Mystra
It was no surprise to him when the knock sounded on the door. What was surprising was the fact that she even bothered. He was well aware of the fact that she had somehow managed to get an identical key made and was sure that he was not imagining it when he'd come home to find things just slightly different. A book moved a fraction of a millimeter, a pillow just slightly askew. He didn't bother to confront her about it, not when he found it hard to even care.
It would be different if he cared, if the thought of her elicited anything more than faster breathing, racing blood and a cock as hard as steel.
But he didn't.
He was well aware they were playing a game. It usually seemed like Cat and Mouse, although they changed places often. Occasionally it resembled something more like Scrabble, both of them itching to oust the other with superior knowledge. He wondered idly if he should be keeping score.
Wesley stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Glassy, red eyes stared back at him, caused both by the fact that he'd been drinking and that he had fallen asleep with his contacts in. His face was scruffy and dark with a day's growth of beard. He tried avoiding looking at himself too closely, but it never worked. Soon he was lost in his own eyes, in his own thoughts. It was really quite maddening, the way those thoughts seemed to eventually come back to her. To Lilah. He supposed that it was better than his 'other' thoughts.
This, this-- thing with Lilah had almost imperceptibly changed however. He was aware of that, even though he pretended to be oblivious.
It had changed when she'd begun to actually stay the night, instead of leaving immediately after they'd both slaked their considerable passions; when the sweat hadn't even had a chance to evaporate from her skin yet. It had changed when he'd actually made no comment to her staying the night, therefore allowing it by tacit agreement, through his silence.
Silence.
He'd remained silent for some time. Mostly because it was easier. Easier than acknowledging the fact that he was aware her part in their affair was beginning to frighteningly resemble something out of that American movie with Michael Douglas and the boiled rabbit. Besides visiting his home when he wasn't around, he was aware that she had begun following him.
Wesley was startled from his thoughts by Lilah's appearance behind him in the mirror. She'd made herself comfortable he saw. That is, unless she'd taken to walking the streets of L.A. in very brief silk nightgowns.
He turned slowly, fully aware that his arousal was quite visible through the stretchy white cotton of his boxer-briefs.
Lilah arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Happy to see me?", she asked, her tone somewhere between vampish harlot and insecure virgin.
Ignoring her the former Watcher grabbed the flute of champagne she proffered and pushed past her.
He leaned against a wall and watched her, tossing back the probably ridiculously expensive champagne in one long swallow. He hadn't even tasted it.
Lilah frowned at him slightly, as if perturbed by his lack of due appreciation.
Wesley noticed. His eyes narrowed. The champagne glass in his hand, the scanty nightwear...
"What is this Lilah?", he demanded to know, his voice cold and dark.
She smiled that perturbing Mona Lisa smile of hers. The one that told him nothing.
He could feel the rage build. He was never going to be taken unawares again.
There was a crash, a faint tinkling of priceless crystal and his body trapped her own.
Her arms were stretched overhead, her back against the wall, her breasts crushed against his lean, whip-cord frame.
Wesley stared into her. Their breaths commingled.
"What? Is? This?", he ground out.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"This. This!", Wesley hissed, his mouth moving against the skin of her throat, teeth nipping.
Her groans were the only response.
Adjusting his hold so that he had one hand free, the other holding both her wrists still above her head, he rasped, "This". As his hand moved to her waist burning through the thin black silk as he skimmed the material.
Lilah was gasping. Her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Well the saleswoman said it was one hundred percent silk actually", she retorted in her biting sarcastic manner.
Wesley's mouth trailed back up. A small smile on his features. "Really?", he breathed against her ear, enjoying her shudders, and the tensing of muscles as his hand crept beneath the short hem to immerse itself in her moist center. Silken skin melding into hot, wet velvet.
His eyes widened.
"You've shaved."
"I thought you'd like it", Lilah whispered in a small voice.
"I do."
His fingers became hard, punishing, urgent inside her. One digit, becoming two, two becoming three.
