Who: Ian Evans & Adelaide Morgan What: Crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed When: Friday, Dec. 18th, 2009 (backdated) Where: Ian's House Rating: PG-13 Status: JP & Thread || Incomplete
Things had gone surprisingly smoothly since Ian had moved Adelaide into his home. It had been a good two weeks, and they were surviving in the same space without much conflict. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that he hadn't seen much of her since she'd come to stay with him That had gone well. It had been at a rather fine Japanese restaurant that Ian enjoyed, and not only because the tables were well-secluded with paper screens and strategically-placed bamboo. He'd been tempted to take her shopping, too; but dinner had ran long, and by the time they were ready to pay the bill, it was far too late to think of anything but going home.
Now, that's where they were, with Adelaide in the living room and picking through his movies while he put popcorn in the microwave and dug through the fridge for something teen-appropriate to drink. He'd shown her the room she would claim (and she'd looked absolutely thrilled with it), and now, he was getting the feeling that maybe things would be fine. After all, he hadn't had a single inappropriate thought all night.
He poked his head out of the kitchen. "All we've got is ginger ale, water, and orange juice." He winced a little. "Which would you like?" By the time Ian peered around the kitchen doorway, Adelaide had settled into the euphoric glow that came with everything going her way. It had, there could be no question. If she'd really bought all the My-Lord-will-provide-for-me BS she spouted, this would have been a perfect example of her faith bearing fruit. Since she did not, she considered it a testament to her own shrewd planning. Ian had been a perfect choice - he'd provided for her beyond her wildest dreams, and seemed quite content to remain wrapped around her little finger.
Dinner had been delightful, as had settling into the Evans home. The room that he'd gifted her with was nothing short of gorgeous, and had come with the promise of decorating however she liked - always a perk to a teenage girl, even if she wasn't typical. And now with the smell of popcorn seeping into the living room, surrounded by comfortable furnishings, kneeling in front of a flat-panel TV to browse a collection of movies... life was good. Oh, very good.
She slipped to her feet to answer him, strolling toward the kitchen with several movies in her hands, flipping through them. "Ginger ale, please. And can we talk about your taste in movies? There are these things, I like to call them romantic comedies," she teased - it was obvious, both from her tone and from the smile playing at her lips. Adelaide was comfortable, relaxed. "They're the DVDs on the shelves without the chainsaw murderers or ninjas." "With or without ice?" He'd already returned to the fridge, fingers playing over the beer bottles in the door before settling on the bottle of ginger ale. Better that he not be drinking tonight. No, alcohol would not be a good idea. It didn't help that he had no idea that he'd been used; had no idea that he'd done anything but what he'd expected of himself - he was fulfilling his duties as protector, as hero. Here, with him, she'd never have to be unhappy or scared. Here, he could keep an eye on her. Here, he could keep her safe. He didn't know that she was the one who'd decided that this was the course of action he should take; was completely unaware that she knew to the extent of which he was wrapped around her finger. He thought that was information that only he possessed.
"Hey, hey." He pointed at her with a hand that was wrapped around an ice-filled glass. "I don't like any of that girly sissy stuff." There was a shake of his head as he turned to pour ginger ale in the two glasses...and while he was pouring, he glanced over his shoulder. "They're in the bottom drawer of the entertainment stand." His smile was sheepish. "But don't expect much from them!" Girly sissy stuff? Addy's brows went up, her lips twitching with a smile that she tried to suppress. It helped things that Ian was genuinely likable - and that he wasn't an idiot. His quick thinking when she'd disappeared had impressed her. His willingness to fight for her was... pleasing. He was a good guy, and he wanted to take care of her - and still, she couldn't bring herself to feel regret for using him. He was getting what he wanted out of this, a pretty blonde to call him her hero - wasn't he? Of course he was. Everyone was winning, and she wasn't unhappy with this. As long as Adelaide herself won, she saw no reason to grudge her benefactor his happiness.
It actually sort of.. pleased her. Sort of. And wasn't that odd.
So she didn't have to fake her way through the giggle that rose to her lips when he confessed to his stash of rom-coms. "Ice is fine," she grinned, and then padded barefoot back into the living room, returning to her place on the floor in front of the television. Her street-clothes had been abandoned in favor of shorts and one of Ian's shirts (her own clothes were already being run through the washer). She'd made herself at home... and hopefully her ease would put Ian at ease. It wouldn't do to have him regretting bringing her home - it wouldn't do at all.
