Chapter IV
His fantasies couldn’t hope to touch reality. Spike saw that now. And while he’d known it since the moment he surrendered to his love for her, there was something about her acceptance which couldn’t be denied. Reality never played out the way one imagined it, and he was glad. Very glad. For no matter how many times he’d dreamt of getting Buffy in his bed, there was something about the soft quiet between them now which no amount of hot sweat and heavy grunts could ever replace.
Not that his mind wasn’t on overload entertaining very naughty images. God, he was only a man, and she was the woman he loved. The woman for whom he’d sacrificed everything. He only lamented he didn’t have more to give. But his own needs were on hold—unimportant. He’d made her a promise and he was damn well determined to keep it. This was about being a friend. A listener. Being anything she needed.
He wanted to do this right by her so badly.
Judging by where he was now, he must be doing something right. Buffy hadn’t fled and he hadn’t awakened alone in bed, his will collapsing at the crushing blow it had all been a dream. He was on his back, two pillows propped under his head, and Buffy was in his arms. Her sweet little cheek was pressed against his shoulder, her left leg draped over his right, her body molding into his as though she wanted to crawl up inside him. As though she hadn’t already.
For his part, Spike had an arm around her waist, and his other hand kept debating whether or not to cover hers where it rested on his chest. He was fairly certain she hadn’t meant to snuggle up to him in her sleep and, while he was far from unhappy about it, he worried about how she would react upon waking.
He didn’t think she would blame him; oh no, if anything, the night had eased his worries that the wrong word would remind her who—and with whom—she was. Buffy was incredibly alert—even accepting—of him, which gave him more hope than he was rightfully owed. He knew their relationship couldn’t progress as he wanted if he kept treating her like an active minefield. That didn’t mean they couldn’t meet somewhere in the middle. In order to keep from treating her like said minefield, she needed to stop acting like one.
Last night she had. And while Spike wasn’t naive enough to think the morning sun wouldn’t chase Accepting Buffy away, something told him the revelations they’d reached together would not be forgotten. Her eyes had been clearer last night than he’d seen since her return. She’d looked more like herself.
She’d laughed as he spun her around his crypt.
She’d been happy.
Now she was asleep. Buffy was asleep in his arms. She was wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, save the white cotton panties he’d admittedly spied as she’d crawled into his bed. And Christ, he was fortunate she’d already noticed his erection and decided to blush but otherwise ignore it. The damn thing had refused to abate when they moved their snogging session downstairs, long after her lips finally parted from his. He’d donned a pair of cotton sweats to serve as pajamas, and though he’d been slightly bewildered to discover he actually owned cotton sweats, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He truly hadn’t been looking forward to sleeping in jeans. His typical nighttime attire was nothing at all, the much-too constricting confines of denim had seemingly been his only viable option until locating the mystery sweats.
Thin cotton was a horny man’s worst nightmare. His erection readily apparent to Buffy, she’d dragged her eyes from the tent in his pants to his abashed expression, turned a cute shade of pink, and wiggled under the covers.
Spike had slept, too, which surprised him. He’d settled into bed beside her—awash in her scent and positively buzzing on the high of her warmth—convinced that sleep would be impossible: not with Buffy in his bed, her taste in his mouth, her skin just inches from his eager fingers. He’d wagered he’d spend the night just watching her. Memorizing the way she looked and felt at his side. Under his sheets. Peaceful. Quiet. Those lips he’d kissed so thoroughly taunting him with their proximity. The heat of her burning him into a Spike-shaped hole in his own mattress. In his mind, sleep was far away. Unattainable. Not while Buffy was with him.
He was wrong. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out cold. Emotionally exhausted. Physically drained. More at peace than he’d felt in months. Instead of awkward and new, falling asleep with Buffy at his side had been breathtakingly natural. Like they did this always. As though every night of his existence had been nothing more than waiting for her to come home.
