A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them! Enjoy!
Author's note: FAIR WARNING: This chapter contains pretty racy content, folks! So, if you're offended by this sort of stuff, DO NOT READ ON. There, I warned you, so PLEASE don't report me to ff.net!!! Also, I owe a debt of gratitude to Slally, whose wonderful (and, I'm very happy to say, equally long) fan fiction piece, "Breathing Space," which is posted over on the Digitablum Magae board, inspired the erotic flights of fancy in this chapter. In fact, I may have inadvertently stolen a turn of phrase or two. Thanks, Slally! Of course, I also let my own fertile imagination run wild about having a buck naked Ian Nottingham at my mercy! Yee-ha!!!
Chapter 45.
Kenneth Irons walked into the estate's infirmary, the tapping of his silver-handled cane preceding him and alerting the man lying in the hospital bed as to the identity of his visitor.
Dr. Immo sighed, putting aside the latest issue of The New England Journal of Medicine that he'd been perusing and schooling his features into the eager-to-please expression he knew his employer was used to seeing.
"Ah, good afternoon, Dr. Immo!" Kenneth Irons greeted him with false joviality. "You're looking much better today."
"I am feeling much better, thank you, Mr. Irons," Immo murmured. He eyed the silver-haired billionaire critically, easily recognizing the signs of strain and sleeplessness from long acquaintance with the man. "I understand the surgeon was able to save the vision in the helicopter pilot's eye."
"Yes. He'll fly again, although with the settlement he got from me, he no longer actually needs to work for a living," Kenneth murmured, lowering himself into the chair by the bed. He picked up the Journal, glanced at it, and put it back down. "Doctor, I read your notes on the toxin you administered to Ian. Tell me, is there any chance he could have survived without the benefit of the antidote?"
Immo contrived to look thoughtful but hesitant. "There is always a chance, albeit slim, that, yes, he could have survived. His genetic enhancements make anything possible."
"I see. Then perhaps we should hold off on activating one of his 'brothers' until we know for certain," Irons said, hope filling his heart at the doctor's words. "Unfortunately, this storm will prevent the retrieval team I assembled from locating him for the next few days at the very least."
"Is it still snowing?" Dr. Immo asked.
"No. It stopped this morning. However, there is in excess of two feet on the ground. The roads are impassable, and likely will be for some time."
"What of the Wielder?" Immo was emboldened to inquire. "Have you sensed anything from her through your link to the Witchblade?"
Kenneth shook his head. "Nothing since late Thursday night, when It gave her a vision," he murmured. He frowned as he remembered how he'd gone to the library after the failed attempt to locate Ian that fateful night. He'd been furious at being thwarted as well as more upset than he cared to admit by the prospect of Nottingham's impending death. So, as he often did during times of stress, he had sought solace in the company of his beloved Elizabeth Bronte in her icy crypt. Recalling the brief power outage, he'd drawn back the curtains covering the glass-enclosed chamber with some trepidation, and had been relieved to find that she was fine. Kenneth had been glad of his privacy when, unaccountably, a sudden wave of sorrow had flooded him, bringing tears to his eyes as he gazed upon the love of his life's frozen visage. That was when his link to the current Wielder had alerted him to the fact that the Witchblade was giving her a vision. Several minutes later, just as he sensed the vision start to release Sara, he'd been badly startled to feel a ghostly touch on his tear-streaked face, and he could have sworn that he heard Elizabeth's husky voice whisper in his ear "You lose, my love." Heart racing, he'd glanced wildly around the library, but it had been empty save for himself and the carefully preserved body of the previous Wielder of the Witchblade.
"Forgive me for saying so, sir," Dr. Immo said gently, "but you look tired."
"I do not mind admitting that I am feeling the weight of my years, Doctor," Irons murmured, glancing down at his elegant, immaculately manicured hands. 'And I miss my son,' he thought to himself.
"You miss young Nottingham, don't you?" Immo said softly, startling Kenneth with his astuteness. "I do, too. However, we will know soon enough whether or not he has survived. If he did, we . . . " the doctor's words trailed off as he noticed the way his employer had begun to squirm in his seat, his color rising. "What is wrong? Are you all right?" he asked, alarmed at the sudden change in the man's heretofore calm demeanor.
"It, it's the Wielder," Kenneth panted, pulling frantically at the collar of his dress shirt. "She . . . Oh, dear God!" He fanned at himself with his hands in a futile attempt to cool his suddenly overheated body.
"What is it? Is she under attack?" Dr. Immo questioned.
"Suffice it to say, Doctor," Irons gasped, trembling with the force of the sensations he was all-too-clearly sensing through his link with Sara Pezzini, "Ian Nottingham is very much alive!"
****
As soon as the door to the garage apartment closed behind them, Sara turned and attacked Ian. Reaching up, she swept his hat from his head, grabbed two handfuls of his long, curly dark hair, and dragged his face down to hers, her lips seeking his hungrily and her body pressing his against the door.
When they came up for air minutes later, Ian murmured "Sara, please allow me to take off this sling. It is in the way."
Reluctantly, she stepped back, releasing him. "Don't stop at the sling, mister," she ordered, shrugging out of her down jacket and peeling off her gloves. Tossing them aside, she bent and unlaced her boots, kicking them off and then hopping in place as she removed her socks. Pulling her hat from her head and unwinding her scarf from around her throat, she backed up toward the bedroom. "Come here, big guy," she purred, crooking a finger at him.
Doffing the sling, his scarf, gloves, and overcoat, Ian closed the space between them in an eye-blink, scooping Sara up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Kissing her, he strode over to the bed and sat down on it, gingerly settling her on his lap. When Sara broke off the kiss several minutes later, they were both breathing hard.
She plucked at his flannel shirt. "This, off," she demanded, reaching down to grab the hem of her own sweater, pulling it up over her head in one motion and flinging it to the floor, where it was soon joined by the long-sleeved thermal cotton shirt she'd had on underneath it.
Ian's pulse rate sped up as this revealed the only other garment she wore on top: a sheer black bra. He swiftly shrugged out of his shirt and, with her help, pulled his T-shirt over his head, barely noticing the slight twinge of discomfort his shoulder made. Sara's warm hands immediately traced the muscular contours of his bare chest, her fingers delving into the light furring of dark hair covering it. He groaned as her thumbs lightly brushed his flat male nipples, then gasped as she pressed her mouth to first one then the other, her hot, pink tongue circling the highly sensitive flesh.
"Hmmm, is that your light saber, young Jedi, or are you just happy to see me?" Sara grinned, shifting her curvaceous rump on his lap so that it rubbed against the hard ridge of his erection, eliciting a hiss of pleasure/pain from him. He didn't know whether to be relieved or upset when she scrambled off him moments later and stood up.