"Oh! The Princess Bride! I love this movie!" She was calling from the living room, girlish and excited. "It's so cute. Okay. Tomorrow. Princess Bride. Tonight, this one with the bloody chainsaw on the cover. My parents were crazy strict about horror movies.." "Good, because you got it." The words were spoken half to himself as he topped off the glasses. As he slid the ginger ale back into the fridge, his gaze flicked briefly up to the freezer, where he had a healthy stash of rum and whiskey. Alcohol kept the demons down, but he had an idea that tonight, he'd best manage them on his own. The last thing he wanted was to lose control with Adelaide.
Honestly, sex hadn't entered his mind in quite some time. She was right in thinking that he was getting what he wanted... he was her hero, and that was enough for the older man. It was like the ultimate form of conquering his inner darkness - he'd taken a girl who was the epitome of everything he craved, and rather than making her into an object of adulation, he'd fought to keep her pure and, (as far as he could tell) had succeeded. He was her protector, rather than her corruptor. He took comfort in the knowledge that he was capable of such things, remained secure that he was, above all else, a good man. This alone was proof of it.
Her ease did put him at ease, as well - which was why her cute, girlish squeal earned a good-natured, amused grin as he meandered back into the living room, bearing two glasses of ginger ale. "Okay," he said, with a sigh that he obviously didn't mean, "We can watch the Princess Bride. Unless your heart is just absolutely set on..." He reached to take the DVD from her hand. "Friday the 13th. A New Beginning?" He shook his head, before quietly returning the DVD to the shelves. "No. That is not where we will begin your horror movie venture." He crouched down beside her, thumbing through the movies. "If you want some horror, we'll try Day of the Dead. Or Cannibal Ferox. Or something actually scary." A wink. "Unless you'd rather stick with the Princes Bride. Your choice, actually."
Then he rose, moving to abandon the drinks to the coffee table before heading back into the kitchen to fetch the popcorn. "I'm leaving it up to you." He called, chuckling. They did not, in fact, stick with the Princess Bride. And true to her word, Adelaide was not at all versed in horror movies. In the end, they wound up curled up together on the couch. They hadn't started out that way - but Cannibal Ferox (while ridiculous) was excessively graphic; it had taken Addy all of five minutes to transition the popcorn into Ian's lap and then wedge herself up against his side, curled into a position where she could hide her face in his shoulder when the gore became too much.
Not that the gore really bothered her. Alone, she could have watched the movie with a calm detachment that would have allowed her to laugh at the sheer silliness of the plot, or point out the failed attempts at irony. But with Ian... again, acting wasn't enough. She had to immerse herself into the girlish state of mind that she was projecting. So when she cringed at a blood-dripping machete, or whimpered at graphic emasculation, the reactions were real. More important, they were useful. Those moments of physicality built a subtle tension between them, something based purely on touch and response.
Adelaide cringed, and Ian slipped his arm around her. She shuddered, and he stroked her. A whimper, and his fingers touched her hair. Between those fear-reactions, she continued to stoke that tension - remaining pressed up against him, brushing her fingertips against the back of his hand, keeping her commentary quiet and close to his ear. It was like the car... private, intimate. Safe. Although their ideas of safety differed markedly.
The final time that Ian turned his head to say something to her, Addy looked up at him, listening for a moment - and then instead of answering, shifted to press a soft, impulsive kiss against his mouth. It was abrupt, girlish - but not chaste. Instead the light kiss lingered, waiting for his reaction. Less than fifteen minutes into the movie, Ian had popcorn in his lap and was wondering if allowing her to put in one of the gorier movies he owned had really been a good idea. The way his arm curled around her was natural, almost instinctive - but it set off alarm bells in his head, though briefly. However, with each casually soothing touch, the alarm bells got quieter...and quieter...and quieter, until they were nearly nonexistent. This is fine, he thought. This is me taking care of her. Protecting her from imagined nightmares. And it pleased him. It helped the sense of having triumphed over his demons last that much longer.