He was wide awake now, and Buffy was still with him. Her hand still rested on his bare chest. Her soft but lethal leg still draped over his. The molten heat of her center pressed against his hip. He felt everything. Felt the blood rushing beneath her skin, the echoes of her heartbeat, and the gentle wisps of her breath. She would occasionally murmur and shift, but she never made a move to leave his arms.
It was daylight now. He felt the sun rise as well as he felt the blanket of night. Judging by how drowsy he was, he wagered it was relatively early. He and Buffy had had a late night; from battling ol’ Sharky’s minions to the confrontation in the Bronze and everything that had happened afterward. The walk, the ice-cream, the bloody irritating discussions about her past loves and how sodding influential they’d been. But then, his temper when it came to Buffy and other men wasn’t exactly forgiving. He’d been harsh, rash, and while he stood by a lot of what he’d said, he knew a good bulk came from jealousy.
Buffy hadn’t minded his jealousy. She hadn’t turned away from him the second he stopped being sweet and kind. No, she’d sat there with him and they’d chatted it out. Like adults. Like two people working to be in a relationship together. She’d put everything on the table for him and trusted him to know what to do with it.
Trusted him not to break her.
And everything which followed. The crypt. The poem. Christ, her tears at the poem. Her incredulity that anyone would want to write anything for her. That she could inspire such feeling. Such sorrow. Such heartache. That he truly loved her as much as he promised he did, and his love for her hadn’t died when she jumped.
His love for her couldn’t die. It was the one thing he knew was everlasting. His love for her would survive him, her, the world—hell, the whole sodding universe.
Buffy knew it. She hadn’t run.
Instead, she’d danced with him.
Now all he wanted was to plan a day around her. Take her out, maybe to the local food mart to pick out some of the things she’d like him to keep at his crypt. Ironic as Big Bads Who Grocery Shop might be, it didn’t change what he wanted. He wanted the atmosphere he created to be as warm, open, and Buffy-friendly as possible. While he didn’t particularly entertain the notion that he would find himself playing the gracious host all that often, it was better to be prepared than to be taken off guard.
Spike was more than aware that it could all end when the blanket of night no longer covered them. Trying to peg Buffy’s mood was a dangerous game—one with which he was similarly through playing. After all, she’d gone from kissing his lips off outside the Bronze as her mates finished off a group sing-along to treating him like a leper. Time apart had given her mind a chance to poison itself against him. There was no reason to hope this morning wouldn’t have the same turnaround.
There was no reason, but there was hope.
Spike sighed, brushing hair out of her face with his free hand, his lips unable to keep from stealing a kiss off her brow. He loved her like this. He loved her always, of course, but he especially loved her like this. Cuddled against him, peaceful, at rest, and so trusting of him. So incredibly trusting. Just allowing him to hold her like this placed more trust in his arms than anything he could have imagined.
“Let me keep you,” he whispered into her hair.
Buffy murmured and shifted at that, but didn’t awaken. And God, the feel of her moving against his body, so innocent in her intent, so completely weightless in her rest, unwound him from the core.
That was until she whispered something unintelligible and stirred again, this time the hand at his chest slid unceremoniously down his abdomen and rested over his cotton-clad penis.
Because the Powers had a bloody rotten sense of humor. A curse rolled off his lips. “Bugger.”
It took all the willpower in this sodding universe and the next to motivate his hand to take her by the wrist. To lift her soft, blissfully warm touch off his rapidly-swelling cock. Just as it took all the willpower in this universe and the next to keep from thrusting up until he was cradled in the tender heat of her palm.
He didn’t. He was good. He was so good. Molesting Buffy in her sleep, or sanctioning her unconscious molestation of him, was definitely on the blacker side of the grey area around them.
That was all well and good for his head. His cock, however, had been touched—unintentionally but touched nonetheless—by the woman it craved beyond craving. By the woman he loved. His cock didn’t care that she’d been asleep and blissfully unaware of the fire she’d provoked.
