Seduction, Seduce. The long-legged blonde walked into the lobby of the Lanesborough, a killer smile etched onto her face. She knew she was slightly late, had counted on being so. She moved towards the cloakroom, rolling her eyes when she saw the tending boy gulp. Twirling a strand of her long, straight hair, she waited for her small ticket – and for the fun of it, blew the boy a kiss when he handed it over to her. ​The moment she stepped her sky high Louboutins into the threshold of Apsleys, time froze. ​He could feel her, even if he was across the room, seated at the bar. She was embedded deep within him; his senses were well tuned into pinpointing exactly where she was. He didn’t turn around straight away – instead, he sipped his favourite vintage bourbon, a slight smirk on his lips as he tried to imagine what dress she was wearing. It was a rather entertaining game that he enjoyed spending a lot of time on. He was hoping it was the carmine number, void of any back. Though he enjoyed the long white column dress she loved to tease him with too, with a slit that showed off her long, toned legs. Though no dress, no outfit, no nothing, could be as great as her in her own skin. ​With images of her in various outfits, he turned around, smiling to himself. ​The grin dropped off his face. ​She was wearing something new – and dangerous. He should have anticipated it, he thought as he put his whiskey glass down on the bar counter. She never did anything half way, especially not when he was involved. The rich, red dress dipped dangerously, gloriously low, exposing the creamy flesh of her plump breasts that made his palms itch to touch her. It fit her like a second skin, her curves outrageously tempting. The hem was just above her knees, and he thought of just how normal it was for her. He could see her smiling at him, her eyes dancing with secrets as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She cocked her hip to the side and parted her legs, ever so slightly. Of course there was a slit, running straight up, exposing the whole length of her leg. He unconsciously gulped, his ice blue eyes darkening as he imagined ripping the dress apart. He raked his eyes over her – sweet Jesus, she had her fuck-me Louboutins on again – and he got up, straightening his cuffs as he slowly made his way to her. She was laying down her best weapons already? Well, he hadn’t even started yet. She watched him as he moved through the semi-crowded restaurant, his eyes zeroed in on her. She could never resist him, not when his narrowed orbs were staring at her as if she was the dinner, and he was about to lay her down for a feast. She ignored the clench deep within her belly, refusing to lose the game. He looked ravishing, even more so than the last time. The slated grey suit did nothing to hide his wonderful physique – anyone with eyes would know that there was a washboard stomach and a wonderfully broad chest underneath the starch white shirt and grey blazer. She tilted her head to the side as he stood before her, extending a hand. Raising an eyebrow, she waited a beat, then two. He smirked at her, his eyes already looking victorious. She put her hand in his, smirking right back at him. He didn’t think she would let him win, did he? He didn’t falter as he lifted her hand up to his lips, laying a kiss on her knuckles. His lips lingered for longer than necessary, letting the simple gesture, the simple touch, mean so much more. The shivers that ran down her back left her breathless. “Good evening, Ian,” she said, her voice husky and slightly hoarse. He still held her hand as he responded. “Evening, Raminta. It’s been a very long time,” he said offhandedly, gently resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. She heard the double meaning behind his words and rolled her eyes. “Precisely one hundred and seventy one days,” she retorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder as they made their way over to their reserved table. Everyone watched them; some only glancing up as they passed, some gawking, others admiring. They picked up on the small whispers that carried, ignoring them. It was a common occurrence, one that they were indifferent about. They were eye-catching, no doubt about that. The aura they possessed, the atmosphere they carried with them like a scent was enough to make head turns. But they didn’t see anyone other than each other. When they reached their table, he pulled out her plush chair, gesturing for her to sit. Inclining her head, she lowered herself slowly, gracefully, tantalisingly. In retaliation, he let his hands linger on her bare arms, trailing them up to her neck as he gently moved her miles of hair behind her back so he could lower his mouth to her ear. He had been clever; making sure their table was in a corner, illuminated by dimmed lights. “Did I mention how beautiful you look?” he whispered, pressing a small kiss against her lobe. She didn’t say anything – couldn’t say anything, not when the only tangible thing her mouth wanted to let out was a moan. He sat down opposite her, a fire in his eyes that thrilled her to the core. Their waiter came over, polite and unaware of the dangerous territory he was within. Raminta licked her glossed lips, sending Ian sultry looks as he ordered wine for them. “We’ll have a bottle of Le Bon Pasteur,” he told the waiter, who nodded and left as Raminta leaned forward, which did nothing to appease his hunger for her, as the dress