Chapter 8
Through the rest of the autumn, Spike came to Buffy when she least expected it. She goes to the movies on rainy weekends, looking to escape into a love story, and half way though the trailers, he is sliding into the seat beside her, loudly crinkling a candy wrapper open.
“Shhh! What are you doing here?” she asks, fixing him with a silencing glare, followed by a grin. She can never stop those smiles when he is around.
He shushes her back. “Quiet, Buffy. Gonna bother these nice people.” He wags his eyebrows at her, and reaches into the popcorn bucket in her lap. She can’t help blushing; his hand is so close to her breasts, just like that day in the woods. She turns, the movie just starting and already forgotten, and watches him. Watches the tendons in his jaw flex and pull as he chews, his eyelashes shadowy long in the flickering light from the screen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her staring. He turns to glare at her, but seeing her expression, his look softens. His gaze alights on her lips, his head titling to the side, and then he’s leaning in. Her stomach is bucking, her palms sweating. Then his arm is snaking behind her, his hand on her shoulder, proprietary, his mouth opening as it lands on hers.
The world falls away. There is nothing but the feel of his lips, silky soft as they taste all around her mouth, his tongue testing the feel of her own. His hands, hot and big, on her shoulder, sliding down over her breast. Cupping her, testing the weight, then his fingers are closing, sending a jolt of lust and wetness between her legs. He slips his hand inside her v-neck, fingertips gliding under the edge of her bra cup. She holds her breath, her eyes tightly shut, barely moving as his mouth works over hers.
Then they are flooded with light, as the entrance door to the theater swings open. Spike pulls back fast, his arm gliding out from behind her, the hand in her bra pulled away and grabbing a handful of popcorn on its way back to his side.
“Spike?” a boy’s voice calls out in a loud stage whisper.
“That’s my cue, love. Gotta run,” he tells her, standing and swooping down the aisle, his duster tails flapping behind him.
“Bye…” she whispers after him when he’s long gone, the theater door closing behind him already. He has done this several times already. He leaves her feeling dazed, like a victim if a hit and run attack. She’s aroused, heart-achy with wishing he would stay, just once.
* * * * * * * * * *
The holidays are hard with her father gone. Of course, he was never really around much before, but this year Buffy’s mom is mopey. They plan a Thanksgiving dinner for the two of them- a game hen more than a turkey, really. But the day they are to shop for the meal, Joyce tells Buffy that the Prices will be joining them for dinner. They both are more eager for the holiday at the prospect of having company.
They arrive around noon on Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Price in a cornflower blue floral dress with a wide white collar, Spike looking uncomfortable in a button-down blue oxford shirt and navy tie, black dress trousers and shined dress shoes. As soon as he sees Buffy grinning at him, he points a warning finger at her. She covers her mouth, but still is smiling behind her hand. He can’t help but laugh and shake his head, greeting her mom with a “You look lovely, Mrs. Summers.”
The adults go to the kitchen to finish off the last prep from the meal, leaving Spike and Buffy alone. He flops himself onto the couch, tugging at the knot of his tie. She settles herself carefully beside him, smoothing her skirt and then folding her hands in her lap.
“You look nice.”
“You too.”
An awkward silence settles between them. They sit, fidgeting, listening to their mothers talk and laugh together in the other room.
“Nice of your mum to invite us…”
“Sure. We’re happy you came. It means a lot to mom, you know, with my dad gone now.”
He reaches out and covers her folded hands with his. She thrills at his touch, as always, feeling a blush rush up her chest and neck. He turns toward her on the couch, and raises his other hand, reaching up to tuck her hair behind one ear. His eyes are looking at her, all over, and it makes her shiver. He leans over, lips headed toward her neck, so she tilts her head to the side to give him better access…
And then the door opens, their moms carrying serving trays loaded with food.
They break apart, jumping to their feet to help, and spend the rest of the evening regarding each other with polite distance.
* * * * * * * * * *
One afternoon in mid-December, their parents, enjoying their new friendship, are Christmas shopping together. He comes over to talk about college applications, but as usual, they can’t seem to keep from kissing and touching each other. They stand in her room, next to her window, tiny snowflakes falling outside, and kiss each other breathless.