His conversation was quiet, and as time went on, he no longer worried if this would be viewed as inappropriate to those outside of their living room. What mattered was that they knew it wasn't inappropriate, that the two of them continued to maintain some sense of morality. There was a special intimacy between them, a unique chemistry that was intriguing and somehow soothing. She felt safe, and keeping her that way was more important than anything in the world...including (but not limited to) his own very strange brand of contentment. He wanted her happy. Wanted to keep her pure and sweet for as long as he could.
If it had been any other moment, any other time, his response to the kiss might have been a bit more shocked - but she'd played him it well. Somehow, the press of her lips to his was in perfect harmony with how the evening was going. At the moment, he wasn't thinking about how old she was, or how wrong it was. All that mattered was that she was doing what she wanted - and if kissing him was what she wanted to do, if kissing him made her happy, then he was perfectly content to acquiesce to her desires. So her kiss was met with a soft, gentle kiss of his own, one that was both warm and welcoming. He was more than willing to follow her lead. Ah, it was so good that Ian couldn't read her thoughts, that he would never know the crow of victory that rippled through her internal monologue when he welcomed that first (seemingly) impulsive kiss. I win, some deep and secret part of her purred, although she'd never really doubted herself and despite the fact that Ian hadn't known they were competing at all. But at the same time, wasn't it vaguely troubling how genuinely pleasing the kiss itself was to her? She'd been spending too much time wrapped up in her own good-girl persona, maybe, because the warmth that spread through her, the flush of fairly-innocent gratification, was genuine.
However much his response pleased her, though, she didn't fool herself into thinking that he would remain so agreeable. How long did she have before the hero role that she'd set him up in reasserted itself? Probably not all that long. So she took the time that she had, leaning slightly into the gentle press of his lips. Even when her lips parted invitingly, deepening the kiss, it remained... well. As innocent as a kiss like that could be. One of Adelaide's hands shifted, her fingers curling just the slightest bit into his shirt. He needed her to lead, and that was fine. Addy was all too happy to craft their relationship herself - she would make sure than Ian was wrapped up in something that made him happy, and served all her purposes as well. Ironically, it was just how his very quietly warped mind interpreted the hero complex that she'd instilled in him that allowed him to kiss her in the first place. It was the strange way his thoughts responded to her lips on his, how the darker parts of his thoughts whispered very quietly that she'd initiated this, and that made it okay, didn't it? This was what she wanted, and that was what mattered. The parting of her lips was just fuel for the fire, further proof that he was being a good man, giving his Adelaide what she wanted. It was just another way of taking care of her, right? It helped, of course, that he was more than willing to find just about any way possible to justify this. After all, it felt...well, nice. And, dreamlike, he coiled his arms around her, to draw her closer to him, very nearly into his lap. Hell, if the popcorn hadn't been there, he probably would have dragged her on top of him.
Years of repression, though, couldn't be undone with one kiss, no matter how much he wanted it. However, it wasn't until her tongue actually entered his mouth that Ian broke away from the kiss, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. There was conflict, now - where his twisted desires had always been easily silenced before, now they had Adelaide's own wants and needs for strength, and the turmoil of his emotions was almost overwhelming. "I shouldn't be doing this." He whispered softly, his voice distant, his eyes remaining half-lidded, as though looking at her would completely undo him - which it would. Still, his arms remained around her, contrary to the words he spoke. "Adelaide..." Her name faltered on his lips, and he drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Trying desperately to get some grip on himself. For a second or two there, she actively hated that bowl of popcorn. But it was a fleeting thought, less important than being pulled close up against Ian's chest. There was still a sense of victory, but Adelaide found it difficult to detach herself from the situation – her mind was not a cold observer, this time. It was too pleasing to have his arms wrapped around her, and to enjoy the tilt of his lips against her, and the sort of dizzying warmth that came when she dipped her tongue into his mouth.
But where she was content to sink into their kiss, even if it meant the silence of her mocking internal voice, Ian pulled away - and for that, he received a faint little sound of complaint from the girl almost in his lap. She didn't draw away, didn't let him draw away, not yet - instead she subtly pushed the sensations of being close to her. Adelaide's lips remained close to his, she tilted her head so that their foreheads rested together. Her fingertips stayed pressed against him, stroking lightly; she remained tucked snugly into his arms.