His cock was joined by his brain, which immediately turned traitor and began assaulting him with lavish images, tainted now with the intimate knowledge of her taste. He still had her in his mouth, and with as close as she was—the scent of her filling his nostrils and the warmth of her small, perfect body consuming him entirely—it was impossible to keep his thoughts chaste.
His erection wasn’t going anywhere. It never did around Buffy. And now that he was awake and had her in his arms, he found himself in a rather hopeless place.
The last thing he wanted to do was start the day off on the wrong foot—especially if he could help it. He was not going to be responsible if all went to the bloody dogs. Thus with a long sigh, he carefully extracted himself from Buffy’s arms, ignoring the wail of every natural instinct in his aching body. The nerves which screamed at him for daring to put space between himself and perfection.
Nevertheless, Spike gasped with relief when whispers of air separated his skin from hers. The fog clouding his conscience dissipated and he was suddenly able to think clearly. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and fortified his will with a long, hard sigh. Then he cast an accusatory glare to his cock, which strained unrepentantly against his cotton sweats.
“You ruin this for me…” he said sharply, his shoulders rolling back with a long groan. “Lady told us, din’t she? Hands off. Give her what she needs.”
The tented fabric stared at him. Every inch of his body strained with want.
“Right,” Spike continued, exhaling deeply. “No matter. She saw it last night, yeah? Din’t make her run. I’ll take care of it. I’ll…”
The mattress dipped and whined under the pressure of sudden movement. Buffy was awake.
Of course she was awake. He was speaking rather loudly.
“Spike?” came her voice, rough with sleep but lacking condemnation. The sound lightened his heart. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, pet. Not a blessed thing.” He tossed a cautious glance over his shoulder, forbidding himself to meet her eyes as though such intimate contact would serve as the catalyst to his control’s demise. “Go back to sleep.”
Spike didn’t really expect her to listen to him. It would’ve been a first, after all. Tell Buffy to do something and she almost always did the opposite.
This was no different. She threw her arms over her head and yawned, and though he wasn’t looking at her, the visual his mind provided of her luscious body stretching on his bed didn’t do much to ease his erection. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Early. No need to get up jus’ yet.”
“I’m awake,” she replied, her voice slightly apologetic. “Symptomatic of being a single-big-sis-parent. You get used to getting woken up and staying up.” She paused. “What are your plans for the day?”
Spike perked a brow. “Not exactly one for makin’ plans. I’m more of a ‘go with the flow’ sorta bloke.”
“I guess that’s true. Kinda funny picturing you making a to-do list.” The air burst with a sweet, musical giggle. “And now I’m picturing it.”
He chuckled and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Yeah. What’s it got? Things like ‘get blood,’ ‘pick up smokes,’ ‘do something evil’?”
“Pretty much. It’s all cute…your little list of evilness.”
“Don’ rightly think anyone’s ever called me cute before.”
“I didn’t call you cute. Just this imaginary list I’ve made up.” Buffy sat up completely, raising herself up on her knees and inching toward him. “Are you going somewhere?”
Spike shot another futile glare to his cock; it did little more than twitch in reaction. Then her hand was on his naked shoulder and it was all he could do to keep his moan from escaping. “No,” he replied shortly. “No. Jus’…ahhh, Buffy, you better not—”
But it was too late. She’d made the discovery. He sensed the moment she realized it. Realized from what he was trying to protect her. Her breath drew up sharply and the hand on his shoulder went rigid. “Ohhh…” she said, her voice naught but a breathy little sigh.
“Buffy, I didn’t—”
“No. No, it’s okay.”
Any other time, he would have laughed himself silly at the notion of anyone giving him permission to sport a stiffy. But this wasn’t any other time, and Buffy most certainly wasn’t just anyone. She was his sodding everything and she was touching him. Her bare hand was on his shoulder, her skin imprinted with the scent of his own from both the tee she wore and the sheets in which she’d slept. Her delectable little quim was just inches away, nothing but a sliver of thin fabric separating her body’s deepest secrets from his desperately curious fingers. From the tongue which yearned to lick her up.
