Chapter Five

A groan was ripped from his throat as she pressed tightly against him. Something hot and savage raced through his blood, goading Lionel to take more. His lips crashed over Carla's, hot, heavy, and insatiable.

Sarah let out a tormented whimper.

It had been easy to fall back into routine, to spend the evening on autopilot as though nothing unusual had happened. She'd pulled together a small soup to eat, and had picked up her novel, like always. As if pretending would change the fact that the key to her backdoor had been stolen by a man who-

No! She wasn't going to think about it. Examining what had happened in her kitchen was a bad idea. After so many years of being removed from the events that had taken place in the Labyrinth, she had inevitably romanticized them. Forgotten how hellish the ordeal had truly been, and how formidable an opponent Jareth could be. She was physically attracted to the man, there was no denying that, had been obsessed with him for more years than she cared to count. Why add fuel to that dangerous fire? Why give the hopelessly romantic side of her something to latch onto, when she didn't even really know what was going on?

Burning. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, and relief was just one grinding thrust away; like Carla was an oasis on a planet made of nothing but desert, and if he could just somehow crawl within her, he'd be content to the end of his days.

Her hands looped around the back of his neck, pulling him as close as possible, while pushing her hips fiercely against his own, seeking the satisfaction that their interfering clothing was denying them.

"I was kissed by the man who wrote this!" Sarah's traitorous voice burst out, a blush staining her cheeks. She hadn't wanted to think about the kiss, it was rocky ground at best, but apparently she couldn't forget it, either. And doubly worse was that she knew all the horribly carnal thing that had probably gone through his mind, courtesy of Jareth's own writing.

Sarah had been intimate with men before, but somehow those encounters had never left her feeling right. Like she had been waiting for something that was never going to happen; a quickened pulse, a heady languor, anything to prove that she was a normal, red-blooded girl. She'd turned to romance novels, in lieu of actually dating, and had felt more of a thrill from reading stories by Corbett than she'd ever felt during her forays into the physical. After a while she had just assumed that it had been the inexperienced and fumbling gropes that had turned her cold, rather than some bizarre inability to respond on her part. Now, Sarah had to wonder; the man who wrote those books was the very one who had made her teenage heart race in an intoxicating combination of adrenaline, fear, and burgeoning attraction. Jareth was the only man to have ever gotten a response out of her, through writing and actual presence.

And what presence he had! That kiss had been downright sinful; too good to be true. And, knowing Jareth, there had to be some sort of nasty price attached. Unless she found some way to jam her backdoor, Sarah was at the relative mercy of a man who wrote out sex scenes for a living and seemed to have taken an unnaturally fast liking to her. Whether he was truly the Goblin King or not remained to be seen, but coincidences were running too high for her to truthfully even consider that he might be a normal man. Whatever he was, he would be coming back the next day.

Sarah looked down at the book in her hands, taking in the erotically twisting bodies on the cover and oddly arrogant letters that proclaimed it to be another sinfully decadent creation by J Corbett. For a moment she felt trapped by it, as though the novel had started all her problems. In twenty-four hours her life had gone from calm to chaos, and tomorrow was only going to make it worse.

It wasn't fair!

It was wet outside, and damn freezing if Jareth was honest with himself. The sleet had gone back to a freezing rain that coated the sides of his cabin and the trees, driven at odd angles by the bitter wind. It was the sort of wind that howled through a man's soul, whipping at the very heart of him with icy claws. A storm like this, though innocent enough to anyone who stayed indoors, could kill a man if he strayed too long outside.

Rain beat against him with bruising force, thanks to the gale, and slid down his neck to soak the shirt under his jacket. In a few minutes he'd probably start shivering, drenched as he was, but for some reason he couldn't pull himself away. Jareth thought of any number of foul names to call himself, staying out was an act of sheer stupidity. But it had always been that way with him and storms. Something about the clash of nature, being able to see and feel it, was blessedly elemental; it fed something in him that he couldn't name.

And it needed easing tonight, that nameless thing that lurked under his skin. Ever since he had left Sarah standing in her kitchen, action-flushed and passion-ready, he'd felt on edge. An anomalous sense of abandonment had filled him, as though, somehow, it had been her fault that they were apart. They had never even been together, Jareth though with confusion, and it had been his decision, ultimately, to leave for the night. It was strange but one part of him adored everything he had seen of Sarah so far, while another part was suddenly feeling angered denial at the very thought of her. The girl had gotten so far under his skin in so little time that he was almost worried about what would happen after prolonged exposure.

With just a bit of frustration, Jareth made his way back into his home, quickly stripping off his wet clothing. He couldn't very well be any help to a potentially sick Sarah if he became sick himself. Stepping under the brutally hot spray of his shower, he thought about the bronze-colored key sitting on his desk. Not his key; not a key that he'd had any right to take. But, despite the lack of time spent in each other's company, he knew exactly how his minx would have reacted had he simply shown up tomorrow. She would never have let him back into her home, not by choice. So he had found his own way in, and had warned her he was coming. Despite her peculiarities, he had no doubt that she was a smart woman; she would notice the missing key.

The question was: what would she do about it? Find a way to keep him out? Simply not be there when he showed up? A smile instantly curved his lips at the possibilities; Sarah was obviously a stubborn creature, she would not let him into her life easily. But finding a way around all that, the chases and games, was half the fun.