shifted and the cleavage, already so low, exposed even more skin. “Le Bon Pasteur, Ian? Are we reminiscing the old, old days?” she said, humour colouring her voice. So he still remembered that the red wine was her favourite? “Aren't we always, Red?” he returned her question, using the name that he had said was best suited for her when they were oh so young, not even a decade old. Her face grew sombre for a moment, before the shadow of the past disappeared. “I guess it is a celebration for the years.” They left the conversation unfinished between them as the particular wine was brought to their table, poured into the oversized wine glasses. Lifting her one up, she waited a beat. “To the memories we have managed to create,” she toasted, and he clinked his glass against hers before taking a sip of the rich, red wine. It was refreshing, an explosion of grapes – and reminded her of when they she was sixteen and he nineteen, sneaking out the wine from his father’s cellar and going over to the tree-house to get shit faced for his birthday. And she had let herself into his hands for the first time then. “To the memories we still have to create,” he added, watching her swallow. His pants tightened as he imagined the last time she had put her mouth on him, the forbidden things they had done. He was burning for her, though it was no surprise. He was always burning for her. “Sir, are you ready to order?” Ian looked up to the waiter, and then back at her. Smiling, he nodded. “We’ll have the Chef’s special. Tell him Ian sends him his regards, and he’ll know exactly what I mean,” he told the man, who nodded politely and made a swift exit towards the kitchens. Raminta watched him with an amused expression on her face, her finger twirling around the mouth of her glass. He knew she was purposely egging him on, trying to get a rise out of him – and God damn it, it was working. She dipped a finger into the wine, and his eyes grew wide. Smirking, she lifted the finger to her mouth, licking the droplets of wine off it, before sucking on her finger and turning her cat-like eyes on him. Purring a little, she popped the finger out of her mouth, the sound doing to stop the blood from rushing down south. He wasn’t going to let her see just how affected he was. “You’re lighting a fire you won’t be able to extinguish, Red,” he growled, grabbing her wrist as she made an attempt to move her finger back to her mouth again. She giggled, extremely pleased with herself. But her joy was cut short when he jerked her forward, his mouth laying small bites against her wrist, palm, and index finger. Her breath cut short when he bit down on her pulse that was already racing. His teeth were never kind on her soft flesh, not that she would disapprove of the way he was never gentle with her. He was the best lover she had ever taken to bed, and the only lover she had ever returned to, time and time again. He let go of her wrist and admired the marks he had left on her – it wouldn’t be the last mark he left on her before the night was over. “You’ve marked me already, and we haven’t sat down for even an hour,” she said, her tone mocking him. He shrugged, sitting back in his seat as he ran his tongue over his teeth. “Hunger like this is insatiable, as you know – I was merely sampling my dinner,” he retorted, picking up his glass and drinking deeply. She tasted like roses and amber, and he couldn’t even see straight let alone think from the way her scent was clouding his mind. The air was thick with the hot sexual tension, and they had to diffuse it before he threw her over his shoulder and took her away. “How is that publishing firm of yours holding up?” he asked as their meals were set down in front of them. She was a very established publisher, who wrote just as well. He remembered their childhood dreams, when they used to sit in the tree-house and talk about growing up. She had always said the same thing, the same dream. “I will surround myself with books, books, and more books.” “Wouldn’t you get bored?” “How can I? Not when I’m living in different #lifetimes through words all the time.” She smiled at him as she remembered too. “It’s holding up well – we’ve just sorted through new material to put out there, so slightly hectic, but nothing I don’t enjoy,” she held her business very close to her heart; it was her baby, after all. Success was never an issue, not for her. She revelled in it. “What sort of stories are you putting out there this time round?” he wondered, genuinely interested. He had seen her in her element, hair tied up, glasses on, a terrible wreck rushing around sorting out details others had done less than perfect. She was enjoyable in any state. “Oh, lots of hot, steamy works are going to be published very soon. I’ve found some writers who have minds that are filthier than ours,” she pointed out as she watched his face. He didn’t think she was that stupid, did he? Trying to distract her from what her aim was. She had seen him just a few mere minutes ago – pupils dilating, hands clenching in an effort not to reach over to her. She was absolutely sure his pants were tight underneath the table. She ached to touch him where she wanted the most. “Let me demonstrate exactly what I mean,” she whispered, pushing her chair back slightly. He frowned, not sure what she meant – what demonstration? She picked up her fork, dangling it between her fingers as she watched him with a feline smirk on her face. He raised an