I want more with Ian. I crave it desperately.
But I can’t lie to myself. He is a man of fierce will and strength who bears the scars of an old, unhealed wound. What he refers to as his demons still exist. If I agree to what he wants, will I regret it? Or is this finally the chance for us to face what haunts him together--and defeat it?
Not taking my eyes from him, I touch my mouth to his. His sculpted lips are unexpectedly soft yet firm. His scent and taste envelop me. A tremor runs through him, filling me with wonder at the effect I have on this proud, strong, yet vulnerable man. His breath becomes mine. On a thread of sound, I murmur, “I want that, too.”
Chapter Thirty
Amelia
“Are you sure?’ Ian asks.
I can’t tell whether he is more pleased or concerned by my response. Slowly, ignoring the frantic beating of my heart, I nod.
His eyes never leave mine as he rises and holds out his hand. When I take it, he draws me up to stand beside him.
“I picked this suite for a reason,” he says.
At my quizzical look, he smiles and leads me across the room to a set of double doors. When he opens them, I see beyond into what must be intended as a dressing room. Every surface--the walls of built-in closets and cabinets, the ceiling, even the fluted pilasters that define the space is mirrored. Even the floor is covered by a soft reflective material, as I discover when we step inside. I feel as though I have walked into a diamond.
I stare at our images reflected over and over, more times than I can count, and from every angle. When he slips the black lace robe from me, we are both naked. The contrast between our bodies could not be more obvious. Mine has been honed by dance, leaving me very fit. But beside him I look soft and yielding. Whereas he… he is simply magnificent, big and hard and obviously once again more than ready for me.
“Nothing hidden,” Ian says softly. “No secrets. No limits.”
My stomach clenches as I unwillingly recall my own failure to be as honest with Ian as he has been--and is being--with me. I have yet to tell him of the memories that haunt me from the time before I was awakened. Memories that I’m not supposed to even be capable of having. To speak of them would give them even more power, a thought that terrifies me.
I push it aside and turn to him instead. Rising on tiptoe, I touch my mouth to his and echo at least a part of his own words. “No limits.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You liked it when I smacked your ass in the elevator,” Ian says. His smile dares me to deny what we both know. “It made you hot.”
A quiver of remembered pleasure runs through me. I could try to forget the shocked arousal I felt when he did that but there isn’t much point. Not considering that I’m face down on my knees on the padded floor of the dressing room, my ass arched, my legs spread, and my arms stretched above my head, my wrists secured by the belt of the black lace robe that lies discarded nearby.
All of my own choice. Despite everything that has already happened this evening, the unbridled sensuality of my nature shows no inclination of being reined in any time soon.
He chuckles softly, his big hand stroking my bottom. “You’re such an amazing woman, Amelia. To the world, you look so refined, even demure but on the inside--” He eases a finger into my tight, wet pussy, followed by another. Against my ear, he whispers, “Shall I make you come like this?” He strokes me in a circular motion that hits my most sensitive spot. I groan helplessly.
“Yes, no…I don’t know!” I’m frantic for release but I want more. I want him.
“Poor baby,” he murmurs. “It’s hell, isn’t it, wanting to let go completely but still afraid of what will happen if you do.”
I moan as he withdraws his fingers. My hips arch toward him but he eludes me. In the next instant, the palm of his hand slaps my ass hard enough that the sound reverberates off the silvered walls, startling me almost as much as the blow itself. I jump and instinctively try to move away.
“Stay where you are,” Ian orders. “You’ll take exactly what I give you.”
Another smack falls, followed quickly by a third. My legs are shaking, the muscles of my stomach rippling. A treacherous warmth spreads through me, at once shaming and arousing me. I don’t want to feel like this but I’m not in control. He is.
Another slap lands, making me gasp. I’m so wet, so needy--
“Your ass is a lovely shade of red,” Ian says above me. “Look at yourself.”
