Anew: Awakened Part 16

A low but very audible curse breaks from Ian. His hand thrusts down, grasping mine. At his touch, any hope I might have that I could deny the effect he has on me vanishes. In its absence, I am filled with alarm. I hadn't thought it possible that I could ever return to the unnaturally compliant state in which I first awoke. I will not return to it. That is not who I am.

Yet my fingers curl around his all the same. I tell myself that I am merely choosing between accepting his touch or tumbling down a flight of marble steps but some part of me knows better. This is what I have been longing for, what I crave above all, what I need as much as air and light.

Steadied by his strength, I climb the last few steps. My breath leaves me in a gasp as he draws me so close that our bodies touch. Distantly, I'm aware of Edward coming quickly to my side. He is scowling but I can't care. Adele is nearby. I catch a quick glimpse of her smile. I have the sense that she understands all too well what she is seeing.

There are other people around us but they might as well be shadows. Ian commands my attention as effortlessly as he does my will. I don't know how long we stand like that, so tantalizingly near, the barrier of our clothes unable to mask the heat flaring between us. The look in his eyes...

A long, slow tremor begins in my core and spirals outward. As much as I want to shield myself from the truth, there is no mistaking his desire. He wants nothing less than to devour me. To fill me with pleasure until I am shattered by it, unable to think or move or resist, utterly obedient to his touch and his command. Just as he did that last night in the golden room.

Worse, I want the same.

The soft clearing of a throat recalls me to the moment. Belatedly, I notice the two women standing just behind Ian. One is about my age, the other looks as though she could be her mother. Both are lovely--slim, blond, elegantly dressed in a manner that suggests they are far too confident and sensible to succ.u.mb to the vagaries of fashion.

The older one gives me a quizzical look. "Won't you introduce us, Ian?" she asks.

For a moment, he appears startled, as though he has forgotten that anyone else is present. But he recovers quickly.

Calmly, as though we are no more than mere acquaintances, he says, "By all means, mother. I'd like you to meet Amelia McClellan. Amelia, this is my mother, Helene and my sister, Marianne." Remembering his manners, he says to them, "And of course, you both know Edward and Adele."

"Of course we do," Helene Slade says. She has a quick smile for both but her focus is clearly on me. "Amelia...?" The warmth of her manner does not conceal her unmistakable curiosity.

"My cousin," Edward says. Very deliberately, he draws me away from Ian. For a moment, I fear that I'm about to become the object of a tug of war between them.

"We're delighted that Amelia has come to stay with us," my brother adds as Ian, with obvious reluctance, releases me.

"How wonderful," Marianne says. She seems friendly but she's wide-eyed with surprise. I wonder why that is. Surely, Ian has introduced them to other women he knows?

"We must do lunch," Helene says brightly.

I quail at the thought. How can I possibly be with Ian's mother and sister for more than a few minutes without revealing my feelings for him? Even though I'm not entirely sure what those are? Pa.s.sion, certainly, and fascination and desire and yearning and...

"What an excellent idea," Adele says, sealing my fate. I dare a quick glance at Ian. Not surprisingly, he is frowning.

If we were alone, I'd be tempted to ask him what he would have me do to discourage this unwanted interest from the women in his family. But not only are we surrounded by relatives, we are in the midst of a large crowd and people are watching us. That comes as a shock. I've been so caught up in seeing Ian again that I didn't realize we were attracting attention. We--or more correctly I--am the target of glances ranging from icy to speculative.

As much as I wanted to distinguish myself from Susannah, I never imagined becoming the focus of such widespread attention. It makes me acutely uncomfortable. When three chimes sound, the signal to be seated, I all but sag with relief.

With a last, long glance at me, Ian escorts his mother and sister to their box. Adele and I go in the opposite direction with Edward.

Amid the murmur of voices and the rustling of clothes, the audience takes it places beneath the immense bronze and crystal chandelier hanging from the cupola above the stalls. The light it casts, flecked with hues of gold and silver, dims as the maestro walks out and takes his position before the orchestra. He taps his baton on the podium, the sound ringing clearly in the sudden hush that falls over the audience.

The music begins.

