Caress Part Two (Arcadia) (9 page)

“Good morning, Miss Emma,” George said as I stepped out of the
Arcadia. “Looks like a lovely day.”

I paused, took a breath scented with the first hint of
autumn, and nodded. “It really does, George. An absolutely beautiful day.”

I couldn’t help smiling but then I’d been doing that since
the moment I woke up next to Lucas a short time before. We’d actually made it
to the bed and once we were there--

I flushed and could only hope that my old friend had no idea
why. The woman I’d seen in the bathroom mirror as I got dressed was positively
glowing. No surprise there. Way too many orgasms to count would do that to a
girl.

Lucas was still asleep upstairs. Heaven knew, the man
deserved his rest. He’d been insatiable but then so had I. By the time we
finally collapsed in each other’s arms, the sky was softening with the first
gray light of dawn.

Now it was late morning, which meant that I’d slept only a
few hours. Still, I felt incredibly energized, even buoyant, as though a great
weight had been taken from me.

I didn’t have to wonder why. I’d gone to an A-list social
event in the heart of New York and emerged not merely unscathed but having
actually enjoyed myself. No one had so much as looked at me unkindly. On the
contrary, people had fallen over themselves to be friendly.

Of course, I knew that was all thanks to Lucas. By placing
me at his side so publicly, he had sent a message that no one could fail to
get. As much as I wished that I could have accomplished the same on my own, I
wasn’t going to quibble with the results.

Instead, I was off to get bagels and some of that freshly
squeezed orange juice that he liked, maybe throw in half-a-pound of smoked salmon,
the kind that wasn’t too salty and that melted on the tongue.

He was bound to be hungry. The very least I could do was
make sure that he kept up his strength. I giggled at the thought, caught
myself, and tried to assume an expression of calm self-possession more suited
to strolling the streets of the Big Apple.

Nonetheless, there was a bounce to my step as I set off
toward Columbus Avenue, one block to the west. The bagel shop had been there
forever, or at least since my childhood. As I approached, the warm yeasty smell
coming from the ovens wafted my way.

Inhaling appreciatively, I suddenly remembered Sunday
morning visits to the shop with my father, when we would have serious
discussions about what sort of bagels to buy and whether whipped cream cheese
was preferable to the kind that came in a block.

My steps faltered. Since returning to the Arcadia, I’d done
a fairly good job--I thought--of holding the memories it evoked at bay. After
years of being shackled to the past, I was more than ready to move on.

Lucas had made that extraordinarily easy. Whenever I was
with him, everything else faded to insignificance. He hadn’t mentioned my
father since early on in our relationship and I certainly had no wish to bring
him up.

Why then was I suddenly thinking about him?

Because I finally could now that I was no longer so weighed
down by the burden of the past?

That had to be it but I still wasn’t ready. I needed time to
adjust to my new circumstances before I could regard the past with anything
other than pain and anger.

But when I stepped into the shop, the blast of warm, humid
air from the vats where the bagels were boiled before being baked triggered
another rush of memory. I saw myself, a child standing at the plate glass
windows in the front, tracing the trails of condensed moisture that invariably
formed on them with my finger. Even on a clear day, the world beyond had looked
streaked with tears.

Determined to push all such thoughts aside, I gave my order.
The guy who took it nodded at me and even offered a slight smile. By New York
standards, this was effusive friendliness of the sort given only to
acknowledged regulars.

I smiled back and focused on the smooth, unforced movements
that filled sheets of waxed paper with thin pink slices of salmon, small
cardboard containers with white cream cheese, and brown paper bags with golden
bagels dusted with black poppy seeds.

Around me, the locals were chatting about the Yankees
blowing it yet again, the hopes for the Giants once football started, the odds
that the current mayor would run for re-election, and some scandal involving a
city councilman and a trio of high end escorts. I half-listened, marking time, deliberately
keeping my mind blank.

Or at least trying to.

To my side, not far away, a little blond girl with trusting
blue eyes was standing next to a tall, slim man who bent down to hear what she
was saying. Poppy? Oh, yes, much better than sesame. And the whipped cream cheese?
He laughed. Yes, she was right, strictly for tourists.

I looked away, refusing to be drawn by ghosts. Let them go
haunt someone else. I was done. More than that, I was free. Thanks to Lucas and
my own determination.

I needed to get back to the apartment and to him. But before
I could do so, my phone rang.

Glancing at it, I smiled when I saw who was calling.

“Where are you?” he asked. He sounded half-awake and a
little grumpy, his voice low and rough, shivering over my skin.

“Getting bagels,” I said, unable to prevent the slight hitch
in my voice. Would I ever become accustomed to the effect he had on me? I
couldn’t imagine doing so no matter how much--or how little--time we had
together.