"Pants, off," she commanded imperiously, unbuttoning and then unzipping her own soaking wet jeans. Ian enjoyed watching her shimmy out of them as he removed his boots, socks, and, standing, his damp jeans. A wave of shyness flooded him as he stood before her wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, but then the sight of Sara clad only in her bra and panties distracted him, and he forgot to be self-conscious.
She was exquisite, her slender, athletic body very toned but with curves in all the right places. Ian could not quite bring himself to believe that she was really here and that she truly desired him. He was very afraid that if he attempted to touch her again, this would all turn out to have been a cruel dream, and that he would awaken hard and aching for her, like before.
Sara feasted her eyes on Ian Nottingham's amazing physique. His was the body of a warrior, battle trained and honed, with hair-trigger reflexes and a breathtaking array of muscles, as well as a sobering collection of scars. But his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped build was long and lean rather than muscle-bound and stocky, and he moved with a cat-like, masculine grace that was mesmerizing. Her gaze was drawn to the left side of his ribcage, where extensive, colorful bruising stood out against his pale skin, and she was reminded once again of how close she'd come to losing him.
Simultaneously, they reached for each other, driven by an ancient, instinctual urge to mate both were powerless to resist.
Ian was six-foot-three to Sara's five-foot-seven, but this was in no way a deterrent to either of them. Standing on her tiptoes, she offered her mouth to him again, and he bent his head to deliver a long, drugging kiss. Her arms twined around his neck, and his slid around her slim body, gathering her closer to him -- so close there could be no mistaking his desire for her.
"Unhook me," she whispered against his lips minutes later, and Ian groaned as she caught his bottom lip between small white teeth and bit it gently. It took his oxygen-deprived brain a few moments to realize that she meant her bra, and he was pleased that he only fumbled with the tiny hooks and eyes for about 20 seconds before undoing them. Sara created a hair's breadth of space between their heated bodies and shrugged out of the wispy garment, letting it drop to the floor.
Ian gazed down in awe at the pale globes pressed against him. Lifting a trembling hand, he lightly grazed their tops with his knuckles, clearly perceiving the shudder that went through Sara's body at this tentative caress. Encouraged by her swift response, he backed up and sat down on the bed, pulling her toward him so that she stood between his widespread thighs. Raising his hands, he gently cupped her breasts, testing their weight and marveling at the satiny softness of her skin and the way she so perfectly filled his palms. Sara moaned deep in her throat, throwing her head back, as his thumbs brushed her nipples, much as she'd done to his minutes before. She leaned forward, offering a puckered tip to his mouth, and he immediately obliged her, laving first one dusky pink aureole and then the other with his tongue.
"God, Ian," Sara breathed, threading her fingers through his long, dark, incredibly soft hair. Dazed with desire, thick-lashed hazel eyes gazed up at her as his clever mouth lavished attention on her breasts. She gave a little cry as his teeth grazed her right nipple, and suddenly her legs grew too weak for her to remain standing any longer. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him flat on the bed, following him down onto it, so that she lay on top of him. For a fleeting moment, a shadow darkened his beautiful eyes, and she abruptly became aware that her full weight was resting on his battered body.
"What is it?" she asked worriedly. "Am I hurting you?"
He immediately shook his head. "No. It is just . . ." he hesitated, lowering his gaze. "I am afraid that I will disappoint you because of my inexperience, Sara," he finally whispered, coloring.
"Your inexperience?" Sara repeated, then froze as realization dawned on her. "Ian, you're a virgin!?!"
He nodded miserably, unable to meet her eyes.
She stared at him in stunned disbelief, then shook her head ruefully. "Huh. Well, I sure as hell never saw that coming," she murmured, sliding off him to lay beside him on her back and stare up at the ceiling contemplatively. But when he would have sat up, she placed a restraining hand on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I will understand if you do not wish to continue, Sara," he said stiffly, still avoiding her gaze.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
He did meet her eyes then, a glimmer of hope plainly visible in his. "You still want me, uh, you still want to continue?"
"Yes," she said softly, moving her head so that their lips just touched, "and yes."
The kiss that followed soon had their pulses racing again. Sara's left hand caressed his chest, and she smiled against his lips to feel the frantic pounding of his heart beneath her palm. Ian's breath caught in his throat as her hand began to stray south, sliding over the chiseled contours of his abs as it followed the narrow line of dark hair that arrowed downward to disappear beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Her slender fingers slid under the elastic, but then paused, and her green, green eyes met his.
"Don't be afraid to tell me if I'm going too fast for you," she told him, wondering how on earth he'd managed to remain a virgin until now. His male beauty literally took her breath away.
Unable to form words, Ian merely nodded, guileless hazel eyes wide.
Sara's fingers delved into the curly nest of black hair below his navel, and a fractured groan escaped his lips as they brushed his straining erection, but she reached below it to heft the velvety sack nestled beneath it, gently massaging the twin spheres housed therein. Involuntarily, Ian's hips rose off the bed, and Sara quickly yanked his shorts down. His arousal sprang free, and her eyes widened as she glimpsed it for the first time.
"Wow!" she breathed.
"What?" Ian asked anxiously. "Does it bother you that I am uncircumcised?"
She shook her head, pulling his underwear the rest of the way down and discarding them. "No, it's just that you're, um, quite a bit larger than I imagined you'd be."
He blinked. "You imagined how large I would be?"
Sara colored, and now it was she who avoided his eyes. "I meant you're bigger than I expected," she muttered.
Ian shook his head. "You said 'imagined.' I heard you." An insufferably smug look appeared on his face. "You imagined how I would look naked, Sara," he grinned, immensely pleased by this revelation. "You may as well admit it."
"I imagine how every guy looks naked, so don't get too full of yourself there, buster," she told him, her blush deepening.
He raised dark brows at her, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. "Every guy? Even Dante?"
Sara made a horrified face. "All right, all right, maybe not every guy. Just those with hot bodies."
Ian's grin widened. "So, you think my body is hot?"
"Okay, you can stop fishing for compliments now, Nottingham! Geez!" she huffed, rolling her eyes, but then a wicked grin appeared on her face. "Besides, it appears that you've forgotten the matter at hand," she murmured, and lightly skimmed the underside of his enormous erection with her nails. "How's that for a reminder?"
"You may proceed!" he gasped, hips rising off the bed again.
Sara watched his face as her fingertips lightly traced the network of distended veins wreathing his sex, her own arousal growing just from witnessing the intense pleasure her touch was giving him. She jumped, startled, when she felt his big, callous-roughened hand splay against her flat belly, her breath catching as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her hi-cut briefs.
"Turnabout is fair play, my Lady," he breathed. "Besides, I need a break from your sweet touch or I fear I will explode."
"We definitely don't want that," Sara murmured, reluctantly releasing him. "At least not yet."