Feeling brave, here in her own room, the music low, the light soft, she places on hand on his chest, palm flat, sliding it to where his nipple is raised under the fabric.
“Can I?”
“God, yes.” He is staring at her, watching her with his mouth open in pleasure and surprise. She slides her palm down slipping fingers under his tee shirt and up, to find that erect nipple again. She circles the little bumps with her fingertip. Then his hand is up under her shirt, his fingers finding her nipple, mimicking her movements.
She can barely see straight, she’s so excited by his touch. He uses his free hand to pull his shirt off. He grabs her belt loops to drag her closer. She’s embarrassed when she realizes he’s looking down the front of her pants, seeing her white bikini underwear.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, his voice whisper soft.
She’s terrified, her heart hammering, but nods.
He drops to his knees in front of her. Unbuttons and unzips her pants, then shimmies them down her legs. She places a hand on his shoulder to step out of each leg. Then his hands are on her ass, pulling her close to his mouth.
He kisses her hair and softer parts through the fabric. She’s scared what he might think- that she smells bad, or is fat, or...
“Mmm. So good,” he assures her, squeezing her bottom, pressing his face harder and rubbing his nose over her most sensitive spot.
She can’t help sucking in a breath in surprise at the sensation. It’s so different than touching herself! Rougher, but much more intense.
Then he stops, hooking his fingers over the sides of her panties. “Let me see you, pet.” He is barely asking, pressing wet kisses to her skin above her underwear line, tugging her underwear down. Looking up at her with hungry eyes. Pleading.
She feels like she might cry, it’s so intense. The fear, the desire, his look, all piling together to make her stomach uneasy. She can barely hear her own voice as she answers, “Yes.”
He slips her underwear off her hips and down her legs, again helping her step out. He presses on her belly, getting her to back up, until the backs of her knees hit the bed.
He kneels between her legs, which are visibly shaking. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed. Then she feels his hand over hers on the bedspread, his fingers squeezing hers.
“Look at me.”
She opens her eyes to see him resting his chin on her lower belly, regarding her with a tender smile. “You okay? We can stop if you want.”
She breathes out a sigh, reassured at his consideration. “No. I’ve just never done this, or- anything- before.”
“I know, love. I’ve got you.”
Then he’s kissing her stomach, soft and light, and it almost tickles. One of his hands moves down to trace circles high on her inner thigh. His mouth opens, moves down, wetly pressing into her wiry curls. He places one kiss at the top of her sex , and her eyes fly open.
She can’t stop looking as he delicately opens her with one hand, opens his mouth, and softly laps once over her peak. She shudders under him, so he keeps it up, soft, wet. Tender.
She’s scared, so overwhelmed. Excited, yeah, but it’s so new, she doesn’t know if she can get there…
Then he’s touching her opening, just the barest brush of a fingertip over where she is slick with desire. But she can’t help scooting away.
“Wait…” She slides backwards over the bed to lean against the headboard. Suddenly shy, she tries to pull the hem of her tank top down to cover her sex.
He crawls to her, up the bed, to sit beside her. “Too fast?”
“Uh, kinda. Spike, I know you’ve done… things, with HER, but I’m a…” She can’t seem to get the word out. Her throat closes right up. She’s painfully embarrassed, hating herself and her lack of experience. Any second, he’s gonna stand up and walk out, wondering what the hell he was thinking.
Her heart aches as he does stand, but then he slides his pants off, his erection bobbing in front of him. She can’t take her eyes off it, the length and breadth of it. He sits back down beside her on the bed, stretching his legs out and opening his arms, offering an embrace. She takes a shaking breath and reaches for him, relieved. He pulls her in close, kissing her forehead as she presses her face into his chest, not brave enough to look down. He gently turns her, pulls her down to lay her back over his lap, pulling her shirt off.
He puts his hand on her forehead, brushing her hair back, then sweeps that arm behind her back, supporting her. “Not gonna do anything you don’t want. You want to stop, you say the word, we stop. Right?”