The opening notes from the cellos are a paean to pa.s.sion and longing, so intense, so blatant as to be all but unbearable. Hard upon them comes the aching dissonance of the woodwinds with their cry of yearning drawn from the depths of the human soul. Without warning, a hymn to unbridled sensuality fills the opulent s.p.a.ce of the Opera House.

I lean forward, so instantly entranced by the music that I can only think my reaction must be extreme. A quick glance confirms that. The audience, at least as much of it as I can see, appears no more than politely attentive.

Except for...

Ian is seated with Helene and Marianne in a box nearby. His head is turned in my direction. I cannot see his eyes but I feel them nonetheless. The instant connection between us is unbearable. Seeking relief, I focus on the stage only to realize my folly.

As the curtain rises, much of the cast is revealed to be partially or entirely nude. Moreover, some combination of nature and modern day enhancements has resulted in people who have both extraordinary voices and bodies to match. The women are all slim and lush breasted, the men superbly muscled and otherwise equally well endowed.

I'm shocked but no one else seems to be. Edward is leaning back in his seat, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He looks mildly bored. Adele appears entirely unfazed although she at least seems to be enjoying the music.

Daring greatly, I glance at Ian only to discover that far from being interested in what is happening on the stage, he is still watching me. My reaction clearly amuses him. Even in the dim light of the theatre, his smile is blatantly provocative. As I stare back at him, the tip of his tongue slides across his teeth in a motion that sends a spear of pleasure straight to my groin.

Belatedly, I remember that Wagner's 'Tristan und Isolde' is a long opera, more than four hours long. I heard Edward muttering about that to Adele before we left. Four hours of intensely erotic music and naked people on stage? And what exactly are those people going to be doing that they need to be naked?

I glance again at Ian. His smile is gone. In its place is a look of such fierce, almost brutal desire that once more I am transported back to the golden room and that last night when, helpless in the grip of remorseless pleasure, I submitted to him again and again.

On stage, the bold warrior Tristan is escorting the fiery princess Isolde to the court of the king whose bride she is to be. The s.e.xual tension between the two is electric. Faced with a fate neither wants, Tristan accepts Isolde's demand that they drink a potion she believes will kill them both. But instead of death, they are poisoned by love, a deadly pa.s.sion that at once threatens to consume them. Torn from a pa.s.sionate embrace, they conspire to be reunited.

The erotic drama unfolding before me only heightens my own arousal as Tristan comes through the darkness to claim his beloved in a castle garden. What few garments they wear fall away. How two people writhing in pa.s.sionate embrace can still find the breath to sing so gloriously is beyond me but they manage it. Isolde's back arches beneath Tristan as he cups her breast and...

As I look away hastily, my gaze collides again with Ian's. At once my nipples, already hard, begin to ache. Too vividly I remember the touch of his mouth there, the quick, sharp nip of his teeth bringing a sweet, sweet pain.

I squirm in my seat, all too aware of how aroused I am becoming. On the stage, the lovers are entwined, their bodies moving as one. As the music rises to an erotic crescendo, I surrender all pretense of calm and stagger to my feet. After a murmur to Adele about needing the ladies' room, I am about to leave the box when I notice that Ian's seat is empty.

In the corridor, I hesitate, unsure what to do. I could find the ladies' room and in the privacy of one of the stalls give myself another of those mild little o.r.g.a.s.ms but-- "Amelia."

Without hesitation, I turn toward the sound of his voice. At the sight of him standing deep in the shadows of a nearby alcove, I am too relieved to be surprised. The cacophony of my thoughts--all my doubts and regrets, my fears and yearnings made even more acute by the recent nightmare--dies away. The music soars around us, only slightly muted by the walls that shield us. On the stage, a timeless drama is playing out as it has for centuries and will for centuries to come. But here, with us, there is only the moment.

We are alone together in a shimmering bubble of time where the world cannot reach us. I watch as Ian's lips shape my name, hear the question in it, and do not hesitate to answer in the only way that matters.

One step, two, I close the distance between us until I rest against his rock hard chest. Without warning, he shifts so that my back is pressed against the wall and a steely thigh thrust between my own. He groans as his hand curls around the nape of my neck, holding me in place. Wordlessly, his hot, rapacious mouth claims mine.

