… feelings…”

To my shame, even as I speak,
I’m moving against his hand, trying to take from him what he seems determined
to withhold.

He makes a low, scoffing sound.
“That’s all just pretense, a way of making us feel better about ourselves
because we don’t want to admit what we really are.”

His breath is hot on my mouth,
searing my soul. “We’re animals, Amelia, driven by our appetites, nothing
more.”

As though to emphasize this, he
brings me right to the edge again and keeps me there, suspended, helpless.

“I’ll ask one more time,” he
persists. “What do you want?”

I twist my head away and moan,
dismayed that he still refuses to believe me.

“Another quick, hard fuck like
in the Opera House and the Rolls?” he mocks. “Or do you want it slower…a little
gentler, maybe? Tell me how you want to come and I’ll let you. Like this just
with my fingers? Or do you want my mouth? My cock? All of the above?”

His voice is dark, carnal,
without a hint of tenderness. It doesn’t matter. I’m trembling, so sensitized
that even the touch of air against my skin is almost unbearable. I’m at very
real risk of unraveling completely but I can’t care. I gasp, drawing in breath
against the frantic beating of my heart.

“I want you, Ian. Safe, whole,
alive.” On my lips, it sounds like a mantra, one I will repeat a thousand times
if I must.

His eyes blaze. He presses
closer, his lips moving against mine, stealing my breath.

“You’re lying to yourself and
me. You want the sensation I can give you, the experience, nothing more.”

“No! You’re wrong. There is
more…”

“Is there? Because of these
feelings you think that you have? For a man who doesn’t even exist.”

A harsh laugh breaks from him.
“If I were the man you think I am, Amelia, I’d be staying the hell away from
you for your own sake. Instead, I’m right here, ready to bury myself balls deep
in your sweet pussy and pound us both into oblivion. You’ve wondered about
having choices? When it comes to you I don’t have any. You’re in my blood, in
every breath I take. I don’t know what I want to do more, devour you or cherish
you.”

I should be thrilled by such a
declaration but instead my stomach drops. Through the haze of my own desire, I
sense how much he regrets his need for me. The thought is wrenching but it
still isn’t powerful enough to overcome my feelings for him.

His mouth is hot and demanding
against mine. Helpless to prevent it, I gasp, opening myself to the sudden
thrust of his tongue. For a long, sweetly burning moment, there is only Ian,
his taste, his scent, his touch.

My sex is swollen, wet, engorged
with need. My breasts are full and aching, the nipples painfully erect. Made
mindless by desire, I meet his thrusts with my own, swirling the tip of my
tongue around his before sucking him deeper into my mouth.

His kiss is carnal and consuming,
brooking no resistance. My hands lace through his hair, dragging him closer. I
am desperate to soothe him, to banish the demons that I am terrified will
distract him in a moment when he most needs to be focused.

I can try again to tell him why
I don’t want him to risk himself for me. I can keep searching for the right
words, the right argument but all I’ll really be doing is venting my own fears
and assuaging my conscience. He’s made it more than clear that I won’t change
anything.

All I can hope for is that he
will come home safely.

All I can do to assure that is
give him what he needs. Whatever it will take to clear his head and allow him
to focus on what he is about to do.

I pull back my head and touch my
fingers to his lips. “Listen to me. There is nothing--
nothing
--in you
that will ever turn me from you. And not because I have no choice. Precisely
because I do.”

Cupping his face in my hands, I
tug lightly at his chin, coaxing his lips a little apart so that I can feel the
ragged exhalation of his breath.

“I choose you, Ian. All of you.
Past, present, future, dark, light and everything in between. You, without
conditions or judgments. I want you and only you this moment, the next and the
next forever. These past few days without you were--”

I break off, unable to go any
further. Tears slide down my face.

Ian closes his eyes as a tremor
runs through him. I have the sudden, profoundly intimate sensation that
something dark and agonizing is giving way within him.

He withdraws his hand, ceasing
his torment. I bite back a moan of protest as his gaze meets mine.

“The last thing I ever want to
do is hurt you.” His voice drops as I wonder what it costs this proud man to
admit how deeply he is affected by whatever this is between us.

Can I hope that the fact that he
is willing to do so, if only a little, means that he is finally beginning to
open up to me?

“You can only hurt me by letting
me go,” I tell him fiercely.

There in its essence is our
dilemma. He believes that I will be hurt if I am with him. I know that I will
be if I’m not.

With his eyes locked on mine, he
says,
“You have to understand, I feel helpless
when it comes to you. That scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been this
vulnerable and I hate it.”

The words are wrenched from him.
I take a breath against the overwhelming surge of emotions that threatens to undo
me. I feel so much--astonishment, pleasure, arousal but also tenderness so
intense that it’s almost painful.

“You’ve never been this safe,” I
counter. “You don’t need to hide any part of yourself.”

In the back of my mind, I hope I
am right. But I can’t dwell on that, not now when so much hangs in the balance.

Ian makes a desperate sound deep
in his throat and gathers me to him, clasping me so tightly that I can hardly
breathe. He is holding onto me like a drowning man.