eyebrow. She let the fork drop. “Oops.” She slid off the chair, and looked around quickly – though there was hardly a person watching them, not while they were in their private corner booth. She lifted the white cloth up, and slipped under the table. On her knees, she let her hands wander up his thighs, the bulge in his pants evident. “Raminta?” she heard a hiss as she grazed her fingernails over his growing shaft. He shouldn’t sound so surprised – after all, she was the one who had always been scolded for her vivid imagination. Grabbing his belt, she undid it, flicking the button of his trousers open and pulling the zipper down. He groaned, trying to shift out from under her. Oh no, this wasn’t going to be that easy. She dug her nails into his thighs, ready to use her teeth if necessary too. He stilled. “Good boy,” she said, and freed his rigid erection. She waited a beat, two, three. Then leaned forward and licked all the way up. Ian nearly turned the table over. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to get his brain working again. Common sense left him as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. She used her tongue, and used it well – up and down, down and up, tracing patterns, swirling around the tip of him – Then her lips closed around him, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. Her mouth was the deadliest weapon she possessed. She took him in, all of him, in that instance and she felt his body shake. She eased up a little, letting her hands trail up his legs and to his abdomen. Her long fingernails bit into his skin, the sensation of both her mouth and hands killing him. Surely this was surreal, he thought wildly as he mouth worked him slowly, torturously. She let go of him for a moment, laying open mouthed kisses along his manhood while she moved her hands down to his length again. He wasn’t sure of what to anticipate next, not sure if she was going to strike again or – “Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed as she took him back into her mouth, her teeth scraping lightly against him as her hands pumped up and down too. His hand reached down underneath the table, fisting long locks around his fingers. She moved her head faster, unbelievably so, as he tightened his grip. She sucked harder, kneading his thighs, knowing exactly where to touch, grip, and bite. His body was her territory, her familiarity, her home. She brought him to the edge, taunting him, teasing him, until he nearly growled in pleasure. She popped him out of her mouth and licked the tip, and he let go of her hair reluctantly before she slipped back up and perched herself next to him, her lips close to his ear. “We’re going to finish this upstairs. Now,” she demanded, watching him as he sorted himself out. Her eyes were heavy with lust, her lips completely ridden of the gloss she was wearing, her hair a mess. She didn’t care – she was burning up and only he could put out the fire deep within her. Grabbing her wine, she gulped it down swiftly, emptying the glass as she picked up the bottle. She was taking it with her. The moment he was presentable, she grabbed his hand, pulling him up as she headed for the elevators in the main lobby. The second the doors open for the swanky lift, they pounced on each other. He pushed her into the mirrored walls of the elevator, grabbing her by her hair and crashing his lips on hers, rough and dominating and full of desire. She gave back as equally hard, her tongue fighting his, her body pushing desperately against his as she realised she was still holding the bottle. “Wait – let me just – bottle on the floor,” she gasped out, breaking away from the kiss and setting the bottle down, before straightening up again and pouncing on him. Her hands touched everywhere, clawed and grazed as she assaulted his mouth. His hands trailed down to her legs, and gripping her thighs, hitched her up as he flipped their positions over and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his throbbing erection settling right between her thighs. She gasped as he rubbed himself against her, the feeling always familiar, but so different from the last. The elevator climbed to the upper floors, and he ravished her by the time the doors opened to their floor. They fell out, a tangle of limbs and harsh breaths. “The wine! Oh fuck,” she laughed hysterically as she quickly reached into the elevator, grabbing the Le Bon off the floor. He picked her up, striding over to their Royal Suite. She reached down into his suit’s pocket and plucked the key out, smiling at him as she slid the electronic card into the slot. “Quick thinking,” he complimented her, before walking into the beautiful Suite. It suited them, she thought as she looked around. He kicked the door close before moving over to the dining table that was to his right. Pushing her down on it, he looked at her, his eyes burning straight through her. She felt his gaze deep within her, which had her squirming with impatience. She was very sure he could make her climax just by looking at her. He grabbed her ankles, stilling her movements. She watched him watching her, while his hands trailed up, ever so slowly, from her ankles, to her calves, then her thighs. The red dress hitched up, the slit exposing the top of her stockings, embroidered with red lace. Pushing the dress further up, he went on to reveal the matching red thongs, barely covering her modesty. He gripped the hem of the dress on both