“I’m not good to be around,” Spike warned her. It was the courteous thing to do. “Not…not when you…”
“It’s okay,” she whispered again. And then he felt the soft touch of her heavenly lips whispering against his throat, her nails ever-so-gently etching a path down his back and around his side. In seconds, her hand was pressed to his belly, and it was making a fast-track southward.
Spike swallowed hard, sirens in his head ignited in a brilliant blaze. “Buffy? What…what are…”
She wasn’t coy. She didn’t tease. Her fingers encountered the waistband of his sweatpants and slipped beneath them without ceremony. And then she was touching him, her hot hand wrapping around his length with a cautious tenderness which set his body aflame. She was suddenly everywhere—oh God—her breasts pressed against his back, her legs splayed on either side of his. She had his cock in his hand and was exploring him slowly, gently, stroking the hard length of him with such sweet innocence he wondered for a minute if she was truly aware of what she was doing.
“Oh…God…”
“Is this what you need?” she whispered. He wondered maniacally if it was a trick question; as it was, his lungs had forgotten they didn’t actually serve a purpose and were ingesting oxygen so fast it was a miracle he didn’t choke. “I’ll give you what you need.”
It was the sort of thing every bloke lived to hear, and his Id roared in victory. But there was another voice—a louder one. The one which had conquered the devil last night—the one he was determined to keep in control. The voice of the man rather than the monster. The man who loved her.
“Not…Buffy…what you need…oh, such a hot…little hand…” He hissed and threw his head back as her fingertips skimmed the underside of his erection, her other hand coming into play. She had her arms completely around him now, and both hands were in his pants. Both hands were playing with him intimately, knowing him as he’d always dreamed she’d know him. One hand occupied itself with his cock, the other dropping to explore his testicles, and without warning, his body went on sensation overload.
Then she started peppering his neck with kisses again and the world about came apart.
“This is what I need.”
“Buffy…”
“I need it. I need you.” Her left arm wiggled free and suddenly his balls were without a companion. That was, until, she rose up on her knees and resituated herself so that she was curled around his front. Suddenly, she drew the swollen head of his erection between her lips and sucked hard.
“BUFFY!” He went on autopilot. His Cognitive thought bid him adieu. His hands wove through her hair, drawing it back out of her face as his hips subconsciously thrust upward, demanding more. More of her. More of her mouth. More of the wet haven to which she’d introduced him. She was so hot—Christ, she was going to burn him up. He was going to dust here with Buffy’s mouth around his prick. He was going to dust.
And hell, he didn’t care.
“So hot. So hot,” he gasped, arching up. Her mouth was rich, molten perfection, and if he burned up now, it’d be well worth it. Just to have her mouth around him—her tongue swirling, massaging him as she drew him in deeper, God deeper, until he brushed the soft back of her throat. “Buffy—oh God, yes. Jus’ like that…ahhh…”
She murmured, and the vibrations of her mouth sent electric shivers through his body.
Then she contracted her throat muscles around him and sucked hard when he hissed and bucked, his grip on her hair tightening as a long, tortured moan ripped through his lips.
“Buffy! Oh Buffy. So good. So bloody good. Love this. Love you. Love your mouth. Buffy…”
She released him with a wet plop, rubbing her cheek along his length before taking him into her hand again. “Wow,” she said. “Either I’m really good or you’ve just not had any in a long time.”
Spike laughed, gently coaxing her head upward so he could see her eyes. His body protested but he ignored it; their first time together, he wasn’t going to come in her mouth. “You’re amazing,” he whispered truthfully, kissing her lips. “So amazing.”
“Nuh uh,” she replied, flushing.
His lips, not content with only a sample of hers, wandered reverently across her cheek and peppered her brow. Buffy drew up, her eyes heavy with intent. She began inching backward where they’d lain before. And Spike followed, hopeless to do anything else. Every time her lips slipped from reach, he reclaimed them with fervor.
