Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  At the word, I do, suddenly and violently in a rush that arches my back and wrings a sob from me. Before I can utter it, Ian is on me, his mouth crushing mine, his tongue thrusting hard and fast. He catches my hand in his, replacing my finger, and drives me onward, extending my orgasm until the world blurs and I slump in his arms, held up only by his strength.

  I am at once mortified and stunned by the force of my own release. My only consolation is that I can feel his massive erection pressing against my belly. He is as vulnerable to the passion between us as I am.

  When I can stand alone finally, he smiles, smoothes the skirt of my dress down, and brushes a light kiss over my tender lips. “Well done, sweetheart.”

  He slips his jacket from my shoulders and shrugs it on, straightening his cuffs in the process. The very normality of that action--so simple yet intrinsically masculine--stands in stark contrast to my own unbridled behavior. Ian seems unconcerned by what he has just witnessed. He takes my hand and turns to leave the alley.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, still too dazed to fathom the erotic turn the night has taken.

  His grin is cocky, filled with daring. “To a parade.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Amelia

  I stand in the curve of Ian’s arms, protected by his body from the crowd. Night envelopes the city but the stars are not visible. They are eclipsed by the fireworks bursting overhead and the beams of laser lights dancing across the sky. Throbbing music fills the air. The crowd is singing along, laughing and shouting.

  Tremors of shock still ripple through me. I can’t believe what I did in the alley any more than I can deny the guilty pleasure that comes from being so daring. I’m beginning to understand the attraction of Carnival. But what I really want is to be alone with Ian, just the two of us together, free from all the complexities of the world and able to concentrate on one another.

  I had a taste of that at the beach house but I want more…much more. I want to know him completely and utterly with nothing held back. But for that to happen, I have to get past the rigid self-control that he’s imposed on himself for so long. His willingness to put aside his concerns about Davos and actually enjoy himself are evidence that there’s been some change in him. I don’t know what prompted it but I’m more than willing to take advantage of it all the same.

  A deeper, mechanical sound rumbles beneath the revelry, interrupting my thoughts. Something large and heavy is coming toward us but I can’t see it yet. For a moment, I’m reminded of the armored vehicles used by the Municipal Protection Services but no police are in evidence. The city has been turned over to the revelers.

  One of the many vendors selling food, drink and souvenirs stops beside us. Ian waves him on but not before I see that he’s also offering a wide range of recreational drugs, all in sealed packages bearing the distinctive logo of Cruces Pharmaceuticals. The vendor doesn’t have to go far to find customers. The little packages sell even more quickly than the drinks.

  I’m relieved that Ian has no interest in them even as I wonder what other surprises he has in store for me. Despite the release I’ve just experienced, need is building in me again. Being so close to him, vividly aware of his desire, I feel as though I am melting inside.

  The rumbling gets stronger, as does the wave of cheers accompanying it. A float comes into view, carrying what looks like an ancient temple. A dozen or more young women are posed against white columns. They all wear elaborate masks with feathered head pieces and nothing else apart from the sheen of gold that covers their naked bodies. As the crowd cheers, the young women toss favors to them. Men and women alike scramble to collect them.

  “What are they throwing?” I ask.

  “Tokens,” Ian says. “Most are good for drinks, drugs, whatever. A few are…worth more.”

  I turn my head, looking at him over my shoulder. “What are those for?”

  He hesitates, then says, “The floats are previews of the private parties that take place during Carnival. A few people will get tokens admitting them to one or another of them.”

  I could ask what goes on at those private parties but given the appearance of the young women, the answer seems obvious. Another float appears as the cheers swell. Most of the people on it are men, dressed as Roman soldiers holding naked young women captive between them. Several of the men have reached under their tunics, taken out their cocks and are stroking them. More tokens fly through the air. I see two women fighting over one and look away.