"I know," she offered back, her breath shallow and voice ever-so-soft. "Ian, I'm..." But if she'd been on the verge of apologizing, and it sounded as though she had been, that fell away when he said her name. Instead she tipped her head, brushing her lips against his again - inviting the renewed kiss, encouraging him to ignore logic and honor in favor of having her there in his arms again. There was a brief second where Ian teetered on the precipice, balanced tediously between giving in and pulling back, and it was a second that felt like an eternity. In that frozen moment, every aspect of what was going on etched itself indelibly into his mind, from the soft press of her lips to his to the particular way the fabric of her shirt (his shirt, he remembered, and nearly shivered) had scrunched up beneath his fingers, which were clenching just a little bit against her, from the clean smell of her freshly-washed hair to the lingering, cherry-flavored sweetness her kiss had left in his mouth. There was a part of him that yearned to stay there, to linger on the edge and stare into the dizzying abyss that was his darker desires, which beckoned and hummed with delight when she tilted her head once more. Really, he wanted nothing more than to just give in. How much easier it would all be if he did!
Then reason asserted himself, and his hands jerked away from her as though he'd been shocked. In one fluid movement, he eased her off of him and drew himself away from her. One hand lifted, as though he meant to caress her cheek, to touch her throat - and it crumpled, fell away an instant later. With Adelaide, suddenly, all of his years of practiced appearances fell away - the man was left bare before her, his eyes a wild turmoil of emotions, his expression troubled. There was no mask here. Not now. "No. Adelaide, I can't." The words were pleading, as was his gaze, begging her to understand. For a moment – the moment where their lips almost touched again, when their breath was mingling together and Addy's lashes were dropping against her cheeks – everything seemed set and settled. She would kiss him again, and get to feel the guilty tension seep out of him while their tongues tangled up together. And from there, it would go... somewhere. For once, Adelaide was not overly concerned with the destination. Ian had settled right into the palm of her delicate little hand, and she felt no need at all to crush him or nudge him along any further. Not for the moment, at least.
If she were honest with herself – and she always tried to be – she was just enjoying the trip, this time. The destination would be a good one, however it ended up. Ian would not disappoint her... she couldn't imagine an outcome where he would, actually.
Not in the larger sense, that is. The little blonde certainly made a disappointed sound when he drew away, removing her from her place and putting some distance between them all at once. Her brows drew together, her look all confusion and displeasure, worried eyes and parted lips. "But – why? Did I- should I do something different?" He didn't get the understanding that he was searching for - only, apparently, the earnest desire to please him, and a heavy dose of her confusion. This was not what he had expected. Not at all. All that confusion in her eyes was enough to make him feel every bit the predator he believed himself to be. All he'd wanted was to keep Adelaide happy and safe - and pure. This was a notable failure on his part, proof that he hadn't done as he should in his station as protector and warder, and the thought of why she was doing this made his face fall.. Slowly, hesitantly, he edged a little closer to her, one hand lifting to tentatively cup her cheek. "Adelaide." There was more tenderness in his tone than he initially intended, and inwardly, he winced. "I don't want to take advantage of you. I didn't bring you here because I want to...any of that." Except I do, his mind sang, and there was an imperceptible tensing in his fingertips for a split second. "I just want you safe. And this is not safe." There was another deep breath, and for a moment, he felt strangely like he was about to burst. He wanted to tell her, wanted to explain everything to her, from the reason he'd first become Catholic down to why this was such a bad idea, why he couldn't, just couldn't give in to the shadows that were writhing just under the pleasant exterior persona he'd composed to present to the world.
But he couldn't. She was so eager to please, so confused and hurt just by him pulling away - he was sure she wasn't ready to bear the brunt of all that was wrong and twisted about Ian Evans. Hell, he didn't think anyone ever would be. "And you're sixteen." He added, almost as an afterthought, hoping that voicing it aloud would help discourage his penumbral thoughts. Sadly, it did the opposite, and his hand dropped away from your face. "And I'm thirty two." There was a pause. "Ads, I'm old enough to be your father. Do you understand why that makes this wrong?" Her cheek turned the slightest bit into his fingers, instinctively seeking the warmth and physical contact. Whatever kind of predator he was thinking himself, Adelaide wasn't flinching from his touch – in fact, she was perfectly content to lean into it, into him. "No, I would never – how could I even think that? You are safe, and I know you didn't bring me here for... for that," she faltered through her explanation very realistically, the tops of her cheeks flushing with color. "I just thought that... that maybe you felt..."
