Anew: The Epilogue Read Free Page A

his lips, his tongue…a shiver runs through me.
Abruptly, his teeth graze my skin, biting sharply enough to make me start.
    “What I approve of, Mrs. Slade, is getting you naked, right
now.”
    Yet despite that, he refrains from the obvious solution.
Rather than simply tear the dress, Ian persists, slowly undoing each and every
button until I’m squirming under his touch, longing for him to be done. When at
last the dress falls open, I pull it off and step out of it quickly. With my
panties gone, I’m left in a silk-and-lace ecru bustier that scarcely covers my
nipples, the thigh-highs and my heels. Apart from that, I’m naked.
    “Turn around,” my husband says. His voice is low and husky.
    I obey and dare a peek at him through the fringe of my
lashes. His beautiful features are taut, his eyes so dilated as to be almost
black. As I watch, he quickly removes his shoes and socks.
    Straightening, he meets my frankly carnal stare and smiles. “Undress
me.”
    My hands are shaking a little but I manage. As I unbutton
his shirt and spread it open, the sight of his powerful chest--lithe, muscular,
rippling with strength--makes me clench deep inside. He’s so perfectly formed
from the broad sweep of his shoulders to the tapering V of muscle that
inevitably draws my eyes to the trail of dark, silky hair below his naval.
    I’m scarcely breathing as I undo his belt and unfasten his
trousers. Slowly I tug them down along with his briefs. As I do so, I lower
myself in front of him until I’m kneeling. Really, his recuperative powers are
amazing. He’s already hard again.
    Giving into overwhelming temptation, I lean forward, flatten
my tongue, and slowly stroke first up, then down his full length before
swirling the tip around his crest. I can taste the traces of us both mingling
on him.
    Abruptly, Ian’s hands close on my shoulders. “Keep that up
and in two minutes you’ll be bent over the foot of that bed being fucked harder
than you ever have been.”
    Still licking, I look up at him through my lashes and
murmur, “Sounds like a plan.”
    “Maybe for later,” he says with a low groan and hauls me
upright. The back of his knuckles skim my breasts where they swell above the
edge of the bustier.
    “I like this,” he says before turning me so that my back is
pressed to his chest. His arms reach around me, his fingers slipping beneath
the rim of lace and silk, first stroking, then pinching my nipples.
    A soft, needy cry breaks from me.
    “You’re so responsive,” Ian says as he swiftly undoes the
row of hooks holding the bustier in place. As it falls forward, I catch it in
my hands and turn again to face him.
    “Let it go,” he says.
    A wave of self-consciousness sweeps over me. On the face of
it, that’s absurd. This is my husband, the man with whom I have experienced not
only the most intense physical intimacy but true emotional closeness. We’ve
shared our deepest secrets and fears, and helped each other move past them.
    Yet I have a sense in this moment, surrounded by the golden
bedroom and the memories it holds, that I am baring myself to him in a way I
have never done before. Because the distractions of the outside world are
absent? Because we are embarking on a new life, our life together? I don’t know
the answer but the sensation is inescapable.
    He raises an eyebrow and I realize that I’m still holding
the bustier, a frilly and entirely ridiculous shield, before me. I take a
breath and let the garment go.
    My shoulders straighten. Not for a moment will I let him see
how abashed I suddenly feel.
    Ian’s eyes move over me and return to meet my own. The heat
in his is scorching.
    “You are so beautiful,” he says with a note of awe. It fills
me with pride even as I’m humbled by the effect I have on this astonishing man.
    Softly, he adds, “I can hardly dare to believe that you’re
mine.” His fingers trail a path down the curve of my cheek, along my throat,
and lightly over my breast, brushing my