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Date Posted: 17:42:41 09/03/03 Wed
Author: Slally
Subject: "Blood Seduction" - Chapter 15 (**** NC-17 ****)
In reply to: Slally 's message, ""Blood Seduction"" on 17:27:29 09/03/03 Wed

This chapter is most definitely NC-17 - PLEASE - if you are not an adult, don't read it! If you are an adult and read it, please let me know how you like it.

************************************************************

Ian helped Sara out of the limousine. He squeezed her hand and said, “Give me a minute.” She nodded and he went to the driver’s window. Vaguely, Sara realized that she’d never even seen the driver. Her shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug as her eyes devoured Ian, who was leaning casually against the door of the limo talking softly. Sara had other more important things on her mind right now. She stood against the wall next to the front door of the building, hip cocked and eyes half closed. The effects of the lovely orgasm that Ian had just given her were still singing in her blood. She sighed and shivered a little, thinking about what she wanted to do to him when they were alone.

At that moment, his eyes lifted and met hers. Ian must have read some of her thoughts because his lips suddenly curved in a seductive grin. His head immediately dropped again and Sara got the impression that he was cutting short his conversation with the limo driver. Some folded bills quickly changed hands and Ian knocked dismissively on the limo roof. He stepped back as the long car pulled away, moving down the street, and disappearing around the corner. Ian stood where he was, just looking at Sara. His eyes glowed amber in the dim light and that sinful smile still flirted with the corners of his sensuous mouth.

The green flame in Sara’s eyes signaled her own desire. “Do I have to come over there and get you?” she asked. The sexy, little smile blossomed back into a hot, seductive grin as he sauntered to her side. She caught his hand, dragging him into the building and steering him toward the freight elevator. His dark brow lifted and he laughed delightedly. Sara frowned. “You’re testing my notoriously limited patience, Ian,” she grumbled. Emphasis on the “Ian.” Taking the hint, he quickly turned and pressed the button for the top floor. As soon as the door closed and the elevator started moving, Sara swung him around, roughly pinning his shoulders to the wall. Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him passionately.

After one sharp gasp of surprise, Ian recovered quickly and immediately turned the tables. It was Sara’s turn to be surprised when the elevator suddenly stopped between the second and third floor. She had been wrapped around him like a second skin with one of her hands wedged between their bodies, stroking his heavy erection. Now, she pulled back from their torrid kiss, looking dazed, and asked, “What happened?” With blinding speed, he reversed their positions. Sara’s back was now against the elevator wall. “I stopped the elevator,” he responded hoarsely. Ian began sucking and nibbling the delicate skin at the side of her neck while his fingers moved to tease her nipples through the thin material of her dress. “Why?” she managed to ask. “Because I need you right now,” he growled softly. She tipped back her head, shutting her eyes. “Oh,” she sighed.

Sara felt Ian’s hands slide up her legs, bunching her dress around her waist. She was glad now that she’d decided not to wear the pantyhose. As he nipped her ear, his tongue playing with her new pearl earring, his fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties and pushed them down over her hips. They dropped to the floor. She was panting loudly; so ready for him that it was painful. “Hurry,” she hissed. When she heard the sound of his zipper, Sara groaned his name in anticipation and bucked into him where he strained against his briefs. She heard material tear as he got rid of them. That sound weakened her knees and forced a scald of arousal to escape her.

Ian moved closer. He had pushed his suit jacket off, letting it fall to the dusty elevator floor. Both of them were so hot now that she thought steam must have been rising between them. His strong hands cupped her bottom, lifting her up and pinning her to the wall with his body. Gripping his shoulders, Sara locked her muscular legs around him high on his hips. When Ian drove deep inside her with one powerful thrust, Sara let out a loud, inarticulate cry. There was no finesse this time; just wild, desperate need.

If Sara hadn’t been an equal and very willing partner, Ian’s pounding assault might have seemed almost brutal. The empty space inside the elevator echoed his soft, explosive grunts as he rammed himself into her over and over, pulling out almost completely only to slam back into her to the hilt. Sara arched her body, lifting herself higher against him, wanting more, unable to get enough. Completely out of control, she had dragged his tie loose to tangle in a knotted lump halfway down his chest. She’d ripped his shirt open in her quest for bare skin. Sara had scored his cheek and chest with her nails, leaving bleeding furrows of gouged skin in her wake. She’d bitten a tender spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder hard enough to draw blood, marking him as her own with a livid brand.