sides, leaning down ever so slightly. With a quick, sharp tug, he ripped the flimsy, expensive dress all the way up, exposing the cock-teasing lingerie she had on underneath. “Fuck me, Raminta,” he cast his eyes up to the ceiling, before letting his eyes take her in. The bold red stood out against her creamy flesh, though it could hardly be called that. The bra, a blood sizzling red with black undertones, just about covered her plump breasts, tempting him to rip it apart too. She looked a sight, her hair fanning out around her, her chest heaving, her lips swollen from his kisses. Reaching forward, he pulled her up by her neck, biting down on her lower lip as his hands touched blessedly warm flesh. She gasped when he latched his mouth onto her neck, sucking and biting while his hand unclasped her bra, shoving it down her arms. His hands didn’t stop, covering every inch of her flesh as if he would die without the contact. “Don’t stop, please,” she unconsciously muttered, trying her best to remove his clothes. She managed to push the arms of his blazer down, and he shrugged it off violently, his mouth switching sides on her neck. She hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, needing the simple flesh to flesh contact. “Oh!” His hand cupped her burning core, fingers cupping her over the thing material she had worn as panties. He moaned into her neck as she bucked her hips, crying out with pleasure, at finally having his hands where she wanted them. He pulled her hair back, wrapping the whole length of it in his hand as he found her pulse and bit down on it. He drew blood. She let go of him, throwing her head back as she whimpered in his arms. It was the perfect amount of insanity, the perfect amount of forbidden. He pulled on her hair, while his other hand moved down to his trousers. “Steady yourself,” he demanded, and she put her palms down on the table in order to steady herself while he unbuckled his trousers, quickly undoing them and letting it drop as he kicked his shoes off. His underwear followed, and he stood in all his glory before her. “Now.” He spread her legs without warning, roughly pulling down the piece of lace that covered her. The delicate fabric gave away, ripping as he let it hand off her left calf, not caring for it any longer. He pushed her up the table, and she knocked out the vase of flowers behind her, along with the complimentary Swiss chocolate. They clattered to the floor, but they didn’t care. He lowered his head, kissing the side of her knee, then her thigh, moving higher, higher, higher until she was taunt as a bow and in need of his mouth on her. “Please.” He set his mouth on her, and she could’ve sworn the gates to heaven opened up. He held her down on the table as she tried to buck her hips. Smirking against her sex, he scraped his teeth across burning flesh and her core. The sound she made was inhumane. He worked his tongue, devouring her as she withered, squirmed, and then dragged her hands through his hair, wanting, needing, more. It was always more with him. He drew her to closer to the edge, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer, each suckle clawing its way through her system, begging for release. “Come for me.” The words were all she needed. Her body undid itself, letting go as the climax rippled through her endlessly. She screamed his name, her body rising up in surrender. Before she recovered from the aftermath, he rose over her, filling her with him. Her eyes flew open as he moved against her roughly, pulling her legs up to his broad shoulders and letting her Louboutins rest against them. It felt like coming home again, where everything he knew was still the same. He didn’t slow down, not even a bit – he moved in and out of her faster, flesh smacking against flesh, hands bruising and moans become ragged screams. He dropped on his elbows, her legs still on his shoulders, and she nearly bit her tongue off at the sensation. He felt so deep in her, impossibly deep. Her back arched as he dipped his head down and his teeth tugged at her nipples, the breath catching in her throat. Gripping her hands, he laced his fingers through hers, pinning them above her head as he drew them closer to the end, their bodies slick with slight sweat. He pulled back, the tip of his erection in her, as he watched her eyes. He always watched her, that moment before he flung her off the edge. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she anticipated his next move. He moved back into her, faster than her had ever done so before, rocking the table that was holding them upon it. She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust to thrust, moan to moan, as they coaxed each other to the end, pumping away furiously. And when the orgasm rippled through her, when her walls clamped down around him, he let go, finishing along with her. The table that had precariously held them gave away from the impact. The collision wasn’t louder than her screams. They lay where they were, on top of the table surface, on top of the expensive carpet. She let her legs slide off his shoulders and settle down on either side of his. She wasn’t sure if she was alive or in the after#life. He moved from where he laid buried on top of her, still linked together. Pushing himself up on his palms, he looked down at her, then at the slight damage around them. “It’s safe to say the check out total will be a bit more than I imagined,” he said, and she laughed, surprised