Buffy awoke before William. She rolled over in the bed they shared and found him sleeping soundly, his arms crossed across his chest as if he were staving off a chill.
Look at him, she thought. He’s gorgeous, funny, smart, determined and just about everything I imagined in a boyfriend.
She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. And he is with you because of Dru.
She shook her head. No, that’s not it. Not entirely. It might have started out that way, but it wasn’t that way now. . . Was it? How do I know for sure?
“My gut, maybe,” she murmured to herself, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead.
“Having a nice conversation with yourself, pet?”
Buffy jumped slightly at the sound of his voice and automatically, she reached out and smacked him lightly for scaring her. He chuckled and buried his face in her neck.
“Morning, pet. Sleep well?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
“Like I’d deny you. Willing slave here, Buffy.”
She smirked. “That could be dangerous.”
“Give me your best shot; I’ll prove it to you.”
Oh yeah? In a flash, she was straddling him, taking his arms and flinging them over his head. “How’s that?” she asked with a quirk of her brow.
He groaned, “You don’t play fair.”
“Ah, but you’re my willing slave. You said so yourself.”
He looked up at her, his eyes glittering. “And what is it you want me to do?”
“Just be at my mercy,” she murmured, finding herself lost in his eyes that spoke to her so loudly of love. He was right there, laid bare for her. And he wasn’t flinching, wasn’t recoiling . . . how did he do that?
Leaning down, she kissed him languidly and released her hold on his arms. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her and bring her closer.
She could get lost in him so easy...
“What do you want me to do, Buffy?” he asked her huskily.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, nipping at his earlobe with her teeth, and rubbing her center against his.
The next thing she knew, she was on her back, with an aroused William above her. “No,” he told her, shaking his head. He sounded and looked slightly incensed.
She was taken back by that. “Why?”
He sighed, “Because I don’t ‘fuck’ you, Buffy. I make love to you, with you. You’ve used sex as something else for far too long already with me, and I’m not going to let you do it anymore.”
She struggled underneath him. “You’re not gonna let me?”
He held her fast. “No, I’m not going to ‘fuck’ you, until you call it making love. And I’m not going to make love to you until you tell me you love me.”
“I love you! Happy now?” she spat.
He released her and climbed out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair, his back to her. Buffy lay there, looking up at him, shocked for what she’d done and how he’d let her go just like that.
“You try me, Buffy,” he said softly. “I know what you’re doing and I know why.”
“You don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. She was dangerously close to tears and she couldn’t come up with any reason why except that she’d hurt him, and in doing so, hurt herself.
He turned to her. “Yeah, Buffy, I do.”
She looked away from him, not able to stand the pain in his eyes. Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t know how to stop it.”
He came over to her, sitting down so he could face her. “Stop what, baby?”
“Stop being so nice to me! God, tell me I’m a bitch, tell me I’m crazy, fucked up, anything but don’t be nice to me, please!” She tried to get out of the bed, but William grabbed her arms, halting her and making her look at him.
“No, I won’t tell you that. Well, I might tell you you’re a bitch—“
She let out a strangled laugh.
“But I won’t tell you you’re crazy or fucked up. You’re not used to this, not used to someone fighting for you.”
“Dru did…” she whispered raggedly, swallowing a sob.
“She did, but you fought her…”
“I’m fighting you!”
He said nothing then, just smiled tenderly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, I have something I want to show you that I didn’t get to last night.”
Buffy alternated between pondering that smile he gave her earlier when she’d told him she was fighting him, and the other shredded samples he’d found. She stabbed at a strawberry and absently chewed on it.
“So, what do you think?” William asked, munching on his own breakfast of pancakes and bacon.
“I don’t think anyone here would have done it...I mean, why?”
“Just to stir up trouble?”
She sighed and sat back, “Possibly.”
“Buffy, it doesn’t hurt to ask at least.”
“I don’t want...I don’t want them to feel as though I’m interrogating them.”
“Buffy, whoever did this deserves to be interrogated!”
“So, you’re saying you don’t believe it’s the ghosts?”
“I think first we have to rule out all other avenues. What are you thinking, Buffy?”
“I’m thinking that it’s supernatural.”
“Then why did you accuse Edina?”
“I didn’t accuse...okay, I sort of did. I don’t know, anger? And she’s the one that had issue with my wanting to change the place.”
“Because of the B&B idea.”
“Right...”
He studied her closely. “Something you’re not telling me?”
“Ever feel like the answer is right in front of you and you can’t put your finger on it?”
He smiled, “Yes.”
“That’s how I feel.” She sighed, “All right. We’ll ask the staff.”
“All right. How do you want to do it?”
“Can we do it all casual like? I don’t want to set up a room with a bright light and glass
of water, ya know?”
William laughed, “All right, luv. Split up and ask then?”
She nodded resolutely, “Yes, that sounds about right.”
“Off we go then.”
He didn’t want to draw attention to it, figured he’d let her figure it out on her own, but she had used the collective ‘We’ the entire time and not the singular ‘I’, when it came to coming up with the plan. He wondered if she even noticed. She might be fighting him, but it seemed she only did so when she was aware of it; when she let her guard down, she drew him in and treated him as an equal; as her mate.
It was only a matter of time now. Or, at least he hoped.