[Reviews - 37]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 4404 times

- Text Size +




Chapter 8

Buffy

“Keep still,” I tell him clicking my tongue at him as if he was a naughty schoolboy. “You move you’re gonna smudge it, then I’ll get mad."

“Yeah,” he says,hopefully.

“Yeah,” I say, meaning every word.

He’s sitting in front of me on the bed, knees bent, legs open. I’m kneeling between them, facing him. Still wearing the shirt, he’s still in his jeans. The bed’s a mess. The contents of my purse tipped out in a jumbled heap, stuff I found in his bathroom. The black nail polish, that’s his, but the other stuff? Well, let’s just say he’s had women here before.

His hand is resting on my thigh, the other one’s busy touching, stroking, feeling, probing. He wants to be everywhere, do everything because he knows he may never get this again. Instead I’m forcing him to sit still while I leisurely paint his nails to a glossy black. Cranking up the tension again, and all the while I’m talking to him, telling him what I’m going to do while the polish is drying.

“You’ll have to keep real still, Spike.” I tell him. “And when you’re helpless and you can’t move I’m gonna do what I promised when this all started. Do you remember what I said? It was just a short while ago, yet I can’t seem to remember a time when I wasn’t in this room with you. Where did the world go, Spike? Why, when we’re together like this, does it feel that this is all we need?"

He’s trying to keep still, but I can see his shoulders shaking from the effort of it. When it gets too much he grabs the back of my head and gives me wet, open mouthed kisses that are laced with desperate longing. Kisses that make me sad and make my heart ache, because I can hear so plainly what he’s trying to tell me.

“If I could,” I tell him as I work, “I would stay here in this room with you and never leave. Everything I’ve ever looked for is here, and it becomes more because I can’t have it. I think we could be happy Spike, but like this, knowing that this might be the last time, it lends it an edge of ecstasy that we’d never have reached if we could do this all the time."

It’s the heartbreak of it all that drives us on. The desperation. It’s going to be end-of-the-world sex every time we do this. We’ll always give everything, take everything, and when we’re apart it’s all we’ll think about, and all we’ll want.

I’m done, so I position his hands in mid air in front of him and tell him to keep them very still, and then I dip my head, very suddenly and take him in my mouth. So that even though he’s expecting it, he’s still taken by surprise.

It’s not soft, or gentle. I told him he could take it so I attack him with lust. Pressing down the length of him with my flat tongue, sucking him in as far as I can get him. My hands slip around his back, squeeze his buttocks, hold him to me as if I was never going to let him go. As if this is where I’ve always wanted to be.

He gives a grunt of pleasure and thrusts himself at me. A litany of words start to pour from his lips and all the while his hands are suspended in mid air, flapping there uselessly while his nails dry. He can’t touch me, can’t pull me any nearer like he wants to, and all the while I continue to slurp and suck and scrape with teeth, and take him exactly where I want him to be.

And when he’s there, right on the edge, and that danmed nail polish still isn’t dry, that’s when I stop. That’s when I sit back on my heels and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and just look at him. He’s still thrusting mindlessly, puts the heels of his hand on each of my shoulders to pull me back.

“Shh,” I tell him, putting a finger on my lips. “That was nice Spike. I love the taste of you, the feel of you moving in my mouth. But I know it already. It doesn’t tell me anything new. I know you have a big, hard cock. I know it’s like a magic wand. I know it’s all for me. I want to learn something new, Spike. When I leave this room, I want to take those memories with me. And I want to leave some with you.

“Anything,” he says looking at me from the very depths of his desire. “I’ll do anything, tell you anything. “Just ask,” he says. “Don’t even ask, just take. It’s all yours, always will be.”

“Be careful Spike,” I tell him. “If you give me everything then there’ll be nothing left of you. What are you going to be when I leave?”

“I’ll be dead love, like I’ve been for the last hundred and twenty years,” he says looking at his nails. “They’re nearly dry,” he tells me. “Better hurry.”

So I do. Want to know everything about this man. Want to know how he can take me home with one thrust. Want to know why he touches me so deep inside. Want to know why I can’t get near enough to him. Want to know why, even though this will break my heart, I already know that I’ll want more. Because it’ll never be enough.

“Let’s start at the top,” I say wriggling towards him so that we’re almost touching.

I’ve never kissed a man’s hair before. I tip his head towards me so that I can kiss the very top. I can taste and smell the hair gel he uses, and his hair’s both soft and slippery at the same time. I work my way forward kissing along his hairline, down to his ear. He gives a sharp moan as I thrust my tongue inside and swirl it all around. Nip at the shell with my teeth, bite the lobe just a little too hard.

His hands are clutching at my shoulders now and I guess the polish must be dry, but he turns his head and offers the other one.

“Go on love,” he encourages. So I do the same, find out a little more about what turns him on, the noises he makes when I hit just the right spot. How he likes a tongue pushed right inside. How he likes me to say things when my mouth is pressed right against it. I say his name, I say I want him. And the words go right through him and make him shiver and tremble. I hold him captive as I tell him the things he’s been desperate to hear. Things I’ll probably regret saying. Things he’ll remember always.