that they were still able to move. Her body felt wonderfully used, and she stretched, like a cat with a belly full of cream. He looked down at her, and realised that he had left many marks. He touched the teeth marks that had cut through her skin, an angry red mark around the love bite that was already forming. Mine. ​ He felt possessive as his hand cupped her breast, idly acknowledging that he had neglected them in their haste moments ago. He felt the impossible stirring of blood in his loins again, and her eyes widened as she felt it too. Smirking, he stood up, sweeping her off the remains of the dining table and into his arms as he moved towards the private quarters of the Suite. “You can’t be serious, Ian! Are you a fucking rabbit?!” she exclaimed as he threw her onto the bed, the gleam back in his eyes. “Don’t move,” he commanded, leaving the room again. She appreciated the way his firm ass moved as he took big steps, and decided that this second round worked for her favour. There were areas she hadn’t got to cover the first time round. He returned seconds later, with the bottle of wine in one hand and a bowl in the other. Raising his eyebrows at her, he watched the realisation dawned upon her. “I am not letting you waste a great bottle of wine for such reasons -” she began, but it wasn’t to deter him from what he wanted to do. Tipping the bottle over slightly, he let the wine pour down her magnificent breasts and belly. “No!” She shrieked as he put the bottle down and climbed onto the bed too, slightly sticky and stained due to the red wine. He bent down and licked her breast, alternating from one to the other, savouring the taste of her and her small, soft moans. He was careful to just use his mouth, moving down to her belly button and back up to her breasts again. He made sure he kissed everywhere, watching her, feeling her as he body began to slowly burn up again, chanting for him. He bit her just under her breast, sucking the flesh in as he marked her once more. She hissed when she felt his teeth on her right breast, her skin bruising from his assault. She sighed when he marked just under her rips. She moaned when he marked her hip. She whimpered when he marked her thigh. She groaned his name when he marked her inner thigh, so close to her core. “You’re mine.” He reached over to the bedside drawer, picking up the bowl of thick, whipped cream. She watched him dip his finger into it, before spreading a trail down from her collarbone to her sex. He took his sweet, glorious time licking the delicious cream off her, watching her face as the simple gesture turned her on even more. “My turn.” She flipped their positions so he laid against the pillows, his body like a Greek God’s, his cock hard and so big. She grabbed the bowl, tasting the cream for herself. He watched her with predatory eyes as she licked it off her finger. “You little tease.” She pouted as she batted her eyelashes, feigning offence. “Me, a tease? Why, Mr. Somerhalder, would you think such a thing?” she asked him as she poured the cream all over his shaft. Without even letting him utter a word, she moved down, her ass in the air as she used her mouth over him. His head fell back as she cleaned the cream off his dick, the small sounds she made in the back of her throat killing him, her hands rubbing on his broad chest sparking up millions of sensations through his body. He was so close, so damn close – Growling, he moved out from under her, shifting behind her as he pulled her hair and entered her from the back. She gasped, her body giving into his need to dominate her. She let herself be taken as he moved in and out of her, his right hand wrapped in her hair as he left dug into her hip, his hold near painful. The bed shook, the sea blue covers covered in red wine and cream and their bodies. She felt her body quivering, getting so close to release, as he vigorously took her, sparing her no mercy. He buried himself completely in her once, twice – “Yes!” She cried out over and over again as she climaxed, one followed by another. He let himself go, growling her name as he collapsed on top of her, pushing them both down onto the bed. They stilled, breathing heavy, the survivors of a war. Then he curled his arm around her and rolled over so she lay on top of him. They didn’t move until the morning. They stood at the main desk, Raminta tapping her foot against the marble floor as they waited for the check out details to be finalised. She had shades over her eyes, just like Ian. Though he was definitely dressed more appropriately than her. She was only in her black trench coat, tightly knotted around her waist. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Somerhalder,” the receptionist handed him the receipt and he inclined his head. No point in correcting the woman, not when they weren’t going to be seeing her again. Walking to the doors of the entrance, they stood at the top of the steps, both wearing devilish grins on their faces. “Until next time, my darling,” he said, pressing as kiss against her knuckles. “Goodbye, Ian,” she nodded, slipping her hand out of his and walking down the steps to where her car awaited her. He watched for her slip in behind the wheel and drive off, not looking back once. They never needed to. He walked down to where his chauffeur was waiting, and climbed into the car. His hand reached into his pocket where her ripped, red thong was. He never left any of her underwear behind. Fin.