It occurred to him out of nowhere that this wasn’t a dream. The flesh beneath his was truly Buffy’s flesh. The mouth he kissed was truly Buffy’s mouth. The hand stroking his cock was truly Buffy’s hand. He had her in his bed and she was devouring him—starved, ravenous, and painstakingly open. Her mouth. Her hands. Her precious body. The heat of her burned his nostrils and drained his throat, and she was the only fount which could quench him.
He sighed. The air buzzed with tantalizing hints of her flavor. She was positively drenched. If his hand wandered between her legs, he would feel just how wet she was. How much she wanted him. And God, she made it so bloody hard to remember to be good. Was he still supposed to be good? She hadn’t announced a change in the rules and open invitation as sucking his cock might be, Spike had gotten this far by letting her define the relationship to this point. Even now with Buffy under him, welcoming him to lie between her legs, with his lips exploring her face as she stroked his erection, he was at an irrevocable standstill. He wasn’t about to bugger it up, no matter how warm and welcoming her body was or how blatant her signals were.
She might have touched him intimately, but she hadn’t asked him to touch her in kind.
“Buffy?” Spike murmured, dragging his lips from her skin. “What are we doing?”
“I’m seducing you.”
A nervous chuckle tickled the air. “No bloody seduction needed,” he gasped, his eyes rolling back as her mouth took chart down his throat. “I’m—ohhh. I’m yours…whenever you want…”
“I want you,” she whispered, her tongue lapping his skin. “I want you now. I want you right now.”
The words were a fantasy come to life. The roar of the devil at last dominated the cautious poet within, bursting through the glass in which he’d been contained all night. And yet, Spike managed to throw a lasso around the beast’s neck at the last second. He had to be careful. Had to make sure she was sure. He had to, but bugger if he remembered why. All he wanted to do was have his wicked way with her. And for the way she smelled, the little sounds she made, the way her body moved beneath his…she wanted it, as well. She wanted it and she wouldn’t say no.
Not now. But after…
The devil halted. The poet raced forward. “I thought,” he continued, even as his will withered into nothing. “I…I thought you…you said you weren’t…weren’t ready.”
“I know what I told you, but that was last night and I’m ready now.”
There had never been sweeter words. “You are?”
Buffy’s lips curved upwards against his throat. “I have my hand around your…thing—”
Spike laughed, grateful for the reprieve. “If you’re gonna stroke it, you should be able to address it properly, love.”
“Hey! Easy for you to say.” An adorable pout fell across her face as her wandering mouth began nibbling on his chin. “How do you even…address a…your thing?”
His hands began a slow slide down her arms. “I rather liked the way you addressed it a minute ago,” he said with a smirk.
“You would.”
“Well, yeah. Guy here.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Men are all alike.”
“Oi!” That comment definitely deserved a ravenous kiss as punishment. In fact, Spike mused as he greedily sucked on her heavenly tongue, he should enforce this sort of punishment more often where she was concerned. “What changed?” he asked, releasing her breathlessly. “Why now?”
To his amazement, she burst into a fiery red. “I…I needed to be sure.”
His hands were becoming increasingly boisterous, now at her thighs, one slipping dangerously close to the hem of the tee. “Needed to be sure of what, pet?”
“That you would…that you weren’t confusing love feelings for lust feelings.” She blinked rapidly when his eyes narrowed and hardened into a glare. “I know,” she said. “I know. I have no reason to doubt—”
“I should think not,” Spike replied, his voice clipped.
“But I needed…it was for me, okay? I knew it but I needed to…I dunno, really know it?”