They were so enmeshed that they seemed to be trying to crawl inside each other. Sara felt Ian’s heart pounding furiously against hers. It was no longer clear where he ended and she began. She felt his breath hot on her neck as she buried her face in his silky curls, now damp with exertion. Ian gasped, “Oh god, Sara,” his head dropping to rest against her. He was shaking as if gripped by a fever. She clung to him, trying to save herself from drowning in the deluge of sensation. Although neither one of them were thinking coherently, they could both sense the enormity of the climax that was approaching. If they usually came with a glass-shattering explosion, this time they were headed for a nuclear conflagration.

It hit Sara first. Her whole body went rigid, head thrown back, neck straining. Her legs tightened around Ian so hard that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. All of her internal muscles convulsed and she let out a guttural cry. When her head fell forward again, Sara bit Ian for the second time in the place where she had already marked him. That bite tipped Ian over the edge. He came with such force it felt like it was ripping him in two; like he was shooting his life’s essence into Sara. He pulled her against him frantically enough to unintentionally leave a perfect set of his fingers bruised into her buttocks. He let out a strangled yell, sounding as if he were being throttled.

Passion spent, reaction set in quickly – especially since someone was repeatedly signaling for the stalled elevator. Ian sagged against Sara. He was panting so loudly that she could barely hear her own ragged gasps. She stiffly unlocked her legs from his hips and eased them back to the floor. They buckled when she tried to put weight on them and she would have fallen if Ian hadn’t grabbed her. The effort to keep them both upright almost toppled him. When she finally found her footing, they came apart with a soft, wet smack. She snorted and weakly said, “Jeez, we better get this elevator moving before they call the fire department.”

Head still down, bracing Sara with one arm and himself against the wall with the other, Ian rasped, “I can’t move yet.” Sara had to smile. She couldn’t believe what they had just done and where they had done it. The buzzer sounded again. They had to move. “Ian,” she said. He lifted his head. His hair was considerably curlier – probably reacting to the steam, she thought. His eyes had a glazed, faraway look to them. His cheeks were flushed. He looked adorable – even with his shirt ripped half off him and his pants down around his ankles. “What just happened?” he asked. His voice was as dazed as his expression. Sara laughed. “You were there, sport,” she said, “You should know.” He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Ian,” she tried again. This time his eyes actually saw her. “We have to pull ourselves together and turn the elevator back on,” she said, “Someone has been trying to call it for the last ten minutes.” Comprehension rushed back into his big, golden eyes. “Oh shit,” he said succinctly. She nodded in agreement. They both went to work on trying to make themselves presentable. They were only moderately successful. Sara fared better. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled, her hair had come out of its smooth chignon, and the heel of one shoe had snapped off. Other than that, she was relatively unscathed.

Ian, on the other hand, was a mess. His suit coat was both wrinkled and dirty because they had, unaccountably, been standing on it. His tie was knotted so tightly that he had to just pull it over his head and stuff it in his pocket. Buttons were scattered across the elevator floor and his shirt gaped open to display his taut abs. His briefs were a total loss and had disappeared somewhere – probably also into his pocket. The zipper on his pants was stuck and there were some rather obvious stains clearly visible. Fortunately, his suit coat would cover that damage. His hair was a riot of curls. And, last but not least, he had several livid scratches on his face and chest, as well as a truly spectacular bite at the base of his neck.

Sara studied him and sighed. “Well,” she said, resigned, “Let’s hope the entire building isn’t there waiting when the elevator door opens because there’s no way to hide this.” Ian grinned. “They’re probably waiting on the first floor,” he said. She just looked at him a minute before saying, “So?” His grin got broader as he pressed the button to unlock the elevator. “We’re going up,” he said. She laughed before adding, “It’s a temporary reprieve, Not…” she stopped herself, then said, “Ian. They’ll see where the elevator goes. You’re the only one that lives on the top floor.” He shrugged. “Let them see,” he said, “I don’t care what they think.” She sniffed. “And smell,” she thought. The elevator reeked of sex.

Ian was right. When the elevator door opened, no one was there. As they walked to his door, Sara noticed that he was limping slightly. “Why are you limping?” she asked. He dropped his head, blushing as he dug around in his pockets to find his keys. “I pulled a muscle,” he mumbled. She snickered, amused at them both. As soon as Ian opened the door, Hannibal was all over him. Sara shut the door, allowing Ian to get Hannibal under control. As she bent to pick up the keys that Ian had dropped when the big dog welcomed him, Sara felt a sudden draft. She stood abruptly, her face going blank.

Ian turned toward her, smiling. The smile switched to a frown and he asked, “What is it?” Her cheeks flamed scarlet and she ducked her head. “I must have left my panties on the elevator floor,” she murmured, “I should try to find them.” She had her hand on the doorknob when he said, “Wait.” When she looked back at him, Ian was slowly pulling her panties from one of his jacket pockets. Her lips twitched. “Were you going to return those to me?” she asked. The edges of his own lips curved as he shrugged.

