Anew: The Epilogue
Read Anew: The Epilogue Online
Authors: Josie Litton
From the beginning, I conceived of ANEW as an erotic romance
trilogy that would retell the story of Sleeping Beauty set in the near future. But
as I came to the end of the third book, I realized how reluctant I was to say
goodbye to Ian and Amelia even though they’ve reached their “happily ever
after” ending. As a reader, I know how often I’ve wanted a further glimpse of
favorite characters so I decided to stay with them just a little while longer.
On their honeymoon, Ian and Amelia return to the secluded
estate where they met. Amelia at last confesses to her dark prince what she
discovered during the first days after awakening. What will this man who has
fought his own inner demons so valiantly make of her revelation? And what will
they discover together when they finally venture inside the Cabinet of Secret
Delights?
If you’ve read the trilogy, I hope you’ll enjoy this further
glimpse of Ian and Amelia. If you’ve found this first, I hope it will inspire
you to go back and discover their story from the beginning.
Please note: ANEW: The Epilogue is an erotic romance novella
that focuses on Ian and Amelia’s honeymoon. It contains intense sexual content
and is for mature audiences only.
With
heartfelt thanks to my readers over the years. Your steadfastness and
encouragement have been amazing!
July, 2059
A
s
the helicopter rises from the roof of Pinnacle House and turns north, my gaze
is drawn irresistibly to Ian, my husband, seated beside me.
My husband.
In
the few hours that have passed since we exchanged our vows, I’ve said those
words again and again to myself, marveling that they can be true. We’ve known
each other such a short time yet I feel that I know him better than I will ever
know anyone else. At the very least, he has my complete love and trust. I’ve
joyfully bound my life to his.
Yet I can’t help wondering about the coming days--and
nights. After facing so much danger and risk together, we finally have a chance
to be alone, just the two of us, away from all the demands of the outside
world. What will we discover about one another that we haven’t already?
The possibilities are as delicious as they are tantalizing.
“You’re smiling,
wife
,” Ian says, lingering over the
last word. In the soundproofed cabin of the chopper, I can hear him perfectly. He
brushes a finger gently along my cheek. “That’s good to see.”
His tenderness strikes a deep chord in me. Instinctively, I
lean closer, craving his touch as much as I crave light and air.
His amber eyes are heavy-lidded, almost slumberous as he
studies me but I don’t mistake the flare of passion within them. Our need for
each other is always urgent and consuming. All the more so now because we
abstained in the period immediately before our marriage. Our bout of celibacy
wasn’t my idea. Ian suggested it because, he said, it would heighten our
anticipation of the honeymoon to come. If mine gets any higher, I’m likely to
combust.
I suspected there was more to his sudden interest in
self-denial than he was willing to admit. In the aftermath of the shocking
events surrounding our engagement, he has been unfailingly gentle. A part of me
truly appreciates that. But the rest needs more….
much
more.
“We’ll be there soon,” he says with a quirk of his chiseled
mouth, as though he knows perfectly well what I’m thinking.
Staring at him, I lose myself in the memory of how that
mouth feels against my skin, sucking at the sensitive spot behind my ear, down
my throat, along the curve of my breasts to my nipples and---
I break off, breathing hard. Ian, on the other hand, looks perfectly
calm. His dark brown hair, thick and neatly trimmed, gleams with hidden shards
of gold. For our wedding, he was freshly shaved, exposing the leanness of his
cheeks and the strong, square line of his jaw. But now hours later, the shadow
of stubble is emerging.
My fingers itch to stroke it but even more compelling is the
thought of how that tantalizing not-quite-roughness feels between my thighs. My
legs are pressed tightly together in an effort to still the rampant need
swiftly turning to wildfire inside me. My cheeks flame as it occurs to me that,
as attuned as he is to me, he can smell my arousal.
Before we left the reception in the garden of my family’s
home, I changed from my wedding gown into an ecru linen dress with a bow
neckline, cap sleeves, and a fitted waist. From the front, the dress is
deceptively simple. It’s only when I turn my back that the long row of buttons
becomes evident. They extend from the dip between my shoulder blades and curve over
my bottom to below my thighs.
