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Date Posted: 07:56:44 12/28/03 Sun
Author: Slally
Subject: "Blood Seduction" - Chapter 23A (**** NC-17 ****)
In reply to: Slally11 's message, ""Blood Seduction"" on 07:38:43 12/28/03 Sun

This is adult material. If you're not an adult, please read something else. If you are an adult, read away and please leave me a comment.

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“I’m not going anywhere with you when you’re dressed like that,” Sara said, eyeing Ian in his full assassin’s drag. He was standing by the fireplace, lanky body relaxed, nibbling on a second croissant. Ian stopped chewing and glanced down at himself. He looked a bit surprised, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was tricked out to please his master. She had that stubborn look on her face that brooked no argument. The clothing was of no importance to him. This was an easy way to make her happy. Grinning, Ian dropped his half-eaten pastry back into the bakery box on the table. Sara made a face at his culinary faux pas. He ignored it and held out his now empty hands in surrender. “Fine,” he agreed, “Dress me however you like.” She studied him. His grin got wicked. “Or don’t,” he added playfully. Sara lifted the remains of Ian’s croissant from the box with two fingers and slipped it to Hannibal, who rolled onto his back and exposed his belly to show his appreciation. She raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t you be this agreeable?” she asked Ian. His eyes slowly darkened to that rich amber that indicated sexual smolder. “Because I’m a bit harder to please,” he replied, then added slyly, “But just a bit.” Looking at his dog rolling about at his lady’s feet, he frowned. “Is that what you want from me?” he asked, abruptly serious, “That kind of blind adoration?”

Startled by her new abilities, Sara immediately sensed his mood change. She bit her tongue and stifled the casual reply she had been about to throw back at him. Instead, she thought about it. What did she want from Ian? After all, their relationship had gone through a life-altering change only a few hours earlier. It was a valid question and deserved her consideration. “I need to think about that,” she stalled because those golden eyes were fixed on her with daunting intensity. “Don’t think about it,” he suggested, “Just answer me with your gut.” Sara smiled wryly. “My gut usually gets me into trouble,” she said, “I think that I better use my head this time.” He dropped his eyes and sighed, thick lashes attempting to mask his disappointment at her evasion. The characteristic gesture was useless now. Thanks to the Witchblade, Sara knew exactly what Ian was feeling. They were going to have to find some way to come to terms with this new connection of theirs and soon or they were going to lacerate each other all to hell, she thought. She sighed too and measuring golden eyes lifted quickly to meet wary green ones. “You’re right,” she conceded, “We need to talk.” She felt a slight lessening of the tension within him. “But not now, not here,” she added, hoping that he would understand. He did, nodding his agreement. Ian may have lived uneasily under the scrutiny of Irons’ eye his whole life but Sara hadn’t and he was very aware of the effect that it was having on her.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ian said. Sara smiled, thinking that Irons must be royally pissed that he wouldn’t get to listen in while she and Ian wrestled with their feelings for each other – both literally and figuratively. Ian cocked his head and asked, “What?” She shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied, not wanting to get into it, “I’ll go get dressed. Then, I want to take you shopping.” He looked at her quizzically as he picked up the half-empty pastry box to stow it out of Hannibal’s reach. She was already on her way to the door. “I have plans,” she continued, “I’ll tell you on the way. Give me fifteen minutes to throw on some clothes. Stop by my door on the way out.” She was half through the front door when he called after her, glancing down at himself again, “Do you want me to change?” Sara stuck her head back in, a devilish grin on her face. “No need,” she said, “Stay as you are. We’ll take care of it.” He frowned, wondering what she was up to. But, with a last, quick wave, she disappeared and he was left to cope with his vague sense of unease alone. Afraid that if he lingered in the loft, he would be drawn into a pointless discussion with the hall mirror, Ian didn’t waste any time getting ready to leave.