Sara forced her face to settle into a serious expression before she asked, “You weren’t thinking about wearing them, were you?” His eyes and mouth went round with shock before he realized that she was teasing him. “They might be a little tight on me,” he countered. She smiled seductively. “What were you planning to do?” she asked. Ian cleared his throat. “Get a quick shower and change before taking Hannibal for a walk,” he said. She caught his hand as he went past her. “You know what I meant, Ian,” she said. He brought her hand to his lips. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said, “I just saw them on the floor and picked them up. I hadn’t gotten past that yet.”

Ian took a few more steps, then turned back. “Join me in the shower?” he asked. Sara took another long look at his disheveled state. She wanted to remember him like this. “Nah,” she said, “Thanks but I think I’ll get my shower while you’re walking Hannibal. I’m going to make some coffee. I need another cup.” He nodded. She watched him limp toward the sleeping loft, Hannibal hot on his heels. Sara suddenly grinned as she realized that Ian hadn’t returned her panties. Still grinning, she disappeared into the kitchen to make herself that pot of coffee.

An hour later, they had both showered and Hannibal had been walked. Ian had built a small fire and they sat in the big easy chairs in the library, facing each other. Hannibal was draped across Ian’s bare feet. Clarice was getting settled in Sara’s lap, industriously “making beds” on her thighs. Sara had put on Ian’s white, terry robe after her shower. He had changed into black sweats. She held a big mug of steaming coffee in one hand and absently stroked the cat with the other. Ian watched her drink for a moment before he observed, “You’re going to be up all night, drinking coffee at one o’clock in the morning.” Sara narrowed her eyes. “Are you nagging me?” she asked. Ian held up both hands, palms out, in surrender.

With dreamy eyes, Ian continued to watch Sara sip coffee and pet the cat. The firelight cast her in a soft, warm glow. She looked small, vulnerable, in his too large bathrobe. He felt his heart constrict with emotion. “Sara?” he said. She looked up, her eyes a little unfocused and sleepy. He took a deep breath and rose, crossing the distance between them. He sank to his knees in front of her. Clarice arched her back, annoyed by the intrusion, and jumped off Sara’s lap. Sara met his eyes, her own now wide and startled. Her eyebrow went up. “What?” she asked, putting her mug down on the table. Ian took her hands in his, bending his dark head to press his lips to each of her palms. He kept his head down. His voice was soft but she could hear him quite clearly when he said, “I love you.” For just a moment, she stopped breathing. He finally raised his head again to look at her. “Don’t panic,” he added, trying for a smile, “I know you don’t love me. I don’t expect to hear it back.”

Sara reached out to gently stroke his hair, pushing a loose curl back behind his ear. Ian shut his eyes and sighed. Then, he leaned forward, dropping his head to her lap and slipping his arms around her. He shifted easily from his knees to the floor, leaning his body against her legs. Sara dug one hand deep into his hair, sifting the silky curls through her fingers again and again. She rested her other hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. “Are you alright?” she whispered. His voice was muffled against her stomach when he replied, “Yeah. I’m fine.” They sat like that for quite a while. Finally, Sara said, “I can’t keep my eyes open. Are you ready for bed?”

Ian nodded. Sara felt the slight motion against her belly, where his head rested. She smiled and ruffled his hair. “You going to get up sometime tonight, sweetie?” she asked. His head lifted. He met her eyes and when he saw she wasn’t teasing him – that the endearment had been genuine – he smiled. He unfolded his long body and rose fluidly, offering her his hand. She took it and he drew her to her feet, pulling her into a quick embrace. Sara snorted as Clarice immediately jumped on the chair to fill the space that she had just vacated. Ian tugged gently on her hand, leading her toward the sleeping loft. When Hannibal started to follow them, he turned his head and commanded, “Stay, boy. Go sleep with your sister in the library.” The big dog gave a soft woof and padded back toward the other room. Sara blinked sleepy eyes and said, “I bet you wish I listened to you that well. Don’t you?” He laughed. “Not at all,” he replied, “If you did, I wouldn’t know who you were.” She dug her nails lightly into his hand.