I needed the help of a maid to get into the dress. I will
need Ian’s help to get out of it. The buttons are a tiny payback for the nights
without him but I’m beginning to think that their cost is too high. I desperately
need to feel his skin against mine with no barriers between us.
“Are you hungry?” The mock innocence of his tone is belied
by the heat of his gaze.
“Desperately.” I don’t think either of us had very much to
eat at the reception. We were far too busy enjoying the pleasure of being with
friends and family, laughing at the many toasts, dancing, and sipping champagne
between stolen kisses. Even so, I’m not referring to food, as I’m sure Ian
knows perfectly well.
All the same, he says, “I’ve arranged for supper but we’ll
have to serve ourselves.”
I resist the urge to squirm under his steady, patient
regard. For an instant, I think I know what it feels like to be the prey of a
bold, relentless hunter. Except to be captured by Ian means to be subjected to
overwhelming pleasure, taken again and again, made to come over and over, and
all the while knowing that I can do the same to him. We truly could not be
better matched.
With a smile, he catches hold of a stray curl that has
tumbled loose from the soft up-do of my chestnut hair. Tucking it behind my
ear, he says, “The staff will only be around a few hours a day while we’re in
residence.”
The brush of his fingers against my skin is a sweet, sharp
torment. How I’ve missed his intimate touch. It seems eons since we were
together and now he wants to have supper first? My back stiffens. No way will
we start our marriage strictly on his terms. Nor do I really believe that he
wants to. As domineering as he can be on occasion, he’s made it clear beyond
any doubt that he craves my strength and passion as much as I do his.
“That’s good,” I say, slanting him a glance from beneath my
lashes. “It seems so long since we were alone together.”
As I speak, I rest my hand on his thigh. The diamond
engagement ring on my finger gleams brilliantly. It’s joined now by a matching
platinum wedding band with the same antique scroll. A similar ring, wider and
more masculine, adorns Ian’s hand.
Through the fine wool of his charcoal grey formal wear, I
can feel his powerful muscles tense. Holding his eyes, I lightly stroke a path
toward his groin. My fingertips trace the contours of his already impressive
erection.
“Does it seem long to you?” I ask as my nails rake him
delicately. “I thought it was long and hard, so very hard.”
My voice is already low but I drop it another notch. We’re
seated just behind our pilot but he’s wearing headphones and appears entirely
focused on his task.
Reassured that we can’t be overheard, I lean closer to Ian
and murmur, “The past few nights I’ve been having the most vivid dreams. They’ve
been very…explicit. Every time I woke up, I was so wet and hot that I was
tempted to touch myself. But as soon as I thought of doing that, I realized
that I wanted you to be watching me.”
Ian’s face darkens. He sounds suddenly hoarse. “For god’s
sake, Amelia…!”
I can’t help grinning but not for long. His manner is
implacable as he covers my hand with his and moves it back to my lap. “Behave
yourself.”
“Whatever do you mean? I’m just looking forward to supper.”
“It will damn well keep,” Ian says and leans forward to ask
the pilot how much longer we’ll be in the air.
The answer, as it turns out, is long enough to me to be
thoroughly hot and bothered by the time the chopper angles in toward the
landing pad on the private estate two hundred miles north of the city. Distantly,
I remember that the portion where the main house stands represents only a small
part of the whole. The rest is wilderness, a nature preserve encompassing thousands
of acres, dotted with hills and lakes, heavily forested, and inhabited by
everything from tiny flying squirrels to the occasional black bear and wolf.
A feeling of relief and excitement fills me as I realize how
far we have come from the city with all its complications and demands. Here
we’re truly free to concentrate on each other, assuming that we can throw off
the lingering shadows of everything we have been through recently.
Being so close to Ian, I’m vividly aware of the scent of
fine wool, clean linen, and a faintly sandalwood soap mingling with the essence
of his supremely fit body--a hint of sweat and musk that makes my senses reel.
As if that weren’t bad enough, I’m all too conscious of the bulge in his
trousers. Why does the pad have to be so far from the house?
Ian gets out first and immediately reaches back in. Before I
can move, he puts both hands on my waist and easily lifts me down. His strength
and the care with which he uses it where I’m concerned have the predictable
effect. I can’t be alone with him quickly enough.