  The overflow of shocking sensory input is becoming too much. I close my eyes for a moment, only to open them again to the sight of half-a-dozen very large, muscular men naked and wearing the horned heads of bulls. Minotaurs. A gasp escapes me as I realize that one of them has hold of a woman wearing just a few diaphanous veils that conceal nothing. She is standing on one leg with her back to him. He grasps the other leg, pulled up and away from her body at an angle that starkly reveals her bare sex to the crowd.

  I realized almost from the moment that I arrived in the city that its elegant, sophisticated veneer overlays a culture of decadence and indulgence that may be unequaled anywhere else. But I’m still unprepared for the full extent of it. Or its effect on me.

  Ian draws me closer so that I am standing with my back pressed to his front. The hardness of his erection against my bottom makes my breath quicken. I can’t stand still, I have to move. But the moment I begin to sway, brushing the cheeks of my ass along his length, he grasps my hips tightly.

  “Behave,” he murmurs in my ear.

  Now he wants me to behave? Infuriating man. I stop, determined to show that I have at least as much self-control as he does. But the effort is a moment-to-moment struggle and what is passing in front of me doesn’t help.

  One float follows another to the din of music, the flash of strobe lights, and explosions of pyrotechnics revealing scenes that hint at unbridled license. The frenzy of the crowd mounts. A few more fights break out but most people seem too transfixed by the carnal show to care about much else.

  Finally, the last and by far the largest float approaches. It comes in two parts, the first depicting a tableau of naked men and women, all wearing golden masks and standing in what appears to be the interior of an elegant mansion. Until now, the only sex has been simulated or suggested but not here. On this float, the women are openly servicing the men in a variety of ways. One is kneeling to suck the cock of the man standing in front of her. Another is bent over the end of a plush couch being penetrated from behind as several others watch.

  Before I can even begin to grasp what I’m seeing, the crowd roars its approval. A chant goes up--“Misrule! Misrule! Misrule!”

  The last section of the float passes. All the figures on it are cloaked and hooded, their faces concealed by distinctive masks unique to each of them. I think they’re all men but I can’t be certain. Their bodies as well as their features are completely hidden.

  One in particular catches my eye. Whereas the others wear gilded masks of gold and silver, his alone is red. The face it depicts is harsh with furled brows, empty eyes, a sharp blade of a nose and a mouth open in a ferocious scream.

  I tell myself that it is my imagination but he appears to be looking directly at Ian and me, never taking his gaze from us until the float passes completely by and is gone.

  The crowd follows behind it, revelers still grasping for tokens, as the music swells and more fireworks burst above us.

  “Who are those men?”

  “The Lords of Misrule,” Ian says. He keeps me tucked close against him as we make our way through the crowd. “Patrons of the parade and of Carnival in general.” Glancing down at me, he asks, “Have you seen enough?”

  “For a lifetime.” I’m beyond shocked, feeling as though my eyes need a good bath along with the rest of me. But at the same time, I’m all too vividly aware of how aroused I’ve become. Some primal, instinctual part of me is drawn to at least some of what I saw.

  “Let’s go then,” he says
. His eyes are dark and compelling as he looks at me. With a smile I can’t decipher, he adds, “I have a surprise for you.”

  I’m not sure how many more of those I can take but I give him my hand. He clasps it and brushes his lips over my knuckles in a slow, gentle caress. A jolt of longing spools from his touch. I feel it in my hot, slick core. The need for him becomes even more urgent.

  In the cab that he hails a block or so away from the avenue, he touches me lightly, repeatedly, small caresses on the curve of my cheek, the swell of my lower lip, the hollow at the base of my throat. So innocent compared to what I have just seen yet so provocative.

  We are traveling uptown but not to Pinnacle House. As we pull up to the curb, I see a tall stone building in the Art Deco style. Engraved above the entrance are the words, “L’hôtel Perle.”

  “Why are we here?” I ask as Ian helps me out.

  His smile is enigmatic. “You’ll see.”