At the sleeping loft, Sara stopped and stared at the ladder. “Shit,” she said. Ian smiled. “Not a problem,” he assured her. He caught her under the arms and hoisted her to the platform. Sitting with her knees apart and legs dangling over the edge, she leaned forward to grasp his face in her hands. He moved closer, his body between her legs, his hands resting on her hips. “Give us a kiss, big boy,” she demanded. With a fleeting smile, he leaned in to slant his mouth across hers. She slid her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Their lips parted slowly in a long, languid kiss, tongue tips glancing off of each other to tempt and tease. After she’d had her fill, Sara pulled back a fraction to look in his eyes. “You taste good,” she whispered. He smiled. “You taste addictive,” he replied, “Like coffee.”

“Need a stronger fix?” Sara tempted. Ian’s long eyelashes fluttered and his lanky frame jittered. “Quick,” he gasped, “I’m going into withdrawal.” Sara chuckled. “You ass,” she said fondly, leaning in to capture his lower lip in her teeth. He wasn’t able to cover the slight hiss that escaped him. She released his lip and pulled back. He followed her, eyes shut, murmuring, “No. Don’t stop.” His eyes opened when her finger touched his mouth instead of her lips. She was examining the bite mark she had given him. “Boy, I really got you,” she mumbled. He kissed her finger as she explored the damage. “It’s nothing,” he assured her. Now that she was looking, she began to find the rest of the damage that she had done. The scratches were red, swollen, and looked nasty. He was still bleeding where she had bitten him on the neck.

“Jeez,” Sara said, mortified, “I had no idea that I’d done all this.” In one smooth motion, Ian vaulted up to the sleeping loft to sit beside her. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Don’t give it another thought,” he said, “I view them as marks of possession. I wouldn’t trade them for a fortune in gold.” She snorted, then was silent for quite a while, thinking. He covertly watched her, wondering what was going on in her head. She finally turned slightly to look up into his face. “I’ve never done anything like that with anyone else,” she said very softly. When he didn’t say anything, she added, “You know – what happened in the elevator,” color rising in her cheeks. Ian frowned. “Should I interpret that as good or bad?” he asked. She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she replied, “I guess you should interpret it as ‘different.’”

Sara got up and headed to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Ian stayed where he was, mulling over what she had said. He finally decided that, considering the course of her previous relationships, maybe ‘different’ wasn’t such a bad thing. The bathroom door opened and Sara stuck out her head. “Come here and let me clean you up, Ian,” she said. He turned his head and raised a dark brow. “Clean me up?” he echoed. She scowled at him, knowing how he hated anyone fussing over his injuries. “Just come here,” she repeated. He rose and joined her in the bathroom.

When he entered the bathroom, Ian saw an impressive array of first aid paraphernalia arranged around the sink. He smoothly swiveled back toward the door but Sara grabbed his arm, dragging him in. She pointed to the lowered toilet seat and ordered, “Sit.” He sighed, resigned, and sat. “Are we going to play doctor?” he asked hopefully, trying to distract her, “Would you like to massage that muscle I pulled?” She had to smile. “I bet I can guess where it is,” she said, “Groin?” He looked amazed. “You must be psychic,” he teased. She frowned. “Take the shirt off, cutie,” she said. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up an admonishing finger. Ian sighed again, shut his mouth, and pulled his shirt over his head.

Sara knelt in front of Ian. Just the tip of her tongue exposed in concentration, she cleaned each scratch that she’d given him and then dabbed them with Mercurochrome. He didn’t protest or stir because he was actually enjoying her attention. Next, she cleaned and sterilized the bites. When she wanted to cover the bite on his neck with a large, gauze pad, Ian finally drew the line. He hated bandages of any kind. “It looks worse than it is,” he argued, “Let the air heal it.” Sara knew that stubborn set of his lips. On this one, she gave in, aware that it was a losing battle. “Well,” she thought, “Irons has marked his back and I’ve marked his neck – near the jugular. Over time, I wonder which brand will fade into insignificance.”

“Are we done?” Ian asked. Sara nodded as she put away the first aid supplies. “Yes,” she said, adding, “In here.” When she turned back to him, she held a tube of Ben-Gay. His eyes went wide. “You really are going to massage the pulled muscle?” he asked. She nodded. “You bet,” she replied. Ian grinned. “Alright!” he said enthusiastically. She shrugged. “I feel responsible,” she explained. Catching her hand and drawing her toward the bed, Ian replied, “I’d dissuade you from that assumption but that would be very foolish.” She flipped off the bathroom light as she passed, letting him lead her to the bed. Surprised, she asked, “When did you change the sheets?” Reaching for the tie on her robe, he responded, “Earlier. The sheets from last night were…” He paused, searching for a word. “Used?” she suggested. He grinned. “To say the least,” he agreed.

