Anew: Awakened Part 8

"Really? What were they?"

He hesitates, evidently reluctant to tell me but finally he says, "Something about not overloading you with information too quickly and the importance of establishing authority." His smile is wry. "I'd say I failed on both counts. Wouldn't you?"

Establishing authority? What the heck! Was I supposed to beg for a treat, fetch a ball, roll over for him?

I sit up, aware suddenly that I'm still naked, as is he. Surely, there's a robe to be had somewhere?

Rising, I glance around quickly. "On the other hand perhaps what you said before is true. Something went wrong."

"When did I say that--?" He breaks off, remembering his exasperation when he brought me back to the palazzo. "I was more frustrated than serious. So far as I've been able to discover, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

He's still reclining on the pillows--rather sultan-like, I think. As his eyes drift over my body in leisurely appraisal, my blush deepens.

Ian chuckles and stands with coiled grace. I can't help but be aware of how comfortable he is with his nudity and his body in general. But then why shouldn't he be? He is quite simply magnificent.

He steps close to me, takes my chin between his fingers, and says, "On the contrary, you're dangerously perfect."

Before I can respond, his other hand slides down to squeeze my bottom. "This part of you, for instance, is perfect for spanking, which I also recall starting to do before being distracted by your smart mouth and your refusal to wear that collar."

Starting to do? Whoa. I try to take a step back but that just gets me another squeeze, harder this time, as he pulls me to him. Against the sensitive skin of my abdomen, I can feel his growing arousal. Before I can let myself think about the delights to be had by Round Two--or would this be Round Three--I say, "You may be happy to lie around here all day but I have other plans."

Ian laughs and chucks me under the chin. "You're fun to tease."

I'm mulling over his apparent pleasure in that discovery when he takes a pair of plain white robes from a nearby chest and tosses me one. His eyes glitter as I catch it and hold it in front of myself in a belated effort at modesty.

"Much as I'd rather you didn't cover up," he says, "I think this will make you more comfortable. I've ordered lunch for us. Before you do anything else, you're going to eat."

He shrugs into the other robe and leaves the secluded tent. I have to wrap mine all the way around myself and tie it with the attached belt to keep it closed. I'm dragging my fingers through my hair, trying to restore some order to it, when Ian reappears. He's carrying a tray that he sets on a low round table near the pile of pillows.

"I don't know about you," he says with a grin, "but I'm starving."

I have a sudden memory of the dinner I denied him that first night and feel myself flush yet again. It's getting to be a habit.

"Sit," he says as he begins laying out the food on the low table.

I do so only to stiffen when I notice what he's taking from the pocket of his robe. "What's that?"

"This?" He holds up a length of black silk. "It's a blindfold."

Warily, I ask, "What do we need that for?"

"I want to try an experiment. Like everyone else, Susannah had certain foods she liked and others she didn't. Let's find out if your tastes are the same."

That actually sounds like something I'd want to do but I'm still cautious. "Why do I have to be blindfolded?"

"Because not being able to see will heighten your other senses, including taste. Plus, I don't want you to see and prejudge whatever is about to go into your mouth."

A flush seeps over my cheeks as I consider what I think I'd like in there.

Ian looks at me speculatively. "Why, Amelia, whatever do you think I mean?"

I refuse to answer him and shrug. "Let's just do this."

"Very well, turn around."

I hesitate but do so only to gasp as a strip of dark, silken material appears before me.

"Close your eyes," he says. His voice is low, dark, compelling. The cloth tightens around me as he ties it securely.

At the sudden loss of sight, my breathing quickens. Instinctively, I raise my hands to the silk but I don't try to remove it. I can hear Ian moving nearby but I have no idea what he's doing. Twice he brushes against me and both times I jump a little.

"Steady," he soothes. The thought occurs to me that he sounds as though he's calming a fractious filly. I frown but hold myself very still.

Minutes pa.s.s, too many. My antic.i.p.ation mounts and with it so does my anxiety. What exactly is he planning?

Finally, just when I think I can't bear to wait any longer, he says, "Open your mouth."

