She couldn’t shake the tenseness as he started the DeSoto, and gave the old engine a moment to warm up. Waking up this morning to his head sharing her pillow, she’d thought nothing could go wrong with the day. But an afternoon of Lilah and a peek at his life outside the tiny world of her grandparent’s vineyard left her feeling gauche and naïve for imagining he’d keep on wanting her once the summer was over.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft and she resisted the urge to slide closer to him for a moment.
“Just a headache.” She frowned and rubbed at her forehead. Her head did hurt, probably from thinking too much about everything.
He took over for her, rubbing the back of her neck until a drugstore appeared as a corner intersection. He pulled into the parking lot. “Wait a minute.” He returned with painkillers and a bottle of water and she gratefully swallowed while he continued rubbing her neck, easing some of the tension away.
The next thing she knew, he was softly shaking her awake outside her grandparent’s house.
She sat up slowly, still disoriented and muzzy. “When’d we get home?”
“Just a moment ago, you slept the whole way. Head better?”
She blinked and rotated her neck, a little stiff, but far less painful. “Mhhh. I think so.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be under the weather. I promised you ravishing and romance.” He looked . . . excited at the prospect and she couldn’t help the small frown she formed in response.
“Spike, it’s okay.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, but his hand on her arm stopped her.
“What’s that mean?”
She sighed and turned back. “Just, I think we maybe made a mistake. I’m not sure we . . . fit.”
His face was inscrutable as he studied hers. “Is this about today? The houses?”
She shrugged. “The houses. Lilah. Everything. I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.” She opened the door and got out, heading for the house. He followed on her heels.
“Buffy, wait.” He caught her hand as she reached for the latch. “You know how angry you were when I tried to make decisions for the both of us? Thought I knew what you needed? It works both ways.”
“But, Spike . . .”
“Nope. Not going to argue with you. We have a date. You go upstairs and put on something that’ll make my jaw drop and meet me down by the stream. I’ve got a picnic in the car to make good on that rain check. And we’ll talk if you want. But Buffy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell me you’re not the right girl for me. I know better.” His kiss wasn’t gentle, a little desperate, as if he felt the need to imprint himself on her. She was panting by the time he pulled away, leaving her a bit unsteady. But it had worked. The doubts had rolled away like clouds receding on the horizon.
“Now go inside, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He gave her a small pat and she eagerly complied.
She settled on a floaty pink top. The row of buttons up the front ended in a vee that just hinted at cleavage and she liked the demure effect. She debated for a moment, then slid on her short denim skirt to complete the outfit. There was something about wearing a skirt that made her feel different, more feminine, than her usual summer uniform of shorts. She brushed out her hair to settle in waves around her shoulders, remembering how much he loved to play with it when it was loose. A touch of lip gloss completed her preparations, and she twirled in front of the mirror, satisfied with the result. She was ready to be ravished and romanced.
She could feel anticipation growing in her stomach, replacing the nasty doubts of earlier. She’d been stupid to let herself get shaken like that. It didn’t matter what Lilah thought of her, or anyone else but him. And he wanted her.
She tripped down the stairs and descended into the basement. In the cool gloom, she scanned the shelves, nodding to herself. There it was, her grandmother’s strawberry wine. Saved for special occasions.
Buffy thought this qualified. She took a bottle, and after stopping for glasses in the kitchen, headed for their spot.
He was watching the path, waiting for her in the fading light. He found himself suddenly nervous, wiping palms that had grown sweaty on his jeans. There was no reason to be so jittery, but the trip today had been eye-opening. Things were going to be different soon, but the way he felt her for her wouldn’t change. He just needed to convince her of that.
And there she was, bright smile restored as she presented him with her gift. He felt the jitters fade away into the deepening dusk.
“What’s this, love?” He uncorked the bottle. “Ahh, Mrs. Summers’ secret weapon. Your grandfather raves about this, calls it the elixir of the gods.”
