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Chapter 7


The desperate plea of her adoration for him seeped beyond the hard walls he was trying to maintain. Hands soft as the morning dew caressed his arms in gentle motions that sent chills along his spine. He was a fool again, always for Buffy, needing her love to make him whole. Too far gone to walk away, too deprived for too long, it made him give in to a desire that was a living thing between them.

“Make love to me,” Buffy requested, slipping her hands beneath his shirt then when he didn’t protest, tugged it upwards.

“I’ve always made love to you,” Spike whispered. “Always my heart is yours.”

“I know,” she replied, her eyes staring deeply into his. “I’ll take care of it this time.”

Nothing else mattered. This moment too longed for over years of lonely nights, filled with fantasies that never matched this intensity. Her surrender was too precious for him to find the logic that made this moment wrong. Everything forgotten as he pulled her to him, lips pressed together while clothes were pulled and torn from bodies already throbbing in lust.

Buffy threw her head back, gasping in air while her breasts arched closer to him. Her bra and tank top still clung to her arms leaving her tits framed by tattered white cotton. It was maddeningly erotic, innocence and sin, the two sides of his very being. He kissed her chin, nudging her head back just a bit more, so his tongue could blaze a trail down her throat to the valley between. He pressed those soft mounds against his cheeks, licking and nibbling on the flesh that separated them, while his thumbs teased at her nipples.

“Spike, oh god,” Buffy mewled, her fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him against her. She didn’t need to, there was no place else he wanted to be. This was his nirvana, and he was never letting it go again. He suddenly moved to grasp her hips, picking her up and sitting her on the counter. Her shirt and bra were yanked off to be discarded on the floor somewhere.

“Mine,” Spike growled, staring into emerald eyes ablaze with her passion. He shook her slightly when she didn’t respond. Her hair flopped forward, covering part of her face but neither of them took the time to fix it. He had to have an answer from her. “Are you mine?”

“Yes,” Buffy whispered. “I am yours.”

It was then that he cried, burying his face in her lap, too many emotions since he decided to go to her. Fear, loneliness, need, desire, love, and hopelessness wrapped up in a frightening package of forever. No one could ever take Buffy Anne Summers place in his heart and soul. She would take his very sanity one day and he would never even fight to keep it because he would be too entranced to see it go.

But it wouldn’t be today.

No today when he needed to see her fire again.

The cold hand of reason had finally reached him within the fingertips tracing his back. In the gentle reassurance of her being that should have been fervent instead of nurturing. The Buffy he brought home wasn’t the Buffy he died for and he needed her again. His anger at the injustice of life was back, burning his determination to return her to the throne she should be on and not kneeling at the edge of life. Spike gathered her in his arms, taking them both to the floor. She only stared up at him, waiting while he finished undressing them both. Once he was naked, he covered, pinning her hands above her head.

“Tell me you want me,” he whispered.

“I want you,” she said, almost hesitatingly.

“Do you feel my love when I take you?” he asked, nudging her legs apart. His cock poised at the entrance of her womanhood. “Do you feel it, Buffy?”

Her eyes closed and tears slipped down her cheek. She brought her legs up, opening to him in silent surrender. Still she didn’t see, didn’t understand, the purpose of his question or the violence of his moods. All he wanted was a spark somewhere in her frozen depths to tell him that she still lived. Hell, he would even willingly take another beating if it made her feel.

“You will,” he swore, sliding down her body, burying his face in her cunt. His tongue worked its magic in the devotion he showed. She squirmed beneath him, her hands trying to find purchase on cold tile, her feet sliding along his body as he brought her to orgasm. She welcomed him when he returned, accepting his kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. Her legs holding him tight while her fingernails dug deep into his shoulders.

This time he didn’t hesitate. He slid inside the tightness of her body, taking what was his. And as in every time before he lost all ability to think, their love took over the act as he thrust deep within her. Here she was still alive in everyway possible as she clung to him, accepted him within her body. He was home.

“No where else,” he muttered, as her heat drove him beyond reason. It was everywhere, encasing him in a molten cloud of need for more. Steam seemed to be rising from the floor…from them. Their bodies joined together in an endless tangle of lust. His cock was buried so deep inside of her that every movement pushed against the barrier to her womb. She cried out in need, want and desire. Her velvet walls squeezing him, milking him in sweet ripples that kept him from leaving her. He rolled, rotated, and bounced but never thrust. It was too welcoming inside of her.

It was too honest.

