She really, really hated the way her body warmed and melted into him. He had hold of her hand, his other arm wrapped around her waist, and even though he could barely contain his laughter, she found herself turning into slayer-goo at the feel of him against her. It was totally unfair. It took the crown of unfairness. Yet the more she tried to battle herself, the more pliant her will became.
“Easy now,” Spike said softly, trying and failing to conceal his mirth. “That’s it.”
“Could you be anymore condescending?”
“You’re welcome. Sit down.”
Buffy huffed indignantly as he practically forced her butt onto the nearest gravestone.
“You walk into walls often?”
“Oh, bite me.” She froze and glanced up, cringing at his dancing eyes, and she raised her hand to the place on her head that had suffered the brunt of the wall-to-face collision. “I so did not mean that literally.”
“Pity.”
Buffy frowned and rubbed her sore shoulder. “You know, you really have a dangerous effect on women.”
His shit-eating grin was both infuriatingly sexy and just plain infuriating. “So I’ve been told.”
“I’ve had more bruises and bumps this week just from just being Ditzy Buffy than from getting into actual brawls.”
“Thinkin’ of me that much, are you?”
“And we’re back to bite me. A very figurative, up-your-ass bite me.”
Spike just grinned and raised a hand to her face. “Come here, then. Let’s see the damage.”
“I don’t need your help.” However, that knowledge didn’t seem to stop her from leaning into his touch. “Ow.”
He ran his fingers gently over the wound, frowning. And for a fleeting second of insanity, she thought she saw concern flicker behind his eyes. “Nasty cut,” he murmured. “You know what you shouldn’t do anymore?”
“Walk into walls?”
He shrugged. “Jus’ a thought.”
“It’s only a bruise.”
“Nasty cut.” Spike grinned at her unrepentantly. “I can kiss it and make it better, if you like.”
She glared at him, trying very hard not to shiver in arousal at the hunger in his eyes. “You just want to see if you can suck up any slayer blood.”
“I admit, it is a perk.” He met her gaze again and forced a tight grin, tugging at the edge of his tee and dabbing the cotton along her brow. “So why have you been walking into walls?”
“Bite me.”
“If you keep sayin’ that, I just might.”
“It was just one wall.”
“I thought you said you were Ditzy Buffy.”
“I am, but in many ways. Not just in walking-into-walls ways. There are many ways I’m Ditzy Buffy.”
“I have no doubt.”
“I’m just special like that.”
“No need to tell me, kitten. I can definitely see how special you are.”
She glowered at him. “I will find a way to blame this on you.”
Spike just grinned and reached up to tuck fallen tendrils behind her ear. “I bet you will.”
“As a matter of fact, I know I will blame it on you, so I’ll just skip the finding a way thing and leap right to blaming it on you.”
“Well, you said I do have a dangerous effect on women.”
“That’s right.” Buffy pressed her palm to her brow and hissed. “Is it bad?”
Spike shook his head, his grin broadening into a wide smile. He was looking at her like she was the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “You’re gorgeous.”
She tried so very hard to ignore the way her stomach filled with butterflies and how her heart pounded just a little faster, but she couldn’t. Not when he was undressing her with his eyes. “That’s nice, but I was talking about my head.”
“Your head’s gorgeous, too.”
Buffy flushed and broke her gaze from his, rubbing her legs when she couldn’t find anything to do with her hands. “I have this clear memory of telling you to leave town,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “In fact, I remember saying it twice.”
Spike shrugged. “I decided I din’t wanna listen.”
“Obviously.”
“Somethin’ told me you din’t mean it.” He tilted his head. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’re not a little bit happy to see me here. You haven’t reached for your stake yet.”
“That’s because I’m afraid I’ll fall over if I try to move.”
“I’m beginnin’ to think it was a mighty good thing I stayed.”
She met his eyes again, arching a skeptical brow. “Yeah?”
“Runnin’ into walls? Can’t be good for the baby.” He smirked at her unashamedly, chuckling when she slapped his shoulder. “You really thought I could get you pregnant? Well, my swimmers extend their thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Have people ever tried to kill you?”
“Yeah, but I defend myself with my superior wit and guile. You oughta know that, pet.” He laughed again and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, helping her to her feet. “Why on bloody earth would you ever think you were pregnant?”
“Spike, the last person I need to explain myself to is you.”
“So you’re good for tellin’ everyone except the bloke that might’ve—”
“You knew the second you heard it that it was ridiculous, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but that’s only because I also know that vamps can’t have brats.”