“It is. Thought we could have some with the picnic.” She dragged him over to the blanket he’d smoothed out. “Show me what you’ve got.”
He grinned. “Why don’t you show me first?” He liked the glint in her eye as she sashayed towards him and complied, rising up on her toes to give him a slow, deep kiss. She tasted delectable and he wondered if she’d mind skipping the meal entirely. But that would be rushing things. And that wasn’t what tonight was for.
He released her and followed as she gracefully lowered herself onto the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her. She cooed with excitement as she unpacked the basket he’d gotten from the delicatessen, culminating in near rapture at the chocolate cake and tub of strawberries she found at the bottom. He uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass of the wine while she arranged a plate for each of them.
He handed her the glass, the brush of her fingers against his sending a shiver across his skin.
“I feel like we should make a toast or something,” Buffy said, her voice quiet as she contemplated the dark liquid solemnly.
“An excellent idea.” He raised his glass to meet hers. “To us?”
She nodded. “To us.”
The glasses clinked and he took the first sip of the sweet wine, the tart bite underlying the initial tang.
“Spike?”
“Yes, love?”
“I think we should always come back here.”
He reclined next to her, feeding her bites of bread and cheese as he surveyed the stream. “It is special, isn’t it? I’m never going to smell strawberries or hear a rushing stream and not think of you again.”
“I think maybe it’s magic.” Her tone was still solemn and he wondered what had sent her into such a contemplative state.
“Magic?” he asked.
She returned the favor, feeding him a bite then, lingering to caress his cheekbone with her thumb. He felt like a pet tabby arching into his owner’s hand, craving her touch, but he didn’t want to break the connection that was throbbing between them. Maybe it was magic, because he felt entranced.
“I think it’s where Gramps courted Gram too. I got her to tell me more about how they met one day. He wasn’t from here, you know.”
“I know. New York, right?”
“Yeah. When he came here, he fell in love with Gram, but she was young, so they had to wait until she got older. But I think they must have rendezvoused here sometimes.” She took another sip of her wine.
“Why’s that?” He’d arranged his head in her lap now, and she was stroking his hair in a way that he found very enjoyable.
“Gramps carved their initials in the tree over there.” She nodded to the great oak that provided much of the shade along the bank of the stream. “Want to see?”
She picked up one of the candles he’d lit and he followed her around to the spot where a small heart framed a pair of initials and a date more than fifty years old. “It’s before they were married. I think they must have met down here. Like us.” Her face was half-lit by the flicker of the candle and he believed it when she echoed her earlier sentiment. “Magic.”
“Wait just a minute.” He hurried back to the basket and retrieved a knife. “Hold the candle for me.”
“Spike, what are you doing?”
He guided her around the tree to a smooth section of bark and set to work. “Adding us.”
She watched as his hands worked as smoothly and carefully as they had with the pruning knives to add a W.A. and E.S. in the midst of their own heart. He added the date and stepped back.
“Now we’ll always have something to look for when we come back.”
Her fingers reached out to trace the raw wood, the permanent imprint of the W and E. William Aetherton and Elizabeth Summers. He’d used their real names, the formality lending the lines an air of legitimacy.
“It’s beautiful, Spike.” She reached up and cupped his face, fascinated by the shadows that danced there in the glow of the wavering candle, giving her glimpses of darkening blue. He turned to place a kiss in her palm, slowly tracing her lifeline with his tongue.
The rough rasp made her bones liquefy. She blew out the candle and dropped it into the grass as she leaned against the tree for support. He moved against her, his arms a frame for her desire as she tilted her face to his.
“Spike, kiss me.” She didn’t mean for it to sound desperate, but suddenly it felt that way, as though if he didn’t touch her now she would spontaneously combust. Or perhaps she would if he did.
“Wanted you all day, like this, all flushed and wanting for me.” His voice was a rough whisper, and she couldn’t help shivering against him and sliding her leg up around his hip to urge him closer.