“Okay,” her voice quivers in reply.
His other hand finds her ribs. Slips up and down, soothing, feather light. Then finds its way up to her breast, teasing there again.
She can't help squirming. He makes her feel so good when he does that. She wants to be touching him too, so she reaches behind him. Lets her head fall back and grabs at his backside, the muscles hard under her squeezing hand.
She can feel his erection pressing into her lower back, insistent.
His hand slides off her breast, down. Drops between her legs and begins to move there. Oh, GOD but he’s good! She remembers the day she watched him do this to Dru by the pool, and disappointment washes over her. But then his fingers are moving faster and she can’t help moving her hips in time with him.
Oh, God, it’s coming… the release… she is in awe that he can do this, that he knows how… his erection twitches hard when she moans, and he answers with his own throaty sound of desire. His voice is deep and rough as he begs, “Come for me. Want to see it.”
She does then, her insides contracting wildly, fast and hard, slicking his fingers with fluid.
Before she can even come down, he is lifting her body up, kissing her hard on the mouth, pulling her in tight against his naked body with it’s hard muscle and sharp bones.
“Buffy, oh, Christ, I want you,” he breathes into her mouth. “Please, love, I’ll be so gentle.”
Her head is spinning at what he’s asking. God, she wants it, has never wanted it to be anyone else but him, but now that it's here, she’s afraid. Afraid of the pain, afraid she won’t be good for him. But she’s mostly afraid that if she says no, she’ll never have this chance again. So she closes her eyes and whispers, “Okay.”
He lays her down on her back, kissing her all the way down. Reaches to the floor to retrieve his pants, fishes out his wallet. Pulls out a foil packet. God! The sight of it makes the moment seem surreal. Everything moving in slow motion, and faster than she can take in, all at once.
He tears the packet open and rolls the condom over himself. Then he kneels between her legs. Places his hand over her, his thumb circling the place where she is still sensitive. His other hand holds onto his long cock, guiding it to her entrance.
He feels like this impossibly large mass, pressing against her in a way so foreign that she feels as if she’s watching from outside herself, outside her own reality. “So pretty,” he tells her softly, brushing one hand over her nipple, just the way he did before. Again it makes her writhe, and his tip dips inside.
Her eyes go wide, finding his.
“That hurt?” he asks, holding very still.
“No. Just- big.” He presses another inch forward against the resistance and she hisses as something inside pulls, strains, and breaks. Her hands fly up to his biceps and grip hard, keeping him still, while she whimpers.
His eyes are big, glassy. “I’m so sorry, love. Never took a girl’s cherry before. Fuck, I’m sorry. You want me to pull out…”
“NO!” she cuts him off, praying that he won’t move at all, until she can breathe again.
“Want me to move?”
“No, please…” She grips his arms harder.
“God! What can I do?”
She shakes out a breath, and the exhale lets her open to him a bit. It’s enough that she can release his arms and slide her hands over his chest. He leans down, and the shift feels even better. “Can you kiss me some more?”
He smiles, blinks slow, his eyes full of sweetness. “I can do that.” Then his mouth is on hers, working her over. His kisses are intoxicating. The way he moves his mouth makes her lose track of everything else in the world. His tongue plays slow and soft in her mouth, his hand on her breast, and then she can't be still. She feels a heat building, so she shifts her hips to ease it. Her movement elicits a groan from him, building the passion in her own body, so she does it again. Again. And again.
He is kissing her and she realizes he is making little pulses with his hips. He is moving inside her!
‘My God!’ she thinks, ‘Spike’s inside me!’ She marvels at the thought, again pulling back from her awareness in her body to a surreal, out-of-body state, to watch him move.
She opens her eyes, breaking their kiss. He pulls back, his eyes searching her face. “Still hurting?”
“Not as much. This feels good, Spike. Can we just do this?” She wriggles her hips, pressing herself upwards against his lower belly. His eyelids flutter a moment and he groans low in his throat.
“Not if you keep doing that. Killing me here, love.”
She is instantly terrified. “Am... am I awful?”
