Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  “Fast was she?” Gab asks, deadpan.

  “Oh, yeah, and hell bent on making sure that the boss here was okay.” With a nod in my direction, he adds, “Probably just as well that you brought her back with you. Left to herself, she doesn’t seem to have a whole lot of regard for her own safety.”

  Ignoring the fact that I agree wholeheartedly with that, I say, “She’s a guest here.” A loaded word weighted down with warnings about courtesy owed, respect due, and the wisdom of backing the hell off.

  Gab and Hollis exchange a glance. She stands, grinning. “Sure thing. If that’s all, I’m going to get on that urinal research.”

  “And I’m going to get some of that rack time you mentioned,” Hollis says as he, too, rises. Innocently, he adds, “You should get a little shut eye yourself, boss. Looks like you could use it.”

  I knock back the dregs of my coffee and push away from the table. The talk about getting some rest reminds me of how Amelia looked when I left her in my bed. Fast asleep, her soft, plush lips slightly parted, her breathing soft and deep, the diamonds still gleaming against the pale perfection of her skin. A sleep of utter exhaustion and, I hope, satiation.

  I straightened her and laid her head on the pillow, catching the scent of her perfume as I did so. My hands lingered until I forced myself to step back and pull the duvet over her. Even then, I could hardly bear to leave her.

  And I can’t wait to return. Just for a moment to be sure she’s alright. Still determined to prove that I’m in control, I stop by the gym showers first. Standing under the pounding jets of hot water, I feel myself really relax for the first time in days. Having Amelia close at hand where I can keep her safe makes everything else more manageable.

  Half-an-hour later, wearing gray sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt, I head upstairs. The apartment is hushed and dark. Beyond the walls of windows, I can see the city, suspended in the brief interval between when the late night clubs close and dawn breaks. The impression is deceptive. In some of the towers below me ambitious young men and women are in the middle of their work day. They rarely see the light, living as they do in sync with the Asian time zones and beyond. I wonder what nerves they’re having to soothe as word of what happened spreads.

  I step out onto the terrace. The wind that’s almost always present at this altitude follows me as I walk around to the north side, facing the park. At this hour, it would normally be cloaked in darkness but to the west where the Crystal Palace used to stand banks of mobile lights blaze. I watch for a few minutes, envisioning the scene--officials, many of them survivors of the explosion, struggling to reassure the public, the media dutifully transmitting every word while the disaster voyeurs congregate, lapping up the excitement as though it’s a drug.

  Finally, I get around to admitting that I’m only out here because I’m postponing the moment when I’ll have to leave Amelia--again. Once I know that she’s all right, I’ll have no excuse to linger and plenty of reason not to.

  Might as well get it over with.

  I take the floating stairs two at a time. The small, discrete lights embedded in the upper floor provide the only ambient illumination but it’s enough to see by. I can hear the ripple of water in the garden’s stone and bamboo fountain but another sound punctures the stillness--soft, desperate moans.

  My first thought as I race into the bedroom is that Amelia was injured in the escape from the Crystal Palace and unforgivably I didn’t realize it. What I see seems at first to confirm that. She’s thrown the covers off and is curled on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, hugging herself as though she’s trying to disappear. Tears course down her cheeks. My breath leaves me in a rush. Deep inside, in the darkest most primal part of myself, a scream of fury rises. A red mist moves in front of my eyes. Whoever has harmed her, I will take them apart piece by piece and crush them out of all existence.

  But first…

  I’m about to scoop her up and carry her down to Medical rather than wait for them to reach us when I suddenly realize that Amelia’s eyes are closed and moving rapidly under the pale lids.

  I force myself to breathe and take a closer, marginally calmer look. What I see fills me with anguish.

  She isn’t physically hurt after all but that’s scant comfort. Instead, she’s clearly in the grip of what must be a gut-wrenching nightmare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amelia

  An immense shard of glass slices into me, splitting me open. My blood and organs flow out, a writhing mass drifting all around me.

