She was mad. Beyond mad. She was pissed.

"How dare he," she ground out, revving her Duc before she took off in what to others would seem like a careless manner. She not only knew this bike inside and out, but the streets of New York were her friends and she didn't fear them.

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

She didn't know Gabriel from Adam, but he was the only person she trusted to give her information about not just the Witchblade but the mythology encompassing it without having their own agenda. Kenneth Irons thought he was fooling her with his helpful tips, but she knew. She knew he only wanted her to have a sketchy idea at best as to who she was, what the Witchblade could do.

And now, his henchman was interfering with her contacts. Threatening them. It was a good thing Gabriel didn't scare easily, or if he did he had the balls not to let it stop him from talking to her.

She slowed her driving down just a bit as a light rain started to fall, making the streets difficult to navigate. It wasn't just the water either. The rain always brought things like oil, antifreeze, and coolant to the surface, some of which weren't easy to spot.

She made it to Irons' mansion easy enough, waiting by the gate for permission to enter the grounds. She hated places like this. Oh, they were nice enough, but the people in them always thought they were above the law. Kenneth Irons was no different.

"So, why are you protecting Nottingham then?" She shook her head. She had no answer to the question, and it was one that had plagued her since her inquiry. The dreams she had about him didn't help either. The dreams she could deal with, blow off. He was an attractive guy with the whole tall, dark, and mysterious thing going for him. He had bad boy written all over him. So, of course she had a yen for him, didn't mean she was going to do anything about it. When her dreams interfered with the few moments of pleasure she indulged in that she let it bother her. Of course, it had only been the one time.

"So far," she murmured, taking in the house in front of her. "It's only a matter of time before one time turns into another and another." She strapped her helmet onto her bike, no worry of it being stolen here.

"Talking to yourself, Sara?"

She spun around, hating that he surprised her and that he'd know he did.

"Surprise, surprise, Nottingham. Not sure why, since lurking in the shadows seems to be one of the things you do best." She walked the short distance to where he was. She didn't mind, anything to prolong going into Irons' house. Really, her message could be suitably delivered to Nottingham since he was the one who'd done the threatening to begin with.

"Not a very nice night for a ride." He sounded, if she didn't know better, a little concerned.

She noticed that he was looking right at her. She couldn’t remember him doing that before now. He always had that subservient thing going for him, head bowed as if he wasn't his own man.

"Yeah, well, I've been riding for years I know how to handle myself."

"I'm sure there are other experienced riders who would argue with you."

"You're probably right, but they're not me," she said, jamming a finger against his chest. It didn't budge much. There was no give there, no body fat to absorb the blow. "Are you suggesting I can't handle myself? Or maybe you're going to threaten me like you did Gabriel."

"Not at all, Sara," he said softly, eyes lowered again.

"Look at me, Nottingham."

He did, and the look in his eyes made her curious.

"What's that look for?"

"What look is that, Sara?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't ask if I knew."

"There are many things I'm feeling. Are you asking me to identify them?"

She paused, realizing she had no reason to still be touching him. And her finger wasn't exactly a threat. If he wanted to, he could swipe her hand away. That begged to question why he didn't. She knew that look in his eyes, though. She didn't have to ask him to tell her anything. He dug her, maybe as much as she obviously dug him.

Denial wasn't working so much now that she was this close and Irons was nowhere to be seen. Chances were since they were outside in the rain, Nottingham's boss wouldn't search for them. If he even knew Sara was here.

She brought her hands to either side of his coat, drawing him to her. He went willingly, which said a lot. She probably had no business doing this. While he'd helped her out of a jam or two since getting the Witchblade, she knew he blurred the lines of the law she chose to protect.

All that was pushed to the wayside, though, when she noticed just before bringing her lips to his that he was wearing his hair down. She groaned as the pictures of her last one-night stand came to mind, she'd pictured running her fingers through his hair.

She paused just short of fulfilling the fantasy. The look in his eyes was both full of wonderment and, if she wasn't mistaken, uncertainty. Did he know he'd been the star of more than one of her fantasies? She tried to picture him doing the same, but couldn't really. She wasn't sure Irons would let him do something so untoward.

She did it then, tearing her lips away as her hands found the ends of his hair. He stopped breathing. If she wasn't mistaken, his heart stopped beating altogether as she ran her fingers through it. She was watching his eyes, unsure if she was crossing a line. Or just making him feel uncomfortable, though she didn't think that was a problem.

He started breathing again, but haphazardly as if he was still trying to remember how.

"Is it as soft as you thought, Sara?"

She should have been mad, could have used his words to pull away and put an end to this.

"Yes," she said simply, brushing a few errant strands away from his face. "How did you know?"

"I know most everything about you Sara."