Her wide eyes flicked up toward his, as if she were hesitant to discuss the way she felt – because she was worried about his reaction, no doubt. At least, that's the vibe she gave off: wary of confessing, lest it displease him further. "You aren't my father," Adelaide frowned at the line that he drew.. or maybe because he dropped his hand. "It isn't like that, and it isn't like.. it isn't like any of those things. I know I don't have to, and you don't.. expect.. any of that. It's just.. you. I just... want to."
By then, her cheeks had flushed a deep shade of red again, and she seemed entirely embarrassed. The little blonde dropped her head, pressing her face briefly into her hands, and then brushed her hair back behind her ears. "Goodness – I'm sorry, I'll just–" Unfolding, she moved to stand.
And in her own mind, Adelaide watched avidly. He would either let her go, or keep her with him, and she was interested to see which. Either would work – a little awkward wouldn't kill either of them, after all. It was just so... well. Interesting. The expression on her face was heart-wrenching, if only because he did feel that way. The difference was, of course, he knew that he shouldn't. He knew this was wrong. He knew that his wicked nature could never be brought to light, that she could never understand or see how deep his desire ran, or how strongly he cared for her. She wasn't making it any easier on him, with her silent pleas for affection and her broken explanation. "This isn't what you want, Adelaide." He said softly, struggling to compose the expression on his face into one of sympathy. "It's...it's what you think you want. Maybe you feel like you owe me, subconsciously. Or you've got some superficial attachment because -" There was a pause. He'd almost said, 'Because I rescued you,' but that sounded inappropriate. "Because I'm letting you stay with me."
"Don't apologize. Addy..." He reached to catch her hands, to pull them away from her face. "Wouldn't you connect more with someone closer to your age? Do you really want to be with some stuffy old man?" His self-description made him chuckle with the words, in an attempt to disperse some of the tension that was building up in him. He almost believed the bullshit he was spewing at her, and he half-hoped she would, too. He didn't know if he could resist her for very long, if she insisted on keeping up this belief that she wanted him, or any of that.
He sighed. By this point, he felt he'd regained some measure of composure. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," he finished, watching her almost anxiously. Had he upset her? Hurt her? God, he didn't know how he was going to live with himself if he had. He had upset her - the look that he got for all his trouble told him that very plainly. The more that he talked, the deeper the little line between Addy's brows deepened. Inwardly, she could admire his attempts at getting her to rationalize. They would probably have worked, if she'd really been some schoolgirl with an innocent crush on him; but innocent Adelaide was not, and his efforts at helping her to see the light were wasted.
The frown on her lips lingered, and when she was finished, Addy carefully extracted her hands from his – not angrily, or with undue haste; she just removed her hands from his, folding her arms over her chest when she stood. "I... if I made a mistake, and I did something you don't want, I'm sorry, Ian. But.. this isn't what I think I want, and I don't feel like I owe you anything – certainly not that, and..." Apparenly she found her own fingertips exceedingly interesting, because she stared at them, kept her eyes locked on the place where they met with the angle of her elbow.
"If you don't feel that way, it's okay. I can - I mean, I would understand that. Just. Don't talk like I'm just some.." Distressed, Adelaide leveled a last look in his direction, her frown vaguely accusing. It was, in short, a perfectly betrayed look - a little hurt, the slightest bit betrayed. He had trivialized her. "I'll be in my room," she ended flatly, unhappily. He had upset her, and a little part of him died when he realized it. It broke his resolve, destroyed the last vestiges of strength he'd been clinging to for the sake of holding his demons at bay. The demons suddenly weren't demons, the alarm bells were nonexistent...because Adelaide was upset, and that made him a failure. It meant he'd done something so wrong that she was accusing him of - well, of what, he wasn't sure, but there was definitely accusation there, and hurt.
The protest was on his lips and out before he could stop it. "I didn't say I didn't want it." There was a pause, during which he stood, turning away from her. It was a fight to get control of himself...and it was one that he ultimately lost. "God dammit, Adelaide," he swore, frustration showing clearly in his voice. "I do want it. I do, and I shouldn't." He was pacing now, crossing from one side of the couch to. He wasn't looking at her; he was looking at his hands, at the floor, closing his eyes, anything to keep from seeing her as he worked himself in the direction of a fury. "Because -" And he turned, fixing her with a stare that was intense, almost disturbingly hungry. "You are sixteen, Adelaide. Sixteen.