She moaned as his thumb unerringly found the swollen nubbin among the dark-chestnut curls at the juncture of her thighs, and he began massaging it.
"Oh, dear Lord!" Sara gasped after a few minutes. "Are you sure you've never done this before, Nottingham?"
"Only in my dreams, my love," Ian smiled, pressing his warm palm against her, "only in my dreams."
Sara could not prevent her hips from rising off the bed and rocking against his hand, and he took this opportunity to pull her panties down around her slender thighs. She did the rest, kicking them off onto the floor.
"I think it's time for a raincoat," she panted, sitting up. "I want you inside me. Now."
"A raincoat?" Ian questioned, still caressing her.
Leaning over, she opened the night table's drawer and fumbled around inside it for a few moments before pulling out a row of foil-wrapped packets. "Otherwise known as a condom," she said, tearing one off and handing it to him.
"Oh." Ian blushed, handing it back to her. "Would you mind doing the honors, my Lady?"
"It would be my pleasure," she said, opening the packet. "I think Mr. Hoody will look quite fetching in his outerwear."
"Mr. Hoody?"
"Yeah, your foreskin makes it look like he's wearing a little hooded sweatshirt," she explained, laughing at his bemused expression. "Your woody is wearing a hoody! Let's just see if he's ready for his close-up."
She flicked the ultra-sensitive area below the bulbous crown, causing a deep-chested groan to escape Ian's lips. His sex jerked, and several clear drops of liquid appeared at the tip. "I'd say that's a yes," Sara grinned. With agonizing slowness, she smoothed the latex over his aching length. "There. When the time comes -- no pun intended -- feel free to fire away with both barrels, cowboy," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.
Ian thrust his tongue into her mouth rhythmically, unconsciously pantomiming the movements he was about to commence. When they were finally forced to come up for air, Sara sat up and scooted further onto the bed, holding out her arms to him invitingly. "Come to me, my ninja lover," she said huskily.
He did, pushing her flat and then moving over her, his hot, extremely hard arousal brushing the inside of her thigh. "Guide me, Sara," he whispered, and then groaned, shuddering, when her fingers encircled him.
"Easy, take it easy," she cautioned him as she placed him at the entrance to her body. "It's been a while for me and you're bigger than I'm used to."
"I will try," he murmured, watching her face as he slowly entered her.
She smiled up at him reassuringly. "Feels good."
"Incredible," he agreed, voice rough with the strain of going slow when his body was screaming at him to pound away for all he was worth. None of the visions he'd had of previous Protectors making love to their Wielders or the countless sexual fantasies he'd had about Sara and himself could have prepared him for the exquisite sensation of her moist heat enveloping his throbbing length. He grimaced as felt his body clench, and for one awful moment, Ian thought he'd climaxed, but, to his profound relief, he realized he'd only released more of the pre-ejaculate that was meant to ease his way. Even had he not been covered in latex, it would not have been necessary; Sara was more than ready for him, her sheath slick and inviting. When he was seated within her as deeply as possible, he slowly withdrew completely before easing back into her again. He did this three more times, gasping as on the last achingly slow thrust she changed the angle of her pelvis, so that he penetrated even deeper. Ian was unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against hers, face twisting as his body briefly clenched once again, helpfully releasing yet more lubricant.
Sara's breath caught as Ian ground his hips against her, realizing that it would not take much to put her over the edge; she had gone without for far too long. However, she sensed that he was considerably further along the road to rapture than she was, and being that he was totally new to the experience, she decided that, in all fairness, she could not expect much from him in the way of staying power.
"I'll understand if you lap me this time around, Ian," Sara told him, reaching up to caress his tense but determined face.
He shook his head. "You first, my Lady," he murmured. "Always, you first."
"You won't get an argument from me," she grinned, already addicted to the way he filled her more fully than any of her previous lovers had. "Faster," Sara whispered hotly in his ear. "Ride 'em, cowboy!"
"Thank God!" he breathed, eliciting a chuckle from her. He quickly settled into a smooth thrusting rhythm, with Sara occasionally redirecting the angle of his entry using subtle adjustments of her pelvis and hips. Her hands caressed the bunching and sliding muscles of his back, reveling in his strength and virility. She was extremely pleased, albeit unsurprised, at what a quick study Ian Nottingham was.
Within minutes, sweat was pouring off both of them and Sara began twisting restlessly beneath him, the coil of tension at her center winding tighter. Abruptly, his rhythm faltered, and she saw him grimace, his jaw clenching. He rested his full weight on her, burying his face in her neck, his big body twitching with unreleased tension against hers.
Thinking he was struggling for control, she panted "Ian, feel free to come at any time. Honest. I'll understand."
"I am merely taking a breather," he said, voice muffled, unwilling to admit that his injured shoulder had begun to stridently protest his exertions. In fact, the urge to climax had actually taken a backseat to the rapidly growing discomfort in the joint.
"Is that so?" Sara said, and although she badly wanted him to make good on his earlier promise, she decided to test his resolve by tightening internal muscles around his sex, which was buried to the hilt inside her.
Ian grunted, hips flexing against hers. "Are you trying to make me a liar, Sara?" he gasped. "Keep it up, and you will."
"You keep it up!" she grinned, challengingly, caressing him internally again.
He gave vent to a low moan as the clamoring ache in his testicles clawed at him mercilessly. "You do not play fair, my Lady, but I will do my best," he said through gritted teeth, and levering himself up off of her, he started moving again. But after only a few strokes, his left arm suddenly collapsed beneath his weight, and Ian cried out as a sharp, burning pain shot through his shoulder. He rolled to one side of her, breaking their union.
Thinking he'd come, Sara tried to curb her disappointment, but then she realized that the expression on his face was one of pain not pleasure, and she noticed the way he was grabbing his left shoulder.
"Oh God, Ian! Your poor shoulder," she murmured, stroking sweat- soaked ringlets away from his contorted features. "I'm sorry. I really should have offered to be the one on top from the get-go."
It was several minutes before Ian was able to respond, during which time his breathing eased and his pounding heart slowed. "It is not too late, my Lady," he said when he could speak again, eyes slitting open. "I await your pleasure."
"But, Ian, you're in pain!" Sara protested. "We should wait until your shoulder is better before going all out again. In the meantime, allow me to take the edge off for you."
He immediately shook his head. "No, Sara. I want to come inside you after I give you your release," he insisted stubbornly, although truth be told, his shoulder felt like it was on fire.
"Okay, but I'll understand if you reach the finish line first. And I'm going to stop if it looks like I'm hurting you!" she warned him. Careful not to put any weight on his ribs or bad left shoulder, she straddled him. Grasping his latex-covered sex, which was still slick with her juices, she slowly impaled herself on him.
