Anew: Book Three: Entwined (11 page)

Afraid that I could combust at any
moment, I only just manage to ease my panties down one leg and then the other. I
toss them onto the sand and straighten.

Ian’s gaze robs me of breath. If it
possible to take possession of a person with a single glance, he does it. The
air shimmers between us as the raw pulse of my need for him kicks up even
higher, a trip hammer beating in my libido.

He yanks his T-shirt off over his
head and throws it onto the sand next to my panties. His shorts follow in quick
order. I suck in my breath at the sight of his erection springing free. The
impulse to go on my knees and take him into my mouth is almost more than I can
resist. I love his velvet-steel hardness, the salty musk taste, the sense of
giving pleasure and being in control at the same time. All of it. All of him.

I’m about to give into my urge when
he moves swiftly, coming to stand so close to me that my aching nipples almost,
but not quite, brush the sculpted muscles of his bare chest.

I look up through the fringe of my
lashes, vividly aware of the wetness gathering between my thighs, already
soaking the narrow fringe of curls there--

“Can you swim?” he asks.

The wildly erotic direction of my thoughts
slams straight into that prosaic question.

“What?”

“Swim?” he repeats, his wide, full
mouth, capable of tormenting me so deliciously, curves in amusement.

When I still stare up at him
blankly, he shrugs. “Never mind.” Before I realize what he intends, he scoops
me up in his arms, takes a few steps down the beach, and tosses me into the
surf.

Water! Cold, salty, closing around
me! I flail, struggling, unable to believe that he’s done this! I’m going to
drown! I--

I can swim! The water he’s thrown
me into is just deep enough to do so. Moreover, the sense of coldness fades
almost at once. I absorb all that but only distantly. Front and center in my
mind is the fact that this is nothing like the gestation chamber that haunts my
nightmares and makes me too afraid to enter any standing pool of water. The
ocean is vast and deep, encompassing the world. There is really nowhere I could
be less restrained than in it.

Sheer, giddy relief fills me. I
laugh, treading water, and call out to Ian. “Are you afraid of getting wet?”

He’s standing close by, his hands
on his lean hips as he watches me. Belatedly, I’m aware that he is ready to
move in an instant if I need help.

Instead, he smiles with a measure
of relief and dives head first into the surf. A few quick, long strokes bring
him to my side.

“You look like you’re enjoying
yourself,” he says as he comes up beside me, shaking droplets from his hair and
grinning.

“I am. This is wonderful!”

I take a breath and dive under the
water. Before me is an entirely new world unlike anything I have ever seen
before. The atoll is a coral reef teeming with life. A small orange and black
fish swims by so close that I could reach out my hand and touch it. I don’t and
am rewarded when he circles, a solemn eye staring at me before he flips his
tail and is gone. Another takes his place and another--a universe of life
unlike any I’ve seen before. It’s all beyond amazing. I should become a mermaid
and live here forever.

Abruptly, I’m yanked back into the
world of light and air. My lungs expand greedily, sucking in oxygen.

“No sense of self-preservation,”
Ian says with the tone of a man reminding himself of something he already knew.
He fights a smile and loses. “Next time I’ll bring snorkels.”

I want to believe so desperately
that there will be a next time that for the moment I let myself do so. We’ll
come back to this reef. We’ll swim here again. This will be a part of our lives
after Davos, after…everything. My legal status, the threat to Ian, the seething
rebellion in the city that is growing more inevitable by the day. Whatever
happens with all of it, we will still have this.

If only for a this single, shining
moment.

“Come on,” I say as I wiggle free
of his arms and dive back into the water. I glance over my shoulder just long
enough to be sure that Ian is following. The play of sunlight across his
powerfully muscled back as he cuts through the water distracts me. I gaze at
him, enraptured, until a small octopus nestled nearby reaches out a tentacle in
my direction. Holding perfectly still, I let it brush my skin as the sensation
of wonder continues to expand within me.

It’s still there, still growing
when Ian wraps an arm around my waist, holding me fast as his powerful thigh
thrusts between my legs. He is smiling, his eyes alight with pleasure that, as
seems inevitable for us, quickly turns carnal.

His mouth brushes mine before
tracing a line of fire down my throat and over my breasts. His teeth close on
one of my nipples, tugging hard. It’s all I can do to remember to hold my
breath as hot, fierce pleasure uncoils in me.