Sara lightly slapped away the hand that was trying to disrobe her. “Cut it out,” she said, “Lose the pants.” His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am,” Ian replied, pushing his sweatpants over his slender hips to drop to the floor. He stood still, watching her, waiting for her next command. Her eyes raked over him, as always spellbound by his physical beauty. Ian watched her watching him. The look on her face melted all the hard edges; excitement coiled in his belly like a somnolent serpent. In his present state of undress, there was nowhere to hide his reaction. Sara’s eyes traveled back up his long body to meet his eyes. A knowing smile touched her lips. After a moment, Ian dropped his head as a sudden flush of color rose in his cheeks. “Such a contradiction,” she thought, “Standing there naked, aroused, and sexy as sin, but still naive enough to be shy about it.”

A great wave of tenderness toward him washed over her without warning. Swamped, Sara struggled to rebuild her defenses; grateful that Ian hadn’t been looking at her, grateful that he hadn’t glimpsed her sudden vulnerability. After all, she wouldn’t want to mislead him, have him misinterpret her feelings for him. By the time he looked up again, Sara had herself back under control. “So,” he said lightly, fidgeting a little, “Are you just going to ogle me all night or were you planning on getting physical?” She frowned. “I’m going to massage your pulled muscle, pal, nothing more,” she said. She inclined her head toward his impressive erection, adding, “So you can put that away. Lie down.” Trying to hide his disappointment and confusion at her abrupt mood change, Ian stretched out on the bed. “What did I do wrong?” he wondered, replaying the last few minutes in his head.

Sara tightened the robe’s tie around her waist and sat on the bed beside him. Ian bent his left knee up, casually tilting his thigh inward to block her view of his genitals. It was an unconscious gesture. He was feeling vulnerable, exposed, and Sara was studying him again. “Right or left,” she said. Both his brows lifted. “Sorry?” he replied. Her lips twitched. “The muscle you pulled,” she clarified, “Is it on the right or the left?” His forehead smoothed out. “Oh,” he said, “Right.” She squeezed salve from the tube into the palm of her hand before replacing the cap and dropping it on the nightstand. She put her other hand on his bent knee and gently pushed his leg flat on the bed.

Sara stroked fingertips over the inside of his right thigh just below where it met his groin. “Here?” she asked. Ian shivered at her touch. A tiny but visible quiver went through his rigid shaft. “Yes,” he responded hoarsely. She slowly rubbed in the salve, her fingers kneading the hard muscle firmly – a bit too firmly. “Ow,” Ian complained, his shoulders coming up off the bed. She raised her head to look at him and said, “Sorry.” He was resting up on bent elbows now, brows knit in confusion, studying her. “Did I do something to make you angry, Sara?” he asked. She dropped her eyes and lightened her touch. She couldn’t exactly tell him that she was pissed off because he’d made her feel something other than annoyance or lust for him, could she?

“No,” she replied, “Why?” Ian shook his head. “It’s sometimes difficult to keep up,” he said. Her eyes shifted back to his groin. “Could have fooled me,” she replied. Ian blushed. But, with the color still high in his cheeks, he boldly reached for and captured her right hand in his. He moved their joined hands to tightly grip his hard-on and began guiding her toward the release he craved. With a soft groan, Ian shut his eyes and dropped flat. His hips began arching rhythmically to push himself into the sheathe of their coupled grasp. It didn’t take long. Close to climax, his body tensed and he moaned, “Ohhhhh, Sara, Sara,” in a tight, husky whisper.

Sara smiled, forcing her hand to slow its motion in Ian’s rigid clasp. “Say ‘please,’” she commanded softly. His hips bucked harder in reaction. He was so close. His eyes opened and fixed on her, unguarded, filled with adoration. “Oh, my lady, my love,” he begged raggedly, “Please touch me. Please want me.” She suddenly felt ashamed for toying with him. Sara tightened her grasp and picked up the pace to bring him to completion. With her free hand, she loosened the terry robe she was wearing and pulled it around to absorb the impending eruption. Ian was utterly oblivious and she had no intention of trying to sleep on soaked sheets. With a soft cry, his body pushing high off the mattress, Ian came into the terry robe that Sara pressed around him.

Sara slipped the robe the rest of the way off her and rolled it into a ball with the large, wet patch on the inside. She dropped the bathrobe to the floor beside the bed and then settled herself under the covers. Sated, Ian curved around her warmly with the limp, boneless grace of a big cat. His angles smoothly met her curves as if they were conjoining pieces of some genetic jigsaw puzzle. He sighed heavily and cuddled closer, nuzzling his face down into her hair. Without another word, he dropped like a stone into a deep sleep. Sara smiled, amused, and affectionately ruffled his damp curls. “Just like a man,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. She soon followed him into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

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