She glared at him. “That’s nice for you. Really. So now you can get back to leaving town.” Buffy shook her head and sidestepped him, her wobbly legs beginning the long, reluctant trek home. Each step was weighed in lead. She didn’t want to leave him; not when she’d been missing him so horribly over the past week. “Are you just suicidal? I gave you a chance to leave. I gave it to you. I practically gift-wrapped it, and you’re still here. In fact, I did it twice. I gave you two chances to leave without collecting on my much-deserved pound of flesh. Why oh why are you still here?”
“I can’t leave. I bloody told you, Slayer.” Spike was right behind her the next second, his arms closing around her middle, pulling her back against his chest. And God, it was wonderful being pressed against him. After her repeated visits from Ghost Spike, feeling the real thing behind her was nearly more than her will could bear. She wanted to shove him off, wanted to resist his pull, but her body happily ignored her. “Moreover…” he murmured, that damnably sinful mouth of his dipping to taste her throat. “I don’ think you want me to leave.”
“Oh, God…”
“I’ve missed you, pet.” A sharp, ironic laugh rippled through him. “You know how bleeding ridiculous this is? I’ve missed you. You’re all I can think about, an’ if you think it’s been easy keepin’ away from you these past few days, you’re off your nutter.”
“Spike…no…”
“I know it’s wrong. Fuck, I know it’s wrong. But it’s the way things are, an’ I’m tired of fightin’ it.” His blunt teeth scraped the milky column of her throat, and her knees buckled. He was all too happy to catch her before she collapsed, tightening his hold around her waist and thrusting his hard cock against her backside. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. You’ve poisoned my thoughts.”
The knowledge that he’d thought of her even a fraction as much as she’d thought of him sent warm tinglies throughout her body. She moaned and arched against him and linked her arms behind his neck, turning to bear her throat to him; that was seemingly all the permission he needed. Spike growled, his hands sliding up until he was cupping her breasts, grinding his hips into her backside as he walked her toward the mausoleum.
“Spike…”
“No. No words. Don’ think. Jus’ let me make you feel good.”
Logical Buffy protested, but Purely Sensual Buffy shut her up pretty quickly. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted more reasons to look at herself naked in the mirror. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to feel his hands on her. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to feel his cock inside her. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to revel in reality before she retreated back into the fantasy.
Purely Sensual Buffy could hardly believe that this was actually happening.
The door that slammed behind her was very real. When she opened her eyes, she was inside the mausoleum, and the veracity of what was about to happen slammed into her at full force. Spike was suddenly in front of her; he licked and nipped at her neck as his hands frantically tore at his fly before fisting the waistband of her sweats.
His desperate enthusiasm only made her wetter.
“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he murmured. “Lemme taste you? I know I fumbled it the first time, but I’ll make you feel so good. So good. I need to know what you taste like. Wanna worship that tight li’l pussy of yours.”
Buffy melted on the spot. Well, melted and panicked. If he put his mouth anywhere near her…womanly parts, he would see where he’d bitten her. He’d see it and she couldn’t let him. She didn’t know why—God, she didn’t know why—but she somehow knew that if Spike discovered he’d marked her there, a world of bad would ensue.
Buffy’s hands shot to his biceps and squeezed, shaking her head tersely. “No.”
An unreadable emotion filled his eyes, and a deep pang stabbed her gut.
“Slayer…I’d never hurt you like that. You gotta know I’d never do that. Not again. Not after the hell I’ve put myself through.”
“I know.”
“An’ you’re not gonna let me taste?”
She choked a sob and shook her head again. “No. No, Spike.”
He was quiet for a long second, all except the harsh, needless pants that heaved through his chest. Then he met her eyes again, and the world around her fell away. The next thing she knew, he was leading her further into the crypt. He moved until they were a good distance from the door and stopped, shedding his duster and tee before he shoved his jeans to mid-thigh.
Buffy’s eyes followed the fervent bounce of his cock and she wet her lips.
“Take off your shirt,” he said, wrapping his hand around his erection. “If I can’t taste your quim, I wanna see your tits.”
She blushed but obeyed, doing her best to ignore his purr of approval when she peeled her camisole away, followed by her sports bra. Spike was pressed against her the next instant, tugging gently at her nipples as his mouth fell to her throat once more. He groaned and whimpered and thrust himself against her, helping her jerk her foot out of the right leg of her sweat pants. She heard her stake—the one she kept tucked between her waistband and the small of her back—clamor noisily to the ground. Then he was cupping her mound through the plain white cotton that separated them, his nimble fingers rubbing sodden flesh as his mouth dipped to suck a nipple between his teeth.