“God, NO! You’re so sweet, baby. Like candy, you are. The way you touch me, so gentle- the way your body holds me inside,” his eyes close again for a moment before he admits, “makes it hard to hold back. Never had it so sweet, Buffy.”
She almost can’t bear to ask. “Not even with…”
He swivels his hips, a slow glide, the barest movement in and out, and she feels it all through her hips and groin. “Never. She liked to hurt me…”
Her eyes fill with tears, her chest expanding with emotion. “I’ll never hurt you. I lo-"
He stops her words with his mouth, kissing her deeply, again and again. Then he’s starting to thrust, a slow push and pull of his hips that hurts where her body feels torn, but feels good deep inside. She can’t help making soft sighs and moans at every pulse. He drops his head beside her ear to whisper, “Jesus, Buffy! You’re so bloody tight. Are you close? Wanna make you feel good again, but I can’t hold back much longer…”
She’s embarrassed to say the words. She’s feeling sore inside now. She loves him and wants to make him feel good, so she makes herself say the new words. “Don’t hold back. C-come, Spike.”
He shudders, his whole body surging up so she can watch the lovely contractions of his chest and arm muscles, the tightness in his face, as he finds his release. Tears trickle out the corners of her eyes, overflowing with the emotion of the moment. Knowing she is his.
When he is finished, he lays down on her, breathing hard, kissing her cheek. He must feel the wetness on his face because he sits back quickly.
“You crying? Oh, Jesus! Did I hurt you?” His brows are furrowed, face full of concern.
“No,” she chuckles. “Well, okay- a little. But I’m all right.”
Disappointment shows on his face. “I’m sorry. Tried to wait for you, but…”
“It’s okay, really.”
He still looks like he’s upset with himself, but smiles for her sake. “Gonna pull out now, yeah?” When she nods, he reaches down to hold the condom and gasps.
“What? What is it?” She cannot imagine what might make him look like that- completely shocked and horrified!
“You’re bleeding! It got on the sheet…” He pulls back and out, making her body sting. Still, she’s sorry for the loss of his body within hers. Then he’s getting up, rolling the sheath off himself and grabbing for the tissues on her nightstand. “Best tidy that up before your mum sees and starts asking questions.”
He’s strange suddenly, distant and nervous. She looks down to see the circle of dark blood on the sheet, feels like it’s some strange marker of her new status.
Woman.
Adult.
Sexual.
HIS.
She almost doesn’t want to wash it.
He’s so rattled by it though, asking yet again, “You sure you’re ok? Hate thinking I hurt you- made you bleed like that…”
“Spike, I AM,” she tells him emphatically, “I really, REALLY am.” She smiles up at him, reassuring him, “I’ll take care of it. She’ll never know.”
He visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping, his expression going soft and sweet again. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. He holds out a hand and when she takes it, he pulls her across the bed into his arms. He bends his head down to kiss her, his hands threaded in her hair, her hands holding his strong thighs. The kiss goes on and on, not asking for anything more. Just languishing in the feeling.
They stay like that until they hear Mrs. Price's car pull into the drive next door, their mothers' voices floating up to the window. Then they dress, shyly, kissing and touching, then swatting at each other after each article of clothing goes on. Finally they are dressed and laughing, sitting on Buffy’s bed, as they hear Joyce come in the front door.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At 6:00, Buffy makes her way across her back yard to his house, carrying a picnic basket in the crook of one arm. She has on faded blue jeans and a light blue halter-top that ties at the back of her neck, a pair of white leather sandals on her feet. She’s left her hair down long around her face, wearing it just as she did when she was a teen. She’s even wearing the gold hoop earrings that were her favorite when she was 18; she was delighted to find them in her room earlier that afternoon.
She had showered when she got home, after giving her mom the barest summary of what had happened. Joyce was worried about Spike but was happy that Buffy was being so kind to him. Buffy left off telling her about the kiss, but had asked for help in getting their dinner ready.
Joyce helped her bake some chicken with honey to eat cold later and prepared a big noodle salad with soy sauce dressing and green onions. They stood close together in the kitchen, working in silence, Joyce packing the Tupperware bins into the picnic basket as Buffy chopped fruit for a fruit salad dessert.
