Buffy found herself propped against a door, her hands curled in Spike's hair as he fumbled hastily for the knob that remained hidden behind her body. His mouth was ravaging hers, rumbling little whimpers into her that went straight to her center. The force of him against her, rubbing into her, outreached anything she had ever experienced. For the love of everything, it had never been like this before. Never. Just this—this—this being with him outshone what she had shared with any of her past lovers. No man's touch had aroused her as effortlessly. With his denim-clad erection grinding into her to the point where she shared the wealth of his wanting to coincide with her own, she thought she would go insane if she didn't feel him strong and within her. Now.
Which required getting to the other side of the door.
She pulled away breathlessly. "Spike—"
Only to be tugged back before he answered huskily. "Tryin'."
"Hurry."
The door opened the next instant and nearly sent them both to the ground. Not that they would have minded—or noticed—the change in scenery. She didn't even remember how they had gotten up here. They had been in the basement just seconds before, she knew, and now they were in the bedroom. Their bedroom. In retrospect, the restrictions of how and why didn't really matter. Spike had blown her world away already; it wasn't entirely impossible to her that he could alter time and space. With the way he felt against her, the passion tumbling from his mouth, the sensual rub of his desire against her own, logicality had no merit. It was just he and she. Vampire and Slayer. Sire and childe. Man and woman. And that was all that mattered.
In seconds, he had torn his t-shirt from his body, pulling away to give her the same treatment. She thought he muttered something about his approval of seeing her in his clothing, but was too forgone to register the words. Spike caught her lips in a roughly passionate kiss before giving up on her bothersome overshirt, ripping it apart and throwing it to match his own in the armchair across the room. "That was my favorite shirt," he growled.
"Yeah," Buffy agreed headily, "and you broke it."
"'S better broken, then," he decided, nipping at her breasts as he navigated them backward, hands rubbing rough circles at her hips. "It was keepin' me from you."
When they finally reached the bed, however, Spike's urgency melted away with the stringency of reverential awe irrevocably took over. It was a wondrous sight to watch—the way he pulled away with such gentility, the look in his eyes speaking for everything even his infamous words fell short of. She thought it silly that his love could still surprise her, but it did. It did. With every lingering substantiality, he never failed to take her breath away.
Spike pulled back reluctantly, gazing upon her with such worship and adoration that it melted the fullness of herself.
Her eyes fell back to his mouth, tugging him forward to indulge the richness of his taste. "So strange..." she murmured.
He pulled away just long enough to rumble a nearly unintelligible, "Whassat?"
She smiled and kissed him again, unable to get her fill. "The whole time...right there."
"Mmmm?" he hummed against her lips, hands cupping the fullness of her breasts and, caressing the underside before he finally pulled away to taste her skin. He kneaded her shamelessly, drawing a nipple into his mouth.
Buffy gasped and clutched his head, careening back. "You were there," she sighed. "You've always...the whole..."
"Always will be," he murmured against her skin. "'ll never be anywhere else."
The Slayer's crooned, whimpering deep within her throat. "Even before..." she complained breathily. "I never...saw you...until now. I'm sorry. Sorry it took...something like this—"
He frowned and pulled back a bit, teasing her nipple with his teeth. "Don' be silly," he berated. "Bygones, an' all that. 'Sides, you said I couldn't apologize, remember? Well, you can't, either."
A beautiful, mocking scowl befell her features. "You're a bad man."
"Thanks ever so for the memo."
Her hand slid from his shoulder as though following a whim of its own, crossed his thigh and suggestively cupped the telling bulge that was grinding into her hip. She earned a hearty moan in turn and grinned. "Mmmm...very bad man."
It was Spike's turn to whimper inarticulately as he thrust against her touch. His hands dropped into her lap as form of petty retribution, prying her trousers open so his nimble fingers could dip inside. When he encountered nothing but her slippery flesh, it was all he could do to not forfeit every will of self. "God," he gasped, "you're gonna kill me, pet."
"Now, why would I wanna do that?" Buffy replied innocently, giving him a squeeze.
