Anew: Book Two: Hunted (26 page)

I’m sobbing when I come, scarcely able to breathe, all the
pent up arousal and frustration of the past hours surging together to shred me.
I gasp, moaning his name, as Ian tightens his hold. He follows quickly,
spurting into me.

For long moments, our bodies are locked together. I can feel
his heart pounding in unison with mine. The sense of being one with him brings
a piercing joy but it doesn’t last. Too soon he lets me go.

Unable to stand on my own, I slide to the floor, my breasts
heaving and my legs splayed out in front of me. My gown is still bunched up
around my waist, my panties twisted around my knees. I feel shattered.

By contrast, Ian appears cool and collected as he tucks his
cock back into his trousers and zips up. Without a glance in my direction, he
presses the button to restart the elevator.

Amelia

M
y legs are still
quivering as Ian guides me from the elevator to the double doors of a suite,
one of a very few that take up the top floor of the hotel. We’ve encountered no
one else, for which I can only be grateful. My gown is back in place as are my
panties. I’ve even managed to smooth my hair a little but I’m not kidding
myself. I must look the same way I feel--extremely well fucked.

Ian unlocks the door and steps aside for me to enter. I
hesitate before doing so. A part of me says that this is the moment to leave.
Whatever explains his behavior, being roughly fucked in an elevator is as far
as I should go. We can talk about what’s driving the man I love tomorrow in the
light of day and without the temptations of Carnival. But another part of me
rejects the very idea of leaving him.

“Don’t ever deny me again.” Those words he spoke in the
elevator are a complete contradiction of the need he has had from the very
beginning of our relationship to be certain that I can make my own choices and
exercise my own will. Now he suddenly wants to take away my ability to say
‘no’? That doesn’t fit and more than anything else, it tells me that something
hasn’t merely changed in him. Something is wrong.

When we came back together after the anguishing days and
nights apart, I promised myself that we would face his demons together. It
seems as though I may finally get that opportunity. I’d be lying if I didn’t
admit to feeling more than a little anxious at any such possibility. But I also
have to admit that Ian has awakened a wantonness in me beyond even what I have
experienced before. If I am to truly understand myself, I can’t turn away from
it. Any more than I can turn away from him.

Putting aside my trepidation, I step over the threshold into
the room. As soon as I do, I have the sensation of stepping back in time to
another era. The walls are covered in rich burgundy brocade, the same color
picked up by the Oriental rug covering the floor. A dark wood couch upholstered
in tufted burgundy velvet and matching chairs face the marble fireplace that
now, in late spring is filled with flowers whose heavy scent fills the room.
The large circular table on a pedestal stands under a jet black crystal
chandelier near French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Gold silk drapes
capped by tasseled valences frame the windows. The overall effect is of opulent
elegance with just a touch of upscale bordello.

As I study the room, Ian follows me in. He goes directly to
a large cabinet against one wall and opens it to reveal a fully stocked bar.
“Would you like a drink?”

I hesitate but then remember that what little alcohol I’ve
had in the past has had a soothing effect. I could certainly use that now.
“Yes, please.”

He takes a bottle of champagne from a small wine chiller
fitted into the cabinet, opens it expertly, and fills two crystal flutes
half-way. Having crossed the room to where I am still standing, he hands one to
me before raising his own.

“To Carnival,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

The wine is cool and crisp. I drink it quickly, not having
realized how thirsty I was.

“Come and sit down,” Ian says. I think he means on the couch
but he leads me instead to the round table under the chandelier. He puts his
hands on my waist and lifts me easily, setting me on it, then returns to the
bar for the champagne bottle.

When our glasses are refilled, he moves closer and slowly
strokes a finger along the curve of my cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he
murmurs. “Sometimes all I want to do is look at you.”

That’s nice but I have the distinct impression that now is
not one of those times. Nervously, I take another sip of champagne and try to
decipher his mood.

“What happened at the Council meeting?” I ask. That seems to
be the origin of whatever it is that’s driving him. He was different when he
came back from there.