Out of nowhere, Joyce asked, “Do you love him?”
Buffy nearly cut into the end of her finger with the paring knife. “Whoa! Geez, Mom, a little warning before you do that, huh?”
“Sorry. Oh Buffy, he’s so hurt right now. I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”
Buffy was immediately on the defense. “What? Bringing him food is bad?”
"He has plenty of food, and you know it. We both saw the casseroles people brought yesterday. C’mon- this is not about keeping him fed.”
Buffy took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”
“No, it isn’t…”
“No. I mean, yes, I love him. I have for ages.”
Joyce stopped packing the basket and came around the island to sit on one of the bar stools. “He loves you, too.”
The words made Buffy’s throat tighten, her eyes sting with unshed tears. “He told you that?”
“Not in so many words. But I can see it. He’s been asking about you for years. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously since you went off to college. And the way he looked at you yesterday…”
Buffy stared down at the counter, afraid to hope, but unable to stop the feeling from rising.
Joyce scooped up the chopped fruit and put it into another Tupperware bowl, then added that to the basket. She shut the lid and slid it across the counter to Buffy, then covered one of Buffy’s hands with hers. “Tell him. Don’t wait. He needs to hear it.” She paused, leaning over to kiss Buffy’s forehead. “And so do you.”
A long tear tracked down her cheek as she looked up. “Thanks, Mom.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Buffy thinks of her mother’s advice as she knocks on the screen door on Spike’s back porch. She waits, looking up at the sky, the sun moving lower toward the tree line. After a minute or so, she knocks again, harder. Still no response.
She sets the basket down on the porch and walks around the side of the house by the garage. He is there, crouched beside his old motorcycle, wearing jeans and a black tee shirt. And he’s re-dyed his hair a shock of white blonde. It is slicked back with gel, thick comb lines defining it into pieces.
Her breath catches. From behind, he looks so much like he did at 18, all long lean lines and tight muscle. Memories of that last year of high school flood in.
He must hear her sharp in-breath because he jumps up and turns. Seeing it’s her, he relaxes, jamming his hands into his pockets and ducking his head.
“Hello, Buffy.”
“Hello, yourself! Wow. You took a trip in the way-back machine today, huh?”
He runs one of his hands over his hair. “Yeah. Been a few months since I bothered. Was looking pretty bad, so I thought it was time I took care of it.”
“You look good,” she tells him, the corners of her mouth turning up.
He smiles then and looks her over. “You too. Very pretty.”
Her belly flutters at the compliment. “You still have your bike?” she asks, gesturing at it with a jerk of her chin, trying to find something neutral to talk about until she can settle her nerves.
“Yeah. Haven’t had it out more than twice this year though.” He pauses, looking it over appraisingly, then turns to her. “You want to go for a spin?”
She’s never ridden on the bike with him. That was always Dru’s place, on the back of that machine, wound around him. But she has always wanted to ride with him. She pictures pressing herself up against his back, her arms around him while they fly through the air. It takes less than a second for her to make up her mind.
“I’d love to.” She knows she’s grinning like a kid.
Her smile must be contagious, because he is suddenly smiling wide, too. It’s the first real smile she’s seen on him since she’s been away. He’s so strikingly handsome that she resolves to make him smile a whole lot more often. “Let me lock the house, and we’ll go.”
As he turns to head for the back yard, she remembers the picnic basket. She follows behind him, calling his name. He stops short and turns to her so fast that she bangs into him, nearly toppling over. His hands grab her biceps to steady her, and then she’s inches from him, looking into his eyes, a bolt of adrenaline running through her.
He hesitates for a few seconds. Then he’s kissing her, hard. Her hands fall to his hips, pulling him in close. His hands slide up to her shoulders, his mouth desperate and hungry on hers. He drops his head to the side, kissing down her cheek to her neck.
“You came back. Was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he breathes into the joining of her neck and shoulder.