"How do you know?" Now he was gesticulating, his gestures wild, almost erratic. His words were coming out rushed, though not quite angry...not yet. "How do you know that this isn't just some...puppylove crush? How do you know that I'm what you want? You've known me for less than two months, if that. Christ." Then he was stalking towards her, crossing the room, catching her by the shoulders, staring down into her eyes. His grip was firm, and hard enough that his fingertips were biting into his flesh while he gazed at her, his breath coming in hard, angry gasps. "How do you know," he whispered, his tone tense with barely-contained fury, "That I'm not just some sick predator?" He trembled, very nearly shook her. "How do you know that you're not just giving me what I want?" For just a moment, Adelaide's brows arched - it was an honest expression; lips parted, brows up, surprised and interested. Something important had just changed. She wasn't used to seeing Ian go from zero to sixty, so to speak, and it was.. intriguing. Even her Ian, her good man could lose his temper. And what had prompted him? A display of displeasure on her part. She'd given him her unhappy, upset look, and... this was the result.
So very intriguing.
For her part, she let him vent his frustration. He was doing exactly what she'd intended him to do, albeit in a much more interesting display that she'd anticipated. Drawing all the lines, and then stepping across them... that was what she'd wanted. And there he was, laying them out. Her age, his place in her life, his position of authority – these were all things that should keep them from doing what they'd been doing only a short while before. And he could still cling to these things and some sense of propriety... or he could have what he wanted with her. He'd already admitted to wanting it.
If he'd expected her to flinch when he returned to her, when he grabbed her slim shoulders, it just didn't happen. Adelaide didn't cringe from the bite of his fingers, but lifted her hands to affectionately touch the insides of his wrists. From there, she raised them further, brushing her fingertips along the lines of his jaw. He didn't get an answer, not really. Just Addy lifting up onto her toes, pressing her lips firmly against his again. Why should she spend a lot of time justifying what he'd already said he wanted? The words would be superfluous, and the kiss was harder to argue with. There were no suitable retorts for intense kisses from adoring teenage girls. The kiss has exactly the effect she wanted it to; it suddenly didn't matter once again how old she was, how old he was, whether or not it was right. Ian practically melted against her, his hands moving naturally from their place on her arms to wrap around her and draw her body firmly against his own. This time, though, the kiss wasn't some quiet, meek acceptance of her lips on his. Rather, he matched her intensity with his own, sighing against her lips as the tension eased out of his body. It lingered longer than he'd expected, and he broke away with slow reluctance, inclining his head so that his forehead rested against her own.
It was strange, how their roles were reversed in his mind. Regardless of what she said and how she looked when she said it, he couldn't help but feel that he was taking advantage of her, that he was leading her on, that she would be overwhelmed with all the complications that doing whatever it was they were doing would bring on. There was a chance she was overwhelmed now, in fact - after all, it wasn't like he'd done a very good job of handling this with a cool head. "We shouldn't do this," he repeated quietly, his hands once more moving to her shoulders. Now, though, they were rubbing gently against the length of her arm, from elbow to shoulder and back again. His breath was soft against her forehead, his eyes closed. "It isn't right." But he wasn't moving away, wasn't drawing back. In fact, he was tilting his head just slightly, hesitating. He wanted to kiss her, wanted it so badly that it almost hurt, ached for it in ways that he didn't know he was capable of. The kiss that he returned inspired a soft sound of pleasure against his lips. Adelaide's soft hands cupped his face for just a moment, but when he drew her close she wound her arms around his neck, leaning into him willingly. He didn't have to take advantage of her; she wanted him to hold her. If he was a predator, she was eager prey. Her acceptance was easy, warm – but there would need to be more. She would need to wrap him up snugly in the idea that she loved everything he did, that he could do no wrong in her eyes. That would make this easier for him... not having to draw the line between hero and lover.