He made sure that the animals had enough food and water, and grabbed his backpack from the hall closet before heading to the front door. He was almost clear when the mirror hissed, “What new game is this that we’re playing, Nottingham?” Ian froze, his hand on the door knob, his shoulders hunched with instant tension. He turned back to face his reflection in the pane of glass, dropping the backpack at his feet. “Sir?” he asked politely. “Sir?” the mirror mimicked with vicious accuracy. Ian felt a tiny flame of fury ignite deep inside him. He carefully damped it. “I don’t understand your question, sir,” he blandly replied. “What seems to be the problem, my boy?” Irons asked, “Did you lose your wits along with your virginity? I asked a simple question. Where are you and the Wielder going and why?” Ian hoped that he looked more innocent than he felt. He had been trained to have difficulty lying to his master. He dropped his head in an attempt to look more subservient. “Sara wanted us to have a day out together,” he said softly, reasonably, “Lunch at a nice restaurant, perhaps a visit to a museum. It seemed harmless. It never occurred to me that you would mind, sir.” There was a long pause. Ian started to shift nervously and immediately caught himself, stilling the slight motion. Unconsciously, his body went into a parade rest stance. The pause lengthened.

“Very well,” Irons finally said petulantly, “Don’t keep her waiting.” Ian nodded, quickly picking up the backpack and heading toward the door. He was almost home free when the mirror asked, “What’s in the backpack, Ian?” Ian stopped and turned around to face the mirror. “My laptop,” he replied. Always best to stay with the truth when possible. “And why do you feel the need to bring a laptop along on a purely social day on the town with our lovely Sara?” Irons wondered, suspicion clear in his tone. Ian shrugged. He was the picture of innocence. “To have something to keep me occupied while she shops,” he explained, blithely skating around the truth. Kenneth Irons considered that. In his long life, he had occasionally been the companion of a lady on a shopping excursion. He understood Ian’s line of reasoning and accepted it. “Go on then,” he said, dismissing his minion. Ian barely smothered his sigh of relief. “He bought it,” he thought, escaping quickly now that he had been released. On his way to Sara, Ian stopped at his downstairs neighbor’s door to ask the elderly lady if she would take Hannibal for his evening walk. The retired teacher had a soft spot for her dashing landlord and his sweet dog so she didn’t mind the belated request. She did, however, keep Ian another five minutes talking before he could politely extricate himself from the woman’s velvet clutches.

When Ian got to the second floor, Sara was leaning against her closed front door, tapping her foot impatiently. He speeded up as soon as he saw her. “Sorry,” he apologized, catching her hand and lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss, “I got waylaid.” She frowned and asked, “Irons?” He gave a little shake of his head and glanced obliquely toward the hall ceiling. She suddenly realized what Ian was trying to tell her. Irons could track them through the hallways too. With a sinking sensation, she thought about their sexual marathon in the freight elevator. Had he witnessed that too? God, she hoped not. Ian still held her hand in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “Let it go. We’ve got the whole day together – just the two of us. Let’s not spoil it. Okay?” She looked up at him and felt his warmth seep through her. “Okay,” she replied, smiling back at him in spite of herself. Holding hands, they left the building. He had the black jaguar again. It was parked in front of the building. Sara stopped, scanning the car with the narrowed eyes of a seasoned cop. “Flashy,” she murmured, “Easy to track.” Ian grinned, opening the passenger door for her. He couldn’t refute her observation but he really loved the way the jag handled. “I know,” he agreed, “I swept it for bugs and trackers this morning. Cleaned it out.” She smirked, settling into the comfy leather of the passenger seat. “I didn’t mean that, sport,” she said, “A blind man could spot this vehicle from a mile away.” Ian nodded, sliding gracefully behind the wheel. “His name is ‘Stephens’ and he isn’t blind,” he said, “I’ll let him follow us for a couple of blocks before I lose him.”