“I told you, I’m here for you now,” she reassures him, rubbing her hands in circles over his back and shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, “you did.” His tone remains uncertain. She knows she can’t convince him with words; building this new trust between them will take time. He kisses back up her neck and over her cheek, finding his way back to her mouth. He lingers there now, giving her gentle nibbles and pecks full of tenderness.
“You called me?” he finally pauses to ask.
She has to blink hard to clear her thoughts. All these years and his kisses still leave her reeling. “Oh, right. Our dinner. I left it on the back porch. Can we put it in the fridge until we get back?”
“Sure. I’ll take care of it.” He pulls away reluctantly, sliding his hands down her arms to squeeze her hands before letting go.
He’s only gone a few minutes. He walks back, his head held a little higher, the corners of his mouth rounded up.
His leather duster flaps around his legs.
She can’t breathe. Oh, God, it’s her Spike, her first love, the one who can quote Shakespeare and Sid Vicious, the first boy she kissed, her first lover. The Spike who broke her heart.
She must be staring because he halts when he sees her expression, his smile faltering and his insecurity returning. “Not a good idea then. I’ll just go put it away…”
She grabs for him, latching onto that familiar soft leather sleeve cuff. “No, don’t. Please. You just surprised me, that’s all. Please leave it on.”
A slow smirk spreads his lips thin. It makes her knees buckle. It’s only there for a few moments before his shy smile reappears, making little crinkles fan out from the corners of his eyes. He chuckles lightly, looking down. “Guess the bad boy look still has its charms. C’mon, Buffy.”
He throws one leg over the bike, the coat following in a broad arc. He settles down on the seat and revs the motorcycle to life. Then he peeks over his shoulder, beckoning her with a jerk of his head. “Hop on, pet.”
Oh, the endearment goes right to her sex. She holds his shoulder to steady herself as she settles behind him on the seat. She reaches around him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her hands to the hard ridges of his abs. Desire floods through her, remembering the way his belly looks when he’s shirtless, the way it feels, naked under her hands. She longs to pull his shirt out of his pants and touch his bare skin right now. Her excitement makes her tighten her legs, pulling them in close against his hard thighs.
When he revs the engine again she finds another surprise. The machine is vibrating! Her legs are open wide, her breasts pressed against his back, the smell of his leather coat filling her nostrils, her hands gripping his tight, hot body, her tender parts excited by the vibration of the powerful engine. A laugh bubbles up in her throat.
“What?” he asks over his shoulder.
She shakes her head, still giggling. “Nothing. I’m… happy.”
She sees his ears and cheeks rise in another smile. She loves making him do that. “Good. Now, hang on tight,” he warns, then peels out of the driveway, making her hair fly out behind her.
* * * * * * * * * *
They pull back into the drive an hour later. They hadn’t talked much during the drive but rather had enjoyed the slowly fading light and the warmth of each other’s bodies. The pleasure of touching each other once again. Stars winked into view overhead, a full harvest moon rising over the horizon, the cool night air smelling faintly of cut grass and the ocean’s salty spray.
Spike pulls the bike to a stop in front of the garage. His voice is thick and deep when he speaks, “That felt good.”
His feet are down on the ground; he’s waiting for her to dismount. Her legs are jellied, her parts swollen with excitement from the vibration of the machine and the feel of her body pressed to his for the last hour. She doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want to move.
She takes a breath, mustering courage, and then slides her hands down to cover the sharp points of his hipbones. “It still does.”
He inhales sharply, dropping one of his hands to her knee. “Buffy?”
“Can we go inside? Now?" she asks pointedly.
He looks back at her, his lips parted, his eyelids heavy. “Was hopin’ you’d say that.”
She gets off the bike; he follows. The second he’s got the bike up on the kickstand, Spike whips around and grabs her by the waist, hauls her close and kisses her with an open mouth. His hands at her lower back press her against him. She can feel he’s hard already. Her hands dive under his duster, at last pulling his shirt out of his pants, gliding her fingertips along the skin of his back under his tee. He brings one hand up to cup her breast through her shirt.
