Anew: Awakened Part 21

Jeez, this is never going to end. I should hire her to do interrogations. She'd wring a subject dry and leave him begging for more.

"Can we just agree that I can be a real tool sometimes and leave it at that?" I suggest.

She gives me a smile so sweet that it makes my c.o.c.k jerk. Looking into my eyes, she says, "We both know there's a lot more involved, Ian. You put a very high priority on being able to control yourself. I make that more difficult for you."

She pauses and takes a breath. Her teeth worry her lower lip. I'm staring at them when she adds, "I think that's why you called Edward, so that he'd take me away."

My gut tightens. How is this happening? I usually have no trouble showing the world only what I want it to see and keeping the rest buried deep. But that's not working with Amelia.

She sees far too much. If I'm not careful, she'll strip me bare. I can't allow that.

"I wanted you to be free to choose," I counter.

It's the truth, sort of. A carefully edited truth, to be sure, one that leaves out a lot of relevant information but it's not like I'm outrightly lying...exactly.

"What if I'd said that I wanted to stay?" she asks.

My breath catches at the thought. What if she had? What would I have done? Before anything else, I'd have had to deal with Edward, who would have gone at me with anything he could get his hands on.

I'd stripped the library of obvious weapons before I called him but that still left plenty of options for a guy as enterprising as I know "Teddy" to be. It wouldn't have been pretty.

But it might have been d.a.m.n satisfying.

Rather than dwell on that, I say, "But you didn't and I didn't expect you to. Your brother was talking about family and home. Of course you wanted to experience that and I wanted it for you."

I hesitate. After so many years of keeping an iron hold on my emotions, it's tough to let any of them out. B can't get pa.s.sed the idea that Amelia deserves more. Apparently, I also can't resist the need to give it to her.

Slowly, I say, "Watching you walk out that door hurt like h.e.l.l."

She blinks and her eyes are suddenly glistening with tears. f.u.c.k! The last thing I want is to cause her yet more pain.

But when I tell her so, she says, "You haven't...you don't...not exactly."

Her hand reaches out, her fingertips pressing lightly against my lips before brushing over my chin and down my throat to my chest where she presses her palm gently over my heart.

"I can't stand the idea of you hurting because of me," she says.

I feel as though I've just run a marathon. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I can't seem to get my breath. Something deep inside feels as though it's cracking wide open.

Enough with the touchy-feely talking bulls.h.i.t. I know a h.e.l.l of a better way to communicate.

Before she can even think to protest, I go down on my knees in front of her and stroke my hands up both her silky bare legs to clasp her hips. Pulling her forward to the edge of the seat, I bury my head in a froth of silk skirts, lace lingerie, and pure Amelia.

"I need to taste you," I groan. "Just that, nothing more, unless you want more, of course, which would also be fine." I realize that I'm babbling and shut the h.e.l.l up.

She gives a soft little gasp, which is all the permission I need. My mouth and tongue savor every inch of her from the sensitive spots behind her knees up along the inside of her thighs to her slit.

I inhale deeply, loving the scent of salty sweetness mingling with the essence of pure Amelia. Her breathing is suddenly ragged and she's staring at me wide-eyed but she doesn't object or try to close her legs.

The little sc.r.a.p of panty she's wearing rips when I pull it to the side. They should make those things st.u.r.dier if they want them to last. I gaze at her in wonder. She's all bare except for that delectable little arrow of hair, and her lips are shiny with her arousal.

Thank G.o.d I'm not the only one.

Her hands clasp my shoulders, her fingers digging in through the fabric of my polo shirt. It's cotton--thick enough to absorb sweat, thin enough to let the air in--and snug because when you're in a hard gallop across a playing surface the size of nine football fields bearing down on a ball that's just over three inches in diameter, you don't want your shirt flapping in the breeze to distract you. Concentration is everything in polo, as in so much else.

I zero in on her slick wet l.a.b.i.a, parting them with my thumbs and stroke the flat of my tongue all the way up to her small, glistening c.l.i.t. d.a.m.n, I've missed it! It's so adorable, so responsive, and it likes me, I can tell. With every lick I give it, it swells.

