But Hayden’s reaction is different…sort of. He looks like the world has just stopped for him.
What the hell?
It gets worse. Amelia turns her head slightly and their gazes meet. I see her lips part in a little gasp of surprise. An instant later, she frowns like she’s trying to decide what to do.
I’ll spare her the trouble.
I don’t remember crossing the lawn to where she’s standing. I’m just there. My fingers close around her wrist and I tug. Knocked off balance, she falls into my arms.
I’m holding her hard against me, breathing in the uniquely Amelia scent of her hair and skin, when she says, “Oh, Ian. I didn’t see you.”
Fucking hell, she sounds distracted. And not in the good all-I-can-think-of-is-having-your-cock-inside-me way. Really distracted.
Hayden is fielding another question but he’s still staring at her. Amelia is still frowning. I…I don’t know what I am except-- Scared? That can’t be right. She’s mine, has been from the very beginning. I’ve got the paperwork to prove it.
“Come on,” I say.
She gives her head a little shake and refocuses. On me. Finally.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
I hear the wariness in her voice but that’s progress from her outright refusal at the soirée. Maybe she’s still too busy thinking about Hayden.
That settles it. I’ve been dancing around her too long. Time to right the balance between us.
“Some place we can talk.” To start with and then we’ll see. There’s only one way that I really know how to get through to her that she’s mine and it doesn’t involve a lot of chit-chat.
“I want to introduce you to the love of my life,” I say. “She’s gotten more of my time and attention than any other. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent in her --”
“I’ve already seen the Rolls,” Amelia says. “It--she--is gorgeous.”
Damn, I forgot about that lunch.
“You’re sweet to let your mother and sister use a car you put so much effort into restoring,” she adds. “I’m sure there are some who wouldn’t.”
I’m sweet? Is that one step up or down from being a nice guy? And we all know what happens to them.
In an unplanned burst of honesty, I say, “What I am is desperate. I miss you, Amelia. More than I ever thought it was possible to miss anyone. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I don’t even want to tell you what it’s like at work. If I didn’t have such good people backing me up, I’d be screwed.”
She’s staring at me wide-eyed and--please don’t let me be imagining this--I could swear a tremor of excitement runs through her. We’ve reached the Rolls. I touch a thumb to the biometric scanner and hear the locks click open.
Right about then it hits me that most of my relationship with Amelia has involved either dragging her off somewhere because I need to fuck her, or trying to control everything she does and thinks, or both.
True, I had a moment of clarity when I realized that I had to let her go but given how I’ve been backtracking on that ever since, I’m not sure it counts.
Generally speaking, I’m a fairly bright guy. Give me a problem involving a battle space, a new piece of tech, or anything to do with business and I’ll find a solution. But when it comes to communicating with this woman who I need as vitally as my next breath, I’m at a loss. Still, I am damn well going to try.
Slowly, I say, “I’m serious about talking. There are things that need to be said between us.”
She looks up at me with those incredible aquamarine eyes and slowly, hesitantly, she nods.
Thank. You. God. All that crap you dish out--earthquakes, tsunamis, plagues, and so on? Forgiven and forgotten.
She still looks wary but she steps into the Rolls.
I love that car for too many reasons to go into but one of them is her ample backseat. This model dates from the pre-DYI age when people who could afford to own a Rolls also had a chauffeur. Somewhere along the way, the rich figured out that the cars were fun to drive, got rid of the guy in front and slipped behind the wheel themselves.
The whole design of the vehicle shifted as a result. But back in the day, the backseat of a Rolls was practically a micro-apartment, which means plenty of room to maneuver.
I follow Amelia in, slam the door, take a quick second to make sure it’s locked and the tinted windows are up, and turn to her. She scoots over to make room for me on the backseat that’s like a small sofa and looks at me expectantly.
I’ve got enough sense to know that anything to do with Hayden and why the hell she is so interested in him is not the best way to start. But once in the confines of the car, I’m having a hard time figuring out a sensitive, non-threatening way to tell her that (a) she belongs to me, (b) she totally misinterpreted what happened in the Opera House, and (c) she belongs to me.
I chalk that up to the fact that the blood supply to the language centers of my brain has been redirected to my cock.
After a few moments, Amelia picks up on the fact that if any talking is going to happen, she’ll have to start. Softly, she asks, “Why did you say what you did at the Opera House after we...you know?”
I can feel myself flushing. Much as I’d like to forget all about what a jerk I was, I can’t. She’s right to be calling me out on it.
“I shouldn’t have called you an incredible piece of ass,” I offer. Never mind that she really does have an amazing ass, at the very least I should have phrased it differently. “That was crude and I’m sorry.”
She lowers her head a little and shoots me a chiding glance. “And…?”
I grimace but I’m a man and I can do this.
Softly, because I know this is the part that really matters, I say, “I shouldn’t have said what I did about you being made for fucking. Given the issue you have with free will, that was very insensitive. Just for the record, I don’t believe it’s true. There’s a lot more to you and besides, you’ve been charting your own course from the moment you woke up.”
She nods but she’s still not letting me off the hook. “Crude and insensitive. That’s a start. Why were you so angry?”
