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Chapter 3



Maybe it had been wrong. Hell, knowing him it had been wrong. But it was done now and couldn’t be undone.

He’d taken Buffy to his bed again with so many things unsaid. Unresolved. Like the anger burning in his heart. He was furious with her for doing exactly what he’d sent her away to do; have a normal life. She’d tried to do it, but it hadn’t worked out quite the way either of them expected.

She’d cried. There was real pain reflected in her eyes. A part of him felt justified. Triumphant that she was there with him, taking his shit for once, and feeling the lack of love returned. It also tore him apart to see her hurting.

He loved her. Always had and always would. She was the part of him that he needed to feel whole. The part of him that made him want to be a part of the light again. He wanted to be a man for her.

He kissed her once more before pulling out of her. She was panting, holding onto him with sweat slicked fingers, her legs falling open as he left her. Covered in white, her hair still done up with pins, her upper thighs and cunt exposed like a whore waiting for the next john. Her eyes showed her vulnerability as they followed him. He hated her for making him feel this way. One more person telling him that he was wrong. Hated himself for making her feel so uncertain of where they stood.

Sighing, he nuzzled her neck before turning her onto her side.

“Let’s get this dress off you, Love,” Spike whispered in her ear. “No reason to be uncomfortable.”

“Thanks, it would feel a lot better to be out of it,” Buffy said, with a laugh that was supposed to be amusing, but it only sounded harsh. Almost bitter, if he truly wanted to dissect it. He pushed it aside and concentrated on his task.

There had to be a hundred tiny pearl buttons down the back of her dress. His fingers, unused to dealing with such delicate things, fumbled with the task. She became more exposed with each one he undid. Her head was bowed, leaving her face away from his view. Her silence left him unsure of what she was feeling. Too many emotions were pouring from her that he couldn’t discern which one was the strongest. They were all screaming, the positive and the negative. She was as confused as he was. But he wanted, no needed, to know her feelings in the aftermath of the sex they’d just shared.

Needing a response, an inkling of where he stood, he kissed the space between her shoulder blades. Buffy gave a whisper of a sigh. It wasn’t exactly the declaration he wanted, but it was enough to let him know that she still desired him. That his touch was still welcomed by her, even if she was unsure of him. It was the thread he would hold onto until things could be settled.

Buffy was wearing a corset. A physical symbol of the emotional binding she suffered from. It was tight on her petite frame, bending her to its will with the boning that it was made from. It made him wonder how she’d managed to breath during their coupling. The reason was now clear as to why she had been gasping for air.

Later he would remove it and tend to the flesh pink from its confinement. Now he wanted to see her in it. Gaze upon her breasts threatening to tumble free of their bindings. Once upon a time he could have only fantasized about seeing her in something so alluring. Before she never would have worn something so deliberately sexual for him. It would have been admitting that she desired him. He pushed the dress off her shoulders and she sat up to tug it off.

“Lift,” Spike said.

He drew the dress down her body, watching as it revealed what he’d missed all these years. She was as lovely as he remembered. A few pounds added curves to the right places. Her waist cinched tight led to hips free for his exploration. Those legs he loved to be between were covered in silk stockings…everything she wore was virginal white. A lie played to perfection. He knew all the things she could do in the dark. How far into perversion she’d fallen with him. Who else had she shared those talents with? Why had she let it break her so completely?

His rage returned at the thought of her sharing the gifts he taught her with other men. He flung the dress to the floor, never taking his eyes from his woman. Buffy sat up as if she knew his mood had changed again. Her hands ran upwards along his thighs. Her eyes pleading for that love again and it angered him even more. She’d thrown his love into his face so many times and now she craved it like he did blood. Begged for it like he once said she would.

It was mutual though. They were bound together in ways that they didn’t even understand. A matched set, only completed when they were together.

He’d stayed away from her. Let her flounder through a life that wasn’t real while he did the same. It was only when she was about to belong to someone else had he been moved to bring her to him. It seemed he was more possessive then he thought he was. Or wanted to admit to. By his own hand she was with him and he could no longer hide from the need and the hatred he felt. Or from what she had allowed herself to become.

Buffy wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking it into hardness before lowering her head again. He watched his cock disappearing between those pink lips and into the heat of her mouth again. He grabbed her by the hair, gently tugging her away.

“My way,” Spike said when she looked up at him, startled by his refusal.

Spike pushed her down on the bed, amazed by her compliance to his demands. He lay between her legs, spreading them, before lowering his own head. He tasted their mingled fluids. Enjoying the richness of how they were together. His tongue darted to her clitoris, teasing it by circling around it, letting her come to a simmer again. She shifted beneath him.

“Please,” Buffy mewled.

He withdrew his tongue letting it cover the outside of her folds. He flicked the tip. It barely penetrated between her lips. His hands held her hips in an effort to hold her quivering form still. She was all motion though, arching up, trying to receive more of his attention. Her hands dived into his hair, pushing him against her.

There was power here. It thrilled him that Buffy was at his mercy again. Memories of nights gone by came to him. The nights that he gave everything to her, heart and body, and she used him for what she needed. His heart refused to acknowledge those moments of tenderness, of lovemaking, and all the times she called his name in the heat of the moment. Like now, no one could truly be there for her.

And no one gave a fuck about him.

What a pair they made.

His most precious memory came to him though. The first time she kissed him in gratitude for protecting Dawn from Glory. Never in his existence had anyone ever touched him with such gentleness. Oh, he had loved her before then, worshipped her, wanted her, but after that he was her willing slave for life. It was she that forever defined happiness and love to him.

He hated himself for it.

A weak, pathetic creature of the undead, loving the golden girl of the human race.

This time though he knew she was his. Her cunt pressed to his face, his nose buried in the musky wetness of her center, his tongue tasting the juices that ran for him. Here she was vulnerable and here is where he could hurt her the most.

Spike slipped his arm beneath her, flipping them so that she was sitting on his face. Buffy grabbed the headboard while he pulled her down so he could drink from her. Her essence mixed with his cum dripped down on him, cold, sticky, coating him from forehead to chin. He swiped his tongue along her slit, swallowing every bit he could get. She moaned above him. He ran his hands along her sides, laying them flat on her back as she rode his tongue.

“Oh, Spike, yes,” Buffy hissed. “I’ve missed you…what you can do.”

He slipped his fingers inside the velvet walls of her pussy, pressing upwards, until she trembled from the passion. Between tongue and finger, he played her like a symphony that haunted your sleeping moments, but when needed was readily recalled during the brilliance of day. She arched, and bucked above him, until he decided enough was enough. He yanked her down his body and onto his cock.

She didn’t hesitate. Buffy rose and fell on his hardened member like he was the prize bull at mating season. He felt the first roar of her coming. His fingers kneaded her thighs while her voice rose to a crescendo, shaking the walls with the scream that erupted at her orgasm. She clamped down on him as he pushed up into her. They continued to slap together until his body was tensed with need. He thrust upwards with his heels, going so far inside of her, into that heat to shatter into a million pieces and then let himself float back down. Buffy collapsed on top of him and he held her tight.

“I love you,” Buffy mumbled.

Her sigh of contentment brushed along his neck and shoulder in a gesture as intimate as the act they just committed. His hand skimmed over her body again, pulling her legs apart so they rested on either side of his hips. Then he pulled the comforter over them as best as he could, considering they were still lying on it. The room smelt of sex, sweat, and them. She was covered in his scent. Marked for anyone else to know she belonged to someone. Later, he thought brushing her hair away from her throat; I will mark her so that the world will see. I will drink of her and she of me. We will be one.


To be continued…





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