“I left a note in the kitchen,” I added.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. How soon will you be back?”

 “Soon, a few minutes.”

“Don’t dawdle.”

“Why not?” I asked.

He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a rueful
laugh. “Because I’m lying here with a massive hard on, that’s why, sweetheart. Plus
I’m hungry.”

He sounded aroused and disgruntled all at once. I couldn’t
help but grin.

“What do you want first?” I asked. “Breakfast or…?”

“You,” he said without hesitation. “I want to be deep inside
you, feeling your hot, tight cunt clench all around me and hearing those throaty
little sounds that you make when you come. Then we can eat. How about that?”

A rush of wetness dampened my panties. I shifted enough to
press my thighs together, hoping for some relief and finding none.

Clutching the phone, I murmured, “Hmmm, yeah, works for me.”

He was silent for a moment before he said, “I miss you.”

A sweet, giddy happiness spread through me. Still, I felt
compelled to point out, “I’ve only been gone a few minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter. I miss you whenever I’m not touching
you. If I can see you at least or hear your voice, I’m okay but still--”

My breath caught. He sounded at once so commanding yet
vulnerable. As though he truly did want there to be more between us than what I
dared to envision.

 “I miss you, too,” I said, afraid to say more. The emotions
welling in me were as yet too new and frightening. I didn’t know how to deal
with them but I couldn’t deny their power either.

Another low growl came from him. I envisioned him pleased,
even a little smug. “You damn well better.”

The counter guy caught my eye. “Our order’s ready,” I told
Lucas.

“Thank god!”

I laughed again and got off the phone. Moments later, bag in
hand, I headed for the door.

The streaks of water on the windows made the street beyond
look like an impressionist painting, evocative yet not quite real. Perhaps that
was why I didn’t react at first to the man standing in front of the shop, who
turned just then and stared inside.

He was tall with a thin face dominated by the sharp slash of
a patrician nose and large, dark eyes. I couldn’t make out what he was wearing
but his shoulders were slightly hunched, communicating a sense of caution or
even wariness. The thought flashed through my mind that he didn’t want to be
recognized.

Our eyes met through the glass. Time seemed to stumble
before starting up again more slowly. Distantly, I was aware of a gathering
pain in my chest, stabbing into my heart. But that faded before the even
greater sense of panic erupting in my mind.

I was seeing things. I was delusional. I would blink and he
would be gone, a phantom of my imagination.

My hand trembled as I pushed the door open and forced myself
to step outside. In the bright light of day, I would realize that he was a
stranger. Or that he didn’t exist at all. I’d shrug at my own foolishness and
go on.

Lucas was waiting for me at the apartment. The need to be
with him, to hear his voice and feel his touch, was suddenly overwhelming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man come away from
the front of the store and approach me.

Go! Go! My mind screamed.

Instead, I stood frozen in place, suddenly unable to move. The
rush of blood in my ears washed out all sound but I could still make out the
shape of the single word that formed on his lips.

Emma.

Darkness rippled at the edges of my consciousness. For a
horrible moment, I thought that I was about to faint.

Fighting against the wave of pain
and shock that threatened to consume me, I stared into the face of a ghost.

Emma
and Lucas’ story reaches its hot, steamy conclusion in…

CARESS
Part Three

Coming
Oct. 14, 2015!

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In this erotic retelling of “Sleeping Beauty” set in the near future, a
beautiful young woman awakens in the garden of a secluded estate with no
knowledge of who she is or how she came to be there. For the man who walks out
of the darkness to claim her, she is at once the ultimate challenge and the
greatest temptation.

“Most
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I wake gasping for air, swept by a wave of panic that
subsides only when I manage to untangle my body from the covers and sit up.

For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Gradually, the bed
and the room resolve around me. I force myself to breathe slowly until my heart
stops hammering against my ribs and I am reasonably certain that I can stand.

The rank wisps of a nightmare still cling to me. Afraid to
chance returning to sleep, I leave the bed and pad over to the tall doors at
the far side of the room.

Earlier, I observed that they give onto a second floor
balcony overlooking the garden. I am about to open them when a sound stops me.
It is faint but distinct, and very close. I strain, listening as it comes
again, a little louder and more quickly. At first the intervals between the
sound are random but then it becomes so steady that I finally realize what I am
hearing.

Rain is splattering against the glass panes of the doors.
Rain. As with so much else, I know what it is without having any memory of ever
experiencing it. That at least I can remedy. Without hesitation, I fling open
the doors and step outside.

The stars are gone, replaced by dark, roiling clouds backlit
by streaks of lightning. The columned overhang above the balcony protects me
until the wind, mounting in the heart of the storm, slants the rain past it.
Drops fall across my face, against my body, warm and delicious, smelling of a
distant sea and a lush, moist land.