Even when he pulled back, she accepted his hesitation without complaint - he'd had enough of her displeased looks, apparently. For a moment, she was happy to rest her forehead against his, to stroke her fingertips against the back of his neck. He might have been protesting, but his hands were on her arms, touching her intimately; she could still feel the warm wash of his breath, and his harder body against hers. "Yes it is," she murmured, directly opposing his statement. A complimentary tip of her head brought their lips closer, achingly close, until their breath was mingled and tangled all up again. "Isn't it?"
She seemed sure. Not overwhelmed or lost.. just quietly assuring. Perhaps if it was someone else, in a situation that was only slightly different, Ian would have been more on guard. But she already had everything she wanted; he'd already promised to send her off shopping with her own healthy stash of cash, she had her own room, a roof over her head, food. There was no need for her to sleep with him, nor to pretend that she wanted him if she didn't - it wasn't necessary for this to work. There were no warning signs...she wasn't an addict, she wasn't greedy; hell, she'd blushed when he insisted on buying her a new wardrobe and twittered prettily about how she didn't need new clothes and that the few outfits she'd brought with her were plenty.
"No," he whispered haltingly, even as he drew her closer, ensuring that her lithe form was fitting snugly against his broader frame. He couldn't pretend that he didn't enjoy the pressure of her stomach against the front of his jeans any more than she could ignore the stirrings of his body just below the belt. "It isn't." But that was the best part, wasn't it? That was what made this particular deviancy so alluring and attractive. He'd resisted it for years because he'd known, from day one, how dangerous it could be - and now, there was Adelaide, pretty little Adelaide, undermining everything he'd ever planned for himself. He was trembling, ever-so-slightly, caught in that eternal struggle of right and wrong, good and evil. He was fighting to keep hold of his beliefs, to remember that he shouldn't be doing this. "But I don't know if I care anymore." His voice broke at the end of the statement, and then he kissed her - because if he had to suffer through another second of his lips brushing hers as he spoke, he feared he might go mad. t was true; seducing Ian, at this point, was not a requirement. He had been content to give of himself without asking for anything in return. Honestly, Adelaide wasn't sure when this had become part of her plan – not just something she could do as a fallback, but something she wanted badly enough to push him. If she'd thought about it, it might have unsettled her - the idea that she'd lost her sense of detachment where Ian was concerned was a troubling one. But really, she wasn't thinking about it.
It was easier to focus on his hands pulling her closer, the way that her body fit up against his. Small and slender – young... and for all his protests, wasn't that what made it so delicious, for both of them? Adelaide enjoyed the thrill of tempting an older man, a good man, with the forbidden fruit. And Ian would enjoy the fruit, of course – the supple teenage flesh and virginal little whimpers, the fact that a girl half his age would want him.
The kiss – a kiss that he initiated – was a triumph. Adelaide took it gracefully, moving the hand at the back of his neck to cup her fingers along his jaw comfortingly, reassuringly. He wouldn't pull away this time; she didn't think he had the willpower left, to really tell her no. Ian had stepped into the abyss; now it was just a matter of seeing to what depth he sank. But they had time. For the moment, Addy was content to deepen the kiss, to invite his tongue between her lips and press herself temptingly against him.
She didn't want his self-control to be shaky and unreliable. Where she was concerned, she wanted it to be shattered. If Ian had had an idea, even an inkling how Adelaide was thinking, he would have drawn away, called it quits, ended it without a second thought. To him, though this was no sacrifice of his morality for the sake of pleasing some girl; it was giving in to his darkest whims and being damn lucky that they coincided with the wants of the girl he was pressed against. The first kiss had been cracks in the ice; this one was like taking a sledgehammer to the chill of his resolve. It was a start, and it was a hell of a lot more than he'd ever expected from her. Until now, he hadn't believed his Adelaide capable of anything but sweet, gentle innocence, and now, his world view was a little bit too busy being overwhelmed to even begin to adjust to this new side of her. The side that wanted him to give in to the things that he'd spent a lifetime resisting.
This time, when he broke the kiss, it was with reluctance, and his breath was coming quicker than he'd intended to. He didn't pull away from her, though - he lingered, his arms around her, keeping her close. Safe. "Addy, I can't...right now." His voice was broken, and his strength of will was well on its' way to matching his tone. "I need some time to think." His eyes opened, and the expression in them was a desperate one. This, all of this, was too much. "Can you give me that?"