Anew: Book One: Awakened

by Litton, Josie

  The inner curves of my breasts glisten wetly as I rub the warm fluid of my own arousal between them. Above me, I’m distantly aware of Ian’s ragged groan but his cock gets all my attention. I'm finding that it’s much easier to deal with than the man himself. Despite its size and power, it’s nowhere near as intimidating or complicated.

  I scoot down a little and position my decidedly not little friend between my moistened breasts, squeezing slowly as I rub up and down. Drops of creamy liquid begin to ooze from the tip. Leaning closer, I catch them on my tongue.

  As I do so, I glance up. What I see robs me of breath. Ian’s features are tightly drawn and beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. But more than that, he has grabbed hold of the headboard of the bed with both hands in what I can only guess is a last-ditch effort to leave me in control.

  Before that becomes impossible, I rise and lower myself slowly onto him, taking first the velvet tip so engorged that it’s the color of a ripe plum, followed inch by inch by his long, thick shaft. I have to stop several times and take quick breaths, so overwhelming is the sensation of being filled and stretched.

  “Don’t try to take more than you can, baby,” Ian says. His voice is harsh and rasping but his concern couldn’t be more clear. “I’ll go very deep this way, maybe too deep for you.”

  I shift a little, unwilling to give up and my body opens completely, admitting him those last few inches until his tip is nudging against my the wall of my womb and his sack brushes my bottom. The sensation is exquisite--achy without actually being painful. I haven’t felt this before and it leads me to wonder if he’s held back in the past when he was always in control.

  Lowering my head, I rack my teeth lightly over his chest as I begin to move on him. “No holding back this time,” I murmur. “I want all of you.”

  He makes a guttural sound and arches against me. I straighten and begin a long, slow undulation, rippling along his length, moving up and down on the thick iron-hard shaft while curling my hips so that my tight, wet sheath slides caressingly around him.

  I want to make this last--forever would be nice--but my own arousal dictates otherwise. My need is building, becoming all-consuming. But I want him with me, want him not merely to give me control but to lose it--completely, utterly, because of what I can do to him.

  I, Amelia. Not whoever or whatever he expected me to be and most emphatically not any other woman he has ever been with. Only me, entirely and uniquely myself.

  For that, I’m more than willing to hang suspended on the edge of my own orgasm while using every inch of my body to pleasure him. My thighs tighten around his as I rise again, almost to the tip of him, before lowering myself to take him more quickly, increasing the pace, loving the delicious friction inside me. My hands cup my breasts, my fingers pulling and tugging at my nipples as he watches, his gaze filled with a wild, primal heat that steals my breath.

  Faster…my head flung back, moans I cannot contain escaping me, the musky aroma of sex, the wet slap of our bodies against each other, all combine in a sensory overload that threatens to shatter me. But not yet…not before him…

  “I love how your cock gets even bigger right before you come,” I murmur in between pants. “How you throb against the walls of my…” What was that rather indelicate word he used? “…of my pussy. How you fill me with your thick, hot seed and--”

  A harsh, feral roar breaks from him. His hands fly free, seizing my hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to mark me. His grip is merciless, his intent clear. I’ve had what I asked for and now he’s taking back control.

  “You want me hot and hard, baby?” he growls. “You got it.”

  He thrusts hard, again and again, driving me relentlessly. The world shimmers, dissolving and I go with it, falling…flying…both at once. My inner muscles clench, grasping him even more tightly. Distantly, I hear myself cry his name. The sound flings me over the heights and into sweet, incandescent oblivion.

  When I’m next aware of anything, I’m sprawled over Ian’s body. He holds me close, one hand stroking me gently as the other remains curved on my hip, keeping me in place against him.

  I taste his skin and smell the heady elixir of our bodies. A deep sigh of contentment rises from me.

  He moves slightly, enough so that our gazes meet. “All right?”

  I nod. Being there with him, feeling so safe, emboldens me.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Being in control like that was amazing. Although honestly, I didn’t think you’d last that long.”

  His eyebrows arch. “Pardon?

  My face flames as I realize how what I just said could be interpreted. “I mean…letting me have control. I didn’t think you could keep it up that…”

  Gar! I sound like I’m doing it deliberately when I swear I’m not. Am I?

  Ian’s shoulders are shaking. His laughter is rich and deep but his gaze when he turns it on me again is hot and oh, so breathtaking.

  Without warning, he moves, flipping me over onto my back so that our positions our reversed and his deliciously heavy weight bears down on me. His smile is pure salacious challenge.

  “Let’s find out how long I really can last, baby,” he says.

  Raising himself onto his knees, he takes hold of both my ankles in one hand and lifts my legs, bending them to either side of me. Gazing down, he gives me a smile that is pure sexual invitation.

  “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you like this,” he says.

  My face flames. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. “Ian…?”

  “Easy, baby,” he says soothingly. “I’ll take care of you.” He strokes a finger along my hot, swollen cleft and smiles when I quiver. “God, I love your pussy, so tight and hot. I want to take all the time in the world with you, keep you hovering on the edge, watch you writhe and listen to your little cries. All night, maybe, after I’ve had you and you think you’re sated. Only you’ll discover that you aren’t, far from it.”