Twin sighs of pleasure escaped their lips, and Ian's hands stroked Sara's taut thighs in gratitude. Her muscles flexed beneath his palms as she rose up until only the tip of him was still inside her, before gliding back down. She did this several times, each time taking more of him within her. They groaned in unison as she settled her weight on him briefly, her lushly swollen sex making electric contact with his pelvic bone and her rump mashing his aching testicles before she rose up again. Ever so slowly, her pace began to increase, and Sara cautiously placed her left hand on his uninjured right shoulder for balance as she leaned over him. Tantalizingly, this presented her swaying breasts to him, and he lifted his dark head and sipped one pebble-hard nipple into his mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. Her pace sped up, and Ian started raising his hips to meet her downstroke. Experimentally, his right hand left her thigh and he reached between their gyrating bodies to caress her.
Sara moaned, grinding herself against him, and Ian gasped as her hot, satiny sheath dealt his rock-hard sex a delicate, fluttering caress. "Ohhh, that felt so, so good, Sara," he moaned, writhing beneath her.
When the delicious tremors subsided, she grinned down at him. "Glad you liked it, but I'm just getting warmed up!" Surprised and pleased by his stamina, she began moving languorously again, loving the sensation of him filling her and feeling only slightly guilty that whereas she'd climaxed once already, he had yet to.
Desperate to bring about his longed-for release, Ian tried to force her to speed up her pace, but she would not be hurried, fending off the hand he attempted to finger her with. Finally, he couldn't stand the sweet torment any longer. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he rolled Sara beneath him, eliciting a breathless laugh from her, then, balancing his weight on his right forearm, he withdrew to nearly his entire length before slamming back into her. He did this again. And again.
Mere minutes ago, this would have hurt Sara because of his size, but now it swiftly drove her over the edge. She let out a shimmering cry of completion as a second, more powerful orgasm gripped her. Her sheath rippled insistently around him, kneading his unyielding hardness, and Ian groaned loudly, grinding his hips against hers. Sara cried out again as this served to strengthen her internal contractions, heightening her pleasure. Ian yelped as he felt his testicles draw up against his body into tight, aching knots, and then his entire body clenched above hers and a red fog ate away at the corners of his vision. A massive shudder gripped him, and he yelled, a wordless shout of mingled triumph and mind-blowing bliss, as, at long last, he came in an explosive, heated rush.
Still caught up in her own ecstasy, Sara dimly heard Ian bellow with pleasure and felt him tremble violently against her. Deep within, she clearly felt the pulsing of his sex, followed by the scalding hot jetting of his semen in her womb -- too clearly.
"Oh, no!" she panted, dismayed, as realization dawned on her.
When his brain was able to coherently form words again and he could draw enough air to speak, Ian gasped "What is wrong?" Using the last of his energy, he moved to one side of Sara, drawing her with him so that their union remained intact.
"I'm pretty sure the condom broke," she whispered. "And I'm also pretty sure I'm ovulating." 'Which explains why I was so hot to trot,' she acknowledged silently. 'That and the fact that I just couldn't keep my hands off that body of his. Lord have mercy!'
Ian was silent for several moments, his passion-glazed hazel eyes staring into her panicky green ones. "Are you sure it broke?" he finally asked.
"There's only one way to find out. Pull out," she told him. "Slowly!"
He did as she requested, carefully holding onto the bottom of the condom. They both held their breath until he finally slipped free of her.
"I knew it!" Sara said, as her fears were confirmed. Sitting up, she turned on the lamp on the night table and peered at the remaining foil packets. "No wonder," she groaned. "The expiration date passed a couple of years ago! Who the hell keeps outdated condoms around?" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "Now that I think about it, Paula said the guy is a grad student at Polytechnic U., meaning he's probably a freakin' math nerd who only gets lucky once a decade, although, apparently, he's an eternal optimist because he stays prepared."
"I am sorry this happened, my Lady," Ian said, removing the remnants of the prophylactic, which Sara took from him and tossed in the small garbage pail next to the night table. "However, all may not be lost. Due to the prolonged nature of my extremely high fever, I highly doubt the sperm in my ejaculate were viable. In fact, I would not be surprised to learn that I have been rendered permanently sterile, which has been known to happen to males who suffer from a very high fever for an extended period of time."
Sara stared at him. "Perish the thought that you can't make little Ians, Nottingham," she finally said for lack of anything better to say.
"With you, it would in all likelihood be little Saras; the Witchblade has no use for sons," he murmured.
"I'll just bet It had a hand in this," Sara grumbled, throwing an accusatory look at the ancient sentient weapon on her right wrist. The red stone pulsed happily, and a feeling of satiation and lassitude began to steal through her body. Shrugging, she laid back down. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. We'll just have to wait and see if I dodged your bullets." 'Or if he really is shooting blanks,' she thought, briefly wondering why this possibility disturbed her more than the chance that she might become pregnant did.
Ian regarded her naked, supine form admiringly. "Did I at least satisfy you, my Lady?" he asked quietly.
Startled, Sara glanced up at his anxious face. "You more than satisfied me, Ian. Really. In fact, you did the deed like an old pro!" she reassured him. She opened her arms to him, and he slid close to her, laying his dark, tousled head on her chest.
"I am glad I gave you pleasure, Sara" he whispered. "You gave me pleasure, too. More than I ever dreamed was possible."
"And that was just the tip of the iceberg, lover," she told him, gently stroking his scarred back. "How's your shoulder?"
"Sore. The muscles in the joint are not at all happy about the strenuous activity I subjected them to. But I will live," Ian told her. He yawned hugely. "Would you mind terribly if I napped for a little while, my Lady?" he inquired, raising his head to glance at the clock on the night table. "We still have more than an hour and a half before we are expected to arrive at the main house for dinner."
"Not at all. In fact, I think I'll join you," Sara said, sitting up again. "Just let me set the alarm so we'll have enough time to shower before getting dressed." Suddenly, an image of the two of them making torrid love in the shower popped into her head, and she shivered.
'Stop that!' she mentally admonished the Witchblade, then blinked when she saw that the stone was dark.
"Are you cold, my Lady?" Ian sat up and reached for the covers.
"A little," Sara murmured, setting the clock to wake them in an hour.
When she lay back down, he pulled the top sheet and the down comforter up over them before stretching out beside her so that they lay on their sides, facing each other. "Thank you, Sara," he said, running a hand down the curve of her spine, making her quiver anew.
"For what?" she asked, snuggling closer to him, her finger tracing whorls of still-damp hair on his chest.
"For a day of firsts," he smiled, pressing warm lips against her temple. "Star Wars, the snowball fight, and, most precious and miraculous of all, making love with you."
More to come. Was that steamy enough, or what? Thanks for all of your feedback! Keep it coming, please!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them! Enjoy!