  I would scream but I have no breath. Helplessly, I bang against the wall of the gestation tank, desperate to attract the attention of the white-coated technicians standing just beyond. Busy with their dials and monitors, they ignore me.

  The shard shifts, digging deeper. The pain is unbearable. Horror fills me. I am dying without ever having lived. I will never fill the sun on my face, hear the laughter of children, know the love of my brother and grandmother.

  I will never be with Ian.

  My struggles redouble. I thrash frantically, desperate for an escape that I am terrified does not exist.

  Iron bonds surround me. I am pressed against stone that feels oddly warm and pliant.

  A voice--low, urgent, tender--whispers, “It’s all right, sweetheart, you’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Slowly, the fear that grips me begins to ease. I take a breath, followed by another. The claustrophobic sense of being trapped once again in the gestation tank slips away. A hand--strong but gentle--strokes my back. Pleasure shimmers along its path.

  I open my eyes.

  And meet Ian’s amber gaze, shadowed by what looks strangely like fear. I don’t make the mistake of thinking that such a seemingly indomitable man isn’t as prey to that emotion as anyone else but he’s normally far better at concealing it. Not tonight though. Something has broken through his defenses, if only temporarily.

  I’m far too distracted to ponder what that could be. We are stretched out on his bed together, my body nestled tightly against his. I can feel the soft fabric of his sweatpants and T-shirt against my bare skin. But I’m more distracted by the heat pouring off him and the strong, steady beat of his heart under my cheek.

  “Are you all right?” he murmurs.

  I don’t know how to answer because I both am and am not. The nightmare is over but its effects linger, filling me with a desperate need to affirm that I truly am alive and free. I murmur something in response but all my attention is focused on the feel of him pressed along every inch of my body. The pleasure he gave me so recently still resonates but incredibly I want more. My nipples harden as inner muscles clench.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when I don’t respond.

  Oh, god, no. To speak of such things is to make them real in a way I cannot bear. I would rather do anything than that.

  “I could ask you the same.” I’m not sure that I’m ready to hear the details of what happened to him with his father but I am certain that we need to address the shadow that still haunts him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He doesn’t pretend not to understand what I’m asking but he still shakes his head. “I can’t. I probably should have years ago with a professional but I didn’t and now…I just can’t.”

  The anguish he tries to hide from me is heart wrenching. At that moment, I conceive an even deeper, more visceral loathing of his father and everyone else involved with his damnable “club” than I have yet experienced.

  The coil of fear that has been wound so tightly inside me since the attack on the Crystal Palace began suddenly snaps. I know exactly what we both need. Squirming against him, I push myself upright and press my hands against his broad, sculpted shoulders, holding him down. His eyes widen slightly but he lets me.

  My palms tingle as I skim them down his bare arms, savoring the sensation of muscles bulging beneath taut skin. I love this evidence of his strength, of the power he’s so skilled at holding in check.
But I also resent it. I want him to give himself to me completely, holding nothing back.

  Slipping my hands under the bottom of his shirt, I pull it up as I explore the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles, lingering over his flat nipples. A low groan breaks from him.

  In my urgency, I’m shameless. Without waiting for permission, I pull the shirt up over his head and drop it onto the floor. Sitting back on my haunches, uncaring that I am wearing only the McClellan diamonds and a smile, I luxuriate in the sight of him. His sweatpants are tied below his naval, exposing the hard V of muscle arching downward and the trail of dark, silky hair thickening to his groin. The soft fabric conforms to the swell of his erection, already impressive.

  I can only marvel at my greed for him. Despite having been driven so recently to heights of orgasm by his oh-so-skilled mouth and fingers, I desperately want to feel him deep inside me, filling and stretching me, completing me as only he can.

  The ache between my thighs grows more insistent. I pull the pins from my hair and toss them aside, letting the chestnut strands fall over his chest as I bend and swirl my tongue around his nipple. Is he anywhere near as sensitive there as I am?