"Oh, that's it." The platinum vampire promptly tackled her to the mattress, feathering her face with ardent but equally soft kisses as eager, clumsy hands worked at the trousers that so cruelly concealed her flesh from him. "You're gonna scream until you're hoarse, luv."
"Ohhh..."
"Well...the second time, at leas'. The firs' time...we'll take it slow. Nice, delicious, an' slow." He grinned slyly. "Still, screamin' is encouraged."
Buffy emitted a very unladylike snort that seemed oddly in-place for the moment, despite the temperament surrounding them. "Pig."
Spike chuckled lovingly. "Want you."
"I—"
His hand slipped deftly between her thighs and under the waistband of her panties once more, eliciting a scandalous gasp and an arch as his fingers explored moist softness that never ceased to burn him alive. He knew her like this well. Every time he touched her, he came to life in ways that killed every cliché there was to kill. Then dug up them up and killed them again. A low moan rumbled through his chest, and he eyed her hungrily as hands that knew her too well played her to delicious capitulation. "An' you definitely want me."
"Pig!" she accused again.
"Oink bloody oink. You smell good enough to eat."
"Spike..."
"Think I oughta test that theory. You mind?" With that, he began to unceremoniously slide down her body.
"Spike!"
He stripped her of her slacks without fight and slid her panties down with the same notion, delivering one torturous lick to trembling skin. "All for the namesake of science, of course."
"SPIKE!"
"Hmm. Barely touched her an' she's screamin' my name already. Very interestin'."
"I can't believe you're already making a study off our sex life."
Spike arched a brow.
"Well, okay, I can," she amended. "But...again...with the candles...and the romance...and—"
The brow quirked higher and he lowered his head again.
"You're tellin' me this isn't candles an' romance?" he demanded, his voice reverberating against her skin. "Science can be romantic."
"—and if you stop doing that, I swear to GOD that I'm going to shove something very stake-shaped through your heart, consequences be damned!"
He chuckled against her and she trembled at how good such a small motion could feel. "Don' worry, baby," he assured her with a nibble. "I have absolutely no bloody intention of stoppin'."
The Slayer cried out and arched back, her breathing labored—her hands clenching the bed linens with such force that she nearly ripped the fabric to shreds. In the short amount of time they had shared, she had never been so presumptuous to assume that his insistence to pleasure her this way was anything that he enjoyed. However, with the noises that were rumbling from his throat, he emanated the presence of one dining on the finest crème brule. As if this was more for him than her.
Spike was shoving her reservations and assumptions aside in a manner that berated her for having them in the first place. With every torturous lick, every sinful nibble, every time his tongue swept her clit and entered her, she found herself spiraling further down the whirlpool of paradise. And as if his mouth wasn't enough, his fingers stroked her to furthered ecstasy.
He was setting her skin ablaze without even trying. And it drove her absolutely out of her mind.
Her orgasm was slow but sudden, shattering her into a blazing pit of white-hot rapture. The old adage of seeing stars was overused but no less true. He overwhelmed her until she exploded, let her cool down, and did it again. The cry that tore from her lips nearly choked her with ravenous delight, and the murmur of approval that rumbled from her sire only added to her pleasure.
She wondered, recovering, if Spike would always possess the ability to make her feel this way. And as though sensing the thought, he delivered another lick to her quivering skin, nuzzling her inner thigh with deferential adoration. And she knew then. She knew.
"Spike..."
That was all the persuasion he required. Dropping kisses across every inch of skin he discovered as he moved upward, the platinum vampire settled over her, capturing her mouth in a powerful, demanding kiss. His tongue implored hers; sweeping inside, wrestling her own for dominance before he pulled away and turned his attention to her throat.
Buffy nearly grumbled in frustration, her hands moving to the clasp at his jeans. But again, as he had in the alley, he grasped her wrist and drew her attention to his eyes. The look he betrayed was loving but concerned—a small, gentle smile playing across his face.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure?" she repeated incredulously. "Yes, of course I'm sure."
