BDP49
Moira had half-expected to be met at the door. She knew that Nottingham would beat her back to the apartment. There was no way it would take as long to break in to Casca's office as she'd taken driving all over town. It wasn't that the time had been wasted exactly, she didn't trust Casca not to have someone following staff around, but she would have greatly preferred to spend the time with Ian.
As she unlocked the door, she could hear the stereo. Beethoven, or was it Bach? Moira really didn't listen to classical enough to differentiate. Whatever it was, it was loud enough to drown out her neighbors, and probably enough to keep them from hearing what she was getting up to.
It would seem that Ian had planned ahead. The thought made Moira smile as she shut the door behind her and moved into the darkened living room. A faint glow from the end of the hall told her where her lover was waiting, and by the play of light on the walls, that he'd found candles from somewhere.
The candlelight reminded her of their first night together, and Burke grinned ruefully. She was hardly dressed the same, her underwear didn't even match. Moira debated taking her clothes off out here where he wouldn't see them. She was just vain enough to want to look her best for Ian, and somehow the white cotton bra she was wearing just didn't seem to fit the bill. At least her panties were presentable, being black satin.
After several minutes of debate, Moira reached inside her shirt and unhooked her bra. She pulled the shoulder straps out of her sleeves, one side at a time, slipping it off without removing her shirt. It was difficult to do, as she was still wearing the turtleneck under her uniform. Burke unbuttoned her overshirt and draped it across the couch. A quick glance in the entryway mirror showed her that she could carry off the look.
There was only one more thing Moira felt she could do to improve her state of dress. The black haired woman had yet to figure out how to make removing jump boots into something seductive, so she sat down on the couch and took them off. Moira dropped her socks over the tops of her boots and padded barefoot down the hall.
Moira opened the door to a room transformed from ordinary to exotic. Soft curls of incense drifted lazily toward the ceiling, scenting the air with their delicate perfume. The bed was a golden pool of light in the darkness, and sprawled across the bed was her slumbering sultan.
Not quite sure if it was the Middle Eastern incense or Ian's burnished gold skin and black hair that brought the image to mind, Moira decided to go with the fantasy. Even the radio seemed to be contributing to the mood, changing to another piece she didn't recognize, but was reminiscent of the music she'd heard while stationed in the Mediterranean.
The idea of doing anything Ian wanted for one night was very appealing. Besides, he might be talked into returning the favor at some point. Well, first things first, the clothing was going to have to go. Slave girls didn't wear clothes to please their masters.
It was too bad she didn't have some kind of costume. The best she could do was let her hair fall around her, and tie a fringed red silk scarf across her hips, which she did. Ian slept, or pretended to sleep, through her preparations. Moira wasn't sure either way, but was glad for it.
Moira paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, closing her eyes as she slid into the fantasy. She shifted her head slightly from side to side, feeling the cascade of hair over her bare back and chest. The silk fringe tickled along its diagonal path over hip and leg. She felt very sybaritic as she slowly walked toward the head of the bed.
Ian sensed her approach, as he had only been lightly sleeping while waiting for Moira to return. He had not stirred, waiting patiently for her to join him. His eyes opened the merest slit, but the vision that greeted him caused them to widen immediately.
His lady was gliding toward him, hair falling freely to swing around her hips, which were barely girded by something that was red and silky. Her nipples peeked out of the curtain of black hair as she walked, appearing and disappearing in a manner he found more erotic than simple nudity.
"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you dressed like that?" Ian pushed himself up on his elbows, the better to observe the approaching vision.
Moira stopped her slow, almost stalking walk, once she was even with Ian's sheet swathed hips. She gave him a sultry smile; eyes half-lidded and filled with intent. "I was inspired by the mood you set, so I thought we'd try something a little different tonight."
Ian reached out and flicked the red fringe trailing across her thigh. "Should I change as well?"
"Oh no, we harem girls would never be so bold as to tell the sultan what to wear in his own bedchamber," Moira tried to give him a horrified look at the thought, but the mirth dancing in her eyes ruined the effect.
"I'm pleased to hear it, since I rather doubt I would look as good swathed in such a small piece of fabric." Ian let his hand follow the diagonal path of the silk, his fingers barely skimming over her flesh, the fringe rippling like water in his wake.
"I don't know about that," Moira gave him a considering look. In her mind's eye the silk was binding his wrists to the bed, and it was a very enticing image. She really hoped she could talk him into returning the favor some day. The things she could do to him once she had him in that position.
"Yes." Ian said, breaking her reverie.
"Yes what?" Moira asked, wondering if she'd somehow missed part of the conversation.
"Yes to whatever you were thinking just now. You had the most incredible look on your face," Ian qualified. He'd never seen such a blend of mischief, passion, and hunger on Moira's face, outside of making love.