She pulls back a bit, panting. “We better get inside, or we’re gonna give your neighbors a show. And seeing as my MOM is one of your neighbors…”
“Too right. Let’s go.” They lurch backwards, still kissing and groping, stumbling up the back steps.
There’s no hesitancy now. As soon as they are inside, he drops his duster to the floor, yanking his shirt up and off. He reaches behind her neck to untie her halter-top as she fumbles with his belt. Her top falls down her chest, revealing her breasts. His hands fly to them, cupping and squeezing, as he kisses her wildly. It takes her several tries to get his jeans undone, but then with a ferocious yank she gets them open, tugging them downward hard. They slide down his legs as his quick fingers open her trousers and pull them down, too.
She locks her hands behind his neck as he lifts her with a grunt. He sets her onto the counter, and looking in her eyes, his pupils huge with desire, he surges up into her.
Her eyes won’t stay open with the flood of sensation. She’s filled up with him, in her body and heart. To be connected like this after so long, is almost too much. She’s surprised at the sob that wrenches its way out of her.
His face is tipped up toward heaven, his mouth dropped open. He is everything she has ever wanted. The only one. Her heart feels fractured and overflowing at the same time.
He is talking to her, making her dizzy with his litany of curses and pleas. “Oh, Buffy. Oh Christ. So good. Still so sweet. Fuck me now.” She’s full of his thickness, aching to rush toward release, but wanting this moment to go on forever.
He drives into her, begging, “Please, oh please, oh please!” His tone is needy and pained, so she bucks against him, trying to give him more. She clamps down on him inside, making him groan. “Yes, yes. Need you. Need more. Please…”
She can barely speak, she is so close to climax and overwrought with emotion. “Please what, Spike? Tell me what you need.”
“Tell me,” he repeats. She opens her eyes when she feels his chest shuddering. He’s crying. “Please, tell me…” he trails off, unable to make words anymore.
She slows her movements as her pulls her closer, his hands under her ass. She wants to take away his pain, draw it into herself like drawing off poison. She hears him whispering into her shoulder, little pleas so desperate that just the tone of his voice makes her heart hurt.
She pulls back a little, catching his gaze. “I’m here. Right here. For you. Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you. God, Spike, I’ll give you anything.”
The tear tracks on his face are slivery in the light. “Tell me… you love me. Please, I need to hear you say it.”
She cups his face, trying to push her words through to him so he will believe. “You are the only man I’ve ever loved. I have never loved anyone else.”
His face contorts with grief, and he clings to her, frantic. “Don’t leave me, please. God, don’t leave me, Buffy.”
She kisses his face, tasting the salt of his tears on her lips. “I’ll never leave you again. I love you.”
His mouth finds hers, his tongue moving in her mouth in time with his renewed thrusts. She cannot hold off any longer. As she comes, fluttering around him, he finds his release, spilling into her, holding her ass so hard she’s sure she’ll be bruised tomorrow.
He slips out of her and carries her down to the floor. He stretches out his legs, laying her back over one of his thighs, making her back bow. He dives over her, kissing down her body delicately. Reverentially.
He worships every place he can touch with his mouth, from her fingertips to her nipples, the round of her kneecap to between her legs. He settles in between her bent knees and worships her with his lush, pouty mouth, his talented tongue, his long fingers, until she is limp from wave after wave of bliss. Then he rises up over her and glides in again, soft and slow, undulating his hips, rocking her up to meet his pulses.
“I want to be inside you forever. Just. Like. This,” he says, using long strokes to tease her back up.
“Yes…” is all she can manage anymore.
“Will you let me, Buffy? Let me love you? Say you’re mine now.”
She knows he’s close again. He is thick and heavy inside her, his eyes dark with his impending climax. He reaches down between their bodies to stroke her. He’s not forgotten. He knows just how to please her.
She clamps down on him and quakes. “Yours, Spike. I’m yours.”
Then he’s crying as he jets into her with long, slow strokes. When he’s done, he melts his body over hers and kisses her face, his hand resting over one nipple. She strokes his hair, making shushing noises into his forehead, until he falls asleep holding onto her as if she was a life raft.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
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