“I’ll show you.” We walk a short distance in the other direction along the beach to where a rocky outcropping extends out into the ocean. The tide is still low enough to leave some of it exposed but in another hour or so it will be completely covered.
I bend down between the rocks, root around in the bed of moist seaweed, and find what I’m looking for. Holding up a shiny black mussel, I grin at Amelia, “Lunch. That is if you’re up for it.”
I wait, wondering how she’ll react. Gathering her own food while it’s still alive is a bit removed from the world she’s been experiencing. But I should know better than to doubt her.
With a grin, Amelia crouches beside the bed. “Bet I can find more than you do,” she says.
Fifteen minutes later, I conclude that women are just better at this kind of thing than men. They were out in the bushes, finding tasty tubers and berries that wouldn’t poison us while we were stalking prey across the veldt…or somewhere. Amelia’s bucket is full when she calls a halt.
“We have enough, don’t we?”
I look at the few I’ve managed to find, add them mentally to hers, and nod. “Did I mention that whoever wins does the cooking?”
Her face falls. “I have no idea how-- Oh, wait.” She thinks for a moment, then says, “Steam them open in white wine with a little garlic and butter?”
“That’s right.”
We’re walking back to the house hand-in-hand when she asks quietly, “Did Susannah like to cook?”
This is one of the very few times that Amelia has mentioned the woman who was my lover for more than two years and whose memory I will always honor. She is the reason why Amelia exists but I don’t want her to be any sort of intrusion between us.
“I can’t remember her ever setting foot in a kitchen,” I say truthfully.
For a moment, I think that answer satisfies Amelia but as we climb the porch steps, she says, “I know so many things without having any idea how I know them. Sometimes I wonder if Susannah spent the last months of her life purposefully learning everything she thought I could possibly need to know.”
I have a sudden memory of finding Susannah on the link every time I visited her after her final illness took hold. She was always reading up about something or other, as though her tastes had suddenly become widely eclectic.
“That sounds like something she would have done,” I say. “But whether she did or not, she wanted the best for you.”
The words are no sooner out than I realize that they aren’t entirely true. Susannah could have entrusted Amelia to her grandmother or to Edward, both of whom surely had a stronger claim as members of her own family. Instead, she bequeathed her to me. By no stretch of the imagination can I make that into what is best for her. I do, however, know why Susannah did it.
As we enter the house, Amelia says, “I’ve wondered how she imagined I’d turn out. Did she give you any indication of her hopes for me?”
I carry the mussels into the kitchen and put them to soak in the sink to get the grit out. Amelia follows. I know she’s waiting for a response but I’m not in a hurry to provide it. This unalloyed honesty between us is even tougher than I expected.
Finally, I say, “In a letter she wrote just before her death, she said that she believed the illness had made her inherently fragile. She thought I had always sensed that and suppressed certain aspects of my nature when we were together. Without the illness, she was convinced that she would have been the woman I really needed.”
I turn back from the sink to find Amelia staring at me. Her teeth worry her bottom lip. Finally, she says, “Was she right?”
I let out my breath slowly. “To a certain extent.”
I want to look away as Amelia absorbs this but I can’t. Her face, especially her eyes, reflect her thoughts and her emotions. She’s far too intelligent not to understand what I’ve revealed and draw the correct inferences.
“You were gentle with her?”
I nod. We both know that I have rarely been gentle with Amelia. Wild for her, demanding, insatiable but not gentle. “I treated her like spun glass.”
She flinches but quickly tries to conceal it. I don’t want to consider what she’s thinking but I can’t look away from her. Water is almost sloshing over the rim of the sink before I remember to turn the tap off. As I do so, Amelia says, “She didn’t know about your father, did she?”
The mention of him tenses every muscle in my body. I’ve loathed his presence in my life since I was old enough to understand what kind of man he was. But his intrusion into this intimate moment is unbearable.
“No, she didn’t. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”
Others know, of course, beginning with the men who were members of the club and the women victimized there. Hodge suspected the truth. I hope that my mother never has but I’m not certain of that. Amelia is the only person I’ve ever let down my guard with enough to speak of such things and even then I haven’t given her any details.
“Was it easier for you to be with her than with me?” she asks.
I have to give her credit, she has guts. Asking what it was like between Susannah and me can’t be pleasant but she’s done it all the same.
Cautiously, I say, “In certain respects. You’re astoundingly different from Susannah to a degree I could never have anticipated and I’m sure she couldn’t either. You challenge me to be the man I might have been if my father hadn’t been what he was, if none of what he involved me in had ever happened.”
With a start, I realize the unintended consequences of what Susannah set in motion. She wanted her replica to be the woman she herself might otherwise have been. Instead, Amelia is entirely her own woman. But the effect of her being in my life is to make me imagine the man I might have been and to regret more profoundly than ever that I am not.