Distantly, I’m aware that we’re
rising, moving toward the light. Water sluices away. I drag in air again as we
come to rest in a tangle of limbs on the edge between sea and land. The surf is
breaking around us but I’m hardly aware of it.

Ian is above me, holding me pinned
as he spreads my legs wider. His fingers part my slit, stroking, thrusting. I
cry out as he finds that most sensitive spot inside me and moves against it.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he
growls against my ear. “I try, I really do, and I lose every time.”

“No,” I murmur, writhing under him,
“you win. We both do.”

My hands slide down his back, savoring
the feel of powerfully honed muscles flexing as he moves. His strength
reassures me that he is well and whole. I lift my legs, bending them at the
knees, opening myself completely to him. Tiny waves break against my slit and
the soft, sensitive folds within it. I moan helplessly and nestle my face in
the curve between his neck and shoulder.

He makes a low, inarticulate sound
of masculine need that could be a curse, an apology, a promise or all three. I
gasp as he thrusts into me, driving deep and hard in a single, swift act of
possession. At the same time, his hand slips between us, long skilled fingers
finding and teasing my clit.

Cushioned by the wet sand and
lapping water, I expand to accept him. The sense of completion is so intense that
every cell in my body resonates. Sunlight, glinting off the water, sends up
shards of diamonds that explode behind my eyes. My release slams through me,
brutal, remorseless, exquisite.

I cry out, my nails digging into
Ian’s back as I cling to him desperately. Coming deep inside me, he groans my
name as the maelstrom of pleasure seizes us both, driving us higher and higher
until we are left at last, dazed and replete, castaways on the shore of a
golden world.

Amelia

L
ong, sweet moments later, Ian says softly, “We should
rinse off.” He stands and holds out a hand to help me up.

I rise unsteadily and am relieved
to find that my legs can hold me, if only barely. His gaze is intense, sweeping
over me in such a way that I am suddenly, acutely wear of how completely I have
bared myself to him. Our bodies are splattered with wet sand and between my legs
I feel the mingling of his seed and my own juices. The echoes of my orgasm
still shimmer within me. My nipples remain hard, peaked, still aching for his
touch.

A sense of wonder settles over me. Did
I really entice him so boldly? Tell him so bluntly what I wanted? Take him so
lustfully? Unnerved by the realization that I did all that and more, I blush.

“Sounds good,” I murmur, suddenly unable
to meet his gaze.

I think I hear him chuckle but I’m
not sure and I’m not about to look at him. Even so, I feel his smile.

Instead of heading back into the
ocean as I expect, he takes my hand and moves a short distance in from the
shore, scooping up the picnic basket and blanket as we go. As self-conscious as
I am in the wake of what we have just shared, I marvel that our mutual
nakedness feels entirely natural. We might as well be alone in a hidden
paradise rather than a short distance from men and women who are training for a
deadly conflict.

I try not to think of that as we
reach our destination, a small outcropping of rock that I hadn’t noticed
earlier. It’s surrounded by palm trees that must be a favorite roosting place
for brightly colored parrots. They flutter their pink and blue wings but refuse
to be dislodged by the interloping humans.

Quickly, I see why the birds
congregate here. A waterfall tumbles off a smooth rock face before flowing into
a stream that winds away among the outcroppings. The presence of what amounts
to an oasis of fresh water in the midst of the ocean seems all but miraculous.

“It’s beautiful,” I say softly. “But
how is this possible?”

“There are natural catchments on
the atoll,” Ian says as he sets the picnic basket down and spreads out the
blanket. “They’re filled by the summer monsoons. We’ve expanded them and
channeled the flow of fresh water all the way around the lagoon. A lot more
wild life can be supported here as a result.”

He draws me to him and strokes the
curve of my cheek gently. “You make any place beautiful, Amelia. With you,
everything is new and fresh.”

Tears prick my eyes. I want to tell
him that he’s the one who makes the world so extraordinary but my throat is too
tight. All I can do is turn my face into his hand and savor his touch. A deep
contentment spreads through me that doesn’t lessen when he takes a step back
and leads me toward the waterfall.

I hesitate until I realize that the
water isn’t collecting in a pool, instead it’s just running away into the
stream. The ground beneath is soft and moist but even the spray coming off the
water feels cold on my flushed skin. I squeal as Ian tugs me underneath.