“If I just wanted into your knickers, I would’ve—”
“Last night. Or after the musical demon. Or any of the times I’ve been alone with you and all vulnerable-girl. I know.” She worried her delicious lower lip between her teeth, and what little rush of irritation had seized his spine relinquished its hold almost immediately. “I just needed it. I can’t explain why. Like a last little test for the hardened cynic within? Every time I think of you…or thought of you…and the way you look at me, I know it’s…I know you love me, Spike. But my inner Giles keeps trying to talk me out of it by saying vampires are driven by their earthly pleasures or whatever, and if I just…if I proved to myself that you’d…the cynic’s gone. Completely gone. You did nothing to make me think you don’t love me.” She blinked again, and for a horrible moment he thought she might cry. The last thing he wanted was tears. “I’m sorry.”
His anger receded, and his hands resumed their efforts in getting her bare skin beneath his once more. “It’s all right, kitten,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her chin. “I understand.”
And the thing was, he did. He truly did.
Love’s a funny thing.
“I’ve known it since you let yourself become Glory’s punching bag,” she said quickly, her voice dissolving into what he easily identified as the Buffy Babble. She was apparently determined to make up for her blunder, however slight the offense was. “That night on the stairs…both nights…when I went up and came down…and then in your crypt, I knew it. I’ve known it forever, I just—”
“Shhh. It’s all right.”
“I’m lousy.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Spike countered, at last finding it safe to fist the material of the tee she wore with intent which couldn’t be mistaken. And yet, he had to allow her this. One last out. After they did this, after this step was taken, there would be no going back. None. He wouldn’t let her shove him away after last night, after this morning; not after the emotional highs they’d reached, and not after making love.
“Buffy,” he said softly, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin where her thighs joined her hips. “You know this is gonna change everything, right?”
She trembled and nodded, but there was no fear in her eyes. “Everything’s already changed.”
His breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” A pause, and then the world spun off its axis. “I love you.”
Spike froze, locked, elated and terrified in the same instant. His eyes flooded with tears and for an erratic second, he could’ve sworn his heart was thundering. The air both chilled and burned. There was nothing but her in that moment. Nothing but Buffy. The pillow under her head dissolved. The bed, the crypt, the cemetery—the whole bloody world amounted to nothing. He saw nothing but her. Knew nothing but her. And the words—God, the words—over and over again. Repeated. Needed.
“You…”
“I love you,” Buffy whispered again, and he realized with a start it was her eyes that were watering, not his. His were too wide, too astounded. She was going to cry, and she loved him. “I do, Spike. I really do.”
“Oh God.”
A beat, and then she arched a brow. “Is that all I get?”
The moment unfroze, and he growled, lunging for her mouth. He kissed her ruthlessly, wildly, both drowning in the taste and starving for more. His hands slipped entirely under the shirt, feeling her without seeing her. Oh God, the soft skin of her belly, hardened with muscle but still tender, the gentle rise and fall as she took every breath. She breathed, and he loved feeling her as she breathed. She was so soft and his hands couldn’t stop. They inched up. And up—up until his fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts, and nearly collapsing at the way she shivered at his touch.
“All you get, she says,” he retorted roughly. “I love you, you daft chit.”
Buffy laughed. “So poetic.”
“Not really known for my poetry.”
“Which is stupid. Did anyone ever read it? I mean really.” She grinned and raised a hand to his face. “Do you have more?”
His breath caught needlessly. “You don’t want to see it.”
“I don’t?” she replied with a frown, her brows bunching together adorably. “What? Was that supposed to be some vampire version of the Jedi Mind Trick?”
“I just got you. Don’t wanna scare you off.”
“You remember I’m the Slayer, right? I think it’ll take more than a few words to scare me.”
Spike chuckled appreciatively and drew away. He was going to do this right by her if it killed him. “Wouldn’t be sayin’ that if I were you, pet,” he replied, holding up a hand and winking when her face fell and she reached for him. “Ah, ah. Patience is a virtue.”
“So says you!”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, the invite said this was a strictly naked party.” He arched a brow and slipped to his feet, feeling slightly ridiculous with his pants around his hips and his cock bobbing out, though not at all embarrassed. Not even when her frown turned into a giggle. Fuck, the sound of her laughter was an aphrodisiac all in itself. He was determined then and there to make her laugh as much and as often as possible, even if it meant forsaking his pride. “You got to work, but you din’t finish the job.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed.
