Caress Part One (Arcadia) (9 page)

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
beautiful, erotic twist of Sleeping Beauty! Can’t wait ‘til the next book!!”—
Chrissy
Dyer, Goodreads Reviewer

“...a new
twist on futuristic romance! And let me tell you, it’s totally worth
it!!!...Cannot wait for the next installment. FIVE STARS FOR THIS AUTHOR!!!”—
Summer’s
Book Blog

“5 Explosive
stars...nothing less than spectacular..sensual, explosive and revealing
.”—DawnMarie
Carpintero, Goodreads Reviewer

“I loved
every minute reading this book...What an amazing start to this series, thank
you Josie Litton.”—
Kerry Callway, Goodreads Reviewer

“…a
completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start.”—
Melissa
Cheslog, Goodreads Reviewer

“I love Josie
Litton’s creativeness. She will capture you and keep you conquered in
everything she writes.”—
Twin Sisters Rockin’ Book Reviews

“As an avid
lover of romance novels of all genres, I am always so happy when I discover a
new type of plot line or a book that has a superb story to support all of the
steamy bits that make me blush. That’s definitely what you’ll get in this
book.”—
Loredana, Goodreads Reviewer

“…a
completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start.”—

Melissa, A
Risque Affair Book Blog

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.