I catch their taste on the tip of my tongue and laugh,
stretching out my arms, holding them high so that the rain sluices down my bare
skin, streaming in rivulets toward my breasts. That quickly, the silk nightgown
dampens. The fabric clings to my nipples, making me suddenly aware of them.

Hesitantly, driven by curiosity about my own body, I touch
one, then the other, watching as they harden. The sensation is startling.

Scarcely breathing, I skim my hands over my breasts,
noticing that they feel heavier and fuller. My fingers drift slowly downward,
finding the contours of my waist, the dip of my naval, the flat, suddenly
quivering plane of my abdomen until they come to the juncture of my thighs.
Pressing lightly, I’m surprised to feel through the fragile silk a hot, satiny
wetness that owes nothing to the rain.

Emboldened by the darkness, swept up in the fury of the
storm, I grip the fabric of my nightgown. Slowly, I begin to raise it, baring
my ankles, my calves, a little higher, until just as I raise the gown above my
knees, I freeze.

Ian is standing nearby, watching me.

My entire body blushes. Too late I realize that his room
must be only a short distance from mine, a space that narrows to inconsequence
as he comes toward me. His chest is bare above black pajama bottoms that ride
low, exposing the V of his hip muscles and his tight, washboard abdomen. As the
rain blows over his broad shoulders and cut torso, his skin glistens darkly.

A few feet away from me, he stops. “I told you to go to
bed.” His voice is soft and almost detached.

I drop the gown so that it falls once again around my ankles
and lift my head. Quelling my embarrassment, I return his stare.

“That’s something you tell a child.”

Reluctantly, the corners of his mouth twitch. “Your point
being that you aren’t one?”

“I’d say that’s obvious. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps I’ll find out tomorrow, if you
choose to enlighten me.”

He needs a moment to realize what the defiant edge in my
voice, the tilt of my head, the straightness of my back and shoulders mean.
When he does, the heat in his eyes sends a ripple of dark excitement through
me.

“Sarcasm, Amelia? You truly are full of surprises.”

He closes the distance between us until we are separated by
mere inches. If I swayed toward him even a little, my nipples would rake his
bare, sculpted chest.

Softly, he asks, “Do you really want to challenge me?”

Of course not! This is a man to placate and soothe, above
all to please. But when I open my mouth that isn’t what comes out.

Instead, I hear myself say, “I told you earlier, being
compliant isn’t in my nature.”

His grin is wolfish. Before I can even think of drawing
away, he brushes his knuckles down my cheek, along the line of my jaw and
throat to the soft hollow at the base of my neck where he presses lightly.

My breath catches. His touch is both arousing and strangely
comforting. He holds me spellbound.

“I think you have a lot to learn about yourself,” he says.

Step by implacable step, he backs me against one of the
columns along the outer edge of the balcony. The sudden hardness against my
spine comes as a jolt. I have a flashing image of myself secured to the column,
my hands raised high above my head, fastened with silken bounds.

Slowly, holding my eyes with his, Ian reaches for the golden
pins that still hold the coiled diadem of my hair. He pulls them out one by
one.

As he does, I watch the play of emotion across his face. He
looks like a man in the grip of a compulsion as irresistible as what I myself
am feeling, a ravenous wildfire of hunger for each other that threatens at any
moment to rage out of control.

Having freed my braid, he wraps it around his hand and gives
a tug, drawing me even closer to him. A low groan breaks from him as his mouth
claims mine, sucking at my lower lip. I feel the sudden, sharp nip of his teeth
before his tongue plunges into me, exploring, stroking, demanding.

Abruptly, my legs give way. I catch hold of his shoulders
just in time to avoid sliding down the length of his body to his feet.

A shudder runs through him. I can feel how desperately he is
fighting for control.

“Last chance, Amelia,” he says against my mouth. “Go back
inside now.”

I’m beyond being able to speak. All I can do is shake my
head.

A long quiver of anticipation runs through me as he grips
the neckline of my nightgown. With his eyes locked on mine, he slowly pulls the
garment down to below my naval. My wrists are caught in the sleeves, trapped
against my hips. I feel the rain cool against my back, sizzling away the heat
pouring from me, from him, from us.

Looking down at my exposed flesh, he groans. “You are so
beautiful.”

Releasing my braid, he wraps his fingers around the base of
my breast, his long fingers squeezing lightly, caressing, and lowers his head.
I feel the rasp of his stubble against my skin in the moment before he sucks my
nipple into his mouth, swipes his tongue over me—once, twice—and sucks again
hard.

A cry of mingled shock and pleasure erupts from me. I grab
hold of his hair with both hands and pull. He releases me but only for a
moment. Covering my breast with his roughened palm, he circles it against the
hypersensitive nipple as he takes the other into his mouth and subjects it to
the same exquisite torment. I writhe against the column as all thought of
trying to stop him vanishes.