"Even…"

"Your attempts at forgetting about me, you mean?"

"And what about you, Nottingham? Seems to me if either of us has the need for dreams, it's you not me. I haven't seen evidence that you have any semblance of a life away from Irons, especially a sex life. Have any good ones lately?"

He took hold of her arms then, turning her so she had her back against the wall. His eyes were so dark just then she couldn't tell where the pupils stopped and irises began. It should have frightened her, because she knew it meant he wasn't happy. She couldn't help it, though, no more than he could it seemed. Smart ass comments, carefully planned quips made at one another's expense. It was what they did. The game they played.

She gave a groan when his mouth closed over hers, realization dawning on her that all that dancing had been leading to this. There's a fine line between love and hate so the saying goes. He stood for so much she hated, people thinking they were above the law. And yet, there was something about him that she loved.

"Ache for," she murmured into the kiss. There was something only Ian Nottingham could provide her. It had started from the moment she saw him over the display case and it was coming to a head now. Only thing was, she had no way of knowing what would come after.

What was more, she really didn't care. If there was anyone around her she could be pretty assured was looking for more than a quick fuck and hasta la vista baby, it was Nottingham.

Her hands, always certain and deliberate in their efforts before now, trembled a little as she reached into his coat. She let them dance lightly along the hardened planes of his abdomen and chest. He was no stranger to physical exertion and probably had the stamina of ten bulls. Which, she mused, as she slid her hand down to the front of his pants, she couldn't wait to find out if that was true.

He gave a soft groan as her hand undid his pants, parting them so she could reach inside. His breath was a warm flutter, an invitation, against her neck as she reached her destination, taking his length into her hand.

"Sara," he hissed, almost as if she was the answer to some unspoken prayer of his.

It was his turn to reach for her jeans, and she wondered if this was right. Was she taking advantage somehow? While they were both adults, she couldn't help but think that about him to some degree, as if he'd lived a very sheltered life. Until her. Something about her gave him free will, made him want to step outside the confines of the box Irons kept him in.

And she was so down with that, which was good because he'd clumsily worked the zipper on her jeans. A hand was cupping her breast now and she hissed softly, letting her head fall back against the wall. The rain had let up she realized, though it was still there. What did it say that she'd been so caught up in Nottingham that she'd forgotten about getting soaked to the bone?

She took his face in her hands, kissing each cheek before finding his mouth. A hand dropped, and she started stroking him, working him to the state she wanted him in. So close to finishing. She could tell by his breathing that he wasn't too far from achieving that goal.

She dropped to her knees then, taking him into her mouth. She'd intended on watching him, curious as to his reaction to her doing this. Once she had him inside of her, her tongue getting to know the texture and taste of him so intimately she couldn't think of anything else. She didn't do this to many guys. It was too personal to her. Fucking wasn't. Some felt the opposite, but to Sara there was more emotion involved in going down on someone. It meant more, suggested she wanted more than she usually did from a guy.

It was his turn to run his hands through her hair, enjoying the task as much a she had earlier it seemed. His hips started moving in a rhythm matching her head's as she slid him in and out of her mouth. He cried out, hips thrusting at an almost breakneck speed as he finished. She took his essence into her mouth, drinking it down until he had no more left. She licked him clean then, enjoying the sounds he made as she did.

She kissed a path up, stopping for a moment to leave a mark on his pelvic bone. Evidence that she'd really been there. She resumed then, up his torso as she stood, biting his neck enough to leave another mark. How long it would stay she didn't know, she'd worked harder on the one lower than this one.

"Come home with me," she whispered, kissing his jaw and ear.

"Are you sure, Sara? I don't expect, if that's what you think."

She shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his and gave a soft laugh. "No, but yes, I know I want you there. I want to finish this, but not here." There were so many reasons why not here and he seemed to understand that. Probably better than she did, his master lived here not hers.

"Do you want me to follow you?" he asked.

"I don't suppose you have a spare helmet somewhere?"

He smiled and his eyes reflected his amusement. "I think I can find one."

"Then come with me, Ian," she said, putting his pants back together again and then hers. "Better tell Irons not to worry if you don't come home tonight."

"It's probably best he doesn't find out until after I've stayed all night with you."

"All right," she said, making her way to her bike. She took her helmet into her hands, watching the house for any sign of life but seeing none as she put the helmet on and straddled the bike.

He was there, behind her without her even realizing he'd come back. He could do that, she didn't know how. It wasn't simple stealth, one of these days she'd ask him but not tonight.

"Hang on tight," she said as she revved the bike.

"Don't worry, Sara, I will. Something tells me I'm in for one hell of a ride."

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"That's on the agenda later, Nottingham."

"I can't wait."

Yeah, she couldn't either.

~The End~

Story ©Susan Matthews/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com