"Wesley!", she shouted, riding his hand with wild abandon despite the pain she had to be in from the awkward position he had her in.
"When did you begin to care what I enjoyed?", Wesley ground out, his eyes searching her patrician, beautiful features impassively. He could see her search for an answer even as her body strove for release.
Abruptly, he stopped his ministrations.
Her wail of frustration was music to his ears.
Dark angry eyes burned into him.
Wesley removed his hand from her core, leaving her aching and empty, instead cupping her breast as he roughly flicked her nipple through the thin silk.
Lilah remained silent, and angry. He would get no answers from her.
With a sudden move, he tore the scrap of silk down the middle.
"Bastard!", she hissed at him, her eyes shining with lust and hatred.
'Better', he thought.
Out loud he almost growled. "I know what this is...."
He grabbed her arm and stepped away from her. For a moment she swayed, the strength of his body having been the only thing supporting her.
Wesley tore the remaining scraps of silk from her body, over and off her arms before proceeding to yank her along, and down the hallway. He propelled her onto the couch.
Lilah landed on her delectable ass, her legs thrown over the couch's armrest.
He stood over her, pushing down his underwear hastily.
Greedy eyes latched onto the sight of his long, hard manhood as his hand grabbed hold. He stroked himself a few times before grabbing one of her long legs and yanking to the side, opening her to his gaze.
Naked pink skin was moist, shiny with her juices. And he'd barely touched her.
Lilah licked her lips and shook back her hair. She wouldn't beg, but then again, she never did. No matter how much he could see it in her carefully schooled features.
He pushed her back and climbed on top, pushing just the tip of himself inside of her. His stormy blue-gray eyes pinned her gaze.
A moan of frustrated pleasure escaped her. Her body quivered beneath his own desperate for him to begin to move.
"This", he said pushing a bit more of himself inside of her.
"Is." :Push:
"A." :Push:
"Game." He was in to the hilt.
He took his time before allowing himself to thrust in earnest. It was killing him, sweat beaded along his forehead and upper lip, but this was about winning, or at least about a draw. No matter what he did, no one ever actually seemed to get any kind of prize.
"You would do yourself well to remember that, Lilah", he grunted, his weight settled on his arms, as he toyed with her. He slid in and out of her slowly and deliberately, and despite herself, Wesley could feel her responding beneath him.
Finally defeated, she wrapped her legs around him, her hips moving in counterpoint to his increasingly punishing thrusts until he was jack-hammering into her welcoming body with abandon.
Black spots danced in front of his eyes, as her internal muscles convulsed around him with a sudden, intense grip that verged on pain.
His back stiffened, he swallowed, and then he was coming, hard. The moment seemed to expand as he emptied himself inside her. But then, it was over. He slumped atop her. He could still feel the aftershocks of her pleasure as she trembled beneath him, and resisted the very ungentlemanly urge to gloat.
She shifted beneath him.
"Get off me", she ordered, her voice soft and deadly in its intensity.
Wesley withdrew, and slumped on the couch, completely spent.
He watched her dress in her work clothes impassively. Short skirt, silk blouse, jacket, eight hundred dollar pumps. No stockings. She never wore stockings. He held back the urge to sigh under his breath. He was almost disappointed, he'd wanted the pleasure of telling her to get out.
Wesley abruptly became aware that she was standing in front of him.
Blinking owlishly, he looked up at her, only to see that same maddening half-smile on her annoyingly perfect features. Taking one of her fingers, she made a point of sucking it into her mouth. The gesture was hot and wanton, and made his cock stir, much to his own amazement. She scratched her finger in the air in a completely recognizable gesture, acknowledging that he'd won.
The former Watcher was well aware of the part she'd left unsaid.
After all, he'd only won this round, but the game continued.
Ignoring Lilah, he made his way to his bed and threw himself on it. The slamming of the front door only exaggerated a fact he'd already accepted. He was alone. Again. Still, he knew that she wouldn't leave him alone for long. He told himself the clenching in his gut was apprehension and not longing, and went to sleep.
Fic