Author's note: FAIR WARNING: This chapter contains pretty racy content, folks! So, if you're offended by this sort of stuff, DO NOT READ ON. There, I warned you, so PLEASE don't report me to ff.net!!! Also, I owe a debt of gratitude to Slally, whose wonderful (and, I'm very happy to say, equally long) fan fiction piece, "Breathing Space," which is posted over on the Digitablum Magae board, inspired the erotic flights of fancy in this chapter. In fact, I may have inadvertently stolen a turn of phrase or two. Thanks, Slally! Of course, I also let my own fertile imagination run wild about having a buck naked Ian Nottingham at my mercy! Yee-ha!!!
Chapter 45.
Kenneth Irons walked into the estate's infirmary, the tapping of his silver-handled cane preceding him and alerting the man lying in the hospital bed as to the identity of his visitor.
Dr. Immo sighed, putting aside the latest issue of The New England Journal of Medicine that he'd been perusing and schooling his features into the eager-to-please expression he knew his employer was used to seeing.
"Ah, good afternoon, Dr. Immo!" Kenneth Irons greeted him with false joviality. "You're looking much better today."
"I am feeling much better, thank you, Mr. Irons," Immo murmured. He eyed the silver-haired billionaire critically, easily recognizing the signs of strain and sleeplessness from long acquaintance with the man. "I understand the surgeon was able to save the vision in the helicopter pilot's eye."
"Yes. He'll fly again, although with the settlement he got from me, he no longer actually needs to work for a living," Kenneth murmured, lowering himself into the chair by the bed. He picked up the Journal, glanced at it, and put it back down. "Doctor, I read your notes on the toxin you administered to Ian. Tell me, is there any chance he could have survived without the benefit of the antidote?"
Immo contrived to look thoughtful but hesitant. "There is always a chance, albeit slim, that, yes, he could have survived. His genetic enhancements make anything possible."
"I see. Then perhaps we should hold off on activating one of his 'brothers' until we know for certain," Irons said, hope filling his heart at the doctor's words. "Unfortunately, this storm will prevent the retrieval team I assembled from locating him for the next few days at the very least."
"Is it still snowing?" Dr. Immo asked.
"No. It stopped this morning. However, there is in excess of two feet on the ground. The roads are impassable, and likely will be for some time."
"What of the Wielder?" Immo was emboldened to inquire. "Have you sensed anything from her through your link to the Witchblade?"
Kenneth shook his head. "Nothing since late Thursday night, when It gave her a vision," he murmured. He frowned as he remembered how he'd gone to the library after the failed attempt to locate Ian that fateful night. He'd been furious at being thwarted as well as more upset than he cared to admit by the prospect of Nottingham's impending death. So, as he often did during times of stress, he had sought solace in the company of his beloved Elizabeth Bronte in her icy crypt. Recalling the brief power outage, he'd drawn back the curtains covering the glass-enclosed chamber with some trepidation, and had been relieved to find that she was fine. Kenneth had been glad of his privacy when, unaccountably, a sudden wave of sorrow had flooded him, bringing tears to his eyes as he gazed upon the love of his life's frozen visage. That was when his link to the current Wielder had alerted him to the fact that the Witchblade was giving her a vision. Several minutes later, just as he sensed the vision start to release Sara, he'd been badly startled to feel a ghostly touch on his tear-streaked face, and he could have sworn that he heard Elizabeth's husky voice whisper in his ear "You lose, my love." Heart racing, he'd glanced wildly around the library, but it had been empty save for himself and the carefully preserved body of the previous Wielder of the Witchblade.
"Forgive me for saying so, sir," Dr. Immo said gently, "but you look tired."
"I do not mind admitting that I am feeling the weight of my years, Doctor," Irons murmured, glancing down at his elegant, immaculately manicured hands. 'And I miss my son,' he thought to himself.
"You miss young Nottingham, don't you?" Immo said softly, startling Kenneth with his astuteness. "I do, too. However, we will know soon enough whether or not he has survived. If he did, we . . . " the doctor's words trailed off as he noticed the way his employer had begun to squirm in his seat, his color rising. "What is wrong? Are you all right?" he asked, alarmed at the sudden change in the man's heretofore calm demeanor.
"It, it's the Wielder," Kenneth panted, pulling frantically at the collar of his dress shirt. "She . . . Oh, dear God!" He fanned at himself with his hands in a futile attempt to cool his suddenly overheated body.
"What is it? Is she under attack?" Dr. Immo questioned.
"Suffice it to say, Doctor," Irons gasped, trembling with the force of the sensations he was all-too-clearly sensing through his link with Sara Pezzini, "Ian Nottingham is very much alive!"
****
As soon as the door to the garage apartment closed behind them, Sara turned and attacked Ian. Reaching up, she swept his hat from his head, grabbed two handfuls of his long, curly dark hair, and dragged his face down to hers, her lips seeking his hungrily and her body pressing his against the door.
When they came up for air minutes later, Ian murmured "Sara, please allow me to take off this sling. It is in the way."
Reluctantly, she stepped back, releasing him. "Don't stop at the sling, mister," she ordered, shrugging out of her down jacket and peeling off her gloves. Tossing them aside, she bent and unlaced her boots, kicking them off and then hopping in place as she removed her socks. Pulling her hat from her head and unwinding her scarf from around her throat, she backed up toward the bedroom. "Come here, big guy," she purred, crooking a finger at him.
Doffing the sling, his scarf, gloves, and overcoat, Ian closed the space between them in an eye-blink, scooping Sara up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Kissing her, he strode over to the bed and sat down on it, gingerly settling her on his lap. When Sara broke off the kiss several minutes later, they were both breathing hard.
She plucked at his flannel shirt. "This, off," she demanded, reaching down to grab the hem of her own sweater, pulling it up over her head in one motion and flinging it to the floor, where it was soon joined by the long-sleeved thermal cotton shirt she'd had on underneath it.
Ian's pulse rate sped up as this revealed the only other garment she wore on top: a sheer black bra. He swiftly shrugged out of his shirt and, with her help, pulled his T-shirt over his head, barely noticing the slight twinge of discomfort his shoulder made. Sara's warm hands immediately traced the muscular contours of his bare chest, her fingers delving into the light furring of dark hair covering it. He groaned as her thumbs lightly brushed his flat male nipples, then gasped as she pressed her mouth to first one then the other, her hot, pink tongue circling the highly sensitive flesh.
"Hmmm, is that your light saber, young Jedi, or are you just happy to see me?" Sara grinned, shifting her curvaceous rump on his lap so that it rubbed against the hard ridge of his erection, eliciting a hiss of pleasure/pain from him. He didn't know whether to be relieved or upset when she scrambled off him moments later and stood up.