  Another stroke, ending with a flick against my distended clit. “Men are dumb shits to ever think that we’re superior to women,” he muses. “Your guts, your stamina, your willingness to create the future by bearing and nurturing children is awe-inspiring. It’s only fair that your capacity for pleasure is so much greater than our own.”

  He raises his head and smiles at me. “All we can do is sit back and enjoy it.”

  But he isn’t, sitting back that is. He continues stroking me, his fingers gentle but remorseless, sliding through the silk fluid oozing from my vagina, spreading it to my clit which he circles slowly, a little faster…a little more--

  I can feel my orgasm gathering…so close--

  His tongue replaces his finger, lapping at me in long slow strokes…sucking…

  Moaning, I arch higher, closer to him, desperate for what he is giving me. I am on the very edge, teetering when he suddenly draws back. I sob in protest. In response, he runs his hand from my drenched sex all the way up my body to my mouth, thrusting his fingers saturated with my taste into me.

  “I want you to come on my cock,” he says and drives into me in a single, relentless thrust that buries him to the hilt.

  I have no time to adjust to him and I don’t want any. He puts his weight on my legs, stretching me even further. I’ve never been so full, so complete…so ready… One thrust, another, one more and that's all it takes. I explode, my inner muscles clenching him so tightly that he groans in turn but continues to move, driving me higher and higher until at last he finds his own release and sags against me, his cock still in me, his weight holding me down, his breath hot against my breasts.

  “I can’t get enough of you, Amelia,” he rasps. “I want you beyond madness. Where you’re concerned, there are no limits.”

  I am drifting, my body limp, when he stirs against me. In the darkness of the golden room, he raises his head to kiss me deeply, a sweet, tender kiss at first but soon his tongue is plundering my mouth. There is a fierceness in his touch that I cannot fully grasp. I can on
ly reach for him, meeting his passion with my own.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The first gray light of dawn is edging up over the balcony beyond the golden room when I stare into the mirror on the wall opposite the foot of the bed where I am kneeling. My wrists are lashed behind my back with the leather belt, my legs are stretched over the lean hips of the man who is pounding into me, maintaining a cascade of orgasms that have come one after another and another without respite for so long that I have given up pleading, if only half-heartedly, for them to stop.

  The woman in the mirror looks like a creature of pure carnality--without mind or will or reason, her existence entirely focused on her vagina, her clit, her nipples, anywhere, everywhere the man chooses to make the focus of all sensation. The hours of ecstatic torment have left her a slave to the endless, unrelenting cycle of arousal and release. And yet gleaming deep within her eyes is the glow of primal satisfaction, a kind of freedom in its own right that will not be denied.

  Ian gives a final thrust, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a roar of pleasure. My body arches weakly as yet another orgasm ripples through me. All I can manage is a faint moan. Slowly, he lowers my exhausted body to the bed and undoes the belt from around my wrists. Rubbing the soreness from them, he leans closer, his breath warm on my ear.

  “Sleep now,” he whispers.

  Obedient to his command, I let go of the last shreds of consciousness and tumble gratefully into sated oblivion.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  When I next open my eyes, the sunlight of late morning is streaming into the room. I blink and struggle to orient myself. My head is on the pillows and a light cover is drawn up to my chin. Still not entirely centered in my body, I feel at once exquisitely shaky and deeply content.

  Memory floods back, a kaleidoscope of images and sensations. Ian…myself… Ian… My face flushes as I am swept equally by disbelief at my own daring and quivering shock at what I experienced in the hours after he took back control.

  Shifting a little, I discover that although the muscles of my inner thighs are stiff and sore from being spread wide for so long, I can move my limbs. Slowly, with care, I ease myself from the bed and stand, holding on to one of the columns at the foot of the bed until my balance steadies.

  I take a step and feel the stickiness from my cleft all the way down my legs, around my ass, and even over my breasts and throat. I am saturated with the evidence of our mutual lust, marked in the most primal way. Marked, too, by Ian’s hands as I see when I finally make it to the bathroom and look in the mirror there. Staring at my flanks, I remember him taking hold of me. Remember, too, all that followed.

  A shiver runs through me, inspired as much by carnal gratification as by shock. I already knew that he is a ruthless, if generous lover but to go to such extremes? What could possibly have driven him? Did giving up control to me even for such a short time affect him that greatly? Or did he have some other motivation?

  For long minutes, I stand under the steaming hot water as I become steadily more aware of how sore and used my body feels. And how strangely satisfying those sensations are. The heat eases my strained muscles and goes some way toward restoring me but it can’t banish the questions clamoring in my mind.

  Finally, I rub body wash into my hands and begin to clean myself carefully. My skin is still extremely sensitive all over. My nipples are tight and hard, my breasts engorged. The folds between my legs are puffy and tender. The slightest touch there makes me quiver.

  When I’m finally clean, I dress quickly. On some level, I want to remain hidden in the golden room until I have a chance to recover. But far more urgently, I need to find Ian. Our night of unbridled excess has left me shaken and uncertain. I need to know how things stand between us.