Their foreheads pressed together, their eyes locked, almost never blinking as they fucked here on the kitchen floor. How long they’d been like this, Spike had no clue. Didn’t care either. Her hands were pressed into his shoulders, the nails digging deep into his flesh, until he could feel his blood dripping onto her. It mingled with her sweat in pink rivers that ran between her breasts. Her knees pressed into his ribs, while her bottom rolled upwards, coaxing more of his cock into her. He could feel her toes trying to find purchase on his hips so that she had something else to hold onto.

Spike pressed off with his feet, driving into her with a sudden force that made her gasp. They slid on the smoothness of the tile beneath them. He pressed his hands into the tile to hold them still while his hips rotated, then he pushed against that bundle of nerves at the curve of her cunt.

“Yes, oh, god, Spike, yes,” Buffy mumbled, rolling upwards trying to maintain the sensation that was keeping her on the precipice of an orgasm. He was dangling her, teasing her with completion but never letting her have it. When she came, he wanted her screaming his name and her love until it vibrated the walls of his house. This wasn’t part of his plan or to torture her. It was because he didn’t want to let go of this creature beneath him. This was his Buffy, passionate, wild, beautiful, loving, and fiery enough to burn with the intensity of the sun. “I love you so much,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering close as she arched up under a tiny orgasm. Her body was overloading but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

Spike licked the tears and sweat from first one cheek then the other. She gazed up at him again, her eyes never leaving his even as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She sucked it in until he thought she would pull it from his mouth. A primitive creature devouring it in a ritual of claiming and love. He would give it gladly to keep her this way. He pushed up so that he could capture one perfect breast in his hand. He molded it, letting it form to the indentation of his hand, before pushing it into a point. His fingers slipped along to tease at the nipple, elongated in its need for attention. He rolled it, and then let his thumb flick across the tip.

It made Buffy pant even more. Her breath flowed over his face in rapid spurts that brought the scent of wine and her over him, intoxicating him with its sweetness. He grunted low in his throat as he gave up and kissed her again. Their tongues dancing together while her legs slipped around his waist. Her thighs quivered from the muscles being forced beyond their endurance. He felt a rush of her fluids drip from her, coating his balls with its thick honey. He shook under the power she brought to him with her sex.

It was heady, mythic in proportions and humbling to a vampire who once ruled the world with his evil. He would swim through holy water for this woman who deigned to allow him to touch the paradise that she held. He nibbled along her neck trying to relax, force himself to regroup so that he didn’t cum yet. She threw her head back, inviting him without words to claim her. It wasn’t time yet. He wanted a partner who was equal to him, not a pet to take care of. Without thinking he vamped out, throwing his own head back in a roar of rage at her acquiesce.

“Damn you, Buffy,” Spike snarled. “Damn you for what you do to me.”

She looked frightened for a moment. Her eyes large with surprise, then they narrowed in a brief spark of anger. She pushed at him, flipping them; they crashed into the cabinets, bounced off until he had her beneath him again. He grabbed her legs, pushing them up and apart, and rose to his knees. She struggled for a moment but then groaned at his first violent thrust. On the second, she came, calling out to him. He didn’t relent instead using his strength; he drove into her over and over again.

Buffy arched up, her hands covering his at her knees, until they’re fingers were entwined. She threw her head back as she came again. He lost counts of the times that her body coated him with the fluids of her orgasms. He never lost his vampiric visage as he took her. He wanted the power of it. The still lurking fear in emerald pools as she squirmed beneath him. Her every breath calling out his name, never asking for mercy but only for more, then tentatively she asked for his love.

“If you don’t know how I feel then you’re not half the woman I thought you were,” Spike muttered, falling onto her prone form again. He was immediately bound to her by arms and legs, pulling him close against her. Her hands cupped his face, her expression tender as she kissed the tip of his nose.

“You are my love,” Buffy whispered.

And he came in a relieving sigh as he collapsed into her. He felt his body quiver as he released himself inside her waiting depths while she soothed him with loving hands. For the first time since Los Angeles he felt safe. His tears fell again, splashing onto her as he buried his face in her neck. He cried out for the years lost, the foolish mistakes, the loss of the spirit of his Slayer, and then he cried when he felt his softened member slip from her depths. And he cried for being a bastard when all he wanted to do was be happy with her. Eventually his tears dried up and it was time to leave this cocoon of ignorance. He stood, scooping her up and heading for the bedroom. He wanted to hold onto this as long as he could, hold onto the woman that was his.


to be continued…





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