“I’m yours.” Her own voice was low, sultry, needy, and he responded, dipping his head, imprinting the vulnerable flesh of her neck with the clever tattoo of his tongue as it traced words against her throat. She wound her fingers in his hair as his lips searched for hers, and she couldn’t stop the heady moan when he finally found her lips.
The thought swirled through her fuzzy brain that she could kiss him like this all night, deep, toe-curling soul kisses. And then the hardness pressed against her thigh reminded her that she wanted more than just kisses.
They surfaced leisurely, and he leaned his forehead against hers as she drew in a shaky breath. “Bloody hell, woman, you have such an amazing mouth.” He took her hand and pulled her away on jello legs. “C’mon, I think it’s time for dessert.”
She followed complacently, still bemused from his caresses as she sank down on the blanket and watched him turn back to the basket. He busied himself for a moment, then handed her a refilled glass of the wine.
She took it and slowly sipped the burnished liquid. She could feel warm tendrils curling in her belly, enhancing the almost hyper relaxation running through her veins, a mix of contentment and arousal that swirled together in an inseparable blend. She lay back, closing her eyes and letting the world spin.
He watched her for a few moments when he’d finished pulling out the sweets from the basket. She looked blissful, her well kissed lips curved in a smile, her body relaxed and loose. He slid beside her and traced a finger down the edge of her blouse, slowly sliding one finger beneath the first button. Her smile grew wider as he slid the unnecessary clasp loose and exposed the edges of the lace bra she wore underneath.
Her eyes opened slowly, the dark lashes sweeping upward with a grace to rival any Hollywood’s starlet and revealing the deep pools beneath that always enthralled him.
“Thought you looked a little flushed,” he smirked as his finger danced down to the next button.
“I could say the same for you,” she replied, as she ran her hand up to the top of his shirt.
“Want to help me out with that?” He liked seeing the flash in her eyes as she pulled him closer and began nimbly working his buttons loose. She gave a low murmur of approval as she exposed more of his chest, the sound reverberating through his body and straining his self-control. He wanted to take his time, make her hum, make her sigh. But she wasn’t making it easy on him.
“Lay back again, love,” he managed to choke out as she finished with the last fastening and began to devote her attention to tracing every inch of his exposed flesh, her nails dragging a delicate friction against sensitive skin.
She pouted, “Pretty. Wanna play.”
He laughed and slid the loose sweater off her shoulders, leaving them bare and vulnerable as he skillfully unsnapped the clasp of her bra. “So do I. Lay back, beautiful.”
She complied, stretching her arms above her head with a languid grace. “Only ‘cause you asked nicely.”
“Mmmm, I think it’ll be nice.” He reached for the strawberries behind him and bit into one of the ripest before letting the juice trickle down across her breasts. His tongue followed, tracing the erratic paths of the sticky juice. He lifted his head. “More?”
She moaned and pulled him back down as he teased her puckered nipples with the wet flesh of the fruit, then ran his tongue around the sensitized nubs until she was thrashing beneath him.
He reversed course then, moving to her feet and sliding off her sandals as he massaged her calves and waited for her to calm slightly before repeating his assault, working his way up the smooth expanse of her legs. She almost launched herself off the blanket when he nibbled on the delicate spot behind her knee. He unfastened her skirt and slid the denim and her briefs down in one swift motion. He started to move between her legs, but her hand halted him.
“My turn.”
He was on his back before he knew what happened or how she shifted control, watching her straddle his body and reached for her own strawberry. The movement sent her hips into an enticing dip against his still encased erection, and he knew it was deliberate when he caught the glint in her eye as she swiveled again and righted herself on top of him, all seductress.
“Love, you trying to kill me here?”
“Not if you’re a good boy.” She mimicked his earlier moves, painting his body with the juices of the ripe fruit and using her tongue to sweep away the bright liquid and send him soaring. She worked her way down with a shimmy that had him arching until he felt her hot fingers pop the button on his denims and slide the zipper down.
