Chapter Twelve
Amelia
Ian 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-hold
s-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.
“I’d just like to know,” he says, “so I can plan accordingly.”
I manage a weak laugh. The impact of my behavior is beginning to sink in. I did…that. Apparently rather well despite having no real clue when I started. After some initial discomfort and uncertainty, I enjoyed it. The only downside I can see is that it has left me squirming in the grip of acute, unsatisfied arousal.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, giving me an all-too knowing look.
Hmmm…I can tell him the truth, in which case I’m willing to bet that I’m mere minutes away from a screaming, gasping, back-arching Ian-provided orgasm. That’s very tempting except it will put him in control once again.
Or I can… I run my hand down his chest, over his flat, sculpted abdomen and give his cock a friendly pat. It nestles into my palm with what feels like real affection. We’re really hitting it off.
“Not at all,” I say, “except I think I’m the one whose overdressed now.”
His eyes narrow, taking on a smoky cast. “What are you going to do about it?”
I take a step back and, holding his eyes, reach around to the zipper of my dress and slowly pull it down. When it’s free, I slip the froth of silk and chiffon from my shoulders and let it slide past my waist and hips and onto the floor. Ian’s quick intake of breath delights me. I’m left in nothing but a lacy bustier and a scrap of panties that amount to little more than two triangles connected by narrow ribbons tied just below my hips.
Looking at me, Ian mutters, “I am a dead man.”
His cock seems to think otherwise, jerking as it does with obvious enthusiasm. I grin but an instant later my lips open in a soft, helpless O of pure arousal. Holding my eyes, Ian wraps his hand around himself and strokes up and down. Despite his release mere minutes before, his erection lengthens and hardens quickly.
My mouth goes dry. What he’s doing is so…wanton, so deliberate, so erotic. No wonder I feel like putty in this man’s hands. When he chooses, he’s a purely sensual being unhindered by any inhibitions. And I actually think that I can take him on and win?
As though he guesses my thoughts, Ian smiles. Still stroking himself, he says, “You’re more than welcome to get back on your knees, sweetheart.”
I can’t endure any more of the fun I’ve just had, not with my own arousal growing by the minute. Hardly able to breathe, I get out the only word I can manage--‘bed’--and gesture for him to precede me.
His eyebrows shoot up and I gather that I’m perilously close to crossing the line but I don’t care. In this golden room, I am Venus, embodiment of desire, and he can damn well lie down on my altar because I tell him to.
He takes a step toward it…another… His compliance clearly surprises him. “What you do to me,” he murmurs.
Implicit in the look he shoots me is what we both know to be true. I’m going to pay for all this and sooner rather than later.
A delicious shiver moves down my spine as I contemplate his retaliation. Perhaps my imagination doesn’t reach far enough because it fails to discourage me.
When he is stretched out on his back on the golden bed--a big, fully aroused male with a decidedly dangerous look in his eyes--I press a knee into the mattress and lift myself up and over so that I am straddling him. Settling on his upper thighs, I smile down at his cock.
“Hi, there,” I say. “Remember me?”
I can’t help but giggle when it bobs in response. “We’re getting along so well, aren’t we? Too bad the grumpy fellow you’re attached to doesn’t seem to fully appreciate that.”
I lean a little closer and whisper to it, “I think he’s plotting to get back at me.”
The cock nods in agreement.
“Oh,” I say, “you think so, too? I’ll bet you even know what he has planned.”
Another nod, more emphatically this time.
“Should I be worried?”
Nod.
“Really worried?”
Nod.
“Any way you can convince him to go easier on me? He listens to you.”
It sways back and forth in what I interpret as a “maybe yes, maybe no” gesture.
“Oh, I hope so. What can I do to convince you to help?”
Ian gives a strangled laugh. I ignore him and continue addressing his cock.
“You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you? Well, then, let’s see--”
I’m at a momentary loss until inspiration strikes. Straightening up, I slide my hands under the lacy top of the bustier and free my breasts. Remembering how he touched me there, I stroke my nipples, catching each between my thumbs and forefingers and twist lightly. His sharply indrawn breath tells me that I’m on the right track.
“You like that, don’t you?” I ask his cock.
Nod.
Hmmm, what else would it like? A thought occurs to me so wanton, so salacious…so naughty that my cheeks flame. It grows stronger and more urgent with each passing moment. I want to do this…I need to--
Slowly, not daring to look at Ian, I reach my arms around to my back, in the process causing my breasts to jut out even farther. I undo the bustier and toss it on the floor. I’m left in nothing but the tiny scrap of lace between my legs.
As slowly as I dare, I tug first on one bow, then the other and pull my panties forward so that they rub deliciously against me. Dangling the scrap of silk from my fingertip, I toss it over my shoulder but not before noticing how wet it is. Slick, warm juice is flowing from me. I ease a hand between my thighs, catch that moisture on my fingers and--
Anew: Book One: Awakened Page 12