Jeez, this is never going to end. I should hire her to do interrogations. She’d wring a subject dry and leave him begging for more.
“Can we just agree that I can be a real tool sometimes and leave it at that?” I suggest.
She gives me a smile so sweet that it makes my cock jerk. Looking into my eyes, she says, “We both know there’s a lot more involved, Ian. You put a very high priority on being able to control yourself. I make that more difficult for you.”
She pauses and takes a breath. Her teeth worry her lower lip. I’m staring at them when she adds, “I think that’s why you called Edward, so that he’d take me away.”
My gut tightens. How is this happening? I usually have no trouble showing the world only what I want it to see and keeping the rest buried deep. But that’s not working with Amelia.
She sees far too much. If I’m not careful, she’ll strip me bare. I can’t allow that.
“I wanted you to be free to choose,” I counter.
It’s the truth, sort of. A carefully edited truth, to be sure, one that leaves out a lot of relevant information but it’s not like I’m outrightly lying…exactly.
“What if I’d said that I wanted to stay?” she asks.
My breath catches at the thought. What if she had? What would I have done? Before anything else, I’d have had to deal with Edward, who would have gone at me with anything he could get his hands on.
I’d stripped the library of obvious weapons before I called him but that still left plenty of options for a guy as enterprising as I know “Teddy” to be. It wouldn’t have been pretty.
But it might have been damn satisfying.
Rather than dwell on that, I say, “But you didn’t and I didn’t expect you to. Your brother was talking about family and home. Of course you wanted to experience that and I wanted it for you.”
>
I hesitate. After so many years of keeping an iron hold on my emotions, it’s tough to let any of them out. B can’t get passed the idea that Amelia deserves more. Apparently, I also can’t resist the need to give it to her.
Slowly, I say, “Watching you walk out that door hurt like hell.”
She blinks and her eyes are suddenly glistening with tears. Fuck! The last thing I want is to cause her yet more pain.
But when I tell her so, she says, “You haven’t…you don’t…not exactly.”
Her hand reaches out, her fingertips pressing lightly against my lips before brushing over my chin and down my throat to my chest where she presses her palm gently over my heart.
“I can’t stand the idea of you hurting because of me,” she says.
I feel as though I’ve just run a marathon. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I can’t seem to get my breath. Something deep inside feels as though it’s cracking wide open.
Enough with the touchy-feely talking bullshit. I know a hell of a better way to communicate.
Before she can even think to protest, I go down on my knees in front of her and stroke my hands up both her silky bare legs to clasp her hips. Pulling her forward to the edge of the seat, I bury my head in a froth of silk skirts, lace lingerie, and pure Amelia.
“I need to taste you,” I groan. “Just that, nothing more, unless you want more, of course, which would also be fine.” I realize that I’m babbling and shut the hell up.
She gives a soft little gasp, which is all the permission I need. My mouth and tongue savor every inch of her from the sensitive spots behind her knees up along the inside of her thighs to her slit.
I inhale deeply, loving the scent of salty sweetness mingling with the essence of pure Amelia. Her breathing is suddenly ragged and she’s staring at me wide-eyed but she doesn’t object or try to close her legs.
The little scrap of panty she’s wearing rips when I pull it to the side. They should make those things sturdier if they want them to last. I gaze at her in wonder. She’s all bare except for that delectable little arrow of hair, and her lips are shiny with her arousal.
Thank god I’m not the only one.
Her hands clasp my shoulders, her fingers digging in through the fabric of my polo shirt. It’s cotton--thick enough to absorb sweat, thin enough to let the air in--and snug because when you’re in a hard gallop across a playing surface the size of nine football fields bearing down on a ball that’s just over three inches in diameter, you don’t want your shirt flapping in the breeze to distract you. Concentration is everything in polo, as in so much else.
I zero in on her slick wet labia, parting them with my thumbs and stroke the flat of my tongue all the way up to her small, glistening clit. Damn, I’ve missed it! It’s so adorable, so responsive, and it likes me, I can tell. With every lick I give it, it swells.
Her thighs are shuddering, she’s gripping me even harder. As I lap at her, her thready little moans turn into the sweetest sound I can ever hope to hear.
“Ian…oh, god, Ian…!”
My name on her lips. Perfect. I ease a finger into her, followed by another. She’s so blissfully wet but she’s also tight and I can’t bear the thought of hurting her. She doesn’t seem to have any such concern because she’s pumping up and down on me, her breath coming in gasps as I find just the right spot and thrust back and forth relentlessly.
There is no sexier sight than Amelia when she comes. She’s exquisitely beautiful under any circumstances but nothing beats the moment when her neck arches back, her lips part in that perfect O, her eyes close in ecstasy and--
“Look at me,” I say because of all the perverse things to happen, good old Hayden has just jumped into my mind. I want to make damn sure that she knows who’s doing this to her.
Her eyes fly open. She fumbles for my hands, our fingers entwining. Holding onto me tightly, she stiffens as wave after wave of pleasure course through her. I should ease up, let her catch her breath, but I’m not about to. As I continue tonguing her clit, she keeps coming hard and fast.