"Pants, off," she commanded imperiously, unbuttoning and then unzipping her own soaking wet jeans. Ian enjoyed watching her shimmy out of them as he removed his boots, socks, and, standing, his damp jeans. A wave of shyness flooded him as he stood before her wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, but then the sight of Sara clad only in her bra and panties distracted him, and he forgot to be self-conscious.
She was exquisite, her slender, athletic body very toned but with curves in all the right places. Ian could not quite bring himself to believe that she was really here and that she truly desired him. He was very afraid that if he attempted to touch her again, this would all turn out to have been a cruel dream, and that he would awaken hard and aching for her, like before.
Sara feasted her eyes on Ian Nottingham's amazing physique. His was the body of a warrior, battle trained and honed, with hair-trigger reflexes and a breathtaking array of muscles, as well as a sobering collection of scars. But his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped build was long and lean rather than muscle-bound and stocky, and he moved with a cat-like, masculine grace that was mesmerizing. Her gaze was drawn to the left side of his ribcage, where extensive, colorful bruising stood out against his pale skin, and she was reminded once again of how close she'd come to losing him.
Simultaneously, they reached for each other, driven by an ancient, instinctual urge to mate both were powerless to resist.
Ian was six-foot-three to Sara's five-foot-seven, but this was in no way a deterrent to either of them. Standing on her tiptoes, she offered her mouth to him again, and he bent his head to deliver a long, drugging kiss. Her arms twined around his neck, and his slid around her slim body, gathering her closer to him -- so close there could be no mistaking his desire for her.
"Unhook me," she whispered against his lips minutes later, and Ian groaned as she caught his bottom lip between small white teeth and bit it gently. It took his oxygen-deprived brain a few moments to realize that she meant her bra, and he was pleased that he only fumbled with the tiny hooks and eyes for about 20 seconds before undoing them. Sara created a hair's breadth of space between their heated bodies and shrugged out of the wispy garment, letting it drop to the floor.
Ian gazed down in awe at the pale globes pressed against him. Lifting a trembling hand, he lightly grazed their tops with his knuckles, clearly perceiving the shudder that went through Sara's body at this tentative caress. Encouraged by her swift response, he backed up and sat down on the bed, pulling her toward him so that she stood between his widespread thighs. Raising his hands, he gently cupped her breasts, testing their weight and marveling at the satiny softness of her skin and the way she so perfectly filled his palms. Sara moaned deep in her throat, throwing her head back, as his thumbs brushed her nipples, much as she'd done to his minutes before. She leaned forward, offering a puckered tip to his mouth, and he immediately obliged her, laving first one dusky pink aureole and then the other with his tongue.
"God, Ian," Sara breathed, threading her fingers through his long, dark, incredibly soft hair. Dazed with desire, thick-lashed hazel eyes gazed up at her as his clever mouth lavished attention on her breasts. She gave a little cry as his teeth grazed her right nipple, and suddenly her legs grew too weak for her to remain standing any longer. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him flat on the bed, following him down onto it, so that she lay on top of him. For a fleeting moment, a shadow darkened his beautiful eyes, and she abruptly became aware that her full weight was resting on his battered body.
"What is it?" she asked worriedly. "Am I hurting you?"
He immediately shook his head. "No. It is just . . ." he hesitated, lowering his gaze. "I am afraid that I will disappoint you because of my inexperience, Sara," he finally whispered, coloring.
"Your inexperience?" Sara repeated, then froze as realization dawned on her. "Ian, you're a virgin!?!"
He nodded miserably, unable to meet her eyes.
She stared at him in stunned disbelief, then shook her head ruefully. "Huh. Well, I sure as hell never saw that coming," she murmured, sliding off him to lay beside him on her back and stare up at the ceiling contemplatively. But when he would have sat up, she placed a restraining hand on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I will understand if you do not wish to continue, Sara," he said stiffly, still avoiding her gaze.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
He did meet her eyes then, a glimmer of hope plainly visible in his. "You still want me, uh, you still want to continue?"
"Yes," she said softly, moving her head so that their lips just touched, "and yes."
The kiss that followed soon had their pulses racing again. Sara's left hand caressed his chest, and she smiled against his lips to feel the frantic pounding of his heart beneath her palm. Ian's breath caught in his throat as her hand began to stray south, sliding over the chiseled contours of his abs as it followed the narrow line of dark hair that arrowed downward to disappear beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Her slender fingers slid under the elastic, but then paused, and her green, green eyes met his.
"Don't be afraid to tell me if I'm going too fast for you," she told him, wondering how on earth he'd managed to remain a virgin until now. His male beauty literally took her breath away.
Unable to form words, Ian merely nodded, guileless hazel eyes wide.
Sara's fingers delved into the curly nest of black hair below his navel, and a fractured groan escaped his lips as they brushed his straining erection, but she reached below it to heft the velvety sack nestled beneath it, gently massaging the twin spheres housed therein. Involuntarily, Ian's hips rose off the bed, and Sara quickly yanked his shorts down. His arousal sprang free, and her eyes widened as she glimpsed it for the first time.
"Wow!" she breathed.
"What?" Ian asked anxiously. "Does it bother you that I am uncircumcised?"
She shook her head, pulling his underwear the rest of the way down and discarding them. "No, it's just that you're, um, quite a bit larger than I imagined you'd be."
He blinked. "You imagined how large I would be?"
Sara colored, and now it was she who avoided his eyes. "I meant you're bigger than I expected," she muttered.
Ian shook his head. "You said 'imagined.' I heard you." An insufferably smug look appeared on his face. "You imagined how I would look naked, Sara," he grinned, immensely pleased by this revelation. "You may as well admit it."
"I imagine how every guy looks naked, so don't get too full of yourself there, buster," she told him, her blush deepening.
He raised dark brows at her, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. "Every guy? Even Dante?"
Sara made a horrified face. "All right, all right, maybe not every guy. Just those with hot bodies."
Ian's grin widened. "So, you think my body is hot?"
"Okay, you can stop fishing for compliments now, Nottingham! Geez!" she huffed, rolling her eyes, but then a wicked grin appeared on her face. "Besides, it appears that you've forgotten the matter at hand," she murmured, and lightly skimmed the underside of his enormous erection with her nails. "How's that for a reminder?"
"You may proceed!" he gasped, hips rising off the bed again.
Sara watched his face as her fingertips lightly traced the network of distended veins wreathing his sex, her own arousal growing just from witnessing the intense pleasure her touch was giving him. She jumped, startled, when she felt his big, callous-roughened hand splay against her flat belly, her breath catching as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her hi-cut briefs.
"Turnabout is fair play, my Lady," he breathed. "Besides, I need a break from your sweet touch or I fear I will explode."
"We definitely don't want that," Sara murmured, reluctantly releasing him. "At least not yet."