  I delay only long enough to compose myself as best I can, dressing with care, taming my hair which is even wilder than usual, and adding a few touches of make-up in the hope of concealing the lingering evidence of my own willing debauchery.

  I am half-way down the wide, curving staircase when I hear voices. Or more correctly one voice--a man’s--shouting. The other is far more muted but I think it is Ian’s.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” the man demands. “You should have told me the moment you found out!”

  I can’t hear Ian’s response but quickly the man says, “I don’t give a damn about the law! And as for protecting her, I have far more right to do that than you ever will!”

  They’re talking about me! Someone else knows of my existence and he clearly has strong opinions about it.

  Without stopping to think, I speed down the remaining steps and cross the entry hall to the door of the library. It stands partly ajar. I can see Ian beside his desk but I can’t make out his visitor.

  I take a breath, square my shoulders, and push the door fully open. Both occupants of the room turn toward me at once. Ian looks as starkly compelling as always, dressed in his usual black jeans and T-shirt. But I can’t help noticing that his eyes are shadowed. He is clearly surprised by my sudden appearance but there is something else in his gaze. Something that looks strangely like regret. Even guilt?

  I have no chance to think about that. Seeing me, the other man gasps, at once drawing my attention. He is in his late twenties, tall, well built, and handsome with chestnut hair and… His eyes are the same distinctive shade of aquamarine as my own.

  The implications of that have scarcely occurred to me when he says, “My God, it’s true!”

  He spears a glance at Ian that combines both anger and an unmistakable warning. Stepping forward swiftly, he takes both my hands in his. His touch is gentle, his voice even more so.

  Softly, he says “Please don’t be afraid. I understand that you don’t know me but I’m Edward McClellan, Susannah’s brother.” His gaze is intense and his smile, when it comes, makes me feel unaccountably warm and safe. Gently, he adds “Which means that I am also yours.”

  Before I can even begin to grasp that, his hands tighten on mine. With implacable determination, he says. “Amelia, I’ve come to take you home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amelia

  The landscape slips by beyond the tinted windows of the limousine, countryside giving way to hamlets and small towns. Under other circumstances, I would be excited to see more of the world but I gaze out at it sightlessly. All I can really see is the moment in the library when I turned to Ian, stunned and shaken as I was by the discovery that I have a family, only to confront his impenetrable gaze.

  “You’re free to go, Amelia,” he said.

  The world dropped out from under me with those words but worse still was the casual shrug that accompanied them. Where did his I-own-you possessiveness go? What happened to his claim that he would never be able to get enough of me? Apparently, he has. I think of the erotic excesses of the golden room and a bitter kernel of shame forms within me.

  “You look far away,” Edward says gently.

  I swivel my gaze to him and manage a smile despite the tightness in my throat and the constant threat of tears that I struggle to resist, afraid as I am that once I start to cry I won’t be able to stop.

  “Sorry, it’s just a lot to take in all at once. I haven’t seen much of the world beyond the palazzo until now.”

  I don’t see any reason to mention my excursion into the wilderness. The tension between him and Ian was obvious enough without throwing that into the mix.

  My discretion notwithstanding, Edward’s mouth tightens. It’s clear that he’s made his own assessment of what I have and have not experienced. Despite my best efforts, my appearance when I burst into the library might have something to do with that.

  Still he is a gentleman so he says only, “Ian should have contacted me as soon as he found out that you existed rather than waiting until this morning to call.”

  He called Edward this morning. After the night we shared. The hollow well of pain inside me widens. But despite everything else I feel, I am undeniably curious about the c
ircumstances surrounding my awakening and all that proceeded it. If nothing else, they provide a desperately needed distraction.

  “You had no inkling of what Susannah had done?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “None at all. I didn’t even know there was a clone. Our parents kept that strictly to themselves and Susannah never said a word about it.”

  Ah, yes, the parents who would have gladly sacrificed me in order to save the version of me they regarded as their actual child.

  “Do they know yet?” I ask, not relishing the thought of having to confront them.

  Edward looks surprised. “Mom and Dad were killed eight years ago in a plane crash. There’s only me and our grandmother.” His expression turns wryly affectionate. “You may want to brace yourself. Adele is beyond thrilled. When I left to come get you, she was already putting the wheels in motion.”

  “What wheels? What do you mean?” I ask with more than a little apprehension. I have no idea of what to expect when we reach this unknown place called ‘home’.

  “You’re entry into society, of course,” Edward replies. A frown slips across his face. “You didn’t think we were going to keep you hidden away, did you?”

  I wonder if that is another implied criticism of Ian but I let it go. Instead, I ask, “Isn’t that asking for trouble given the widespread condemnation of human cloning and especially of the replica process?”

  He raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Ian told you about that?”

  “No, I read about it on the link.” I hesitate but decide that my only sensible course is to be direct. “At best, I’ll be regarded as some sort of freak.” I shudder inwardly at the thought even as I realize that far worse could happen. “But I could also become a target for those like the members of the HPF who think that violence is the solution. That would put everyone around me, including you, at risk.”