  His eyes are dark, the pupils dilated. A shiver of apprehension runs through me but I ignore it. I trust Ian, for all that this evening has come as a shock. He must have a good reason for being here.

  The lobby is a magnificent display of marble and gilt softened by small forests of potted palms placed to discretely shield sitting areas. We pass directly through it without stopping at the registration desk. Ian also bypasses the main bank of elevators and instead leads me down a carpeted hallway running off to one side. A small plaque reads: The Towers. Guests Only.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Call it a hotel within a hotel,” he says. “For a very private clientele.”

  I don’t understand. Ian owns a luxurious penthouse, a magnificent country estate, and a charming beach house, as well as quite possibly other properties. Yet he’s brought me to a hotel?

  “Why are we here?”

  He presses a button for the elevator that only serves the Towers. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

  The elevator comes and we step inside. Past the sliding mahogany doors, the elevator resembles a cage with lattice work walls and a domed glass ceiling. Perhaps because I’m so intensely aroused, I find myself thinking suddenly of the golden cage in the Cabinet of Secret Delights. At once, my inner muscles clench.

  The doors shut behind us. Ian slips a key card into a slot and we begin to rise. The moment we do, he reaches for me, his hands sliding down my bare arms to close around my wrists. His face is taut, his eyes glittering. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him quite like this.

  “Turn around,” he orders. He lifts my arms, stretching them above my head. “Take hold of the bars.”

  I obey, too aroused by all that has happened to deny him. Even so, I’m unnerved. The metal is cold and hard in my hands, and I have no idea what he intends in the few moments before we reach our floor. I gasp when skirt of my gown is pulled up, exposing my bottom, and start to let go of the bars.

  “Don’t,” Ian warns. His voice rasps in my ear. “I’ve been hard for you ever since I watched you come in the alley.” Before I can gather my breath to respond, his fingers stroke up and around my thigh to skim my red silk panties. “I’m not waiting any longer. Open your legs.”

  My scattered reason finally reasserts itself. He can’t possibly be serious. There’s no time and besides, I won’t allow it. “No! We could stop at any moment. Someone could see us--”

  He reaches to the side, jerks open a panel, and pushes a button. At once, the elevator’s ascent comes to a shuddering halt. We are hanging in a steel cage suspended within a shaft in a century-old building. The smell of old stone wafts upward on drafts of cool air from the basement far below. In contrast, Ian feels blazing hot against me. His erection presses against my bottom.

  Leaning close, he whispers, “I’m going to fuck you, sweetheart, right here, right now. Try letting go of those bars again and you won’t sit down for a week.”

  What? He can’t be serious. This is a game, part of Carnival, nothing more. We’re both painfully aroused by our need for each other and the spectacle we’ve witnessed. But even so--

  “Wait--” I begin.

  The palm of his hand smacks my ass. I yelp in surprise. The pain is short and sharp, more of a shock than anything else. In its wake, heat spreads from my reddening skin to my core.

  Before I can begin to recover, he yanks my panties down around my knees and thrusts his thigh between mine. His arm wraps around my hips, holding me in place. He uses his other hand to free himself. The hot, velvety smooth tip of his cock strokes around my opening and up along my clit, again and again. The pleasure quickly becomes unbearable. A groan breaks from me as I arch back against him, offering myself. Ian grunts in response and gives me what I crave so desperately. With a single thrust, he buries himself in me.

  All the breath goes out of my lungs. I cling to the bars of the elevator, struggling to stay upright as he begins driving into me with deep, long thrusts. His teeth grazing the tender skin of my throat, he growls, “Don’t ever deny me again.”

  I’m beyond speech, overwhelmed by disbelief at this game we are suddenly playing and equally by the insidious but irresistible spiral of pleasure that is building in me. I try to fight it but Ian won’t allow that. His fingers spread the lips of my sex, finding my clit wet with my own desire. He gives a low groan and begins to stroke me, first slowly, then more quickly until I am writhing against him.

