Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  I can’t bear any distance between us. My hands tighten, drawing him down to me. I am surrounded by him, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his cock thrusting harder and faster, his breath mingling with mine as he kisses me deeply.

  “Amelia,” he moans into my mouth. His entire body stiffens. I know he is right on the edge but still holding back. “Come for me, babe,” he whispers in a dark entreaty as his teeth graze the ultra sensitive spot only he knows at the base of my throat.

  The world convulses. I am filled by him, at once possessed and possessing. My body spasms, gripping him fiercely. As my orgasm seizes me, Ian gives a harsh, primal shout. With a final, almost brutal thrust, he spills into me, jetting on and on, holding nothing back, giving me everything. Splinters of light explode behind my eyes. I cling to him, the only refuge in a shattering world.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Amelia

  The mussels survive our neglect and are promptly sacrificed to our appetites. I can’t believe how hungry I am. When we finally carry lunch out onto the porch, my stomach is grumbling so loudly that I blush. Ian laughs and gives me a look that curls my toes.

  “Satisfy one craving and another pops up,” he says with a grin.

  I cast him a sidelong glance. After so many orgasms, I should be well sated but just the sight of him wearing only low-slung jeans and nothing else makes my body tighten. “What makes you think I’m satisfied?”

  His mouth opens a little, enough to give me a glimpse of the tip of his tongue touching the ridge of his teeth. That oh-so-talented tongue. Suddenly, I’m not so hungry after all, at least not for food.

  “Eat,” he says sternly. On a dark, seductive note, he adds, “You’ll need your strength.”

  On the cusp of what sounds like a promise, I’m suddenly ravenous. We eat within sight of the surf rolling in. The wind has picked up, blowing from the west, but the day is still pleasantly warm. I’m a little self-conscious in just his T-shirt even though it falls half-way down my thighs. I’m naked under it, my bra and panties having disappeared in the frenzy of our love making. I remind myself to look for them before we leave.

  The thought of returning to the city dampens my euphoric mood but I push it aside resolutely. For however long we have here, I intend to savor every moment.

  Ian uncorks a bottle of white wine and pours for each of us. The crisp, slightly tart liquid slips easily down my throat. I look at him and smile.

  “This is really perfect.”

  He grins but I see a flicker of relief in his eyes. Did he imagine that I wouldn’t appreciate how rare and precious this place is?

  “You’re different here,” I say softly.

  He arches a brow. “How so?”

  “More relaxed…more open. I’m seeing a side of you that I think you keep well guarded most of the time.”

  For a moment, he looks startled and suddenly vulnerable. But in the next instant, his gaze darkens. He takes another sip of his wine and says, “I feel different when I’m with you but don’t kid yourself, Amelia. I’m the man who didn’t give you any time to adjust to this world before fucking you senseless.”

  I think of that first night, standing in the rain on the balcony of the palazzo, staring into Ian’s eyes as he reached for me. Knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt how much I wanted him.

  “I seem to recall that you gave me a choice,” I say calmly.

  “One you were in no position to make.”

  I pop one of the mussels into my mouth, letting it rest on my tongue as I savor the fresh, briny taste of the sea lightly steamed in the same white wine that we are drinking. It’s delicious but so is the memory it evokes. Myself, blindfolded, tasting my first oyster--a food Susannah loathed--as Ian set out to learn where the imprinting I received ended and my own nature took over.

  And later, on my knees, Ian driving into me, the two of us discovering that far from being designed merely to please him, I am very much my own person. I still remember my surprise that instead of being displeased by my independent spirit, he was more than a little relieved.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  I lift my glass, take a sip, and look at him over the rim. The intimacy of the setting, this place where he has revealed such a private part of himself, emboldens me. I don’t hesitate to challenge him.