We move a safe distance away before the chopper takes off
again, disappearing into the sky. The sun has just dipped below the horizon to
the west. A soft, shimmering dusk is settling over us. With the chopper gone, the
only sounds are the whisper of the wind and the evening song of birds. The air
carries the tang of the fir and pine trees that grow in profusion beyond the
cultivated portion of the estate. The woodland extends in all directions,
enclosing us in our own world.
Before we go any farther, Ian stops. His arm is around my
waist. With his other hand, he tips my head back. His fingers curl around the
nape of my neck as he takes my mouth with his. His kiss is hard, fierce, his
tongue spearing deep, tasting, claiming. He gives no quarter nor do I want any.
When he finally breaks off, his breathing is ragged and I
can feel the pounding of his heart under my hand. I’m trembling with need for
him, vividly aware of the wetness between my thighs and the pebble hardness of
my nipples. I’m empty, bereft, only he can complete me.
“We aren’t going to make it to the house,” my husband says.
His teasing manner in the helicopter has vanished. In its place is a fierce,
raging hunger that matches my own.
It’s just as well that no staff is on hand and that the
estate’s security measures include screening from any obtrusive drones. We
truly are alone. But I have to admit, I don’t relish the thought of our first
time together as husband and wife being on the hard ground next to the chopper
pad. Fortunately, a far better alternative occurs to me.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say and grab his hand.
A hundred meters away is a low hill. We climb it to a garden
divided by gravel paths and the long sweep of a manicured lawn. Flowers in a
riot of white, pink, and blue fill the formal beds on either side. A tardy
chickadee flits by, bound for the fountain at the center where sprays of water
sparkle in the fragrant air.
At the far end of the garden opposite us is our ultimate
destination, an Italianate-style palazzo. The fading light falls over white
stone walls under a sloping, red-tiled roof. Twin, one-story wings extend
perpendicular to the two-story main part of the house.
At the near edge of the garden closest to us is a small,
white-columned pavilion. A round, floating bed hangs within it, suspended from
the domed, wrought iron roof. We scarcely reach that bed before we tumble onto
it in a tangle of limbs, all greedy hands and mouths.
My husband groans when he discovers the buttons down my back.
He doesn’t even try to undo them but instead just tugs the fabric up over my
thighs and hips. The dress is snug enough that I have to help him, arching my
back and wiggling until, at last, the fabric is bunched around my waist. Underneath,
I’m wearing lace-topped ecru thigh-highs and a ridiculous excuse for panties
that I chose when I was feeling particularly daring. They, too, are made of
ecru lace and silk but the slit down the center makes them little more than a
frame for my bare sex.
Ian inhales sharply. Without taking his eyes from me, he
strips off his jacket, yanks his tie loose, and reaches for the buttons of his
trousers. His tongue moistens his lips as he gives me a smile of such pure
carnality that it takes my breath away.
“I’m going to die a happy man,” he says.
A shadow moves across the blazing landscape of my need for
him. “Don’t,” I murmur.
The memory of how close he came to being killed recently is
burned into my mind. He may be over that but I’m not. Far from it. Everything
in me is driven to celebrate his life.
“Let me,” I say and push his hands away. My smaller fingers
make short work of the buttons. I breathe in deeply as his cock springs free
into my hand.
He is quite simply magnificent--long, hard and thick, like
velvet over steel. His flesh is hot and when I stroke my thumb over his crest,
I’m rewarded with a drop of his pre-come.
I want to bend my head and taste him, draw him into my
mouth, suck him first slowly, then harder and deeper. But my need is too great.
I’m desperate to feel him inside me.
“Now,” I murmur, pleading unashamedly. I lie back,
stretching my arms over my head, my fingers curling around the edge of the bed.
Wantonly, I let my thighs fall open. Above me, glimpsed through the curling
latticework of the dome, the arc of the sky is filling with a blaze of stars.
Ian groans. I know that he can see how wet I am, how ready
for him. Even so, he says, “I wanted to go slowly with you.”
I arch my hips in impatient invitation. “Next time.”
I’ve rarely seen his formidable self-control crack but it
does now. Far from intimidating me, I glory in the sight, knowing that it’s
possible only because of the love we share.