Obeying an irresistible impulse,
I trace my fingers along the arc of his brow, the straight blade of his nose,
the surprisingly soft fullness of his mouth. I need to know him in this way,
not with my eyes but skin to skin.

Eyes can indeed be the windows
of the soul as Charles Davos said. I shudder at the thought of him. But they
can also be a mask hiding the truth. Skin doesn’t lie. This strong, proud man
doesn’t need questions right now. He needs comfort and I long to give it.

Cupping his face between my
hands, I kiss him, softly, tenderly, again and again, light kisses at the
corners of his mouth, along his jaw, licking the rough silk of his stubble,
sucking at the pulse beating in his throat, desperate for more.

My body feels as though it is
coming alive again for the first time since the polo game. Every inch of my
skin is acutely sensitive. The thrum of blood coursing through me drowns out
any doubt.

I lean closer, inhaling his
scent--the subtle body wash, the slight tang of salt and sweat, the musky
undertone of his arousal. My own surges helplessly in response.

My hand slips down, cupping him.
His erection strains against his jeans. Instinctively, I move along him, our
sexes separated only by thin layers of fabric that have become intolerable.

 “Baby, no,” he groans.

His features are tautly drawn,
beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. I can see his fierce will and
determination, all intent on thwarting me. But I won’t relent, I can’t.

I begin to slide down him,
wanting nothing so much as to be on my knees before him, to take him in my
mouth, to undo the damage caused by what happened in the Rolls.

Above all, I want to feel all
the heady power and exhilaration of shattering his control and bringing him
pleasure.

A long tremor moves through him.
He makes a harsh, guttural sound that thrills me.

I pause, glancing up in time to
see the fierce struggle playing out in him. And see the moment when he
capitulates, if only on his own terms.

His terms, not mine. Has he
changed his mind about us? Is he relenting? Or does he have some other purpose?

Even as I feel a sudden jolt of
fear that I’m not prepared for the answer, he lifts and turns me so that I am
facing toward the expanse of glass looking out over the magnificent panorama of
the city and beyond.

My back is to his chest, his erection
hard and thick against my ass. His palms cup my breasts, squeezing.

“Put your hands on the glass,”
he orders. “Straighten your arms.”

I do as he says quickly and am
rewarded by the telltale sound as he unzips.

Against my ear, he murmurs,
“Spread your legs.”

“Wider,” he says.

“That’s it. Perfect.”

He lifts my skirt and bunches it
around my waist, baring me to the air that feels chill against my heated skin.

I can feel his breath coming
fast and ragged against my back.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

He wraps an arm around my hips
and presses the other between my shoulder blades. Instinctively, I bend over
further, feeling his cock slide between the cheeks of my ass. A low moan breaks
from me.

His fingers slip under the edge
of my panties. He gives a sharp tug, tearing them away.

“Tell me you want this,” he says
harshly.

The combined effect of his words
and touch sends quivers through me. I can only manage a strangled gasp and a
nod.

All the air rushes from my
lungs. My legs are trembling, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay standing up.
Until another concern occurs to me. Are the doors to the Gallery locked? Not
just on the apartment side but on the other?

If they aren’t, someone could
come in at any moment. And see us--

I should be dismayed by any such
possibility but to my shock, the thought of being caught in so wanton a display
only heightens my excitement. Restraints of every sort are dissolving. I am
reaching beyond myself, letting go of every inhibition and fear, and just…
Being.

“Hold on,” he says, low against
my ear.

The velvety tip of his cock
brushes over my clit…once…again. A soft, keening moan rises from me. He eases
just a little way in, tantalizing, tormenting…

“Ian!”

I hear the harsh rasp of his
breath in the instant before he draws back and thrusts into me so deeply that
his heavy sack slams against my thighs. Instantly, my body tightens, claiming
him.

He doesn’t hesitate but at once
begins a pounding rhythm that I am only too ready to meet. The fullness of his
cock driving inside me combined with his fingers teasing my clit quickly become
overwhelming. I can feel my wetness flowing over him, easing his way. The scent
of our arousal surrounds us, mingling with the sweat of our straining bodies.

All around me, the erotic
visions of the gallery fracture into a kaleidoscope of carnal images. My head
falls back, my heart threatening to burst. I’m so very close…

Suddenly, against my ear, Ian
murmurs, “My father was a monster.”

His voice is low and harsh. I
stiffen in shock even as he thrusts into me again.

 “He hated women. There was
nothing he enjoyed more than hurting them.”

My heart clenches. I can hardly
breathe. I am filled with him. He is all around and inside me, holding me
prisoner to his will.

Thrust.

“In addition to his business
interests, he ran a very special kind of club here in the city.”

Thrust.

 “With a very select clientele
of men who shared his tastes.”

Thrust.

The driving force of his body
engulfs me but I still can’t block out his words. Or the horrible sense I have
that I know where this is going. That I have in some way suspected all along.

A wound so deep that it could
only have been inflicted in childhood. A terrible fear that has haunted him
ever since and warped his view of himself as a man.

“When I was fifteen, he insisted
that I join the club.”

Thrust

Tears flood my eyes but not
because of the bruising strength of his hands digging into my hips. I am
suddenly seeing him as he was then, so young, so vulnerable, craving the love
of his father as any child would but receiving instead--