She moaned as his thumb unerringly found the swollen nubbin among the dark-chestnut curls at the juncture of her thighs, and he began massaging it.
"Oh, dear Lord!" Sara gasped after a few minutes. "Are you sure you've never done this before, Nottingham?"
"Only in my dreams, my love," Ian smiled, pressing his warm palm against her, "only in my dreams."
Sara could not prevent her hips from rising off the bed and rocking against his hand, and he took this opportunity to pull her panties down around her slender thighs. She did the rest, kicking them off onto the floor.
"I think it's time for a raincoat," she panted, sitting up. "I want you inside me. Now."
"A raincoat?" Ian questioned, still caressing her.
Leaning over, she opened the night table's drawer and fumbled around inside it for a few moments before pulling out a row of foil-wrapped packets. "Otherwise known as a condom," she said, tearing one off and handing it to him.
"Oh." Ian blushed, handing it back to her. "Would you mind doing the honors, my Lady?"
"It would be my pleasure," she said, opening the packet. "I think Mr. Hoody will look quite fetching in his outerwear."
"Mr. Hoody?"
"Yeah, your foreskin makes it look like he's wearing a little hooded sweatshirt," she explained, laughing at his bemused expression. "Your woody is wearing a hoody! Let's just see if he's ready for his close-up."
She flicked the ultra-sensitive area below the bulbous crown, causing a deep-chested groan to escape Ian's lips. His sex jerked, and several clear drops of liquid appeared at the tip. "I'd say that's a yes," Sara grinned. With agonizing slowness, she smoothed the latex over his aching length. "There. When the time comes -- no pun intended -- feel free to fire away with both barrels, cowboy," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.
Ian thrust his tongue into her mouth rhythmically, unconsciously pantomiming the movements he was about to commence. When they were finally forced to come up for air, Sara sat up and scooted further onto the bed, holding out her arms to him invitingly. "Come to me, my ninja lover," she said huskily.
He did, pushing her flat and then moving over her, his hot, extremely hard arousal brushing the inside of her thigh. "Guide me, Sara," he whispered, and then groaned, shuddering, when her fingers encircled him.
"Easy, take it easy," she cautioned him as she placed him at the entrance to her body. "It's been a while for me and you're bigger than I'm used to."
"I will try," he murmured, watching her face as he slowly entered her.
She smiled up at him reassuringly. "Feels good."
"Incredible," he agreed, voice rough with the strain of going slow when his body was screaming at him to pound away for all he was worth. None of the visions he'd had of previous Protectors making love to their Wielders or the countless sexual fantasies he'd had about Sara and himself could have prepared him for the exquisite sensation of her moist heat enveloping his throbbing length. He grimaced as felt his body clench, and for one awful moment, Ian thought he'd climaxed, but, to his profound relief, he realized he'd only released more of the pre-ejaculate that was meant to ease his way. Even had he not been covered in latex, it would not have been necessary; Sara was more than ready for him, her sheath slick and inviting. When he was seated within her as deeply as possible, he slowly withdrew completely before easing back into her again. He did this three more times, gasping as on the last achingly slow thrust she changed the angle of her pelvis, so that he penetrated even deeper. Ian was unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against hers, face twisting as his body briefly clenched once again, helpfully releasing yet more lubricant.
Sara's breath caught as Ian ground his hips against her, realizing that it would not take much to put her over the edge; she had gone without for far too long. However, she sensed that he was considerably further along the road to rapture than she was, and being that he was totally new to the experience, she decided that, in all fairness, she could not expect much from him in the way of staying power.
"I'll understand if you lap me this time around, Ian," Sara told him, reaching up to caress his tense but determined face.
He shook his head. "You first, my Lady," he murmured. "Always, you first."
"You won't get an argument from me," she grinned, already addicted to the way he filled her more fully than any of her previous lovers had. "Faster," Sara whispered hotly in his ear. "Ride 'em, cowboy!"
"Thank God!" he breathed, eliciting a chuckle from her. He quickly settled into a smooth thrusting rhythm, with Sara occasionally redirecting the angle of his entry using subtle adjustments of her pelvis and hips. Her hands caressed the bunching and sliding muscles of his back, reveling in his strength and virility. She was extremely pleased, albeit unsurprised, at what a quick study Ian Nottingham was.
Within minutes, sweat was pouring off both of them and Sara began twisting restlessly beneath him, the coil of tension at her center winding tighter. Abruptly, his rhythm faltered, and she saw him grimace, his jaw clenching. He rested his full weight on her, burying his face in her neck, his big body twitching with unreleased tension against hers.
Thinking he was struggling for control, she panted "Ian, feel free to come at any time. Honest. I'll understand."
"I am merely taking a breather," he said, voice muffled, unwilling to admit that his injured shoulder had begun to stridently protest his exertions. In fact, the urge to climax had actually taken a backseat to the rapidly growing discomfort in the joint.
"Is that so?" Sara said, and although she badly wanted him to make good on his earlier promise, she decided to test his resolve by tightening internal muscles around his sex, which was buried to the hilt inside her.
Ian grunted, hips flexing against hers. "Are you trying to make me a liar, Sara?" he gasped. "Keep it up, and you will."
"You keep it up!" she grinned, challengingly, caressing him internally again.
He gave vent to a low moan as the clamoring ache in his testicles clawed at him mercilessly. "You do not play fair, my Lady, but I will do my best," he said through gritted teeth, and levering himself up off of her, he started moving again. But after only a few strokes, his left arm suddenly collapsed beneath his weight, and Ian cried out as a sharp, burning pain shot through his shoulder. He rolled to one side of her, breaking their union.
Thinking he'd come, Sara tried to curb her disappointment, but then she realized that the expression on his face was one of pain not pleasure, and she noticed the way he was grabbing his left shoulder.
"Oh God, Ian! Your poor shoulder," she murmured, stroking sweat- soaked ringlets away from his contorted features. "I'm sorry. I really should have offered to be the one on top from the get-go."
It was several minutes before Ian was able to respond, during which time his breathing eased and his pounding heart slowed. "It is not too late, my Lady," he said when he could speak again, eyes slitting open. "I await your pleasure."
"But, Ian, you're in pain!" Sara protested. "We should wait until your shoulder is better before going all out again. In the meantime, allow me to take the edge off for you."
He immediately shook his head. "No, Sara. I want to come inside you after I give you your release," he insisted stubbornly, although truth be told, his shoulder felt like it was on fire.
"Okay, but I'll understand if you reach the finish line first. And I'm going to stop if it looks like I'm hurting you!" she warned him. Careful not to put any weight on his ribs or bad left shoulder, she straddled him. Grasping his latex-covered sex, which was still slick with her juices, she slowly impaled herself on him.