  Hmmm, maybe not as much but he’s hardly immune. A long shudder runs through him. “Amelia…”

  Whatever he’s going to say--warn me, discourage me, whatever--I don’t want to hear it. There’s only one way I know to silence him. I lower my mouth to his, teasing his lips apart, and at the same time slip a hand into his sweatpants, brazenly stroking his length. My fingers can’t meet around his girth. I’m amazed by my body’s ability to contain him in the throes of passion.

  The tip of my tongue traces the ridges of his teeth and slips deeper, stroking with the same rhythm as my hand. He groans. His hands fist in the sheets, the veins and tendons of his arms standing out in high relief.

  In the thickening silence, I hear only the rush of my own blood, know only the touch and scent of him. Everything else--the room, the world, all the clamor of recent events--fades away. Driven by overwhelming need, I yank his sweatpants down further, freeing his cock, and keep yanking until I can pull them off and toss them aside. I know from experience that Ian’s reflexes are lightning fast but he makes no move to stop me. His gaze is hooded, his breathing harsh. I can feel the heat pouring from him.

  I am so tempted to mount him at once, take his magnificent cock deep inside me and ride him to sweet oblivion. But I want what I always have, a righting of the balance between us, a way to offset the seemingly overwhelming advantage he has by virtue of having lived so much more than I have. I possess little of memory or experience but I was gifted with knowledge, even if it is still largely theoretical. I’m determined to make the most of it.

  Without taking my eyes from him, I treat myself to a long, slow lick up the shaft of his cock and swirl my tongue all around the crest. He tastes clean, a little salty, delicious.

  “Damn,” he mutters, his head falling back to expose the pulse beating in his corded neck.

  Emboldened, I close my lips around him and suck just the first inch or so into my mouth. Taking him like this makes me feel daring and powerful but still wanting more. I angle my head so that I can take him deeper and suck harder. His low, guttural moan thrills me. Taking him completely is a challenge but I’m up for it. My head bobs up and down, a little further each time until my nose burrows into his pubic hair. Stilling my gag reflex, I work the muscles of my throat along his length.

  He arches his hips, his hand clasping the back of my head, holding me in place.

  “Fuck, Amelia!”

  The raw groan of his pleasure drives me wild. I’m throbbing with need for him. Hardly aware of what I’m doing, I slide a hand between my legs and find my slick, drenched clit. Lightly at first, then more desperately, I stroke myself. His pre-cum slides down my throat, driving me even closer to the edge. I’m soaking wet, swollen and throbbing, and I still can’t get enough of him. The pleasure is so intense that it teeters on the edge of pain. My entire body quivers. I lift my gaze and meet his, seeing in his eyes the same fierce, primal hunger that consumes me.

  At the same time, I have a sudden, fleeting image of how I must look to him at this moment. Suspended over him, my lips stretched tightly around the base of his cock, his length thrusting deep into my throat, my hand working frantically between my thighs. I have feared being no more than a receptacle for him but this is my doing, my need. I am in control and loving every moment.

  “Enough,” he rasps and begins pulling away even as his hands reach for me. His intent is clear but I’m having none of it. Very lightly, I close my teeth around his shaft as I suction him even harder. My determination is his undoing. He gasps and stiffens, his back arching as he comes in hot gushing spurts down my throat. The sight of Ian in the throes of ecstatic release is too much for me. A few more hard, swift strokes of my clit are enough to make me come with him. Pleasure crashes through every inch of my body. White hot bolts of light glow behind my eyes. Every concern, every fear, every thought dissolves in utter completion.

  When I am next aware, I’m lying in his arms. His voice is a low, rasping rumple. “Holy shit, Amelia.”

  He sounds deeply satisfied and confounded all at the same time. The combination prompts a giggle from me. I prop myself on an elbow and look down at him.

  More seriously, I say, “I am not a delicate little toy that will break if you don’t handle me just right. Do you get that now?”