  “Free will, as in my own. You don’t control me, Ian, no one does. I still have to deal with how I came about but thanks in large measure to you, I have absolutely no doubt that I’m a fully functional human being capable of making my own decisions. If you want to feel guilty about something, regret the time we’ve spent apart. I certainly do but I also accept my own share of the responsibility for that.”

  I fork another mussel into my mouth, chew for a moment, and swallow. Despite the seriousness of all that Ian and I face, I’m swept by a sense of hopefulness. If we’re truly willing to confront our pasts, surely we can chart our own future.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. I understand that the situation is as new and fraught for him as it is for me. That gives me the strength to be patient, allowing him whatever time he needs to process what has changed between us. Whether because of our brush with death at the Crystal Palace or the knowledge that challenges are coming that we will have to face together, I feel closer to Ian than I ever have. I can only hope that he feels the say way toward me but will he acknowledge it? Will he accept me as an equal partner, capable of being at his side no matter what struggles he confronts?

  Finally, he says, “I used to come out here when I was a little kid. That was when the original house was still standing. My mother brought me. I didn’t realize it at the time but it was a refuge for her.”

  Softly, I ask, “From your father?”

  He nods. “So far as it could be. She always went back to him. It was years before she was able to leave for good.”

  I hear the regret in his voice, the ghost of what might have been. My throat tightens. I’ve gotten to know Helene Slade well enough by now to suspect what kept her from breaking free of a horrible marriage much sooner. I wonder if Ian does as well, and if he will speak of it.

  “By that time you had gone into the military?” I ask.

  “Yes, I had. That’s what finally freed her to leave. My father never paid any attention to Marianne. As a girl, she simply didn’t matter. He was always focused on me. Until I was beyond his reach, my mother stayed. She tried her best to protect me even though she couldn’t really.”

  He takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take such a dark turn. The point I was trying to make is that this was a great place to be a kid. I had a lot of fun here.”

  “Finding mermaids’ purses and collecting mussels?” I ask, teasing.

  “Among other things.” He rises suddenly and holds out his hand. “Come.”

  We leave the remnants of lunch right where they are and head for the beach.

  “What do you know about kite flying?” Ian asks as he quickly assembles a framework of balsa wood draped in an elongated diamond of bright red cloth that was carefully stored away in the shed.

  “Not much,” I admit. Ian’s apparent fondness for kites must have escaped Susannah’s notice. A small part of me warms to the thought that he is sharing a side of himself that others have not seen.

  “It’s all about giving the kite enough freedom to soar. But judge the wind wrong, let out too much line, and the kite will crash.”

  “I’m sensing a message here,” I say.

  He gives me a look of pure innocence. “We’re just having fun. Take this.”

  He hands me the kite. I take it automatically but I have no idea what to do.

  “Run,” Ian says with a grin. He points east along the beach toward the distant tip of the island. “That way.”

  I feel more than a little self-conscious trotting along the beach in just Ian’s T-shirt. My unfettered breasts bounce underneath even as the hem lifts, threatening to reveal far too
much.

  “Faster,” he calls as he lets the line out.

  The wind at my back propels me along. My toes dig into the moist sand. Small waves crested with foam tease at them. The water still feels cold but I no longer mind. I’m enjoying this too much.

  Finally, Ian shouts, “Let go!”

  I raise my arms, holding the kite aloft, and do as he says. The wind seizes it. My fingers fall away and the kite wobbles for an instant before it steadies suddenly and lifts. So swiftly that I gasp, it shoots into the sky and out over the water.

  When I rejoin Ian, he hands me the spool and steps behind me.

  “Wait,” I protest. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He laughs and puts his arms around me, easing me back against him. “It’s simple. Don’t let too much slack into the line. When that starts to happen, reel in. But if you feel the kite tugging, let a little more line out.”

  I do as he says, uncertain at first but with growing confidence. The kite bobs high above, riding the wind. A sense of exhilaration fills me. The spool of string that I clutch connects earth and sky. Through it, I can sense the power of the wind and the kite’s response. A part of me is no longer fettered to the ground.