I don't hesitate, I don't think. I just wrap my arms around his neck and meet his raging need with my own.

His teeth sc.r.a.pe my lower lip, biting just enough to be painful. I gasp and open for him. He sucks on the tip of my tongue before plunging his own into my mouth, taking, demanding, possessing with a rhythm I remember only too well elsewhere in my body.

When he finally lifts his head, his voice is low and rasping, filled with desperation that matches my own.

"I told myself this wouldn't happen," he says. "I could handle seeing you, keep my distance. But d.a.m.n it, Amelia, you undo me!"

He is grinding against me, his erection ma.s.sive against my belly. For my own part, I can't get close enough to him. All the pent-up longing of the past days and nights bursts loose within me. This is what I know, what I need above all.

The realization that I am not alone in my yearning releases a knot of self-doubt within me. I don't think to question why he sent me away if he feels as he does. Right then, I don't even care. Instead, I feel insanely, recklessly free.

Twenty-two years adrift, helpless, barely enduring. All that time stolen from me. No more! Not a single day, not a moment!

His erection strains against the fine wool of his evening trousers, a thrillingly long, thick, hard bulge that I don't even think about trying to resist. Our clothes are an intolerable impediment. I reach for the b.u.t.tons of his fly.

At the brush of my fingers against him, he groans. "Amelia!"

I'm concentrating too intently to heed him. What is this fondness he has for d.a.m.n b.u.t.tons? Finally, after nearly intolerable seconds, his hot, engorged c.o.c.k leaps into my welcoming hands.

I keep one wrapped around him and with the other seize his, drawing it down my thigh and under my billowing skirts. "Touch me...right there... Oh...... yes...! Like that! So good...!"

"This is insane," he mutters but his tone lacks conviction. His long, skilled fingers stroke up toward my cleft. Finding me hot and wet, he gasps. "Thank f.u.c.k!"

I squirm against him, lost in a sensual haze but unable to look away. This is the only place that I want to be--with him, holding him, in my body, in my heart. The circ.u.mstances don't matter; they scarcely register with me. We could be anywhere.

His eyes narrow to gleaming slits. A low, harsh growl breaks from him as he lifts me. As soon as I am positioned, he doesn't hesitate but impales me with a single deep thrust. With his c.o.c.k seated to the hilt, he pauses barely an instant to let me adjust before beginning a pounding rhythm, over and over, ramming me against the wall.

I sob not in pain but in ecstatic need, gasping his name into the hard, straining muscles of his throat. He's splitting me in two and I don't care. I can't. I can only come, suddenly and convulsively, my hot sheathe tightening around him, demanding and taking everything he has to give me.

"You are mine," he gasps as ecstasy crests within me. "Mine. Mine. Mine. No one else's. Ever."

With each rasping syllable, he continues driving into me, offering no respite. I can feel myself building toward another climax.

"Oh, G.o.d, yes....!"

It tears through me, even more intense than the first. I keep coming as Ian continues driving into me, arching higher and higher. He's relentless, merciless, as though he's trying to weld our bodies together now and forever. The world begins to blur at the edges. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel as I clench around him, his release bringing me yet again to my own.

He swallows my scream as he continues to pulse inside me for seemingly endless minutes. He is still in me, the last twitches of his climax sending ripples of pleasure through me, when he suddenly curses. Without warning, he pulls away, leaving me empty and bereft.

Not looking at me, he b.u.t.tons up, then runs a hand through his hair. His features are taut, his voice low and angry.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, what am I doing?" he demands.

Abruptly, his gaze pierces me. I am still pressed against the wall, my skirts caught up around my waist and my thighs wet with his come. I can only begin to imagine what a wanton display I make.

A harsh laugh breaks from him. "I have to give you credit, Amelia. You are one incredible piece of a.s.s. But then you were made for f.u.c.king, weren't you?"

A wave of coldness. .h.i.ts me, dragging me under. The contempt in his voice coming on top of the stark reminder of how susceptible I am to him play to my worst fears. Everything about my response to him mocks any hope I have that I truly possess my own will and am capable of making my own choices.