Her responsiveness awes me. My gratitude for it knows no bounds but I don’t have time to tell her that because I’m dying. My balls are either about to explode or the semen back up is going to shoot straight up my spine and blow the top of my skull off. True, I’ve never heard of a guy actually buying it like that but the way I feel, nobody’s going to convince me that it can’t happen.
There’s only one solution and fortunately Amelia is urging me to take it.
“Please, Ian,” she says, tugging at my biceps, “I need you inside me. Now. Oh, god, please! Now!”
If the military taught me anything, it’s to be a gentleman. A lethal one with a very high kill ratio but still--
It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting. In an instant, I’ve taken her place on the backseat with Amelia facing me, straddling my legs. The snug polo pants slow me down, so does the cup I’m wearing. Her head is against my neck, her breath coming in little sobs, when I finally free myself, lift her up a little more and---
Ohdamnfuckme… She feels so good…like drenched wet silk rubbing up and down the whole length of my cock, clenching so tight-- I really want to make this last but Amelia isn’t helping. Her teeth rake my throat, she’s putting scratches in my back, and those noises she’s making, sweet little mewling sounds so full of need and--
“Fuck, Amelia!”
The world turns red hot. A mist moves in front of my eyes. Every orgasm I’ve had with her has been incredible and this is no exception. I’m spurting into her, coming and coming, when she lowers her head suddenly, takes my mouth with hers, and plunges her tongue into me.
Ohfuck!
Somewhere somebody, an archangel maybe, must keep a record of the really important things like the longest male orgasm ever. Time to rewrite the record books because I just can’t stop.
She’s wringing me dry, taking everything I’ve got and it is so damn good I just want to stay this way forever, buried balls deep in her, more alive than I ever knew it was possible to be.
“Amelia-amelia-amelia,” I’m chanting her name like it’s a prayer, holding onto her with all my strength, and at that moment I know that I never want to let her go.
Fuck free will, she can have mine. I’m hers now and forever. World without end.
And it doesn’t. It just rights itself a little once we both start breathing again.
“I can’t believe we survived that,” she says and gives a satisfied little laugh.
“Speak for yourself,” I moan, my head thrown back against the seat and my eyes closed.
She laughs again and starts kissing my throat, working her way up to my mouth slowly and tenderly so of course I kiss her back the same way. That’s only fair plus it feels so good. I’d be perfectly happy to keep on doing that while my cock, still inside her, twitches on its way to getting hard again. Damn thing has no sense at all, thank god.
But Amelia breaks off and looks at me with a teasing smile. “Are you sure the love of your life won’t be upset about this?”
I pull her back down so that our mouths graze. “Let her. This has been one of my top ten fantasies since forever. Along with doing it in the front seat of a silver 2022 Bugatti Veyron. But that’s for another time plus I’m fairly sure one of us has to be a contortionist.”
“I’m pretty limber.”
Down, boy. Down. Let’s take a few minutes and catch our breaths while we dwell on the inspiring image Amelia has just so generously given us.
I settle back against the seat with her in my arms. The world has taken on a rosy glow like the sunsets after a really massive volcanic explosion only better. I’m feeling …happy, content? I’m not sure exactly what it is and I don’t care.
I’m congratulating myself on reminding the lady who she belongs to when I discover that it’s my turn to be taken by surprise. Amelia slips gracefully from my lap and sinks to her knees in front of me.
She’s blushing but she also s
miles mischievously as she runs her hands up the polished leather of my riding boots and says, “I like these. You wouldn’t happen to have a crop, too, would you?”
Whoa, that’s new. “Uh…not on me.”
She shrugs and, taking my cock in both her hands, begins stroking. Happy fellow that he is, he responds warmly but the rest of me is elsewhere, my wayward brain--which to be fair had more than a few circuits blown just a few minutes ago-- conjuring up images of Amelia’s lovely ass well reddened and--
Her tongue swirls around my tip. An electric jolt of pleasure tears through me. I want to tell her to stop but she’s drawn me into her mouth and is sucking, gently at first, then more firmly. I look down at the exquisite vision of her full, glistening lips stretched tight around my shaft. The dark lure of the erotic seizes me, triggering quick flashes of memory.
Amelia on the balcony in the rain that first night, her gown clinging around her hips, her glorious breasts bare to me.
In the golden room that last night when I drove us both relentlessly in my need to be sure that she would never forget how we are together.
In the spa, coming under my hands, offering herself to me in the shower.
And lastly--the memory that emerges the most strongly--Amelia in the tent, face down on her knees in a posture of absolute submission.
But then there is also Amelia walking away…at the palazzo, at the opera, at the soirée. Denying and defying me.
I don’t feel the darkness rising in me until it’s too late. It comes in a wave, pulling me under. Distantly, I realize that all the time and energy I’ve spent resisting it has only made it stronger.
I grit my teeth, my fists clenching… unclenching… I don’t know when exactly I thrust my fingers through her hair. Holding her head, I drive deeper into her mouth, compelling her to take more of me. My hips rise up off the backseat as I intensify the rhythm.
Anew: Book One: Awakened Page 22