“I mean the…clothing removal,” Spike said hastily. “Not the other…job. But now that I think of it, if you ever want—”
“You’re a goof.”
“Oi!”
“You’re a goof and you’re the one who stopped me from finishing either job.”
Spike feigned a sigh, kicking the offending material down his legs. He didn’t miss the way her eyes widened as they took him in for the first time, or the way they lingered on his erection. For a girl who had explored that particular part of his anatomy with her mouth, she certainly did seem surprised…though at what he couldn’t say. “Is it my fault,” he continued, his voice drawing her eyes back to his. “That your mouth is so bloody kissable?”
“So you’d prefer my mouth on your mouth rather than…” She glanced down again, blushing but not looking away. Then, brightening, she straightened as though solving a riddle. “Hey…you’re not circumcised.”
Spike stared at her blankly before dissolving into a rich laugh. “Jus’ now figure that out, have you?”
“Well, forgive a girl for being a little dazed. First there’s the whole ‘having been dead’ thing, followed by the ‘haven’t had sex in a bajillion years’…plus there’s the whole thing where you’re all…big and stuff.” She blushed again and looked away, and Spike reacted as any man whose equipment had just been appraised and complimented.
He leered.
“I’ll fill you up in all the right places,” he promised, taking himself in his left hand.
Whatever she’d been prepared to say died on her lips, her large eyes following the strokes of his hand as he pumped his length. The scent of her arousal thickened, which only made him harder. She was turned on by watching him wank. There’d never been a more perfect woman.
“Well…I…uhhh…”
The poet whispered that the gentlemanly thing to do was to stop and let her collect her thoughts. The devil countered that the poet was a right git who’d never gotten near enough a woman to know what was and wasn’t gentlemanly, and if Buffy was drooling at watching him touch himself, it’d be a sin to stop.
“…not…thoughts…have…kinda gone away.”
Spike smirked. She was too bloody adorable for words. “See something you want?”
She nodded numbly. Then she met his eyes again and offered a shy smile. “So, are you gonna make with the lovin’ or stand there and tease me all morning?”
“Me? Tease you?” he replied, releasing his cock as his knees edged up on the mattress again, worming their way between her open legs until he was perched between them. “I think this is the part where I use some overworked cliché to make a point.”
Buffy grinned and made to toss the tee off once and for all. The grin faded when he seized her wrist, stopping her. “What?”
“Our first time, sweetheart. I get to do all the touching.” He batted her hands away, capturing the black cotton in his fist. “Waited too bloody long. Wanted to undress you like this. Jus’ like this.”
“You have fantasies starring me and your t-shirt?”
His eyes narrowed. “’Course I do. I have fantasies starring you an’ tubs full of baked beans. I have fantasies starring you an’ every sodding combination of everything you can possibly imagine. More over, there’s not a bloke living or dead who doesn’t get hard at the idea of the woman he loves wearing his clothing.” The fabric inched slowly up her abdomen, revealing bits of flesh to his hungry eyes. The dip of her stomach. Her cute little belly button. Up, up, and then her breasts were bare. Small, soft, firm…his mouth watered, his eyes caught, ensnared. He was going to suck them tender before the day was out. Ripe little nipples like hers should always have a mouth around them—as long as the mouth in question was his.
The t-shirt was gone in seconds, and they were both panting. He’d never before gotten so hot in the simple act of removing clothing. Buffy was a war-zone full of firsts, and every explosion was more delicious than the last.
And she was lying before him, wearing only those white cotton panties he’d admired the night before. Her breasts heaved. Locks of golden hair tumbled over her shoulder. The look in her eyes embodied the spirit of a woman both lost and found. Scared witless but so entirely trusting of him at the same time. She had no idea how beautiful she was. How just looking at her could take up a whole afternoon. He hadn’t even touched her intimately yet—this was foreplay to foreplay, and he loved it.