In contrast, the hard truth is that I'm nothing more than a means to an end for him, one he would clearly prefer to do without. That imbalance terrifies me. My anger, ignited by what I perceive as my own weakness, flares outward.

"So glad you enjoyed yourself," I snarl. "Next time do us both a favor and use your hand!"

He's gaping at me, his eyes dark with surprise, as I smooth my skirt down. My chest is tight and I am close to tears. The emotional upheaval of the past few days has finally caught up with me. I don't think I can bear it but I have to, at least until I can crawl off some place where no one will see how he has shattered me.

"Or better yet," I throw over my shoulder, "find some other woman who's willing to be a receptacle for you. That shouldn't be a problem. I'm sure they're lined up. But not me. Not ever again. I. Am. Done."

Without waiting for a response from him, I retreat to the ladies room where I clean myself up as best I can before returning to the box. I'm so agitated that I'm certain Edward and Adele will realize something is wrong but both just give me a nod as I take my seat.

On the stage a naked Tristan and Isolde are still going at it. I've returned just as they are caught in flagrante and torn apart by cruel fate.

To the last notes of Act II, the curtain descends.

The house lights come up, the glow from the immense chandelier splintering the air into glittering shards. The audience rises. After several hours of sitting, they are all eager for the chance that intermission provides to see and be seen.

In the box nearby, Ian stands aside courteously to allow his mother and sister to leave first. He takes the opportunity to shoot me a look that speaks volumes, hinting as it does at a reckoning to come.

With a sense of dread mingling with dark excitement, I realize that notwithstanding my dramatic exit from the alcove, I have not escaped him.

Chapter Seventeen.

Ian She's driven me insane. Between being with Amelia and being without her, I've lost my mind. That's the only possible explanation for my behavior. I knew she would be at the opera, with the kind of security I have on her how could I not? But I steeled myself to get through the inevitable encounter. I could do it. I was in control. Instead...

I could have sworn that she was as eager as I was in the alcove. No, I know that she was. No other woman has ever responded to me like that, so completely and selflessly, holding nothing back, giving me everything.

Which brings me back to my fear that she can't say no.

But then...

I could have thought before I talked, maybe chosen my words a little better but 'receptacle'? Seriously? And other women? What the h.e.l.l is she thinking? Why is she thinking it?

On the other hand, the fact that Amelia can get spitting, furiously angry at me and tell me off in rare, ripe terms is weirdly rea.s.suring, enough to put a stupid smile on my face. I need a drink, better yet several. But I'm not having any. At least I still retain enough sense to know this isn't the night for it. More than ever, I need to stay in control.

Who am I kidding? I need to get back the control I lost the moment I forgot all the reasons I sent her away, and instead dragged her into that d.a.m.n alcove and rutted on her like an animal.

s.h.i.t, it felt so good. Her coming on my c.o.c.k over and over the way she did, screaming my name. I will never have enough of her.

"Ian?"

Marianne is staring at me with an odd expression on her face. Unlike me, she has our mother's looks, which means she is quite beautiful but right now she's also clearly worried.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

I take a breath and tell myself to get it together. The last thing I want is for my family to have any inkling of what's going on.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about a situation I need to deal with."

My sister frowns. At twenty-two, she's only six years younger than me but the age difference between us feels like more. I've made d.a.m.n sure that her life has been a whole lot calmer and more sheltered than mine ever was. I know she's more innocent than a lot of women her age, maybe even a little nave. All the same, she's no fool. Not a lot gets past her.

"Nothing serious, I hope?" she says.

Our mother is speaking with a friend nearby and so doesn't hear the exchange. I want to keep it that way.

"Nothing I can't handle. Would you like a drink?"

"Just water." She smiles mischievously. "I don't want to nod off and miss the big finale."

I stifle a groan. "Please tell me the last act is shorter. They're obviously both going to die so why can't they just get on with it?"

Marianne gives me a chiding look. "Don't be such a cynic. 'Tristan und Isolde' is one of the great romances of all time so of course it ends tragically. But first we get to hear Isolde's magnificent aria to erotic death. It's really quite extraordinary."

"I'll take your word for it."