As though she knows exactly what’s going through my mind, Amelia lays her hand against my face in a gesture so gentle and comforting that the hard coil of tension inside me begins to ease. Her eyes glisten with tears. “I wish that you had been spared all of it but at the same time I would never want you to be anyone other than who you are. I’d just like you to be able to lay the past to rest and be at peace with it.”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and goes on. “When you told me what your father did, I realized that being with me forced you to confront your worst nightmares. I thought you would be better off if we were apart. But once we were--” Her voice breaks. “The world felt so empty. I felt so empty. Now I don’t know what to do. I long for you, Ian, but I can’t bear the thought of causing you harm.”
My vision blurs. I can’t remember the last time I cried and I’m sure as hell not about to do so now but…damn.
“You could never--” I say, drawing her to me. I’ve tried--seriously tried--to keep my hands off her and I’ve failed completely. I need her as much as I need air. The only saving grace is that she seems to need me in the same way.
“Everything is better with you,” I say. Does she truly not realize how she transforms my world?
“Let me show you,” I say, lifting her. She feels weightless in my arms as I stride quickly across the floor illuminated by late morning sun and into the bedroom.
Chapter Sixteen
Amelia
Ian lays me down on a four-poster bed in a room filled with opalescent light and the scent of salt air. He steps back and without taking his eyes from me, pulls his T-shirt over his head and tosses it onto a nearby wicker chair. My breath catches as he unzips his jeans and pulls them off along with his briefs. His erection springs free, long and thick, so enticing that I can’t help but moisten my lips as I imagine the taste of him.
Fully naked, he comes to me. His gaze is hot, fierce, yet unexpectedly gentle. His touch, as he undoes the buttons of my blouse is so light that the garment seems to fall open of its own accord. He slips it off and stops for a moment, staring at my breasts barely concealed by the lacy white bra. Watching him watching me, I feel my nipples hardening even f
urther.
“You are so exquisite,” he breathes, resting one knee on the bed so that he is beside and above me. His thumbs stroke my aureoles, round and round, sending tremors of pleasure through me.
“Please,” I murmur.
He smiles faintly, keeping up the tantalizing caress. “Please what?”
“Touch me.” I sound so needy but I can’t help it. This new, more open Ian is irresistible. But then so is every other aspect of him that I’ve encountered.
“I am touching you,” he says, bending closer. I feel the exhalation of his breath on the swell of my breasts.
Pressing my shoulders into the mattress, I arch my back. “Closer…” I whisper.
“Like this?” He rubs his thumbs over my swollen nipples. They are so sensitive already that the smooth silk of my bra feels rough and abrasive against them.
“Let me take this off,” I murmur and start to reach around for the clasp.
He stops me with a look. “Stay still. We’re going to do this my way.”
My eyes widen. I want to ask what that means but Ian is slipping the straps of my bra down my arms and slipping his long fingers into the cups, freeing my breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, holding my gaze. His fingers continue to torment me, the thumb and index fingers squeezing my nipples, twisting them gently until I can’t bear it any more.
“Ian!”
A part of my mind is astonished that he can make me this aroused so quickly, especially given our excesses of last night. But the thought sizzles away on the heat building inside me. When his mouth replaces his fingers, sucking first lightly, then more powerfully on one nipple and the other, any possibility of my remaining still vanishes. I writhe under him, my hands clasping his head, fingers twining in his thick, soft hair.
His teeth graze me in the lightest punishment. He lifts his head, gazing down at his handiwork. Gruffly, he chides, “So impatient, sweet Amelia. I want to linger over you.”
That sounds…wonderful, tantalizing, and yet darkly terrifying. I’m not sure how much of this slow, teasing build-up I can take. Already, I’m teetering on the edge.
“Maybe later?” I suggest breathlessly. “Next time…or the next. Whenever?”
He chuckles. “You’re a supremely disciplined dancer. Your body is your instrument. You know how to control it.”
A moan breaks from me. “Not with you, not like this. You make me forget everything else.”
He nods, clearly pleased. “Good. Close your eyes, babe. I want you to just feel.”
I don’t want to lose the sight of him, so powerful and graceful above me. But I do as he says all the same. My reward is the touch of his fingers under my skirt, moving up along the inner skin of my thighs until they graze my panties.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, stroking me. Even with the barrier of fabric still between us, the gentle pressure of his index finger circling my clit makes me tighten helplessly. My eyes fly open.
“Wet for you, Ian,” I gasp. “Only you.” I reach out, grasping his shoulders, trying to pull him to me. “Please, I need you inside me.”
“You’ll have me,” he promises. “But first think about that, sweetheart. Imagine my cock in you. How does it feel?”
This is torture but I can’t deny him, especially not when he pulls my panties to one side, exposing my pussy and begins stroking me there.
“Thick, hard, so good!” I gasp.
He stops, looking down at me. “How else? Tell me more.”
I’ve never tried to speak of such things. Even to think of doing so seems…forbidden, intriguing, too tempting to resist. Words have a power all their own.
“You stretch me so much that I think I won’t be able to take all of you but I do all the same. Your cock feels like hot velvet over steel. When you start to move in me--”
I break off as he pinches my clit lightly, sending a bolt of pleasure radiating up from my groin along my spine and to every part of me.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he coaxes. “How does it feel when I’m moving in you, thrusting hard and deep?”
“Like heaven…as though nothing else exists. Ian!”