Given where we are, surrounded by mirrors, I hardly have any choice. The sight sends a bolt of shock through me. Who is this woman? So wanton, so submissive, for whom pain and pleasure have become intertwined?
“Don’t over-think it,” Ian says as our gazes meet in the mirror. Once again, he seems to know exactly what is going through my mind. “Just feel.”
His hand lands again, and again. Twice more. By the time he stops, I’m a quivering mess of arousal and need.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. His mouth traces the fiery curve of my bottom, first on one side, then the other. The caress is so boldly intimate yet oddly tender. On the cusp of it, he gathers me to him and stretches me out face down so that I am lying full length on the soft, springy floor. Some of the strain goes out of my muscles but it returns when he murmurs, “Remember what I said? I want all of you.”
“Ian--” I can hear my trepidation but under it is a whisper of treacherous excitement that won’t be denied.
“It’s all right, baby,” he says soothingly. “I’m not going to rush you. You need to be ready first.”
Ready? I’m grabbling with that, trying to figure out what he means, when he steps away for a moment. I can hear him in the bedroom. He takes something from a drawer and returns. Kneeling over me, his legs braced on either side of my thighs, he spreads the cheeks of my ass. I have a moment to consider how blatantly he handles me, as though I truly am his possession, before I’m distracted by the sensation of something cool and wet dripping against my tight, puckered opening.
“It’s lube, babe,” he murmurs. “You’re so wet I could just use your own juices but I want you extra comfortable.”
I gasp as the tip of his thumb eases into me. Instinctively, my muscles tighten.
“Relax,” he says.
I try but I’m vividly aware of my stinging bottom, the strange sensation of being probed there, and the frantic pounding of my heart.
After several long moments, he withdraws his thumb but the respite is brief. At once, he arches me upward with an arm around my waist. His hand reaches down, moving over my pussy, stroking my swollen clit. My belly quivers. I can feel the first wave of an intense orgasm already beginning to build. How many more of those can I possibly take?
Something smooth and heavy with a tapered tip eases between my cheeks.
“I’m going to put this in your ass, sweetheart, then I’m going to fuck your cunt. You’re so wet, so hot, you want that, don’t you?”
His words are a dark temptation I can’t resist. Helplessly, I nod. Slowly, carefully Ian strokes my opening with the tip of the plug before easing it just a little way in. My breath catches. This is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m not entirely sure that I can bear it but I don’t even think of refusing. I want everything he has to give.
I moan softly as he moves the plug in and out, round and round, each time a little deeper, stretching my tight channel. The sensation is so strange--heavy, thick, a mix of pleasure and not-quite-pain that coils from the base of my spine along every nerve in my body. As powerful as it is, it can’t entirely eclipse the anxiety that is mounting in me. The plug is nowhere as big as I know Ian to be but it’s enough to make the ring of muscle there burn, leaving me to wonder how I could ever accommodate him. I start to squirm until he presses a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me in place.
“Steady,” he says and pushes the plug the rest of the way in.
My moans turn into a ragged gasp. I’m vividly aware of being stretched as I never have been befor
e--opened, exposed, made uniquely vulnerable. I can feel the pressure of the plug in my vagina and against the inner nerves around my clit. The need for release is building in me with frightening speed.
Ian lifts my hips and spreads my legs wider. “Look,” he orders again, directing my attention once more to the mirrors. Between the reddened cheeks of my ass, an aquamarine crystal gleams. At the sight it, I flush all over. I know without having to ask that he chose it because it matches my eyes, just as a man more given to propriety might have picked out a necklace or earrings. He’s adorned me there in an act that feels like debauchery run wild, at once shameful and wickedly delicious.
Ian has his long, thick cock in his hand. He boldly strokes himself as he holds my eyes in the mirror. Huskily, he says, “You look amazing, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck you so hard. You’re going to come riding my cock.”
Speech is beyond me. All I can do is stare at our reflection as he moves behind me, grasps my hips, and positions his velvety smooth tip against my entrance. Slowly but steadily he thrusts into me.
