Anew: The Epilogue

by Litton, Josie

  Dear Reader,

  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.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  AVAILABLE NOW

  DEDICATION

  With heartfelt thanks to my readers over the years. Your steadfastness and encouragement have been amazing!

  Chapter One

  July, 2059

  As 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.

  He moves over me, big, hard, demanding. The dominant side of his nature takes full control. I can scarcely breathe but I don’t care. Nothing matters except taking him inside me, feeling the rush of his strength and life at the core of my being.

  There’s a feral ecstasy to our mating, an animalistic need that won’t be denied. I cry out, my back bowing, as he seats himself in me with a single, long thrust. He’s so deep, so big and it’s been so long…minutes, hours, days, weeks. My need for him explodes. I cling to the wide sweep of his shoulders as he plunges again and again. Low, guttural sounds erupt from deep in his throat.

  The bed swings wildly with the rhythm of our bodies. Everything in me gathers, the intensity almost unbearable, straining toward the moment when--

  I come in a rush, sobbing his name. He groans my own in turn and lets go, driving even harder as he jets into me again and again through long, shuddering spasms.

  It’s over in minutes. Minutes! Have we ever been this unbridled, out-of-control, wantonly hedonistic? Yes, of course we have, more times than I can count.

  But this time is different. Beyond the moment when he proposed, all the wedding preparations, the vows we exchanged at the altar, and the joyful reception afterward, I finally begin to comprehend the true significance of what we have accomplished. We’re married. Holding him in my arms as he trembles in the aftereffects of his orgasm, I smile with sheer, giddy delight.

  Ian falls away, sprawling on his back. He’s breathing hard, sweat gleaming on his forehead. Except for his jacket, he’s still fully dressed. Only his gaping trousers and his cock, still very much visible lying only partially softened against his thigh,
hint at what has just happened. A few stray drops of his come mingling with my own juices gleam on his tip.

  We lie together, my head resting on his chest, his hand curved possessively on my hip. I can feel the wild pounding of his heart beneath my cheek. It matches my own.

  He laughs suddenly. “I should have known.” Cocking his head, he gazes down at me with such love and wonder that my heart clenches. “You overwhelm me, Mrs. Slade.”

  I have to swallow against the emotions that well up in me before I can speak. Even then, my voice is low and soft, filled with the love I have for this man. “Believe me, Mister Slade, it’s mutual.”

  For a little while longer, we’re both content to stay where we are, the bed now swaying gently and a soft breeze wafting over us. But as the last of the light fades and the lamps begin to come on along the gravel paths of the garden, Ian stirs.

  He takes a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. Ignoring my half-hearted protest, he wipes gently between my thighs. When he’s finished, he drops a soft kiss there. Despite the explosive orgasm I’ve just experienced, shivers of renewed desire ripple through me.

  Rising, he tucks himself back into his trousers and buttons up. Entranced as I am by the sight of him, I can’t bring myself to move until he holds out a hand.

  Taking it, I manage to stand on legs that are far from steady. My panties didn’t survive the encounter and a few buttons are missing at the bottom of my dress. I smooth the skirt down over my legs, noticing absently that I’m still wearing my heels.

  “I suggest we settle in before we get distracted again,” my husband says.

  I take his hand again and go with him through the garden, past the stone fountain and beyond to the high doors of the palazzo that stand open to admit us.

  Chapter Two

  I’m giggling as Ian sweeps me up into his arms and carries me over the threshold into a two-story entry hall with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the sweeping expanse of lawns and trees at the front of the palazzo. To either side are a graciously appointed living area and a formal dining room. There are more rooms, many more but I’m scarcely aware of them.