After all, what would a good old-fashioned seduction be like without a little resistance?

She didn't want to sleep that night. Knowing that Jareth could come waltzing in at any moment he wanted to had her beyond disturbed. Sarah had tried wedging a chair under the doorknob of the backdoor, like she had always seen people do in those cheesy horror movies, but the knob was simply to high and the chair had clattered depressingly upright, completely useless as a deterrent. For a while she'd toyed with the idea of creating a blockade out of some furniture, but the best stuff would be heavy, like the fridge, and not something she would be able to move on her own. What she wouldn't give for a deadbolt! Most of the stores in town would be closed tomorrow, as seemed to be a small-town custom for Sundays, but, come hell or high water, she was installing new and extra locks all around the house as soon as possible. It was her home, she shouldn't have to worry about uninvited guests! Fleetingly she wondered if that's how Jareth had felt when he'd amassed his goblin army.

Sleeping was honestly the last thing Sarah wanted to do, but she hadn't slept well the night before, and giving in to her body's demands had been inevitable. With a final, and completely irritating in her opinion, check around the house, she stumbled to her room and snuggled down into her warm bed. The hell she had been through that day almost seemed worth it for the sweet comfort she found in those thick sheets.

Slipping off to sleep, Sarah made a firm decision. While she wanted to know what the hell was going on with Jareth, she wasn't going to allow the guy to walk all over her. She would spend tomorrow with Liz; see how cocky the arrogant bastard was when faced with an empty house! And if she did turn out to be sick? Well, she was a big girl; she knew how to take care of herself.

Sleep refused to come, which wasn't surprising seeing as Jareth was a man of strange hours. Too restless to write, he paced his small living room, idly twirling the stolen key between his fingers.

"Shouldn't think on her so much," he chastised himself; an image of Sarah, lips slightly kiss-swollen, danced behind his eyes. "You think about them too much, and suddenly you find yourself making commitments. And it would be a crime to string someone so sweet along when you know that you're just looking for an interesting time until you head back to Boston."

But the image wouldn't leave him. She was panting and red-cheeked, her eyes a stormy emerald, with a cascade of dark hair framing her delightful face. And it didn't stop there. Now the dream-Sarah was impatiently tugging off her clothes, baring her luscious curves while making whimpers and mewls that went straight to his male ego. The sight of her drunk off the amorous feelings that he had kindled in her, knowing that her lips were swollen from his kisses, made want to purr like some giant, mating beast. The pleasure that he'd given women had always left him with a certain satisfaction, but he'd never been a possessive man before, by any means.

"For the love of god!" he growled, trying to shift his uncomfortably tight jeans, "You haven't even had sex with the woman yet!" Perhaps that was the problem.

The key felt unnaturally heavy in his hand.

What was she doing right now? Quietly slipping out of her house, so as to avoid him? But how would she get anywhere without a car, and where would she go? The sudden thought that she might have a boyfriend to escape to abruptly stopped his pacing. It hadn't even crossed his mind that she might already be in a relationship; it had just felt natural, expected even, that he should pursue her. The thought that there might be someone out there with legitimate rights to her infuriated him. A man, who was not him, could, at that very moment, be slipping his filthy hands up Sarah's thigh, kissing lips that not-so-long-ago had been eagerly pressed to Jareth's, imprinting her with a male scent that would never be right.

He had no right to tear up a relationship for his own selfish desires, especially when he knew that it was unlikely he would ever be able to give more than a heated fling. Would he be the monster that kept her from finding someone she deserved, just to that his own carnal wishes could be satisfied? The thought of her moaning under some faceless stranger answered that question quick enough.

Yes. He would be whatever sort of monster he had to, in order to ensure he was able to experience as much of Sarah as possible, at least for a little while. He wanted to be the center of her little universe until he left, and the interference of any unexpected interlopers was simple unacceptable.

Sarah awoke to the purring of a rather large cat that had curled up on top of her. Confusedly, she looked around the room for a few seconds; it was still dark, which meant it was probably early morning. Other than the cat, she couldn't imagine what might have awoken her. But, through the haze of sleep came a fact of slightly different importance.

She didn't have a cat.

Sitting up, she stared down at the gingery-orange beast sprawled comfortably over her lap. "You're not mine," she said groggily, scratching the enormous feline under the chin.

"No, he's mine. Ludo made it clear that he was feeling decidedly neglected, so I brought him along," the dark voice came out from the shadows of her room. Her eyes frantically searching every nook and cranny, Sarah all but screamed when Jareth seemed to bleed out of the shadows.

It was easy to see how she had missed him, though. Despite his pale skin and hair, he was drenched in black; black jeans, black sweater, black jacket. It was almost as if he was made of darkness. The strangely tense air surrounding him wasn't helping matters. Something was obviously wrong; something had his back up, and he was none too pleased about it.

"Hello Sarah," his voice was deep and smooth and dangerous, just as it had been on that very first meeting. She had the horrible feeling that things weren't going to end any better this time, either.

A/N: … I usually have something to say right here but, like with the last chapter, I'm not too sure if I liked this one or not. What did you guys think?

Please Review! Your opinion is extremely important to me, and I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you may have (as long as it isn't crucial to the plot)!

Disclaimer: Labyrinth belongs to the Jim Henson Company; I'm not making any money off this, it is simply an endeavor in entertainment.