He lifts an eyebrow at my return to a topic so out of
keeping with our sensual surroundings. “I told you, nothing. It was for show.”

“But you’re no longer as concerned about Davos as you were.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a hint of uncertainty?
It’s gone too quickly for me to be sure. “I’ll deal with him in my own time.
But now it’s Carnival and all I’m interested in is you.”

A tremor of excitement runs through me. I have some
experience with what it means to be the focus of Ian’s concentrated attention.

He moves closer, his teeth lightly grazing my jaw.
Incredibly after the orgasm I experienced in the elevator, my body clenches. My
need for him is becoming insatiable.

Softly, he says, “I’d like you to do something for me.”

I look up at him through my lashes. The brooding hunger in
his gaze exerts a dark pull on my own libido. “What’s that?”

“Undress.”

My cheeks flame, an absurd reaction given that he has seen
and touched every inch of me. But I’ve never before deliberately, purposefully
set out to tantalize him. Well, maybe a little…or more… But never like this,
when I can’t grasp what is driving him.

“You have a beautiful body,” he says. “I enjoy seeing it
revealed.”

I can’t help thinking that he got an eyeful in the elevator.
But neither can I deny the challenge implicit in his tone--at once sensuous and
slightly mocking. With a start, I realize that he’s daring me to do this.

Two can play this game. I swallow the rest of my champagne,
welcoming even the false courage it brings, and say, “On one condition.”

He arches an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You can look but you can’t touch.” I’m not entirely certain
why I want this but it gives me at least some semblance of control and that
feels important under the circumstances.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He looks at once
surprised and chagrinned, which only strengthens my resolve.

 “Until I say otherwise. Agreed?”

Slowly, not taking his eyes from me, Ian nods. “Agreed.” He
walks over to one of the chairs near the fireplace, turns it to face me, and
sits down, crossing his long legs so that the ankle of one rests on the
opposite knee. A long finger strokes his upper lip lightly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says with a smile.

From beyond the French doors, I hear music. The sound is
hot, sensuous, a throbbing in the blood. I remember what Ian said about the
private parties being held in the city as flashes from the parade dart through
my mind. Slowly, I slide off the table.

The champagne helps but it’s the music coupled with Ian’s
nearness that quells my inhibitions. I slide one strap of my gown off my
shoulder, followed by the other. The fitted bodice slips a little, resting on
the crest of my pebble hard nipples. My hips sway irresistibly to the beat of
the music. With a start, I realize that I’m getting into this, enjoying it.
Holding Ian’s gaze, I reach around to the zipper that begins inches below the
dip of my waist. Slowly, I ease it down over my derriere. As I do, I turn so
that my back is to him. A soft gasp escapes me. I’m facing a large mirror in a
gilded frame. In it, I can see both myself and him.

His features are taut, his eyes hooded. I have the
impression that he is fighting the urge to take hold of me at once, regardless
of the promise I wrung from him.

A heady sense of my own power sweeps over me and with it
comes a wave of daring. I decide that my panties, which until now have merely
been pushed aside or down, deserve better appreciation. They leave the cheeks
of my ass bare below a red bow that makes me look like a present waiting to be
unwrapped. I chose them with Ian in mind but I definitely didn’t expect him to
be seeing them quite like this. In the mirror, his hands clench. He looks as
though he regrets agreeing to my terms.

Emboldened, I let the beaded gown slide the rest of the way
down my body and step out of it. I’m wearing only the thong, black fishnet
thigh highs with a band of red lace at the top, the red stilettos, and my mask.

I lift my hands to remove it but Ian stops me. “Leave it on.
Take off the panties.”

I flush but do as he says, easing them down first one leg,
then the other, and step out of them. The music is growing in intensity, urging
me on. When the lacy scrap has joined my gown on the floor, Ian stands and
comes toward me. He stops a few feet away. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

 “I have a gift for you,” he says. “But I want to put
it on you myself. That involves touching.”

He draws an object from the pocket of his jacket but keeps
it cupped in his palm. I catch the glint of gold, nothing more.

Unable to look away from him, I nod permission.