  He stares at me with wariness that touches my heart. He is so vulnerable in ways that I am just beginning to understand. Cautiously, he says, “I may need a reminder from time to time.”

  “Whenever,” I say, relief flowing through me and lean closer to him. “Wherever. I love sucking your cock. I love the way you feel along my tongue and in my mouth but most of all, I love taking you into my throat.” My voice drops a notch as I confide, “I fantasize about having you that way someplace where we could be discovered at any moment. We aren’t but still, is that awful of me?”

  His breath hisses. With some difficulty, he says, “Uh…no…that’s actually-- You fantasize about me?”

  “Far too much. I do my best to hide it but sometimes I get so wet--”

  A strangled sound breaks from him. He moves too quickly for me to realize what is happening before I’m on my back, flat on the bed, staring up at him. His big, hard body straddles me. His lean cheeks are flushed, his breathing harsh. His cock--which even my scant experience has never prevented me from appreciating--decides that now isn’t the time for a nap after all.

  “I like these,” he says, touching the diamond collar that encloses my throat and the matching bracelets around my wrists. His voice is raw, his gaze fiercely hot. “More than I should.”

  “Then I’ll never take them off.”

  “Yes, you will.” He reaches around to the nape of my neck and undoes the clasp. Removing the necklace carefully, he places it on the bedside table. The bracelets follow along with all the rest. A groan escapes him as he clasps my hips, drawing me closer, making me vividly aware of how rapidly he has become aroused again.

  “I want to give you jewels,” he murmurs, twining the loosened tresses of my hair around his wrist. “I want to the world to see that you are mine.”

  His words move me deeply. I want to slow down, to cherish every moment, every touch. But ten days of agonizing abstinence added to the erotic image that his words convey tell me that won’t be possible. Later perhaps, not now.

  “Please.” I am lost in him, in us, in how I know we are together. Nothing else exists. My thighs quiver as he eases himself between them. He holds his weight on his arms so as not to crush me but even so I feel surrounded by him, controlled, even owned in a way that has nothing to do with any damn paperwork. My nipples are taut and aching. I need his touch desperately.

  “You’re playing with fire, Amelia,” he says. “We both are.”

  “I’m not playing at all.” I rake my nails down his back hard enough to
leave marks. “I’m too angry. Not at you,” I add quickly, “although if you go on being so stubborn, we could get there. I’m angry at all the horrible things that have been happening. At the people responsible for them. At everything that has come between us. Life is too precious to waste on hatred and violence.”

  “You’re right,” he says, gazing down at me. His hand cups my jaw, holding me still for his hot, fierce kiss. His mouth takes mine, his tongue plunging deeply as his lower body rocks against mine. The friction of his hard cock against my clit drives me wild. I buck against him, desperate for more. A keening moan breaks from me.

  “Ian, I need you!”

  “Damn right,” he says, looming above me, big and thick and ready. “Your hot, tight pussy is mine. Your wet, gorgeous mouth, mine. I want all of you, every possible way. There’s only us, baby. I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget about everything else.”

  I already am. The hot friction of our bodies straining together drives every other thought out of my mine. There’s only Ian, his big, hard body so close…

  “Inside me,” I gasp. “Please, now, I want to feel you--”

  My breath leaves me in a rush as he releases my hair and slides down my body. Taking hold of his cock with one hand, he spreads my thighs further and plunges into me with a single long thrust that slams his balls up against my ass.

  “Like this, baby, is this how you want it?”

  “Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t--”

  Seizing my hips, he pulls almost all the way out and drives into me again. I tighten around him, drawing him even deeper, my hips rising and falling with his rhythm. He’s giving me everything I need, holding nothing back. Heat ripples through me, building swiftly. I moan, bearing down, impaled by him.

  He grinds against my inner walls, finding exactly the right spot. Light explodes behind my eyes. As though from a great distance, I hear myself sobbing his name.