Her thighs are shuddering, she's gripping me even harder. As I lap at her, her thready little moans turn into the sweetest sound I can ever hope to hear.

"Ian...oh, G.o.d, Ian...!"

My name on her lips. Perfect. I ease a finger into her, followed by another. She's so blissfully wet but she's also tight and I can't bear the thought of hurting her. She doesn't seem to have any such concern because she's pumping up and down on me, her breath coming in gasps as I find just the right spot and thrust back and forth relentlessly.

There is no s.e.xier sight than Amelia when she comes. She's exquisitely beautiful under any circ.u.mstances but nothing beats the moment when her neck arches back, her lips part in that perfect O, her eyes close in ecstasy and-- "Look at me," I say because of all the perverse things to happen, good old Hayden has just jumped into my mind. I want to make d.a.m.n sure that she knows who's doing this to her.

Her eyes fly open. She fumbles for my hands, our fingers entwining. Holding onto me tightly, she stiffens as wave after wave of pleasure course through her. I should ease up, let her catch her breath, but I'm not about to. As I continue tonguing her c.l.i.t, she keeps coming hard and fast.

Her responsiveness awes me. My grat.i.tude for it knows no bounds but I don't have time to tell her that because I'm dying. My b.a.l.l.s are either about to explode or the s.e.m.e.n back up is going to shoot straight up my spine and blow the top of my skull off. True, I've never heard of a guy actually buying it like that but the way I feel, n.o.body's going to convince me that it can't happen.

There's only one solution and fortunately Amelia is urging me to take it.

"Please, Ian," she says, tugging at my biceps, "I need you inside me. Now. Oh, G.o.d, please! Now!"

If the military taught me anything, it's to be a gentleman. A lethal one with a very high kill ratio but still-- It's not polite to keep a lady waiting. In an instant, I've taken her place on the backseat with Amelia facing me, straddling my legs. The snug polo pants slow me down, so does the cup I'm wearing. Her head is against my neck, her breath coming in little sobs, when I finally free myself, lift her up a little more and--- Ohd.a.m.nf.u.c.kme... She feels so good...like drenched wet silk rubbing up and down the whole length of my c.o.c.k, clenching so tight-- I really want to make this last but Amelia isn't helping. Her teeth rake my throat, she's putting scratches in my back, and those noises she's making, sweet little mewling sounds so full of need and-- "f.u.c.k, Amelia!"

The world turns red hot. A mist moves in front of my eyes. Every o.r.g.a.s.m I've had with her has been incredible and this is no exception. I'm spurting into her, coming and coming, when she lowers her head suddenly, takes my mouth with hers, and plunges her tongue into me.

Ohf.u.c.k!

Somewhere somebody, an archangel maybe, must keep a record of the really important things like the longest male o.r.g.a.s.m ever. Time to rewrite the record books because I just can't stop.

She's wringing me dry, taking everything I've got and it is so d.a.m.n good I just want to stay this way forever, buried b.a.l.l.s deep in her, more alive than I ever knew it was possible to be.

"Amelia-amelia-amelia," I'm chanting her name like it's a prayer, holding onto her with all my strength, and at that moment I know that I never want to let her go.

f.u.c.k free will, she can have mine. I'm hers now and forever. World without end.

And it doesn't. It just rights itself a little once we both start breathing again.

"I can't believe we survived that," she says and gives a satisfied little laugh.

"Speak for yourself," I moan, my head thrown back against the seat and my eyes closed.

She laughs again and starts kissing my throat, working her way up to my mouth slowly and tenderly so of course I kiss her back the same way. That's only fair plus it feels so good. I'd be perfectly happy to keep on doing that while my c.o.c.k, still inside her, twitches on its way to getting hard again. d.a.m.n thing has no sense at all, thank G.o.d.

But Amelia breaks off and looks at me with a teasing smile. "Are you sure the love of your life won't be upset about this?"

I pull her back down so that our mouths graze. "Let her. This has been one of my top ten fantasies since forever. Along with doing it in the front seat of a silver 2022 Bugatti Veyron. But that's for another time plus I'm fairly sure one of us has to be a contortionist."