He laughs and hauls me up against
him so that the heat of his body envelopes me. I stop struggling after a moment
and rest my head on his chest as the water flows over us.

“That’s better,” he says, his
approval sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

He gives me a chance to absorb the
initial shock before his hands move over me, soothing, arousing, tempting. No part
goes untouched. I press my lips together when he parts my legs and directs the silky
flow of water between my labia but a moan escapes all the same.

“Easy,” he murmurs, “almost done.”

I bite back a sigh of
disappointment, then gasp when he turns me and spreads the cheeks of my ass so
that the water flows there as well. A finger follows, pressing lightly against
my anus.

“You’re so sensitive here,” he
murmurs.

I gurgle something that I suppose
can be taken for agreement but the truth is that being so close to him, touched
so intimately makes me acutely sensitive everywhere. Each droplet of water
striking my skin sets off a cascade of pleasure.

Dragging in a deep breath to steady
myself, I look at Ian. His back is to the sun. The fine mist billowing around
him slices the light into a rainbow of colors. He looks transformed,
otherworldly. And yet he is still Ian, the man I have held in my arms and in my
body, in the grip of passion and in a battle against death, held him as he has
shuttered in ecstasy and as he has fought his way back to life. He is the man
without whom I cannot imagine a future that is anything other than a desolate
wasteland.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. As always,
he is disarmingly alert to my thoughts and feelings.

I shake my head quickly, determined
not to let my fears spoil this moment. “Nothing, I’m just hungry.” Finding a
smile, I add, “You know what you said the other night about my appetites.”

He laughs and finishes rinsing
himself off. I’m tempted to offer the same service that he provided to me but I
know that the moment I touch him I will be lost again. We both will be. He
would scoff at the very notion that he needs to eat and rest but I can’t
overlook it.

I spread the blanket in the shade
of the palm trees as Ian unpacks the picnic basket. Examining a chilled bottle
of champagne, he laughs. “Looks like the commissary went all out.”

I’m curious to see what else the
basket contains and Ian doesn’t disappoint me. In short order, he produces a
dizzying array of dishes, everything from slices of pâté on crisp French bread
accompanied by small sweet pickles to a variety of cheeses and even ripe
strawberries complete with whipped cream.

“They wouldn’t be playing Cupid,
would they?” I ask as I survey the undeniably romantic meal.

I’m teasing but Ian answers
seriously. “I couldn’t blame them if they were. I haven’t exactly made a secret
of how I feel about you.”

Warmth uncurls deep inside me. I’m
pleased that he’s willing to reveal his feelings but…

As short a time as I have been in
this world, I am vividly aware that there are consequences for everything we
do. Even when we act with the best intentions.

Ian’s relationship with the hitherto
unknown McClellan relation who arrived on the social scene so unexpectedly a
year after Susannah’s death may come under new scrutiny once his decision to
secure human rights for clones becomes known. The residents of the city are a
clever, wily, and gossipy lot who survive in their rarified heights by minutely
examining each others’ motives and actions. Very little escapes their avid
eyes…or tongues.

Looking down at my twisting
fingers, I say, “People are going to figure it out, aren’t they? They’re going
to know what I am.”

“Who you are,” Ian corrects. He
covers my hands with one of his own. His touch is warm and strong. “Not what,
never that. You’re as human as any of us, Amelia. All the more so given how you
embrace life.”

When I still don’t meet his eyes,
he says gently, “Some people may suspect but if they do, you aren’t…ashamed of
who you are, are you?”

I shrug. Very low, I say, “Not
exactly but the truth is that I wasn’t wanted or valued, let alone loved as a
human being. I was only conceived and kept alive for what I could provide. I’m
not going to pretend to have come to terms with that. I haven’t and I may never
be able to.”

His fingers tighten on mine. I
glance up finally and am startled by the fierce look on his face. At once,
regret fills me. I never intended to burden him with my feelings about my
origins. What I want most desperately is that they never be allowed to taint
what Ian and I have.

He takes a breath, lets it out
slowly, and says, “Thank god you don’t have any memory of that. That’s the only
saving grace as far as I’m concerned. If you did, if you’d had any awareness of
what was happening to you--”

My heart clenches. I look away
quickly. I should tell him the truth, should have done so already. But I can’t,
not now, not here. Not when everything still feels so fragile between us in the
aftermath of his brush with death.