He opens his palm to reveal an oblong gold ring about the
length of my thumb. At the top is a carving of a man’s hands. Slim black
elastic bands tangle from the top and base of the ring.

Before I can object, he moves close behind me. His long,
skilled fingers splay across my abdomen and slip lower to spread the outer lips
of my sex. He nestles the ring between them, nudging them further apart. A
shudder runs through me at the intimacy of his touch.

When he removes his hand, the sides of the oblong ring keep
me stretched open while the center displays my delicate inner labia and clit.
The weight of the cool, smooth metal
there
is startling. Ian reaches
behind me to secure the black bands. His voice is low and roughened as he says,
“Look at yourself, Amelia. See yourself as I see you.”

I do and what I see shocks me. I am…wanton. My eyes are
smoky with need, my lips are swollen, my nipples are peaked and aching for his
touch. Between my legs, where his seed mingles with my own juices, the gold
ring glistens. At its center, framed by it, my clit and delicate inner lips are
at once bound and fully exposed.

My first instinct is that it’s too much. I don’t want to see
myself like this, an entirely carnal creature on display. But the touch of
Ian’s lips along the back of my neck distracts me from any objection. Before I
realize what he intends, he removes my mask so that I am fully bared to myself.

But only for an instant. Even as I stare at the woman in the
gilded mirror, Ian lowers a narrow length of red silk in front of my eyes and
ties it in place. My hands fly to it as the world darkens.

“Easy,” he says. “You’ll feel more this way.”

More? I can’t. I won’t survive it. But it seems that I have
no choice. He lifts me effortlessly and carries me across the room, settling me
in a large chair that feels like the one he just occupied. He leaves me for a
moment. I hear a drawer opening. When he returns he says, “I’ve wanted to see
you like this from the first moment we met.”

Oh
. How is that exactly? Naked and blindfolded,
intimately adorned for his pleasure…

Oh
! Something coiled and smooth wraps around my
ankle. It feels like…
rope
? Where did that come from?

Swiftly, before I can begin to process what is happening,
Ian binds my left wrist to my left ankle and does the same on my right side.
When he is done, he lifts me slightly and repositions me in the chair. His
hands press against my knees, spreading me wide. My cheeks flame below the
blindfold as I realize that I’m trussed up, my sex adorned and exposed to him,
unable to resist in any way.

“Ian…?” My voice is unnaturally high, made so by shock and
arousal that mounts so swiftly as to be almost painful.

“Shhhh,” he murmurs. The tip of his finger flicks my clit,
swollen with need and made all the more sensitive by the weight of the gold
band encaging it.

I give a soft wail as my head falls back. I know now what he
intends. I want it but… When his tongue replaces his finger, every muscle in my
body jerks in response. Or tries to. Bound as I am, I can’t move. Blindfolded,
my sense of touch is acutely heightened. With the ring holding me open for him,
both his hands are free to roam where they will. He slides them under my ass,
squeezing my cheeks as he pulls me to him. For long, torturous minutes, he
keeps up a delicate assault on my clit, his tongue circling, stroking, applying
less pressure, then more. At the same time, he slips a finger into the cleft of
my ass and finds the small, tight opening there.

“Ian…don’t…” My half-hearted objection turns into a gasp when
he latches his mouth onto my clit and sucks hard. The contrast between the
delicate torment of his tongue and this rougher, even more demanding caress is
too much. I cry out helplessly as a dark, relentless wave of pleasure builds in
me. An instant later it explodes with terrifying power, hurtling me into an
orgasm so intense that I’m afraid I’ll lose consciousness. I don’t want to
because I don’t want to miss a moment of this…whatever this is. Ian’s dominance
and desire draw a response from me that I didn’t know I was capable of giving.

But he isn’t finished, not at all. As though driven by my
helplessness, he gives me no chance to recover before resuming his sweet
torment. I am spiraling upward again, another terrifyingly powerful orgasm
building in me when he suddenly thrusts a finger slick with my own juices into
my puckered opening. The shock of that intrusion tips me over the edge. I come
screaming his name as my consciousness shatters.