Sara studied his chiseled profile, admiring his confidence. She didn’t doubt him for a moment. “Won’t Irons wonder why you ditched his tail?” she asked. Ian shrugged. “I won’t make it obvious,” he said, “Stephens will think he lost us in the midtown traffic snarl. It will seem accidental – nobody’s fault. Where did you want to go first?” She turned a little in the seat so that she could watch him finesse the car. It was sexy as hell and was really turning her on. When she didn’t answer, he turned his head to glance at her. Her eyes were bright, her lips slightly parted. “Sara?” he pressed. She cleared her throat and put a muzzle on her errant libido. Marshaling her thoughts, she asked, “Are you willing to trash those clothes?” He kept his eyes on the heavy traffic, but his lips twitched. “Will I have other clothes to put on?” he countered. She nodded and said, “You will if you’re willing to spend some money. Do you have a favorite men’s clothing store? Will you let me pick out some clothes for you?” Ian was grinning now. “Sure,” he responded easily. A second later, he had maneuvered the car like a bullet across two lanes of traffic and around a corner. When Sara caught her breath again, she realized that Stephens was just an unpleasant memory. They went a few more blocks and then he suddenly angled the car into an impossible spot that had just opened to their right. “Clothing store?” she asked. He tilted his head to the left and said, “Across the street.” She squinted, studying the fancy storefront. It looked expensive.

An hour later, they were crossing the street again. The assassin’s drag was gone. Sara hadn’t convinced Ian to trash it but the black on black ensemble was rolled up and tucked away in the tasteful shopping bag that he carried. His long legs were now encased in snug chocolate brown, corduroy pants. The new pants were paired with a dark gold cashmere pullover sweater that brought out the rich color of his eyes. The outfit was covered with a long, dark brown leather duster. As they walked to the car, hand in hand, she ogled him appreciatively in a sidelong gaze. “Yummy,” she thought, licking her lips. Ian held the passenger door open for her and said, “My turn.” Arranging herself in the seat, Sara looked up quickly, startled. “Excuse me?” she responded. He shut her door and walked around the car, while she waited impatiently for his answer. He settled himself and pulled smoothly out into traffic. She stared at him pointedly until he continued, “I want to buy you something to wear at the hotel.” Sara frowned, pouting a little. “I hate to shop for clothes,” she mumbled. He glanced at her again, a tiny smile playing around the sensuous lips. “Alright,” he said, “You don’t even have to go in. I’ll pick it out for you if you want.” He suddenly pulled to the curb and she looked around. How the hell did he find these parking places in midtown Manhattan? Was it some kind of voodoo? She frowned. They were parked in front of a book store. She scanned the street and gaped when her eyes lit on the Victoria’s Secret one door down. Watching her, Ian thought that the whole day was worth the look on her face at that moment.

Ian sat still, enjoying Sara’s perusal of the lingerie in the window display. “Are you going to let me go in there alone?” he asked a little plaintively. As she studied the store, a stunning salesgirl in incongruously tasteful black leather stopped arranging the provocative window display to stare avidly at the black jaguar. When Ian smoothly slid out of the car in his new brown couture, looking as delicious as a Godiva truffle, the girl’s mouth dropped open and her eyes went huge. Sara’s response was immediate. She was out of the car before he reached her side. “No,” she said firmly, “I’m not.” He lifted a dark, arched brow, wondering what had changed her mind. When Ian was with Sara, his awareness of other women was peripheral at best. His focus was entirely on her. He grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the storefront. “This is going to be fun,” he teased her. Sara glanced back at the window of Victoria’s Secret. Two other salesgirls had now joined the first and all three were looking at Ian like he was the last rest stop before a thousand-mile journey. As usual, he was utterly oblivious to the attention. Her lips twitched. “He may be right,” she thought, “Maybe this will be fun after all.”

Before they were fully through the front door of the store, all three women had scrambled away from the window to meet them, asking simultaneously, “Can I help you?” The question was, of course, not directed at Sara. Ian looked as startled as she had ever seen him. He stepped back from the onslaught, instinctively putting Sara between him and the advancing salesladies. He had obviously not expected to have to fend off an ambush in a lingerie store. Completely at a loss, Ian started to back toward the door. She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. After all, this had been his idea. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said, gripping his hand tighter to effectively stop his escape. Turning to the nearest woman, Sara said, “Yes. You can.” It was the babe in black leather that she had first noticed watching them. “Watching Ian,” she mentally corrected herself. The woman’s eyes had yet to shift to her. Sara shrugged and turned her head to glance at her spooked lover. Ian was still poised to bolt at any moment. The other two saleswomen reluctantly melted away to help other customers. Their regard, however, remained locked on the tall, dark man. Ian apparently functioned like a magnet, attracting the attention of every female in the place. Amused now, Sara asked him, “What did you have in mind?” He cleared his throat. Wary golden eyes fixed on her. “Sorry?” he managed. Sara chuckled. “This was your idea, sport,” she reminded him, tucking her arm through his. He was tense enough to twang. “How were you planning to dress me?” she added mischievously.

