Anew: Book One: Awakened

by Litton, Josie

  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 n
eed 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--

  “The things I did to women.”

  A tremor runs through him as though the force of his own memories is threatening to tear him apart.

  “The things I enjoyed.”

  Softly, his anguish evident in every word, he says, “I truly am my father’s son but I’ve fought against it with all my strength. I thought I’d won.”

  Thrust.

  “Then you came along.”

  Thrust.

  “And blew every illusion I had about myself to hell.”

  Thrust.

  “Damn you!”

  Even as my mind reels from his revelations, the pounding of his body into mine triggers an intense orgasm that builds inexorably and explodes without warning. I don’t want it, not like this, but I’m helpless to stop my own primal response to him.

  I cry out as I shatter, my inner muscles convulsing. He goes still inside me.

  “Is that the man you want, Amelia?” he demands, his voice dark and strained with anguish. “The man you would accept without condition or judgment? The man you would never turn away from?”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he withdraws still hard, zips up, and steps back.

  Unable to stand unsupported, I slide down onto the gallery floor. The smooth wooden planks are cool under my heated cheek. I stare out through the wall of glass at an endless, empty sky. Devastation overwhelms me.

  Above me, Ian demands remorselessly, “Am I that man, Amelia?”

  The man he has fought so hard not to be. His father’s son.

  I bring out the worst in him.

  As agonizing as it is for me to acknowledge that brutal fact, I can’t hide from it. Everything he has struggled against has returned to haunt him because of me.

  I’ve cared so much about myself--my will, my choice--that I haven’t thought about the consequences for him of our being together.

  But now I have to. I have no other choice, not if, as I’ve claimed from the beginning, I am more than merely a puppet dancing to the designs of a dead woman.

  I have my own will and, therefore, my own obligation to do what is right no matter how much I long to shirk that responsibility.

  I turn my head and look at him. This man who w
ill sacrifice everything to protect me.

  How can I do any less for his sake?

  Slowly, past the clawing pain of my regrets, I murmur, “I was wrong. About you, me, everything.”

  For a moment, our eyes meet. His are full of raw pain that I recognize all too well. I look away first.

  My voice is low, strangled, but I know that he hears me. “We’re not good for each other. I realize that now.” On a breath of sound, all I can manage, I say, “You should go.”

  For an instant, he stays frozen in place, a cherished presence close behind me. Time seems to slow down as I try desperately to capture the moment and hold onto it. I’m terrified of moving beyond into what will come next but I have no choice.

  I don’t listen as he walks away but I feel the void that his absence creates. It closes in all around me, as suffocating in its own way as the gestation chamber ever was.

  But this time the trap I am in is of my own making.

  And I have no hope of escaping it.

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  COMING IN MARCH 2015!

  Ian and Amelia’s story continues in:

  Available Now for Pre-order from Amazon