I play him like an instrument as I hold his head and just talk to him. And I’ve never had such an attentive audience.

Then I move on.

I’ve never kissed the inside of a man’s mouth. My tongue's been inside, moved around, explored, but this time I peel back his lips and kiss his gums, his teeth. I push as hard as I can and kiss and suck on the inside of his cheek. It’s not even comfortable but he’s helping me, pushing against me because he knows what I’m trying to do, and he wants to give it to me. Intimacy is an act of trust.

I never thought I’d trust Spike this much.

I ask him to close his eyes and I kiss his eyelids, feeling them quiver as I touch them. I make small delicate movements with my mouth, and then I flutter my eyelashes against his cheeks, over his lips and over every inch of his face, grazing and tickling him.

I reach over for my lipstick and twisting it open, I hand it to him. He looks at it, bemused for a moment, and then he reaches towards me, places the fingers of one hand against my cheek and carefully outlines my lips with it. His hand slips down to my chin, to hold me as he covers each plump lip with rich, dark red colour. And when he’s done he leans forward and kisses me, smudging all his careful work, his lips sliding against the oily surface, getting it all over his mouth.

I push him back because I haven’t finished with him yet. Time’s draining away like sand in an hour glass, and there’s so much more I need to know. So much more he needs to tell me.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Spike

I didn’t know that there was so much we needed to say to each other. Didn’t know that there was so much I needed to hear. And she knows exactly where to look to get the answers she wants.

I thought I’d been everywhere, done everything, said everything there was to say. But I can’t remember anywhere I’ve ever been before this. Anything I’ve ever done, or anything I’ve ever said that’s had more meaning than this.

She’s tracing that little hollow between my collar bones, licking at it with the tip of her tongue, making a wet trail between my ribs. One long sweep that takes her all the way down to where she started, and then back up again.

Her hairs a mess, the outline of her red lips smeared and crooked. Her cheeks are ablaze with passion and her eyes are dark with desire.

And she’s never looked more beautiful to me. This decadent perfection was inside you all along pet, why have you kept it hidden for so long?

She leaves a red trail across my chest as she works her way towards my armpits, her nails biting into my bicep as she holds me. She breathes in deeply and nuzzles her face into the hair under my arm.

“Spike smell,” she says with an appreciative sigh, and her homage almost makes me weep. This kindness is a gift I’d never hoped to have. These words are ones I’d never thought to hear, and this careful appraisal makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world to her.

It shakes me to the very core. Makes me feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.

“I’m not worthy,” I tell her. “I don’t deserve you, or this.”

And then suddenly, inexploicably, I’m angry, I grab her and hold her, look hard at her.

“Why?” I ask her. “Why are you doing this? What good is going to come of torturing me like this? Why didn’t you just walk out of that door when you first saw me?” Then I pull her to me and press her hard into my chest.

“What am I going to do when you’ve gone,” I say.

She unpeels herself from me. Uncurls my fingers where they’re digging into her skin and leans forward to kiss the very tip of my nose.

“Shh,” she says. “Just tell me to stop, and I will. Just tell me that it’s too much, and I’ll find my clothes, get dressed and walk out of that door. All you have to do is say the words.”

We both just stare into each other’s faces. A message plainly written. It’s never, or forever.

“If you walk out of that door now,” I tell her, “I’ll never see you again, will I?”

“Do you want me to stop?” She says.

“But if you stay,” I say, “ then you’ll be with me for the rest of your life. Whether you want it or not, you’ll never be rid of me.”

“Just say the word,” she replies.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I say. “I never want you to stop.”

“Then I never will,” she says.

------------------------------------------------------

Buffy

I move behind him and he cranes his neck around, a brief look of panic on his face as if he thinks I am leaving him after all. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, his eyes widen in soundless question.

“I’m not going far,” I tell him. “You have such a sexy back,” I say moving his hand and slithering around him. “”Let me look at it.”

He dips his head forward as I wrap myself around him from behind. I’m kneeling and my legs are open, so that I’m pressing myself against the rough denim of his jeans. I slip my arms around his waist and pull him back against me as he did to me earlier. A lovely friction that could get me off in no time at all, if that's what the game was about right now.

He pushes back against me, sensing what I want, but I have better things to do. Even when he was my enemy, I’ve always loved this part of him. Where his hairline meets his neck. Where the whispy curls meet the corded tendons. It’s an area of delicate restraint that sweeps gracefully down to the curves of his shoulders. If I had to look for Spike’s vulnerable spot I wouldn’t look at his heart, I’d look here at this achingly beautiful sweep of muscle and bone that, for some inexplicable reason wants to move me to tears.

Maybe it’s just the way he’s offering it to me. The way that he trusts, that when I’m behind him, and he can’t see me, I’m not going to hurt him. We’ve been enemies for so long. Tried to kill each other time and time again, and here he is, offering me his naked back. I can’t think of a greater gift. It’s as if he’s offering me his very existence. Laying himself completely open to me.