A sob breaks from me when he removes his hand but a moment later, his touch is back, even better now because my panties are gone. He kneels on the bed and lifts my legs, bending and spreading them in a single motion. I’m fully exposed to him and I don’t care. Whatever he wants…however he wants it…
“I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to properly savor you,” he says. His voice is thick and gruff, his eyes smoky with barely contained hunger. “You deserve that, Amelia. You deserve everything I can give you.”
As he speaks, he lowers himself so that his mouth is against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I can feel his breath there--a tickling warmth that makes me squirm even more. His tongue follows, lapping at me lightly, moving upward, coming so tantalizingly close to where I need him most.
“I want to explore every inch of you,” he says. “I want to touch and taste you everywhere. I want every moan, every gasp, every exquisite sound you make.” He presses a finger against my opening, circling lightly, spreading the pearly fluid over my labia to my clit.
“You have all that already, Ian,” I gasp. “I’m yours.”
“Only mine,” he emphasizes. “But it works both ways, sweetheart. I’m yours, completely and forever.”
He has never said that before. The words bring a sudden rush of tears to my eyes. This proud, brave man is baring his soul to me in a way I would never even have dared hope was possible. The fear that I harm him by forcing him to confront his demons ebbs inside me. And with that comes a floodtide of need for Ian even more intense than any I have experienced before.
“You’re so ready,” he murmurs in the moment before his tongue laps at me with long, strong strokes that make me cry out. “I love how aroused you are for me.”
Abruptly, he moves up my body and clasps my face between his hands. “Taste yourself,” he commands and takes my mouth in a soul-searing kiss. I am sweet…a little salty…and this is all so deliciously carnal.
“I want you in me,” I say when he finally lifts his head. “I want to feel your power and strength, want to see you come undone because of me, for me. But I want this, too, this intimacy and openness that is so new, so beautiful, for both of us. I never want it to end.”
“I don’t either,” he says and for an instant I swear that I can see the glint of tears in his eyes. “Nothing has ever been like this for me. You make everything seem new…possible…”
“It is, it truly is, for us.”
At that moment, I believe that beyond any shadow of doubt. Ian and I belong together in ways that no one--not Susannah or anyone else, not even either of us--could ever have imagined. We complete each other.
Softly, looking down at me, “Sometimes I’ve thought that if you were designed for me, the other side of that is that I was designed for you. It doesn’t matter how any of that happened, just that it did. All that counts is that we’re together.”
His words are a balm to my soul but lurking behind them is the reminder of how little the world cares for the fate of lovers, and how much exists that can tear us apart. I refuse to give in to any such fear. Every moment with Ian is precious, whether we have a lifetime together or far less.
“Come to me,” I whisper against his heated skin. “Make us one.”
He groans deep in his throat and rises above me. But before he does anything else he unfastens my bra and removes it along with the skirt that has been bunched around my waist.
“No barriers,” he says, gazing down at me. “Nothing between us. Just skin to skin.”
I can only nod, thinking how magnificent he looks, the sun streaming behind him, illuminating the perfect curves of his shoulders and biceps, the long, sculpted line of his torso narrowing to his hips. His cock thrusts from his groin, proud and straight and so full. For me, all for me.
Reaching down, I circle him
with my hand and squeeze lightly. A bead of pre-cum oozes from his tip. I remember the velvety smoothness of him and his taste on my tongue but tasting him will have to wait. My back arches, my hips rising. He clasps them between his hands and draws me to him.
His entry is achingly slow. I can see the strain on his face and in the corded muscles of his neck and chest. A sheen of sweat breaks out over his skin. To my impassioned eyes, he looks like an ancient god, the embodiment of primal power and will.
I open to him without restraint, my inner muscles flexing to draw him deeper. He groans and thrusts harder, faster…once and again… So far into me that his pubic bone presses against my clit.
That’s all it takes. I’ve been teetering on the edge from almost the moment he laid me on the bed and now I can’t hold back. My orgasm explodes in me, shattering outward from the core of my being. Ian goes still within me. His eyes are squeezed shut, his expression ecstatic as he savors the tremors of my release. They’ve barely begun to ebb when he moves again, his hips plunging with the rhythm of his thrusts.
“Again,” he growls. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”
I can’t, not after what I’ve just experienced. My body needs time to recover yet, incredibly, I sense myself responding to his touch, his words, his command that is as much a plea. My muscles tighten, my breath quickens. I stare down at where his body joins mine, watching as his cock, glistening with my juices, drives into me with long, measured strokes.
My head falls back against the pillow as my vision begins to blur. My legs are spread wide and wrapped around his hips. He braces his weight on his arms, to either side of me. I clasp his powerful biceps, holding on desperately. I can hear his ragged breath, the fierce rush of my own blood, the slap of our bodies moving together.
He is so deep that it feels as though he is touching the very essence of my being. The pleasure is exquisite, teetering on the edge of painful. The climb to orgasm is relentless. I have no control over what is happening to me and the truth is that I want none. I want to give myself completely to Ian, lose myself in him, be everything that he needs and more.
Anew: Book Two: Hunted Page 14