“You been this wet for me since that morning?” he asked hoarsely.
Buffy offered an answering mewl, but nothing else. There was no point in speaking it; he knew the answer. The same answer that had left her both confused and disgusted with herself for days—she didn’t want to give him that power over her. He’d done nothing to deserve it. Nothing at all.
Spike left her breast with a parting kiss before dropping unceremoniously to the ground.
“We’re doing this here?” she demanded, astonished.
“You got a better idea, Slayer?”
All of her current better ideas involved popping him in the nose, grabbing her clothes, and making a run for it while her dignity was still in tact. And yet, she remained. She stood awkwardly in the middle of a crypt, her body aching for a man that she was never supposed to see again. She was dressed only in her panties and her sweats—the one leg she refused to unclothe for fear of what he’d see. That forbidden patch of skin that colored her inner left thigh—the thing he could never know about.
Spike didn’t let her mull it over long. “Straddle me,” he said, and her eyes went wide. Her bewilderment either empowered or insulted him; she couldn’t tell. His tone was strained when he spoke again, and she knew without having to know anything that he was teetering on the very ends of control. “Don’t jus’ stand there, you infuriating bint. Just bloody do it, okay?”
A shiver raced down her spine. The edge in his voice should have terrified her, but it didn’t. Instead, Buffy found herself climbing over him, sighing breathily when her cotton-clad pussy pressed against the underside of his incredibly naked erection. “Spike,” she gasped, empowered at his moan. “I’ve never…that is…this is something that I haven’t done before.”
“Angel din’t let you steer, eh?”
Something violent jerked in her gut. “Hey—”
“I’m gonna let you steer, kitten. You’re gonna fuck me until my eyes cross.” He settled his hands at her hips, doming a brow in challenge. “You’re in charge. I never want you to forget that. When you go home tonight an’ cry about how I violated you, jus’ remember this. Remember right now. You’re in charge. You have me under you. If you wanted, you could end it.” A shaky breath hissed through his teeth, and his chest trembled beneath her palms. “So what’s it gonna be, Slayer? You gonna fuck me, or kill me?”
Buffy’s eyes misted with tears and she glanced down. She’d done something to anger him; hell if she knew what, but the sweet, caring guy that had worried over her cuts just a few minutes ago had been replaced with someone angry and vindictive. She had absolutely no idea what right he had to be so callous, or what right she had to care. All she knew was that her heart was aching and her hands were against his naked chest, and she wanted him caressing her and pretending that he liked her again. Just for now.
Because as much as she would like to run, her body was too much in need of his.
His fingers were under her chin the next second, tilting her head upward to meet his eyes.
“God, I’m sorry. I don’…balls, I don’t know what’s what anymore.” Spike smiled tentatively. “I don’t mean to be such a prize arse. I just need to know. Fuck, I need you to know. I need to know if this is what you want or… You’re driving me outta my mind an’…I wanted to make sure you had the upper hand in this. You deserve it—God knows how you deserve it after what I did. I know I haven’t earned anything you have to give, but I need it. I need you.” He raised a trembling hand to her breast before trailing his fingers down her abdomen, rubbing her slit through the wet cotton. “Please, baby. Let me in?”
Buffy wet her lips and nodded before she realized what she was doing. The relieved smile that graced his lips warmed her inside and out, and before she could stop herself, she’d leaned down to kiss him. Really kiss him. And God, he tasted good.
She’d loved kissing him at the Bronze. Kissing him here, when she was in charge, when he was below her, was perhaps the headiest sensation of her entire life. It was something so small that turned into something huge, particularly when he moaned and slipped his tongue past her lips, his left hand coaxing her fingers around his cock.
“Fuck, pet…” He kissed her again, then dropped his head against the floor as she slowly began pumping his shaft. “Gently. He’s tender.”
“He…?” She flushed and glanced down, and the foreign sight of her hand wrapped around an erection turned every inch of her skin red. “Oh. You mean your…your…”
“Dick? Yeah.”
Her flush deepened and she ignored his vulgarity. “He’s tender?”
“He’s been getting quite a workout lately.” He grinned, his fingers bunching the crotch of her panties aside. “Dunno what's been happenin' to me. Jus' randomly need to…well…you get the idea.”
Buffy got the idea, all right. Her mind was suddenly ablaze with naughty, x-rated images of the idea. And damn if it didn’t do anything but make her hotter.
“It strikes me at the oddest times, too,” Spike continued thoughtfully. “Like when I’m—”
“You’re talking to me about your…masturbation habits?”