Abruptly, he lifts his head. What I see in his eyes should
frighten me but I’m beyond that, driven by need for this man that eclipses all
else. My throat is so tight that only a whisper escapes me.

“Please…”

For a moment, I am terrified that he will not respond, that
he only means to toy with me, proving his mastery and leaving me to suffer for
defying him. But if any such thought has occurred to him, he is beyond acting
on it. Instead, he makes a low, guttural sound and bends, tucking an arm under
my knees and lifting me effortlessly.

A few quick strides and we are in the golden room. He kicks
the doors closed behind us, carries me over to the bed and drops me flat on my
back. Before I can draw breath, he comes down on top of me, kissing me deeply
if swiftly, his mouth trailing from mine down my body until he is stopped by
the nightgown bunched around my hips. Sliding his hands under me, squeezing the
cheeks of my derrière, he pulls the gown the rest of the way off.

He is still wearing the pajama bottoms but even so the
combined sensation of his skin against mine with his weight and strength
controlling me is more than I can bear. Desperate for what I can barely
glimpse, I struggle to move as my hands push against his shoulders.

“Please…Ian…please!”

I’m not resisting…exactly. But I need…something…to touch
him…to have some control over what is happening to me…

Against my throat, he murmurs, “Another time, luscious, I’ll
give you free rein but not now.”

Before I can more than dimly realize what he intends, he
grasps my discarded nightgown and coils the fabric between his hands, pulling
it taut. An instant later, my arms are stretched above my head, my wrists
secured to a column of the bed.

The sudden crash of reality with the fantasy image I had
minutes before on the balcony sends a surge of panic through me. I cry out at
my own helplessness and begin to struggle in earnest.

But not for long. His breath warm against my skin, he
murmurs, “Easy, just breathe, Amelia. Breathe.”

Gasping, I try to do as he commands. He smiles at my effort.
“Good girl, so good.”

His approval sends another deep quiver of pleasure through
me that persists as he spreads my legs, bending them at the knees so that I am
suddenly open and fully exposed to him. I feel the heat of his scrutiny in this
most intimate place before he lowers his head between my thighs, the rough silk
of his cheeks nuzzling me.

He looks up and his eyes meet mine down the arc of my body.

“If you touch me, I’ll lose it,” he says, almost apologetically
for what he is denying us both. His voice rasps against my skin. “Even so this
time is going to be fast.”

The broad flat of his tongue lashes out, lapping my most
sensitive flesh from top to bottom again and again in long, firm strokes before
the tip suddenly plunges, swirling into the source of the wetness coming from
deep inside me. The pleasure is unbearable. I writhe under him, moaning
frantically.

In moments, I am on the edge of something agonizing yet
exquisite that I cannot resist and desperately need. It is so close, so very
close—

I mewl in protest as he stops suddenly and slides up my
body. Teasing the tip of my tongue with his, he says, “Taste yourself,
beautiful. You are so damn delicious.”

I all but buck off the bed as a hot, slightly salty flavor
fills me. His hands on my hips press me down again. My breath is coming in
sobs. I’m afraid that I’m going to black out when his thumbs spread me and his
tongue finds the swollen nub where suddenly all the nerve endings in my body
seem to come together. At the same time, he plunges two fingers into me,
pressing against a spot of exquisite sensitivity that I hadn’t known existed.
At that touch, I contract around him in a long, rippling sensation of pure,
unleashed ecstasy.

Distantly, I hear myself scream. Hear Ian, as well, as he
groans, “Fuck, you are so hot!”

His weight suddenly lifts from me. I force my lids open even
as muscles at my core continue to spasm. He is standing beside the bed, staring
down at me, with a look of fierce triumph. Quickly, he strips off his pajama
bottoms.

At the sight of him, I bite down hard enough on my lower lip
to draw blood. He is a tall, broad man and it seems as though everything about
him is similarly proportioned. I entertain a moment of doubt but it vanishes when
he comes down on top of me again.

Feeling him along every inch of me without any remaining
barriers is more than I can bear but he still isn’t done tormenting me. Taking
his length in hand, he draws it up and down along my cleft, the velvety tip
rubbing over my swollen clitoris. The sensation is too intense. Tears flow from
the corners of my eyes.

“I can’t,” I sob. “Not again!”

Abruptly, he reaches up and frees my wrists. His voice is
gruffly tender as he says, “Yes, you can. Put your arms around my neck.”

I obey and am rewarded by the sudden thrust of his cock as
every slick, hard inch fills and stretches me. The small flash of pain is gone
as quickly as I perceive it. But Ian curses under his breath and goes still.