Twin sighs of pleasure escaped their lips, and Ian's hands stroked Sara's taut thighs in gratitude. Her muscles flexed beneath his palms as she rose up until only the tip of him was still inside her, before gliding back down. She did this several times, each time taking more of him within her. They groaned in unison as she settled her weight on him briefly, her lushly swollen sex making electric contact with his pelvic bone and her rump mashing his aching testicles before she rose up again. Ever so slowly, her pace began to increase, and Sara cautiously placed her left hand on his uninjured right shoulder for balance as she leaned over him. Tantalizingly, this presented her swaying breasts to him, and he lifted his dark head and sipped one pebble-hard nipple into his mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. Her pace sped up, and Ian started raising his hips to meet her downstroke. Experimentally, his right hand left her thigh and he reached between their gyrating bodies to caress her.
Sara moaned, grinding herself against him, and Ian gasped as her hot, satiny sheath dealt his rock-hard sex a delicate, fluttering caress. "Ohhh, that felt so, so good, Sara," he moaned, writhing beneath her.
When the delicious tremors subsided, she grinned down at him. "Glad you liked it, but I'm just getting warmed up!" Surprised and pleased by his stamina, she began moving languorously again, loving the sensation of him filling her and feeling only slightly guilty that whereas she'd climaxed once already, he had yet to.
Desperate to bring about his longed-for release, Ian tried to force her to speed up her pace, but she would not be hurried, fending off the hand he attempted to finger her with. Finally, he couldn't stand the sweet torment any longer. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he rolled Sara beneath him, eliciting a breathless laugh from her, then, balancing his weight on his right forearm, he withdrew to nearly his entire length before slamming back into her. He did this again. And again.
Mere minutes ago, this would have hurt Sara because of his size, but now it swiftly drove her over the edge. She let out a shimmering cry of completion as a second, more powerful orgasm gripped her. Her sheath rippled insistently around him, kneading his unyielding hardness, and Ian groaned loudly, grinding his hips against hers. Sara cried out again as this served to strengthen her internal contractions, heightening her pleasure. Ian yelped as he felt his testicles draw up against his body into tight, aching knots, and then his entire body clenched above hers and a red fog ate away at the corners of his vision. A massive shudder gripped him, and he yelled, a wordless shout of mingled triumph and mind-blowing bliss, as, at long last, he came in an explosive, heated rush.
Still caught up in her own ecstasy, Sara dimly heard Ian bellow with pleasure and felt him tremble violently against her. Deep within, she clearly felt the pulsing of his sex, followed by the scalding hot jetting of his semen in her womb -- too clearly.
"Oh, no!" she panted, dismayed, as realization dawned on her.
When his brain was able to coherently form words again and he could draw enough air to speak, Ian gasped "What is wrong?" Using the last of his energy, he moved to one side of Sara, drawing her with him so that their union remained intact.
"I'm pretty sure the condom broke," she whispered. "And I'm also pretty sure I'm ovulating." 'Which explains why I was so hot to trot,' she acknowledged silently. 'That and the fact that I just couldn't keep my hands off that body of his. Lord have mercy!'
Ian was silent for several moments, his passion-glazed hazel eyes staring into her panicky green ones. "Are you sure it broke?" he finally asked.
"There's only one way to find out. Pull out," she told him. "Slowly!"
He did as she requested, carefully holding onto the bottom of the condom. They both held their breath until he finally slipped free of her.
"I knew it!" Sara said, as her fears were confirmed. Sitting up, she turned on the lamp on the night table and peered at the remaining foil packets. "No wonder," she groaned. "The expiration date passed a couple of years ago! Who the hell keeps outdated condoms around?" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "Now that I think about it, Paula said the guy is a grad student at Polytechnic U., meaning he's probably a freakin' math nerd who only gets lucky once a decade, although, apparently, he's an eternal optimist because he stays prepared."
"I am sorry this happened, my Lady," Ian said, removing the remnants of the prophylactic, which Sara took from him and tossed in the small garbage pail next to the night table. "However, all may not be lost. Due to the prolonged nature of my extremely high fever, I highly doubt the sperm in my ejaculate were viable. In fact, I would not be surprised to learn that I have been rendered permanently sterile, which has been known to happen to males who suffer from a very high fever for an extended period of time."
Sara stared at him. "Perish the thought that you can't make little Ians, Nottingham," she finally said for lack of anything better to say.
"With you, it would in all likelihood be little Saras; the Witchblade has no use for sons," he murmured.
"I'll just bet It had a hand in this," Sara grumbled, throwing an accusatory look at the ancient sentient weapon on her right wrist. The red stone pulsed happily, and a feeling of satiation and lassitude began to steal through her body. Shrugging, she laid back down. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. We'll just have to wait and see if I dodged your bullets." 'Or if he really is shooting blanks,' she thought, briefly wondering why this possibility disturbed her more than the chance that she might become pregnant did.
Ian regarded her naked, supine form admiringly. "Did I at least satisfy you, my Lady?" he asked quietly.
Startled, Sara glanced up at his anxious face. "You more than satisfied me, Ian. Really. In fact, you did the deed like an old pro!" she reassured him. She opened her arms to him, and he slid close to her, laying his dark, tousled head on her chest.
"I am glad I gave you pleasure, Sara" he whispered. "You gave me pleasure, too. More than I ever dreamed was possible."
"And that was just the tip of the iceberg, lover," she told him, gently stroking his scarred back. "How's your shoulder?"
"Sore. The muscles in the joint are not at all happy about the strenuous activity I subjected them to. But I will live," Ian told her. He yawned hugely. "Would you mind terribly if I napped for a little while, my Lady?" he inquired, raising his head to glance at the clock on the night table. "We still have more than an hour and a half before we are expected to arrive at the main house for dinner."
"Not at all. In fact, I think I'll join you," Sara said, sitting up again. "Just let me set the alarm so we'll have enough time to shower before getting dressed." Suddenly, an image of the two of them making torrid love in the shower popped into her head, and she shivered.
'Stop that!' she mentally admonished the Witchblade, then blinked when she saw that the stone was dark.
"Are you cold, my Lady?" Ian sat up and reached for the covers.
"A little," Sara murmured, setting the clock to wake them in an hour.
When she lay back down, he pulled the top sheet and the down comforter up over them before stretching out beside her so that they lay on their sides, facing each other. "Thank you, Sara," he said, running a hand down the curve of her spine, making her quiver anew.
"For what?" she asked, snuggling closer to him, her finger tracing whorls of still-damp hair on his chest.
"For a day of firsts," he smiled, pressing warm lips against her temple. "Star Wars, the snowball fight, and, most precious and miraculous of all, making love with you."
More to come. Was that steamy enough, or what? Thanks for all of your feedback! Keep it coming, please!