I touch him everywhere, learn everything there is to know about him. Leave no stone unturned. There’s a spot, just near the bottom of his spine that make him cry out when I get there. And a spot, as I slide my hand into his jeans, just between his balls and his ass that makes him whimper as I press my finger there.

You make me feel a different kind of power, Spike. I’m a slayer, I’m already strong, but to be able to do this, to reduce a master vampire to jello in my hands just because I’m touching him? That’s real power.

I could use force, smash him in the face, knock him down and hold him there. But all it really takes is a little time to find out, and then a feather light touch in all these secret places that he keeps so well hidden.

“I’m touching you with the very tip of my smallest finger and you’re a mess, Spike,” I tell him.

I can feel him quivering against me, his head moving from side to side as I massage him between his legs. My hand is trapped between our bodies, as I push up behind him and press myself into him.

“Shall we both come now?” I whisper against his shoulder blade as my hand reaches around him and circles his cock, so that I’m covering every inch of his most sensitive parts.

He nods his head and the words yes, and please, and come, and now, fall from his lips over and over. His hands reach back and his fingers clutch at my hips, and I join in. Yes, I tell him. Let’s both come now, together. Let’s do it all, let’s do everything.

In the midst of all this passion and wild abandonment I happen to glance at the digital clock on the table by the bed and I see how late it’s gotten. Realise that soon I’ll have to go and I'm driven by panic now. I came here to find a job. But instead, I found myself a lover. I can’t call him a soul-mate because he hasn’t got one, but perhaps mine is enough for the both of us.

What will become of us, I have no idea. A love like this has got to be doomed. Passion this hot will burn us both. And the scorn of the world, if it ever finds out about this will wither us and reduce us to nothing.

“I can’t love you, Spike,” I cry as I let myself go.

“I know,” he replies, coming into my hand, his voice laden with an anguish that echoes mine.

“Why did you have to show me this?” I ask him, reproachfully as I slide down his back to flop down on the bed.

“Because you needed to know,” he says falling beside me.

“But I was happy, before.”

“No, you weren’t,” he tells me. “You thought you were, but you weren’t.”

“Are you gonna break my heart, Spike?” I ask him.

“Only if you break mine,” he replies.

“Then we’re doomed,” I say, wearily.

My hand is sticky with his come so I bring it to my breasts and rub if off onto my skin. Massaging it into my nipples, down to my belly, my inner thighs.

I can feel his hand between my legs, collecting my essence, and he does the same. Rubs it all over himself so that when we’re done, he’s covered in me and I’m covered in him.

And then we do it to each other, starting with a loving caress, that builds up to a fierce intensity as we realise how late it’s got. And by the time we’ve finished we’re one and the same.

And I know that when I leave this room I’ll leave part of myself behind and I’ll take part of him with me. And it will always be like that.

Because he’ll never give up on me, and I’ll never want him to.

"I have to go," I tell him.

"I know," he says slipping his arm around me. "But I'm not letting you until you promise me something."

"What's that?" I ask running my finger along his forearm.

"Promise me that you will come back."

He moves his hand to my face, holds me so that I have to look at him. And it's decision time.

I told him that I never wanted him to stop, but will I still feel that when I leave this room? Will I be brave enough to keep any promise I might make. Or will I be overtaken by shame and disgust at what I've done? Will I look back at this with horror? Should I just take the money as I so greedily intended, and run?

There's only one way to find out how I feel about all this. I have to go. I have to get dressed and walk out of that door. I have to go back to the real world and look my friends in the eye, and I have to get on with my life. Then I'll know if I can exist without him, without this. Then I'll know how deep inside me he got.

I stumble from the bed, find the key and search out my clothes. He watches me as I dress, once or twice his hand lifts, then drops as if he was going to say something. But he doesn't. Neither of us speak. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling as I gather up my things and put them back into my purse. Then his hand circles my wrist in a grip of iron and yanks me down.

"You'll be back," he tells me in a fierce whisper. "You will be back."

I swallow hard and close my eyes, but the tears fall anyway. He's going to leave a bruise on my wrist, for everyone to see, and a bruise on my heart that will be hidden from everyone but me.

We say things at the height of passion, things that can't always be sustained in the cold light of day. So I make him no promises, but this.

"Only time will tell, Spike, only time. If it was meant to be, then I'll be back."

How can you break a heart with a look? He's doing it now as I rise to walk away, so I sink back down, lean towards him and whisper.

He nods his head as I pull back the collar of my shirt.

"Do it where no one can see," I tell him as I offer myself to him. As I make the ultimate gesture of trust.

I might not be back, but I want him to know just what this afternoon has meant to me. And a slayer can't say it any better than this.

"Thank you," he says, and with the smallest shake of his head his face changes and he leans towards me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have a feeling that this is the end of this particular part of the story. Now, does it warrant a sequel, or not? Does anyone want to know if she goes back? I'll leave it up to you.
Thanks for reading,
Candy.





You must login (register) to review.