“Arrgh!” Between the plug in my ass and Ian’s thick, rigid length stretching my soft inner walls, I don’t think I can bear this but I have little choice. He controls me utterly, quickly setting a pace that has my thighs quivering and my breath turning into groans. The slap of our bodies coming together mingles with his deep grunts of pleasure.
“So good,” he murmurs. “So hot and wet and tight. I can’t fucking get enough of you.” As he speaks, he takes hold of the plug and slowly twists it.
Blinding white lights explode behind my eyes. I’m so close…
“Come for me, baby!” He thrusts hard, hitting the spot relentlessly, and at the same time jolting the plug even deeper.
It’s too much. I struggle to hold on but I don’t stand a chance. In the mirrored walls, I see a woman in thrall to the man whose ruthless will is driving her toward sensual oblivion. The climax that hits me feels as though it explodes in each individual cell of my body. Even as it does, Ian doesn’t let up. He remains hard inside me, holding himself still as my inner muscles spasm around him again and again. Slowly, he pulls the plug out. I scream as my orgasm is prolonged, fresh waves carrying me even higher.
Distantly, I hear him say, “That’s it, baby, let go!”
It’s not as though I have a choice, nor do I want one. I’m lost in a writhing maelstrom of sensation and need. His muscles ripple powerfully as he bends all the way over me, his teeth closing on the nape of my neck. The small stab of pain mingling with mind-shattering pleasure distracts me for a crucial moment. The tip of his cock presses where the plug just was. Slowly, steadily, he begins to enter me there, stretching me wider than seems possible.
“Ian--!”
“Breathe, baby,” he says, his voice a rough caress. His fingers find my clit. He strokes me with unexpected gentleness that washes over my fear and carries it away. I cry out again as he sinks deeper but in the next moment, the discomfort eases as an even more intense version of the strange, thick pleasure that I experienced earlier takes hold. As he begins to thrust, my hips buck upward, driving him even deeper into me.
“Fuck, yes” he moans.
His hand moves more rapidly over the ultrasensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs that swell even further at his touch. His cock stretches and fills me. I’m trapped under him, claimed and possessed, and all I can think of is how free I feel. Every fear and inhibition is gone, burned away in the fire of our mutual passion. My release comes as shockwaves that tear through me, plundering my body and soul.
Ian rises above me, his head thrown back, cordons of muscle bulging in his neck. In the mirrors, he looks like a demi-god, the epitome of masculine power and will.
“Amelia!
He shouts my name as his magnificent body convulses in ecstasy. Watching him come is the most beautiful and awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen. I stare at him in helpless fascination until at last he slumps against me. He stays like that for several moments, his chest heaving and the pounding of his heart reverberating with my own. When he finally withdraws, I feel achingly bereft.
I turn my head so that I can look at him but instead catch sight of myself in the mirrors. My ass glows red, the cheeks spread wide by Ian’s hands as we both stare at his come oozing from me.
The image is searing in its brutal, remorseless eroticism. It’s more than I can bear. With a faint moan, I close my eyes and yield to merciful darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bright light shines in my eyes. I murmur in protest and turn my head away, trying to get back to the blissful forgetfulness of sleep, but it’s too late. Consciousness returns and with it comes a sudden rush of memory.
Ian carrying me back into the bedroom and laying me on the bed. Untying me and rubbing my wrists, touching his mouth gently to each where my life’s blood pulses.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “So passionate, so giving. Fucking you is heaven.”
Through the haze of sensual fulfillment and exhaustion, I smile faintly. How can he be at once so savagely possessive and yet so romantic? I fell asleep as he gently wiped the traces of our passion from me. In that moment, I felt exquisitely cared for, protected, even cherished.
But now-- I sit up suddenly, clutching the sheet to my breasts, and take a quick, frantic look around. In the glaring light of what appears to be late afternoon, nothing seems either clear or certain.