  “This is amazing!”

  Ian nods against the top of my head where his chin is resting. His arms are strong and warm around me. I feel at once daring and safe. It’s an enticing combination.

  “You’re doing really well,” he says. “Just remember, the wind may feel steady but it’s always variable. It can change in an instant without any warning.”

  I take his words to heart and try to pay close attention, giving the kite what it needs but not too much. Sunlight sparkles out over the water. A large ship passes in the distance, little more than a smudge against the horizon. High above, at the limits of my vision, contrails spread out across a pure blue sky. Apart from those few signs of human activity, Ian and I could be the only two people in the world.

  Keeping my eyes on the kite, I ask, “Do you think that someday we could get away for longer, someplace where there’s just the two of us?”

  It’s a daring question, involving as it does what sort of future, if any, he envisions with me. I half expect only a vague answer, if that. But Ian surprises me. His arms tighten as he nuzzles his face into the hollow where my neck meets the curve of my shoulder. I feel his breath there, where I am so sensitive.

  “We will,” he says. “I promise.”

  Warmth flares in me. I press back against him and feel him hardening against my buttocks. A giddy happiness, however fragile, makes the bright day suddenly dazzling.

  The kite string bows suddenly as the wind falters. Thoroughly distracted by Ian, I’m too slow to react.

  “Oh, no!” I frantically begin reeling but it’s too late; the kite is plummeting toward the water.

  “Faster,” Ian calls as he runs down the beach and into the surf until he’s in almost to his waist. The kite hits the surface still well beyond his reach. He doesn’t hesitate but dives and swims to it with sure, strong strokes.

  I think of how cold the waves felt just against my toes and shiver. He emerges moments later, striding out of the surf with the kite held triumphantly. Water sluices down his torso. His hair and jeans are plastered to him.

  I stand frozen in place until he’s almost upon me. A dark, carnal light gleams in his eyes. I realize what he intends in the split second before he hauls me up against him. The chill wetness of his body sinks through the T-shirt straight to my skin. Goosebumps break out all over my body but for reasons that have only a little do with the sudden shock of cold.

  “You didn’t follow my instructions,” he growls against my ear. “There’s a penalty for that.”

  I know--or at least I hope--what that is but I’m still not quite ready to give into him. With a quick jerk, I pull free, dart back a few steps, and turn. Laughing, I run up the beach toward the house.

  Over my shoulder, I call, “You’ll have to catch me first!”

  Ian doesn’t hesitate. He follows, his long legs quickly devouring the distance between us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Amelia

  I make it to the porch before Ian catches me. Or perhaps he just lets me get that far. I’m too excited to care. This new Ian--open, playful, enticing--thrills me. With him, everything seems possible.

  My heart is racing and I’m out of breath when he mounts the steps and stops, gazing at me. I back away until I come up against the wall of the house. Panting softly, I stare at him.

  He doesn’t move but instead remains where he is, his head tilted slightly, studying me. His eyes are hooded, dark with sensual promise. Despite the chill of the ocean, his erection is evident, pressing against the fabric of his jeans.

  My mouth goes dry as I savor the sight of him. He is so beautifully formed, this wounded prince who awakened me to such an astounding world. I want to soothe and please him, ease his burdens, be his refuge against all care. I want him to be unwilling to ever part from me again.

  And still he does nothing. I can sense his watchful restraint, evident in his stance, the tension of his shoulders, the firm set of his mouth. Confusion fills me until I realize what he is waiting for. What Ian wants.

  I take a breath and step toward him. “Have you ever heard the old saying,” I ask, “‘a man chases a woman until he is caught’?”

  The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Wise words.” A moment later, his expression turns serious. Softly, he says, “I am caught, Amelia. You beguile me. You are in every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every moment that I exist, waking or sleeping, you are with me. I can’t escape you and I have no desire whatsoever to do so.”