"I'm pretty limber."

Down, boy. Down. Let's take a few minutes and catch our breaths while we dwell on the inspiring image Amelia has just so generously given us.

I settle back against the seat with her in my arms. The world has taken on a rosy glow like the sunsets after a really ma.s.sive volcanic explosion only better. I'm feeling ...happy, content? I'm not sure exactly what it is and I don't care.

I'm congratulating myself on reminding the lady who she belongs to when I discover that it's my turn to be taken by surprise. Amelia slips gracefully from my lap and sinks to her knees in front of me.

She's blushing but she also smiles mischievously as she runs her hands up the polished leather of my riding boots and says, "I like these. You wouldn't happen to have a crop, too, would you?"

Whoa, that's new. "Uh...not on me."

She shrugs and, taking my c.o.c.k in both her hands, begins stroking. Happy fellow that he is, he responds warmly but the rest of me is elsewhere, my wayward brain--which to be fair had more than a few circuits blown just a few minutes ago-- conjuring up images of Amelia's lovely a.s.s well reddened and-- Her tongue swirls around my tip. An electric jolt of pleasure tears through me. I want to tell her to stop but she's drawn me into her mouth and is sucking, gently at first, then more firmly. I look down at the exquisite vision of her full, glistening lips stretched tight around my shaft. The dark lure of the erotic seizes me, triggering quick flashes of memory.

Amelia on the balcony in the rain that first night, her gown clinging around her hips, her glorious b.r.e.a.s.t.s bare to me.

In the golden room that last night when I drove us both relentlessly in my need to be sure that she would never forget how we are together.

In the spa, coming under my hands, offering herself to me in the shower.

And lastly--the memory that emerges the most strongly--Amelia in the tent, face down on her knees in a posture of absolute submission.

But then there is also Amelia walking away...at the palazzo, at the opera, at the soiree. Denying and defying me.

I don't feel the darkness rising in me until it's too late. It comes in a wave, pulling me under. Distantly, I realize that all the time and energy I've spent resisting it has only made it stronger.

I grit my teeth, my fists clenching... unclenching... I don't know when exactly I thrust my fingers through her hair. Holding her head, I drive deeper into her mouth, compelling her to take more of me. My hips rise up off the backseat as I intensify the rhythm.

Hitting the back of her throat, I distantly hear myself say, "Suck harder... that's it... more... all the way..."

She complies and why the h.e.l.l shouldn't she? In a moment of white hot clarity, I let myself acknowledge the truth. I own her. Letting her go was the stupidest thing I've ever done. She's my property to use as I will and she's d.a.m.n well going to acknowledge it.

I plunge harder, faster, in control and taking what's nothing more than my due. I don't know when she starts to struggle and I don't care. I can hear the voice in the back of my head, goading me.

They're all just s.l.u.ts. They want to be used and abused. It's all they're good for. The harder you ride them, the better they like it.

The power swells in me, the intoxicating sense of being indomitable, a king, a f.u.c.king G.o.d. Nothing matters except driving myself into her, using her, taking everything from her.

Until suddenly, with hideous clarity, I realize that I'm so deep into her throat, pushing so hard that she can't breathe. She's on the verge of pa.s.sing out.

I withdraw in an instant, holding her as she bends over gasping. Her face is flushed and her eyes are watering. She looks at me wildly, as though seeing me for the first time.

And in a sense she is.

"Amelia--" Confronted by the stark reality of her fear and shock, I choke. I've always been so careful before, even that last night in the golden room. I've never totally lost control. Not for G.o.dd.a.m.n years, not until now. Until her.

I knew it could happen from the first moment I saw her. h.e.l.l, even before that, when I found out that she existed. Everything I'd thought dead and buried inside me started to awaken right then. I knew it and I did nothing. I set us both up for this.

Without looking at her, I rearrange my clothes, throw open the car door, and go.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Amelia Ian thunders down field toward the goal. Rising in the stirrups, his powerfully muscled arm extended with the long mallet in his grip, he looks at once extraordinarily graceful and threatening, a throwback to an age when men on horses ruled the world. Yet for all his obvious strength and will, I can't help but recognize the raw edge of aggression that is driving him.