The salesgirl’s eyes finally moved over Sara. “I bet she’s wondering if I’m a hooker,” Sara thought. She chuckled again. Ian was right, she decided. This was fun. He made a soft, strangled sound that rumbled through his chest before he whispered, “Sara, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I didn’t realize…” She enjoyed his discomfort, eyes dancing. She understood. In his head, he had seen them playfully peruse a panoply of scanty, scintillating lingerie – just the two of them. The reality of the situation exposed that intimate fantasy to strangers. He had no experience in dealing with this sort of thing. He didn’t know how to handle it. “Well,” she thought, “That’s just too damn bad.” She arranged her face in a little girl pout. “Did you want me to wear something special?” she asked, her eyes briefly flicking to the salesgirl before she added, “Maybe something in leather? Or do you prefer lace?” Ian blushed and dropped his eyes. “I don’t know,” he stammered, “I didn’t think…” The salesgirl took pity on him and jumped in. “Why don’t I show you some things?” she suggested suggestively. Sara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She moved closer to Ian and suddenly slipped her hand up under the cashmere to rub his hot, bare abs. Ian gasped as Sara said, “C’mon, baby. Let’s look at some lingerie.” Senses still reeling, he allowed Sara to lead him blindly after the salesgirl, who had taken off into racks of skimpy creations on a mission to find the perfect turn-on for this hottie that had so obligingly wandered into the store in the middle of a dull weekday.

“My name’s Laura,” the salesgirl said to Ian, “What’s your favorite color?” Two can play that game, Sara thought. “Sara,” she replied, introducing herself unasked to the woman. She looked up at the silent Ian and asked, like an interpreter, “What’s your favorite color, sweetie?” Ian stared down into Sara’s eyes, losing himself there for a moment. “Green,” he responded softly. She smiled at him, accepting the compliment gracefully. “Something in green then,” she instructed the woman who was finally studying Sara appraisingly. Her eyes regarded the detective’s fit form with calculating expertise. “I think I have something that you’ll like,” she said, her eyes shifting back to the woman’s tall, silent shadow. The salesgirl slipped away for a moment and when she returned she held a long, silky gown in her arms. It was a dark, forest green and made of heavy silk. The cut was utterly simple, just one long, clean line caught at the shoulders with thin, spaghetti straps. It reminded Sara of something someone like Myrna Loy might have worn in one of those old movies from the forties. It was simple, sophisticated, and incredibly sexy.

Sara turned her head to gauge Ian’s reaction to the gown. Her eyes widened at the look on his face. “Oh, wow,” she thought. The big, golden cat eyes were glazed with nascent passion. In his head, she was obviously already wearing the long spill of green silk and he was already peeling it off of her. “We’ll take it,” she told the woman who was also raptly taking in the look on Ian’s face. Sara had to say it a second time before Laura responded. Her eyes cooled when they came back to Sara. “It’s expensive,” she warned. “That’s irrelevant,” Ian spoke up, his eyes now locked on Sara, “We’ll take it.” Laura cleared her throat and they both looked at her. “There’s a matching robe,” she said. Ian nodded. “We’ll take that too,” he agreed. The salesgirl gave him a cocky grin, smelling a big sale, and asked, “Want to go for the whole ball of wax and spring for some dark green mules with marabou to match?” He had only the faintest hint what “mules with marabou” were but he figured that Sara should have the entire ensemble. “Sure,” he said, “Include them as well.” This guy was rich as well as beautiful, Laura thought, some women just had all the luck. Sara, on the other hand, was belatedly feeling some guilt. She looked up at her magnanimous lover and waffled, “Take it easy, Ian. We don’t have to buy out the store.” He shrugged, finally starting to feel comfortable now that they were almost done. He bent to brush his lips across hers. “This is a present for both of us, love,” he murmured, “Enjoy it. I will.” They left the store laden with packages and every pair of female eyes – and a few male eyes as well – following them.