  Oh, my. This is Ian Slade, scion, warrior, a man deserving of the utmost respect for all he has done with his life but also capable of provoking terror in the hearts of those who deserve to be afraid. And he…loves me? He hasn’t said the word but what else can his declaration mean? I am at once stunned and humbled. I haven’t earned this, I don’t deserve it, and even worse, I don’t know if I am capable of returning it. Everything is still so new to me, myself most of all. I know that I long for him, that the time we have been apart has been anguishing, and that I would do anything for him. But is this desperate yearning shot through with giddy happiness what the poets call love?

  The answer eludes discovery. I certainly cannot reason my way toward it, no matter how hard I may try. When it comes to Ian, reason flies out the door. There is only acceptance--of him, of me, of everything we are together. I surrender to it with frantic joy.

  One step, another, I cross the distance between us. The wood planks of the porch are smooth and warm under my bare feet. I feel suddenly light, free of struggle and shame.

  Ian doesn’t move even when we are standing toe-to-toe, almost but not quite touching. He still waits, his gaze dark with coiled strength and raw hunger that steals my breath.

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

  I answer without hesitation. “You, Ian. Only you, always you. I want you, I need you. Without you, I’m only pretending to live.”

  His skin is still chilled. He smells of salt, sun, and the unique scent I associate with him alone. I can’t wait any longer. Wrapping my arms around him, I stroke my hands down the powerful muscles of his back to his hips. My nipples are hard; I rub them against his chest. A soft moan escapes me.

  “Please…”

  His restraint breaks. He pulls up the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing. I feel the sudden brush of cool air against my skin, making me all the more aware of the heat gathering between my legs. His hands squeeze the cheeks of my ass roughly. I’m surprised by how strangely good that feels but he doesn’t stop there. His fingers spread my labia, unerringly finding and stroking my clit. The caress is bold, carnal, leaving no doubt as to what he intends.

  Even so, I’m taken by surprise when he slides his hands down along my thighs and lifts me suddenly so that my legs wrap around him.


  “Hold on, baby,” he says as he strides quickly to a chair set deep within the shadows at the back of the porch.

  I put my arms around his neck as he reaches a hand down to undo his jeans. His cock springs free as he sits, holding me astride him. My legs are spread wide, my cleft rubbing against his shaft. I can feel my own wetness bathing him.

  “Fuck, Amelia,” he mutters thickly against my throat. “I can’t get enough of you. I want to be inside you all the time--in your mouth, your pussy, your ass. I want all of you.”

  As he speaks, he slips a finger between my cheeks and circles the small, puckered opening there. I jerk at the shockingly pleasurable sensation. “I want this, too, baby,” he murmurs, “when you’re ready.”

  My breathing turns shallow, my heart pounding. A dark need uncurls in me. With Ian, everything is right.

  “I’m yours,” I say, resting my forehead against his. His eyes gaze back at mine, like shards of the sun piercing me. “All of me, however you want, whenever, wherever. I will never deny you.”

  A groan rips from his chest. He clasps my hips and lifts me so that the tip of his cock presses against my opening. “This,” he says raggedly, “this now…right now.”

  I lower myself onto him, taking him fully in a single, deep thrust. He fills me completely, the velvety smooth head of his cock pressing against my womb. His girth stretches me so much that for a moment I can’t breathe.

  “Easy, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You aren’t…you can’t…” A gush of inner wetness eases his way. I writhe against him, my hips rotating. I lean forward so that our noses touch. Against his soft, firm lips, I say, “I want you, all of you, all the time. You fit me perfectly, you complete me.” Slowly at first, then more quickly, I begin to move.

  His hips rise and fall to the rhythm I set. His hands clasp my ass, stroking, squeezing. I’m angled so that with each thrust, his cock rubs against my G-spot. The sensation is beyond exquisite but I know it can’t last. The build-up is fast and furious. I am climbing…higher…freer… My gaze is locked on his. I feel as though we are seeing into each other’s souls.