Ian is asleep beside me. I stare down at the man I love, relieved that he’s here but still struggling to accept that what happened last night was no dream. I…we…the alley, the elevator, the balcony. All the rest! Every carnal, impassioned, ecstatic moment of Carnival was real.
Tearing my eyes from him, I look down at myself. My wrists are banded by faint red lines from the belt that he used to tie me. I’m sore in places that I don’t usually think about. Even more, I can still feel him deep inside my body as though he has imprinted himself on me forever.
A sudden wave of insecurity threatens to pull me under. No matter how much I may want to deny how completely I submitted to him, I can’t lie to myself. To all intents and purposes, I might as well have been the fuck toy he once called me. That was a deliberate taunt meant to convince me that I was anything but, yet it stung all the same. I can only pray that wasn’t how he was thinking of me last night but the harsh truth is that I’m not sure. He’s so different suddenly. Not the dark, wounded prince that I’ve thought of him as but a being of another kind--unhindered by the past, unrestrained, and in some sense at least, merciless.
My legs shake as I get out of the bed. There’s no sign of the black lace robe and I don’t pause to look for it. Naked, I walk quickly into the bathroom and flip on the shower. Without waiting, I step into it. The first shock of the water makes me gasp. It fills like shards of ice striking my skin but it warms quickly. Within moments, I’m surrounded by a cloud of steam.
I wash myself thoroughly, including shampooing my hair. In the process, I discover several small bruises on my hips where Ian grasped me right before he--
My cheeks flame. I remember it all--the shock, the ecstasy, the soaring sense of liberation. My own unbridled embrace of his desires stuns me. I don’t regret it but at the same time I’m more than a little confused and self-conscious. How am I going to face him?
I give myself a hard mental shake. This isn’t the time for second thoughts about my behavior. Not when I have far too many questions about his. His change of heart about keeping me secure at Pinnacle House until the danger from Davos is over. His sudden lack of concern about the inner demons that have haunted him for years and threatened to drive us apart. His willingness to go so far sexually, taking me into a dark realm and confronting me with aspects of my own nature that I can only struggle to accept.
I want to talk with him about all this and more but when I get out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel and go back into the bedroom, Ian is still asleep. As I stare at him, my stomach growls a blunt r
eminder that my body has other appetites and needs. Suddenly, I’m ferociously hungry. About to call room service, I remember that all I’m wearing is a towel. At the palazzo and Pinnacle House, clothes always seemed to just materialize. Not so here. Apparently, a hotel that can provide bondage rope and sex toys can’t manage a simple terrycloth robe.
I find my gown on the floor of the antechamber where I dropped it during my little strip tease, a seeming lifetime ago. My stilettos, thong, and mask are nearby. I leave them where they are, discard the towel, and slither my way into the dress. So long as I don’t turn to expose my bare back, I at least feel adequately covered.
Thoughts of coddled eggs flit through my head as I look for the link. I’ve just found it and am scrolling down the menu for room service when a sound from the bedroom stops me. For a moment, I think Ian is awake but when I look through the door, he’s still asleep. And dreaming.
The sheet is pushed down, exposing his long, sculpted torso to below his hips. I stare entranced at the play of muscles under his taut skin until I realize that he’s having a nightmare. His big body moves fitfully in the throes of it.
“No!” he murmurs, the single syllable redolent with pain.
Instinctively, I start toward him, my only thought to comfort. But I stop abruptly when he cries out again.
“No, Susannah! Don’t leave me!”
All my breath escapes in a rush. There’s no mistaking the depth of his anguish or the sincerity of his plea. He’s desperate. For her.
Susannah, the pure and good, spun glass and selfless courage. The beautiful, serene woman in the portrait who I am absolutely certain never knelt on all fours like an animal and let a man fuck her ass. He longs for her. Not me.
I’m breaking apart inside. The room spins and for a moment, I’m afraid that I’m about to be sick. Instead, I do the only thing that I can. I run.
Anew: Book Two: Hunted Page 25