"Hmm, thank you for the offer. We can try that out another time, tonight is all for you. Your willing servant awaits your orders, Master." Moira lowered herself on one knee beside the bed, her head dropped submissively.
Ian stared down at that bent head and flinched. How many times had he knelt thus before Irons? His hands trembled and his heart pounded, but not with desire. Nottingham closed his eyes, trying to block out the image and the feelings it aroused in him.
Sitting above Moira made him feel like a fraud. There was only one servant in this room. Nottingham should be the one kneeling, awaiting his father's pleasure. Or displeasure, which was a greater certainty, especially once he discovered what Ian had been doing.
The silence stretched out, telling Moira that something was wrong. She had been waiting for Ian to give her a command, but the words were not coming. Her head tilted just enough so that her eyes could peek up at Nottingham through the curtain of her hair.
The anguish in his eyes jerked Moira to her feet. "What is it, accushla mia?"
"I have ever been the servant. It is all I know how to be. You kneel before me asking that I command you. I do not know what to say, or how to act. I feel like I should be the one kneeling. It is the pose I often held while waiting to hear what my punishment would be for failing, or offending my father." Ian closed his eyes, not wanting Moira to see the turmoil that was tying his guts into knots.
"Diabhal do chuid infeheistiochtai," Moira's jaw clenched. She could do nothing about his past, and cursing the agent of his suffering, however much he deserved it, wouldn't help right now. Ian needed to work through this, not listen to her swearing. She could do that later.
"Ian, you are not with your father. I have never been offended by you, or disappointed by you. Perhaps tonight we can create new memories for you. Let pleasure replace pain." Let me help you break another link in the chains that bind you, Moira finished silently.
Ian gave her a dubious look. He was not at all sure he was capable of doing what Moira suggested. "How would you suggest I begin?"
"This is supposed to be for fun. There are no right or wrong ways to act. Why don't we start simple? I know you've seen a lot of movies. Did you ever see 'The Sheik', with Rudolph Valentino?" Moira paused.
Ian nodded that he had, looking surprised. "It's one of my favorites."
"Did you ever want to be the sheik? Did you ever imagine what it was like, or pretend that you were he?" Moira looked at him intently, the happy chance that she had picked one of his favorite movies giving her hope that this would work.
There was a long pause, then Ian gave a sheepish little grin and said, "Of course I did."
"Well, why don't we both pretend together?" Moira asked gently.
Moira had half-expected to be met at the door. She knew that Nottingham would beat her back to the apartment. There was no way it would take as long to break in to Casca's office as she'd taken driving all over town. It wasn't that the time had been wasted exactly, she didn't trust Casca not to have someone following staff around, but she would have greatly preferred to spend the time with Ian.
As she unlocked the door, she could hear the stereo. Beethoven, or was it Bach? Moira really didn't listen to classical enough to differentiate. Whatever it was, it was loud enough to drown out her neighbors, and probably enough to keep them from hearing what she was getting up to.
It would seem that Ian had planned ahead. The thought made Moira smile as she shut the door behind her and moved into the darkened living room. A faint glow from the end of the hall told her where her lover was waiting, and by the play of light on the walls, that he'd found candles from somewhere.
The candlelight reminded her of their first night together, and Burke grinned ruefully. She was hardly dressed the same, her underwear didn't even match. Moira debated taking her clothes off out here where he wouldn't see them. She was just vain enough to want to look her best for Ian, and somehow the white cotton bra she was wearing just didn't seem to fit the bill. At least her panties were presentable, being black satin.
After several minutes of debate, Moira reached inside her shirt and unhooked her bra. She pulled the shoulder straps out of her sleeves, one side at a time, slipping it off without removing her shirt. It was difficult to do, as she was still wearing the turtleneck under her uniform. Burke unbuttoned her overshirt and draped it across the couch. A quick glance in the entryway mirror showed her that she could carry off the look.
There was only one more thing Moira felt she could do to improve her state of dress. The black haired woman had yet to figure out how to make removing jump boots into something seductive, so she sat down on the couch and took them off. Moira dropped her socks over the tops of her boots and padded barefoot down the hall.
Moira opened the door to a room transformed from ordinary to exotic. Soft curls of incense drifted lazily toward the ceiling, scenting the air with their delicate perfume. The bed was a golden pool of light in the darkness, and sprawled across the bed was her slumbering sultan.
Not quite sure if it was the Middle Eastern incense or Ian's burnished gold skin and black hair that brought the image to mind, Moira decided to go with the fantasy. Even the radio seemed to be contributing to the mood, changing to another piece she didn't recognize, but was reminiscent of the music she'd heard while stationed in the Mediterranean.
The idea of doing anything Ian wanted for one night was very appealing. Besides, he might be talked into returning the favor at some point. Well, first things first, the clothing was going to have to go. Slave girls didn't wear clothes to please their masters.