“Just lettin’ you know to be gentle. Though really, it could be that all he needs is a nice, warm, wet place to recuperate.” He arched a brow. “Any suggestions?”
It was that self-righteous smirk that did it. She wanted it wiped off his face—she wanted him to eat his words. She wanted to ride him until her warmth made his skin peel, and then she wanted to do it again. More than anything, she wanted the ache in her gut to go away. She wanted the world where she lived and the world where she dreamed to coexist, if only this once.
She wanted Spike. And this once—just this once—she was going to have him.
Buffy shoved him to the floor and impaled herself on his cock, and the world around her exploded into color. In a blink, everything dissolved. The burning ache that had been slowly eating away at her insides became nothing, and she felt, for the first time, that she was whole again. Seeing him at the Bronze had nearly done this; she’d nearly felt complete just standing with him, but now that she had him inside her, there was absolutely no comparison. None at all.
How she’d gone two weeks without him was beyond comprehension.
“Bloody fuck,” Spike gasped, thrusting his hips forward desperately. “Oh God. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Ride me. Please.”
Her name was on his lips. She didn’t know why it made her eyes fill with tears, but it did. “Help me,” she implored softly, grinding against him. “I don’t…help me.”
Spike’s eyes went wide with understanding. He dropped his hands to her hips, lifting her off him just slightly, then slid her back down his cock again. “There,” he sighed, his hands sliding to hold her ass, massaging her skin. “Just like that, baby. Ride me just like that.”
Buffy gasped. “Oh my God.”
“Slayer…”
She glanced down, her eyes wide. “It’s so different,” she said, rotating her hips. “I can…God, I can…”
“You can do whatever you want, baby.” He grinned. “That’s the idea.”
“Ohhh…” She shivered and steadied her hands on his chest, her legs tightening as her thrusts hastened in pace. Now that she had him inside her, the burn stretching through her body had turned from an ache into a bottled need for release. She felt him everywhere—splitting her down the middle. The feel of his thick cock sliding steadily in and out of her pussy had her blood blazing and every nerve in her buzzing with ecstasy. “It’s so different.”
“Yeah?” Spike whimpered and dug his fingers into her hips. “Good?”
“I can…oh, God…” Buffy shook her head, lost, and met his eyes. “Help me,” she whimpered again. “I need to…God, I need to…”
“You got me, love. You got me.”
That wasn’t what she needed. She’d barely had him inside her a minute, and the heat blazing through her body was too much to handle. She needed release. She needed relief. She needed anything that would calm her ache. She bounced frantically on his cock, her left hand flying to squeeze her thigh, her fingers itching her skin through the cotton.
“You’re amazing,” Spike gasped, his gaze drenched in wonder. “So bloody incredible.”
“Oh God.”
“You like that?” His thumb landed on her clit and began rubbing her furiously as his eyes soaked her up. “You like fucking me into the sodding ground?”
She nodded helplessly, her pace quickening. She wanted to hear him moan. She wanted her name on his lips. She wanted to see his face dissolve in helpless bliss as he came. She wanted him addicted to this—addicted to the sound of their bodies slapping together, the wet, illicit smacks that they made together every time his cock thrust into her body. She wanted him crazy out of his mind for her, even more than he claimed to be now. She wanted to make him feel as helpless and weak as he’d made her feel. She needed him absolutely nuts for her. He’d made her absolutely nuts for him, and after a two week drought, she needed to pay him back tenfold.
Her heart did a strange back-flippy thing when he looked at her, though. And she feared she was lost beyond all hope.
“Buffy…my…need you. Needed this. Been needing you so fucking long.” He fisted a handful of her blonde locks and tugged her down to him. The move stretched her even wider, and she moaned in repletion. “Oh, Slayer. I’m gonna…”
Spike’s human face dissolved into his demon, a long growl clawing at his throat as he spilled himself inside her. The victory she felt at making him lose himself was only fleeting; her body all too aware of her own needs. And it seemed, the next second, that Spike was more than aware of that as well. His fingers continued massaging her clit intensely, his yellow eyes glued to her pussy.
“Come for me, baby,” he growled. He licked his lips. “Wanna feel you strangling me.”
Buffy couldn’t stop bouncing on his lap if her life depended on it. He was stroking her clit and watching her with his vampire eyes, and she was lost. Absolutely lost. And when she dug her nails into her thigh until she was squeezing the bite mark like there was no tomorrow, she trembled and came hard around him, her body awash in euphoria.
The last thing she saw was Spike’s yellow eyes. Darkness surrounded her, and she passed out on his chest.
To be continued