“Are you going to open that?” I
ask, tilting my head toward the champagne bottle.

Ian hesitates but then to my great
relief, he lets the subject go. I know that he’s doing that for my sake just as
he’s doing everything else. I’m swept by a piercing mix of gratitude and guilt
but quickly enough other emotions overtake me.

“Open your mouth,” Ian urges after
he has uncorked the bottle and filled the two glasses he found nestled in linen
napkins. His grin can only be described as wicked.

I do as he says and am rewarded
with a sweet and tangy slice of pâté. At the first explosion of flavor on my
tongue, I realize that I actually am hungry--for food.

“More,” I murmur when I’ve chewed
and swallowed. He obliges by teasing the tip of one of the small gherkin
pickles against my lips. I laugh and suck it, first delicately but then
strongly enough that it disappears and is quickly devoured.

He raises an eyebrow. “When is a
pickle not a pickle?” he murmurs.

“Beats me,” I say innocently and
sip my champagne.

We take turns feeding each other,
making a bit of a mess along the way but neither of us minding. Ian’s eyes darken
as I lick traces of pâté from my fingers. “Save room for dessert,” he murmurs.

Between his nearness, our nudity,
and the sinful pleasure of being alone together, free to indulge in one
another, I’ve forgotten about the strawberries.

He reminds me.

Moments later, I’m moaning in
helpless delight as he feeds me another of the small, succulent morsels of
fruit. The flavor is beyond intense, almost bringing tears to my eyes.

“I’ve never tasted anything like
that,” I say when I can speak again. “It’s a strawberry but…”

“It’s more?” he suggests. “It’s
what strawberries used to taste like when they grew in the wild. We bred that
succulence out of them when we made them easier to cultivate and ship. Now
we’re putting it back in.”

“Good idea. Another, please.”

He obliges with a grin but when I
try for a third, Ian ups the ante. “Nothing goes better with strawberries than
fresh whipped cream,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows.

I can’t help laughing. Ian being
adorable and sexy at the same time adds up to irresistible. But then when is he
not?

“You’re not playing fair.” I pout.

His gaze locks on my lips. “How
so?”

I dip a finger in the whipped cream
and offer it to his mouth. “I know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re
going to take this cream--” I rub a little on his lips. “--and spread it from
the base of my throat, over my nipples, down my belly to my pussy. And then
you’re going to lick it all away, every single drop of it. Before you’re done,
you’re going to make my clit as swollen and glistening as one of these strawberries.
The slightest touch of your tongue will be enough to make me come.”

His lips part. So quickly that I
have no chance to pull away, he seizes the tip of my finger between his teeth
and bites me lightly. Just as quickly, I’m released.

His smile is gone, his eyes are
scorching. He’s entirely serious. “Is that what you want me to do, Amelia?” His
tone leaves no doubt that he will be happy to oblige.

“Well, yes, but first--” I dip my
finger still tingling from his bite back in the cream and raise it to his
chest.

Looking into his eyes, I tacitly
ask permission as I say, “First, I want to taste you.”

As intimate as we’ve been, I have
no expectation that he would refuse. But to my surprise, not to say shock, his
hand closes around my wrist.

“We know where that will lead, don’t
we?”

I look up at him through the fringe
of my lashes. “You’ll come?”

His smile is chiding. “Yes…and…?”

“That’s bad because…?”

“Because,” he says as he moves
closer. “You have the advantage over me. You can come and come and come and
come some more whereas I require a bit of recovery. So, that being the case,
and in the interest of fair play, lie back.”

I don’t mistake that for a request.
Nor do I have any desire to disobey.

“Now where did you say I’d begin…?”
he murmurs when I am stretched out on my back on the blanket, my hands fisting
into the soft material. Above me, the slanting light of late afternoon filters
through the palm fronds. I can hear the trills of the parrots and the splash of
water. But all I’m really aware of is Ian, above and around me, the smile on
his lips, the light in his eyes…

The dollop of whipped cream on his
finger.

He leans forward and before I
realize what he intends, strokes his tongue along the sensitive hollow at the
base of my throat.

“Just here, I think,” he says and
very gently trails his finger from my tingling skin down between my breasts.