It was too bad she didn't have some kind of costume. The best she could do was let her hair fall around her, and tie a fringed red silk scarf across her hips, which she did. Ian slept, or pretended to sleep, through her preparations. Moira wasn't sure either way, but was glad for it.
Moira paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, closing her eyes as she slid into the fantasy. She shifted her head slightly from side to side, feeling the cascade of hair over her bare back and chest. The silk fringe tickled along its diagonal path over hip and leg. She felt very sybaritic as she slowly walked toward the head of the bed.
Ian sensed her approach, as he had only been lightly sleeping while waiting for Moira to return. He had not stirred, waiting patiently for her to join him. His eyes opened the merest slit, but the vision that greeted him caused them to widen immediately.
His lady was gliding toward him, hair falling freely to swing around her hips, which were barely girded by something that was red and silky. Her nipples peeked out of the curtain of black hair as she walked, appearing and disappearing in a manner he found more erotic than simple nudity.
"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you dressed like that?" Ian pushed himself up on his elbows, the better to observe the approaching vision.
Moira stopped her slow, almost stalking walk, once she was even with Ian's sheet swathed hips. She gave him a sultry smile; eyes half-lidded and filled with intent. "I was inspired by the mood you set, so I thought we'd try something a little different tonight."
Ian reached out and flicked the red fringe trailing across her thigh. "Should I change as well?"
"Oh no, we harem girls would never be so bold as to tell the sultan what to wear in his own bedchamber," Moira tried to give him a horrified look at the thought, but the mirth dancing in her eyes ruined the effect.
"I'm pleased to hear it, since I rather doubt I would look as good swathed in such a small piece of fabric." Ian let his hand follow the diagonal path of the silk, his fingers barely skimming over her flesh, the fringe rippling like water in his wake.
"I don't know about that," Moira gave him a considering look. In her mind's eye the silk was binding his wrists to the bed, and it was a very enticing image. She really hoped she could talk him into returning the favor some day. The things she could do to him once she had him in that position.
"Yes." Ian said, breaking her reverie.
"Yes what?" Moira asked, wondering if she'd somehow missed part of the conversation.
"Yes to whatever you were thinking just now. You had the most incredible look on your face," Ian qualified. He'd never seen such a blend of mischief, passion, and hunger on Moira's face, outside of making love.
"Hmm, thank you for the offer. We can try that out another time, tonight is all for you. Your willing servant awaits your orders, Master." Moira lowered herself on one knee beside the bed, her head dropped submissively.
Ian stared down at that bent head and flinched. How many times had he knelt thus before Irons? His hands trembled and his heart pounded, but not with desire. Nottingham closed his eyes, trying to block out the image and the feelings it aroused in him.
Sitting above Moira made him feel like a fraud. There was only one servant in this room. Nottingham should be the one kneeling, awaiting his father's pleasure. Or displeasure, which was a greater certainty, especially once he discovered what Ian had been doing.
The silence stretched out, telling Moira that something was wrong. She had been waiting for Ian to give her a command, but the words were not coming. Her head tilted just enough so that her eyes could peek up at Nottingham through the curtain of her hair.
The anguish in his eyes jerked Moira to her feet. "What is it, accushla mia?"
"I have ever been the servant. It is all I know how to be. You kneel before me asking that I command you. I do not know what to say, or how to act. I feel like I should be the one kneeling. It is the pose I often held while waiting to hear what my punishment would be for failing, or offending my father." Ian closed his eyes, not wanting Moira to see the turmoil that was tying his guts into knots.
"Diabhal do chuid infeheistiochtai," Moira's jaw clenched. She could do nothing about his past, and cursing the agent of his suffering, however much he deserved it, wouldn't help right now. Ian needed to work through this, not listen to her swearing. She could do that later.
"Ian, you are not with your father. I have never been offended by you, or disappointed by you. Perhaps tonight we can create new memories for you. Let pleasure replace pain." Let me help you break another link in the chains that bind you, Moira finished silently.
Ian gave her a dubious look. He was not at all sure he was capable of doing what Moira suggested. "How would you suggest I begin?"
"This is supposed to be for fun. There are no right or wrong ways to act. Why don't we start simple? I know you've seen a lot of movies. Did you ever see 'The Sheik', with Rudolph Valentino?" Moira paused.
Ian nodded that he had, looking surprised. "It's one of my favorites."
"Did you ever want to be the sheik? Did you ever imagine what it was like, or pretend that you were he?" Moira looked at him intently, the happy chance that she had picked one of his favorite movies giving her hope that this would work.
There was a long pause, then Ian gave a sheepish little grin and said, "Of course I did."
"Well, why don't we both pretend together?" Moira asked gently.