  “Ian!” I don’t know whether I’m demanding that he stop or begging him not to.

  He hears me or he doesn’t, it hardly matters because he continues remorselessly driving into me, holding me captive to his will as the pressure builds and builds inside me beyond bearing. Whether because of pride or anger I resist my inevitable surrender to him, fighting to hold it off but the effort is useless. This is Ian, and whether I want to admit it or not, he is as much the master of my body as my heart.

  I’m sobbing when I come, scarcely able to breathe, all the pent up arousal and frustration of the past hours surging together to shred me. I gasp, moaning his name, as Ian tightens his hold. He follows quickly, spurting into me.

  For long moments, our bodies are locked together. I can feel his heart pounding in unison with mine. The sense of being one with him brings a piercing joy but it doesn’t last. Too soon he lets me go.

  Unable to stand on my own, I slide to the floor, my breasts heaving and my legs splayed out in front of me. My gown is still bunched up around my waist, my panties twisted around my knees. I feel shattered.

  By contrast, Ian appears cool and collected as he tucks his cock back into his trousers and zips up. Without a glance in my direction, he presses the button to restart the elevator.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Amelia

  My legs are still quivering as Ian guides me from the elevator to the double doors of a suite, one of a very few that take up the top floor of the hotel. We’ve encountered no one else, for which I can only be grateful. My gown is back in place as are my panties. I’ve even managed to smooth my hair a little but I’m not kidding myself. I must look the same way I feel--extremely well fucked.

  Ian unlocks the door and steps aside for me to enter. I hesitate before doing so. A part of me says that this is the moment to leave. Whatever explains his behavior, being roughly fucked in an elevator is as far as I should go. We can talk about what’s driving the man I love tomorrow in the light of day and without the temptations of Carnival. But another part of me rejects the very idea of leaving him.

  “Don’t ever deny me again.” Those words he spoke in the elevator are a complete contradiction of the need he has had from the very beginning of our relationship to be certain that I can make my own choices and exercise my own will. Now he suddenly wants to take away my ability to say ‘no’? That doesn’t fit and more than anything else, it tells me that something hasn’t merely changed in him. Something is wrong.

  When we came back together after the anguishing days and nights apart, I promised myself that we would face his demons together. It
seems as though I may finally get that opportunity. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling more than a little anxious at any such possibility. But I also have to admit that Ian has awakened a wantonness in me beyond even what I have experienced before. If I am to truly understand myself, I can’t turn away from it. Any more than I can turn away from him.

  Putting aside my trepidation, I step over the threshold into the room. As soon as I do, I have the sensation of stepping back in time to another era. The walls are covered in rich burgundy brocade, the same color picked up by the Oriental rug covering the floor. A dark wood couch upholstered in tufted burgundy velvet and matching chairs face the marble fireplace that now, in late spring is filled with flowers whose heavy scent fills the room. The large circular table on a pedestal stands under a jet black crystal chandelier near French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Gold silk drapes capped by tasseled valences frame the windows. The overall effect is of opulent elegance with just a touch of upscale bordello.

  As I study the room, Ian follows me in. He goes directly to a large cabinet against one wall and opens it to reveal a fully stocked bar. “Would you like a drink?”

  I hesitate but then remember that what little alcohol I’ve had in the past has had a soothing effect. I could certainly use that now. “Yes, please.”

  He takes a bottle of champagne from a small wine chiller fitted into the cabinet, opens it expertly, and fills two crystal flutes half-way. Having crossed the room to where I am still standing, he hands one to me before raising his own.

  “To Carnival,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  The wine is cool and crisp. I drink it quickly, not having realized how thirsty I was.

  “Come and sit down,” Ian says. I think he means on the couch but he leads me instead to the round table under the chandelier. He puts his hands on my waist and lifts me easily, setting me on it, then returns to the bar for the champagne bottle.