"I don' wanna hurt you. With what 'appened...'f you're not ready for this—"
Buffy stared at him. His apprehension seemed ridiculous compared to what he had been promising just moments before, but it still touched her heart and sent warmth to every inch of her aching body. With a tender smile, she touched his cheek and nodded. "I heal fast," she assured him. "Even faster now...Slayer plus—"
Spike dropped a kiss across her palm. "There's more than one way to hurt you," he whispered, caressing her face with curled fingers. "More than one way to make old achies come back. 'F you're not ready—"
It wasn't difficult to decipher his meaning. Her reservations about everything that initiated physical contact seemed foolish now. All she needed was him. "I'm ready."
"You—"
"Spike...I wouldn't lie to you, especially about this. I'm ready."
He was still for a long minute, searching her face. Needing, imploring. When she gave him back everything that he poured into her—no reservations, no hesitation—he smiled gently and lowered his mouth to hers, his own hands turning to his trousers.
In seconds, they were both gloriously naked and stretched together. He poised between her legs, rubbing himself against her thigh as moans of encouragement rumbled from her throat. He turned his attention to her breasts again, lavishing her with his tongue as he slid a hand down the expanse of her abdomen to test her readiness. His touch teased her with knowledge that was so natural, she would have thought it by accident had he not flashed her a particularly wicked grin. The same grin that widened when her voiceless whimpers threatened to reach summit.
Buffy arched again, a long moan escaping her lips. "Spike, please!"
"I—"
She reached between them, grasping his cock and bringing him to her entrance. Her eyes fluttered closed as the sensations threatened to take over, compounding into overload. "Please."
"Buffy."
"Please."
"Buffy, look at me."
She did.
"I love you."
It was only when he had her smile that he edged himself inside. A gasp clawed at his throat as she clenched him. Tight. Oh God. Tighter and tighter. On this alone, it was nothing he had ever experienced before. Nothing she had ever experienced before. The coming together of something created out of genuine love. Something shared and known.
Never. It had never been like this.
"Oh God," he moaned, sliding forward until he was completely within her. Buried to the hilt. And even then, he couldn't move. It took a minute to gather his bearings. The sensationalism of simple joining alone was almost enough to send him over the edge, and he feared losing all sense of self. "Oh my God."
"Yeah."
"You're so—"
"You too."
"Buffy..." Spike's hands returned to her face as he began to move, watching with awe-filled eyes as she contoured in pleasure. "'ve never...never felt anythin' like this."
She shook her head. "I...me, either."
His head found solace at her shoulder, his hands seeking hers. Their fingers entwined and settled over the mattress, clenching tighter with every thrust and parry. The molding of her flesh around him was more home than he had ever experienced. The scent emanating from her sweet skin. Knowing it was her, knowing it was the woman he loved and had thought to never have...it was too much. The tempo he set was gentle, pushing them both beyond the depths of physical enormity. Every inward stroke seared his skin, every time he withdrew his body lamented her loss. It was the most blissful torture he had ever known, and he never wanted to leave.
And she was matching him. The shades and ripples and everything that crossed her face touched every nerve ending he thought possible to touch. Her fingers tightened around his as she lifted her hips to recapture him every time he pulled away. Then she broke her hands from his and entwined her arms around his throat, bringing his mouth to hers.
Their kiss was slow but demanding. Tasting each other for everything they had to offer. When he pulled away to lick his way to her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue—making sure to give equal attention to both—she forced her head against the pillows and clenched her thighs together, earning a long, strangled moan. Spike had Buffy's legs abound his waist the next instant, his hands pinning hers to the mattress once more. His movements were deep and leisure. There wasn't a moan, a sigh, a whimper that escaped from her lips that failed to be cherished. He decided that he loved her like this—and though he knew that he would, seeing the finish of his trials made the reward all the sweeter. Not for the intimacy of connection, not for anything aside the flashes of ecstasy that flooded her faces with regularity that stole his nonexistent breath. There were times that he reckoned his heart ought to start beating again. Every taste new. Every sensation treasured. Every everything was more than he thought he should be able to survive.
They were pushing each over that threshold. Always had.
Right from the bloody beginning.
A muffled sob rumbled from her lips as his thrusts grew deeper, her hips lifting rhythmically to help him along. "Spike, please..."
He smiled. "Somethin' you want, sweetheart?"