The shock that engulfed me in the Rolls has subsided to a frantic fluttering. In its wake I'm struggling to try to understand what happened.

Ian's admission that he is as susceptible to me as I am to him... the unfettered ease with which I succ.u.mbed to desire for him yet again... the incandescent pleasure... Even now, I can't forget that. Or how suddenly and darkly it changed.

Briefly, I consider the possibility that I over-reacted but I know better. I have all too much experience with dehumanizing pain and helplessness to ever be a willing partic.i.p.ant in more of the same.

Yet the idea that Ian wants to inflict anything of the kind on me doesn't fit with what I know of him. Or think I know. As reluctant as I am to admit it, I have no idea whether what I glimpsed in the Rolls was an aberration or a part of his nature that he has concealed until now.

Abruptly, I remember the Cabinet of Secret Delights next to the golden room. I still don't know who created it or even if Ian is aware that it exists. But the memory of it exerts a dark, erotic pull that further adds to my confusion.

A sudden flurry of activity on the field gives me a welcome respite from my inner turmoil. We're in the second half of the game with three minutes to go in the next-to-last chukker. The crowd is on its feet screaming, a far cry from their lolling ease at the beginning.

I wince as a defending player from my brother's team drives his mount forward, all but colliding with Ian. At the last possible moment, the defender gives ground, I suspect only because he realizes that Ian won't.

The pace of play has been intense from the beginning with the lead shifting back and forth constantly. My brother's team is good--well-drilled, fluid, technically superb--exactly what I'd expect of Edward. But they were unprepared for Ian's sheer, unbridled aggressiveness, evident from the first throw-in of the ball at the beginning of the game, and they've had to scramble to adapt their style of play.

Nor are they alone. The game wouldn't be hanging in the balance but for the fact that Ian's team mates have had the same problem. They've been hard pressed to keep up with him as he's torn up and down the field.

The ponies are changed at the end of every chukker or more often if needed but the men get little relief except during a brief half-time. Nor do the officials who have called foul after foul as tension has mounted.

Ian is about to take his swing when Edward, riding hard at him, refuses to pull up as the other player did. I can't tell whether my brother's actions are motivated by anger or calculation but either way he seems determined to confront Ian with his own recklessness.

The horses, galloping at thirty miles an hour or more, come dangerously close. Both men rein in but too late. A scream rips from me as the powerful animals collide.

Edward loses his balance and is flung out of the saddle, only just managing to grab hold of his horse's neck to avoid being hurtled to the ground and crushed. The officials are moving in, I can hear them shouting, when Ian leans all the way over, grabs hold of Edward, and in an astounding display of strength, drags him safely back into the saddle.

Play resumes at a fierce pace, positions shifting constantly, until Ian makes another drive at the ball, so impossibly small against the huge expanse of the field. His aim is unerring. He strokes it directly midway between the goal posts, putting his team up by one.

The crowd roars. They've been on their feet baying for blood since they realized what kind of game this would be. The raw aggressiveness on the field feeds their appet.i.te for sensation as nothing else can. For the first time since I have been in the city, not a single face looks jaded or blase.

As the last chukker begins, the excitement reaches new heights. Edward leads a charge that ties the game again. Ian and his team respond with a fierce drive. They're within reach of the goal when the mallet of the blond man I noticed earlier is suddenly hooked by another just as he is about to hit the ball.

The move is entirely within the rules but this time it has unintended consequences. The ball goes wild, smacking through the air and striking Ian directly in the head. Although he's wearing a helmet, the blow stuns him.

I watch in horror as he instinctively reacts by pulling up on the reins. But his mount is galloping at top speed and the maneuver backfires badly, hurtling Ian into the air. He hits the ground hard and lies p.r.o.ne, not moving.

At once, play stops. Edward rides down and seizes Ian's horse as officials and doctors pour out onto the field. My hand is at my throat, I can't breathe. A hush falls over the crowd.