I do so but slowly, wondering what I've gotten myself into. The touch of metal against my lips makes me start but an instant later I feel a cool liquid tipped from what must be a spoon. I swallow, tasting sweet, slightly tangy smoothness.

"Hmmm, what is that?"

"Red pepper and pear soup, serve chilled. What do you think of it?"

"It's good. More, please."

He laughs and obliges, feeding me several more spoonfuls before he says, "Enough. Let's try this."

Something smooth, round, and firm slides between my lips. "Bite," Ian directs. "And chew."

I do and experience an explosion of sweetness deepened by a touch of grainy earthiness.

"Fresh fig," he says before I can ask. "Ready for something a little more adventurous?"

At my nod, he says, "Tip your head back. This is going straight down your throat. Swallow it whole."

I squirm a little but do as he says and am rewarded when I taste the sea, lightly salty with a tang of citrus and a hint of heat slipping over my tongue.

"Oh, that's delicious!"

"You don't say?" Ian replies. "Another?"

I nod and swallow several more before I've finally had enough. "What were those?"

"Oysters with lemon and a splash of hot sauce. Let's move on to the main course."

I'm getting into this now, looking forward to what's next but when it comes, I'm puzzled. I know that I like the hot, tangy something that Ian puts in my mouth but I can't identify any of the flavors. Still, I want more.

"Lamb curry," he says when I ask. His voice sounds husky. "Good?"

I nod and accept another bite. I've finished my fourth when something occurs to me. "If Susannah ate any of these foods, wouldn't I recognize them?"

He's silent for a long moment before I feel his hands moving at the back of my head. He takes the blindfold off gently.

I blink in the sudden light. Ian is looking at me. His expression is guarded, even hesitant.

"I picked these deliberately because they're all foods Susannah avoided," he says. "In particular, she had an aversion to oysters and curry in any form didn't appeal to her."

I'm surprised but not overly. The explanation seems obvious. "So she had me programmed differently."

He sits back a little, still looking at me. "The replica process is cutting edge technology but it doesn't support the kind of fine tuning that you're talking about. At best, she could withhold preferences, as she did with her memories, leaving you free to decide for yourself what you like or don't."

I meet his gaze and see in it the same implicit question that is suddenly uppermost in my mind. Exactly how free did Susannah intend for me to be?

"Decide in one or two relatively minor areas?" I ask. But not choose who I give my body to and perhaps even my heart? In a way, that is harder to bear than having no choices at all.

"I don't know," Ian admits. I have the sense that this sudden turn of events has taken him by surprise.

I can almost sympathize. He's had a tough week after all, first finding out that I existed, then having to wrap his head around the fact that he's been given a shiny new possession that some men might consider a dream come true only to have it not work exactly as promised. Too bad he didn't think to get some sort of warranty.

Without warning, I start to giggle. I'm not feeling particularly humorous, not at all, so I have to a.s.sume that it's some sort of stress reaction. The problem is that I can't seem to stop. Laughing, I fall back against the cushions and stare up at him.

He's frowning. "Care to share the joke?"

I can only just manage to reply. "You must be so annoyed. Let's face it, for a customized s.e.x toy, I've got more than a few performance issues."

That sets off another round of giggles but this time I feel the hot sheen of tears in my eyes. I risk another look at Ian and that abruptly I'm no longer laughing. He's angry. Really over-the-top, no-holds-barred angry. His gaze is piercing, stripping me bare.

"What did you call yourself?"

I straighten up and face him. If he wants to have this out here and now, fine with me.

"You heard what I said. The way I see it, I'm Susannah's consolation gift to you, her apology for dying and for whatever regrets she had about your relationship."

I know that's harsh but I can't conceal my bitterness. The truth is, I don't even try.

"You get anywhere near me and I light up like a firecracker. You touch me and I come. That can't be remotely normal. If it were, no one would ever do anything else. So what am I supposed to think I am?"

That's the crux of it really and it has me terrified. As much as I want to believe my bold claim that I am an individual with a mind and will of my own, I can't help but fear that isn't true.