And that was another thing. From sensual to taunting without losing an inkling of sentiment. That had never happened to him before. It was always one extreme or the other. When they teased each other, it was out of more feeling than he had ever thought possible to experience.
"Now. Please? Now. Now now now now."
A tsk tapped through his throat; he couldn't help grinning at her. "Such impatience."
"You...ass!"
He frowned at her with mock ignorance. "Well, we could try, I guess—"
"SPIKE!"
With a chuckle that served to send ripples across her skin, as though every move he made was somehow in tune with her own sensory, he drew a deft pattern across her thigh, hooking a hand under her knee to assist its venture over his shoulder. A gasp of surprise shuddered through her and her Slayer muscles tightened even further.
"Oohhh," he purred. "You liked that."
Buffy nodded emphatically, a choked sob of pleasure rumbling through her lips. It didn't seem possible; he was stretching her from every angle imaginable.
Spike smiled kindly at her, brushing damp locks of golden hair from her forehead. His movements refused to sharpen—rather remained at the same slow, agonized pace. "That better, sweetheart?"
"Good!" she moaned, almost unintelligible. "Spike good!"
"Well, I've reduced you to Cave Buffy..." His breaths were growing sharper, even as his attention remained fully with her. This was important to him—always had been; she could tell it in the matter he went from teasing to serious and loving within two seconds. While it was not always possible, the peroxide Cockney craved gentility in the bedroom. He had spent more than a century with a vampire that was as kinky as they came; this simple lovemaking was something he would never, ever take for granted. "Guess that means somethin'."
His hips swirled with every thrust; touching regions within her she didn't know existed.
The Slayer's hands sought freedom, wrapping around his forearms and digging trenches that were deep enough to draw blood. "Spike..."
His head dipped, lips brushing a reverent kiss against her throat where her pulse would be, attentions honing. The movement caused her further back into the pillows, and a strangled cry escaped her. And when she felt his nimble fingers massaging her where they were joined, it was over.
The second Spike sensed she was falling over the edge, he allowed his game face to burst forward, nuzzling her beautiful sweat-laced throat with deferential awe before penetrating the moist skin there, sweetening her orgasm all the more and triggering his own. And they fell together—seemingly perpetual in a joyous tumble down something they both knew so well without knowing at all. As though the newness and the promise of forever melded them into something more than either could have prepared for. Something that grew with difference and stayed the same.
He wanted to claim her. Wanted to bind her to him for all eternity. Wanted that promise in the way that no other had ever allowed him. But he did not. He would not without her consent. Therefore, he retracted his fangs with more of the same, licking the small wound closed and pulling her with him as he rested on his side. He did not wish to smother her with his weight, but the haven of her body was too rich to lose, even with their submissive breaths of recovery clouding the air. No. He wanted to remain here—remain within her—as long as possible.
For long minutes, they were still. Her body heaving against his in demand for everything she wanted but did not need. The platinum vampire smiled gently and reined her into him, vowing tacitly to never let her go. Not with the battles they had faced and the obstacles they had conquered. This was his forever, and he was never giving her up.
"Spike?"
"Mmm?"
"You weren't kidding when you said 'second time'...were you?"
His eyes wedged open and he studied her imploring face for a long minute before his own broke out into a wide, almost mischievous smile.
"Oh, baby," he assured her, rolling her onto her back, his hardened flesh plunging deeper within her at the movement. She gasped, eyes wide. "You're not goin' anywhere."
"Already?"
A chuckle sounded through his body. If she wasn't used to blokes with stamina, she was in for a rude awakening. He had waited too long for this to quench his thirst with any sort of one-nighter. There were months and—if he wanted to be perfectly honest—years of fantasies to exorcise. Oh no. They weren't anywhere near finished.
However, he decided not to overwhelm her. Not yet. "You better bloody believe it."
This was it. This was what people, historians, philosophers, and all those other wankers had been talking about for centuries. The proverbial it that one only recognized when it was finally obtained. He had thought to he had possessed it before, but what she gave him now nicely pushed all measure of believability aside.
This was it.
And he would never let go.
To be continued in Chapter Forty-Two: Tub on a Flowered Mat...