Buffy took a deep breath as she parted the fly of his jeans and allowed the hard shaft beneath to escape. The wine had smoothed out her shaky nerves and left her with a boldness she hadn’t known she possessed as she let her fingers drift up the length of his rigid cock. He hissed at her touch and she rocked back, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, love, please, don’t stop.” His voice was thick and strained and music to her ears. She slid down the jeans farther and returned to her study, tentative at first as she learned the shape of him, curled her hand around and slowly dragged her fingers to the velvet soft skin at the head, where she gave an experimental lap to the beads of liquid gathering there.
“Yeah, baby, there, suck me, suck me hard.” The whispered command urged her on and she complied, watching him through veiled lashes as she swirled her tongue around him, taking as much as possible of his length into her mouth while her hand cupped the heavy weight of his sac.
She hadn’t known she could do this, reduce him to mumbling a string of curses and endearments as his body coiled, tense and ready beneath her fingers, barely leashed power hers to control. She closed her eyes, focusing on the salty tang, the slick feel of his hot flesh, the sound of his labored breathing that hitched when she moved just so.
She loved it.
His gentle tug brought her reluctantly away. She raised confused eyes to his. “I thought you liked . . .”
He rolled her to lay beneath him before she could finish, his lips cutting off the sentiment and reassuring her that he very much did like, but also that he had other plans. His hands were everywhere, tracing her breasts, sliding over her hip and across the curve of her belly down to the slick wet heat that welcomed the slide of his fingers as he began fucking her in earnest, circling her clit with his thumb as he plunged two fingers deep inside. She couldn’t stop the scream that he ripped from her as unexpectedly as the orgasm that sliced her into pieces. He didn’t give her a moment to recover as he slid down her body and used his agile tongue to shatter her again.
He dropped a kiss on her quivering thigh when she finally managed to catch her breath, watching her through hooded lids. She reached for him. “Spike, please.”
He seemed to understand her plea and she watched as he slid on a condom and positioned himself at her entrance, sheathing himself with slow strokes into her wet heat. They both shivered as he came to stop, buried completely within her, eyes locked as something beyond words passed between them, before he began to move. She gripped his shoulders, finding the rhythm of his thrusts as she locked her legs behind his back. She wanted this more than she‘d ever wanted anything, the friction of his cock as it slid inside her, the feeling of his body merging with hers, the soul baring look in his eyes. The love that radiated between them.
He reached between them, stroking her softly until she fell apart again and he followed her, exploding with her name on his lips. For a long moment, they simply lay there, replete and satisfied. He slowly rolled off of her and she followed, draping herself against him, not wanting to lose contact with his skin.
“Mmmm, so amazing, love.”
She purred against him. “Wonder what’d it be like in a bed?”
He laughed and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh shortcake, the night’s young yet. I say we give it a try.”
The alarm went off and he managed to hit the button quickly before she stirred. He slipped out of the bed reluctantly, stopping in the doorway to memorize the beauty of her face gently lit by the dawn. She was a picture. He didn’t know when he’d have the chance again to watch her like this, flushed and relaxed in her sleep in the early morning light.
He didn’t expect smooth sailing. She was still young, he’d need to win her mother over. Learn to deal with curfews, and take her to homecoming dances if that was what she wanted.
She was worth it.
One smooth shoulder lay uncovered and he couldn’t resist going back for just a moment and kissing the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder met one last time. She murmured something and stirred as he pulled the sheet up and tucked her in.
“Beautiful dreams, shortcake. See you in a little while.”
She stirred again, eyelashes fluttering as she slowly surfaced, realizing something was missing. “Spike?”
“Yes, love.”
“Come kiss me good-bye before you go.”
He knelt back beside the bed and pressed a kiss against her lips. She was sleep-warm and sweet against his mouth, her little murmur of happiness against his lips making the kiss so much more. He rose reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon, Buffy.”
He closed the door and headed to his own bed just as the sun began to rise.