When it comes to Ian, I seem to have no choice at all. If I can't control the most intimate needs and responses of my body, what does it matter that I like oysters and prefer jazz to cla.s.sical music?

From above me, he says, "Let's find out, shall we?"

His voice is low and dangerously soft. When I dare a peek at him, my stomach tightens. His anger isn't abating at all. Instead, it seems to be growing.

I'm reconsidering the wisdom of suggesting that he's been intimate with what amounts to a s.e.x doll when he snaps, "Stand up."

I hesitate but getting on my feet is the first step toward putting some distance between us, which I may definitely have to do.

Slowly, I rise and glance toward the open side of the tent that leads back into the spa, judging the distance. Ian follows the direction of my gaze and I see that wolf's smile again. He shifts just enough to block that exit route. My chances of getting away unscathed are fading fast.

"Take off your robe," he says.

I eye him nervously. "Why?"

"Because you have a beautiful body and I like to look at it."

I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll let him see how unnerved I am. Two can play this game. "Fine, you take off your robe, too."

His brows arch above gleaming amber eyes. "Why?"

"For the same reason."

I can't possibly be the first woman to tell him how gorgeous he is but my bluntness catches him off guard. He regards me cautiously.

"You've turned into quite a bold little thing, haven't you?" he observes.

Without waiting for a reply, which is fortunate since I don't have one, he unties the belt of his robe and shrugs it off.

My breath catches. I've held this man in my arms, in my body, felt him along every inch of me but I'm still unprepared for the sight of him. He is so...everything. Beautiful, graceful, male, primal...perfect. Without even noticing, I lick my lips.

Ian gives me a lascivious grin. "Your turn."

I have more than a little trouble getting my robe off, not in the least because my hands have become disconnected from my brain, but I manage finally. It drops in a pool at my feet. I kick it away and lift my head, meeting his gaze. It's ridiculous for me to feel shy in front of a man I wiggled my posterior at in the shower but I can't help it.

That same man now surveys me with cool, even infuriating thoroughness, going so far as to walk all the way around me, taking in the view from every angle until I'm squirming under his regard.

Finally, he stops in front of me and taps a finger against his lower lip thoughtfully. "I can't decide what I like best. Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are incredible, so full and ripe. They're a perfect fit for my hands and your nipples...they just beg to be sucked and bitten. But I love how I can make you quiver when I stroke my tongue over your taut stomach and abdomen. You're incredibly sensitive there. The same with the silky skin on the inside of your thighs, especially when that delicious pearly juice from your p.u.s.s.y is running down them."

His blatant carnality makes me gasp. It turns my breathing ragged and sends a wave of molten heat through me. The muscles at my core clench.

"Then there are your hips," Ian continues, "excellent for holding onto when I'm pounding into you. And your amazing legs. I can't make up my mind whether I'd like them wrapped around me or stretched all the way apart, completely exposing your sweet hot p.u.s.s.y."

Without warning, he captures my fevered gaze. "I love seeing your p.u.s.s.y when you're on your back under me--pink, swollen, and dripping wet from my tongue and your own juices. But it's every bit as delightful a view between the spread cheeks of your gorgeous a.s.s."

I'm gaping at him, I can't help it. He hasn't even touched me and I'm acutely aroused. The way he's talking-- The images he's putting in my head-- "I don't think I've ever seen anyone blush as prettily as you do," he remarks. "And all over, too."

I'm trying and failing to come up with an appropriate response when without warning his manner changes. Seductive Ian disappears. In his place is someone altogether colder and more remote. His face hardens--not, I can't help but note--the only part of his body doing so. His erection is long, thick, and more than a little unsettling. I still have difficulty believing that I've held that inside me.

"You want to know if you have a will of your own when it comes to me, isn't that so?" he asks.

Cautiously, not daring to look away from him, I nod.

"Let's find out. Get on your knees."

"What?" The memory of how he used his mouth on me in the golden bed stirs provocatively. I think--I hope--that I have an idea of what he wants but he takes me by surprise.

"On your knees, face down on the rug with your gorgeous a.s.s in the air."