When they were back in the car, Sara exclaimed, “I’m starving. Shopping always makes me hungry. Is it time for lunch yet?” Pulling out into traffic, Ian glanced at his watch. It was already 1:30. He turned to her, flashed a dazzling smile, and said, “You’re timing is good. We have lunch reservations for 2:00 at Tavern on the Green.” She glanced down at her usual jeans and cropped sweater. “I’m not really dressed for a place like that,” she mumbled, embarrassed. She had always wanted to eat there but it was out of her price range. He shot her a quick look, surprised at her reaction. “You look fine,” he replied, “You’re perfect.” She smiled and reached out to caress his hand, where it rested on the gear shaft. “And you’re prejudiced,” she replied. Ian linked his fingers with hers and used their joined hands to shift the jag’s gear. “Yes,” he growled softly, “I am. I’m head over heels in love with you.” The casual way that he said it took her breath away. Her head reeled for a moment. “God, this is all happening so fast,” she thought, a bit dazed. He frowned at her silence. He had hoped to hear her own declaration of her feelings for him. His hand tightened a little on the wheel. “You better stop pushing,” he warned himself in his head, “Or you’ll push her away. Give her time. She only admitted it for the first time this morning, after all. Have some patience.” Ian forced himself to relax, venting a soft sigh. Hearing it, she turned her head a fraction to study him covertly. Was he expecting her to tell him she loved him? Why was that so hard for her to do? She was saved from further speculation when they pulled up to the restaurant in Central Park and handed the car off to the valet.

Ian was right. Sara wasn’t the least bit out of place. She soon relaxed and enjoyed their leisurely lunch immensely. Relaxing over her second post-lunch cup of coffee, she asked, “Where to now, O Great Master of Ceremonies?” He smiled charmingly and linked his fingers with hers in the middle of the small table. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word, “We could spend a couple of hours at the Met or the Guggenheim, if you like. It’s up to you. Or, we could go to the hotel right now. The room is reserved and waiting.” They stared at each other across the table. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Your choice,” he added softly. Looking into his eyes, she felt mesmerized, like she was being slowly melted in those molten pools of golden lava. No contest, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Hotel. Now.” Ian lifted a languid hand to signal for the check. Less than five minutes later, they were back in the jag, headed toward the hotel. “Where are we going?” she asked curiously. She wasn’t really concerned. She knew that he wouldn’t book them into a dump. All she really wanted was a bed, a private bath, and Ian.

Ian tried to keep the mischief out of his eyes when he casually replied, “Sherry Netherland.” Sara’s mouth dropped open. She finally squeaked, “You’re kidding.” He turned to her briefly, angling through afternoon traffic around the Park. “Is this the face of a kidder?” he asked. She looked back at him, her own visage blank with shock. “We can’t go to a place like that without luggage, dressed like this,” she whispered, “They’ll throw us out.” Ian laughed. “If you have enough money, Sara,” he replied, “No one throws you out. They would let us in stark naked, carrying a paper sack.” She was suddenly subdued. “I guess we’ve got the room overnight, huh?” she asked. Amused, he replied, “They don’t rent rooms by the hour, love.” Fidgeting in the seat, Sara said, “That place is like a palace, Ian. What possessed you to book us there?” Eyes still on the road, he stretched his right hand over to capture and still her hands in her lap. “Stop fussing,” he said softly, “You’re the Wielder of the Witchblade, a goddess come to Earth. No place is too good for you. If it seems to be a palace to you, then it’s a fitting place to take my queen.” She went quiet. Did he really see her like that? How was she supposed to live up to that kind of image? As they pulled into the turnaround for the elegant, five-star hotel, he turned off the ignition and faced her. With the eerie prescience born of their new connection, he answered her unspoken concern. “You’re not required to do anything, Sara,” he said, “You only have to be who you are.”

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