“Baked beans?” she whispered, apparently desperate for words. “You have fantasies about me in baked beans?”
“What?” Spike retorted, unable to drag his eyes away from her breasts. His hands were no longer content to just sit. He skimmed the length of her stomach until he had one cradled against each palm, and he and Buffy both shivered on contact. “I s’pose some ninny told you baked beans were for eatin’, is that it?”
“Th-they’re not?”
He shook his head, his body falling forward. Reeled in. Captured. Caught. He brushed a tender kiss across one of her nipples and trembled when she trembled, moaned when she moaned, then turned to give the other the same attention. “The only thing I’m interested in eating is you,” he growled, flicking her rosy protrusion with his tongue. “All night. Every night. Every day, for that matter. A bloke could die happy between your legs.”
“I don’t…want you to die,” she replied lamely, her head falling back. Her fingers wove through his hair on their own accord.
“Good thing I don’t need air, then. You’re gonna squeeze me so tight…”
“Spike, please…”
He finally drew her nipple fully between his lips, whimpering helplessly as she gasped and bucked beneath him. The dew clinging to the crotch of her panties taunted his tastebuds, but he was too focused on the perfect flesh in his hands and mouth to pull away. “Taste so good,” he whispered, his tongue licking the underside of her breast. Then he was pressing a series of wet, needy kisses across her chest until he had her previously neglected flesh consumed entirely.
“Unnh…”
He smiled, nipping at her. “Not a word, love.”
“I’m really gonna pay you back for this,” she swore, tightening her grip on his head. “Maybe find some of those chains you had last year and make with the…the…the whatever this is. Death-by-the-goodness-of-your-mouth.”
He chuckled. “Is that s’posed to intimidate me?”
“You’ll see!” She bucked her hips again. “Spike, touch me!”
“I am touching you.” He nipped at her again. “Bet you had no idea your titties were this sensitive, did you?”
“Ahhh…”
“My sweet, innocent slayer…”
“Innocent my ass!” she cried, though it would’ve been more effective had she not dissolved into a moan. “I’m…uhhh…I’m bad news.”
Spike laughed harder, releasing her nipple with a wet plop. “Yeah,” he agreed, his mouth moving southward, pressing kisses across every inch of skin he found. “You’re a real rebel.”
“Well…” Buffy moaned and arched off the mattress again, trying to hurry along the process. He just grinned and seized her by the hips. And then he was buried between her legs, inhaling her scent and rubbing his face against her. Whatever she’d been about to say died that instant, rolling instead into a long, “Ohhh!”
“Somebody’s wet,” he singsonged, pressing his tongue against the damp crotch of her panties. “Mmm…God, Buffy…” Gingerly, he lowered her back to the mattress and hooked his thumbs under the elastic. Then he met her eyes. “Once these come off, they’re staying off.”
It was beyond satisfying, watching her claw and gasp for air. Her breasts were wet from his mouth, her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was tussled. Goddess. “So take them off, already!” she demanded, wiggling.
“I mean for good. No slayer of mine goes around wearing knickers.”
“Really? I thought you’d be the type of guy who’d go for some black lace.”
The image his mind flashed him had him reevaluating his decree. “Maybe some knickers are okay. But not now. Not when we’re here.” Then he was stripping them down her legs, practically purring when she lifted her hips to help him along. He didn’t look up at her. Not yet. He wanted nothing in his hands but her flesh. Nothing…
The panties were gone. Spike looked up.
And his jaw dropped.
Buffy squirmed and turned a shade of red he’d never seen before. “Surprise?”
In honesty, it was nothing too terribly kinky…on some people. On Buffy…well, had his heart been in a position to give him an attack, it would have. He raised a trembling hand to her pussy, running his fingers over the smooth, hairless flesh he’d unwrapped. She shivered beneath him but didn’t try to hide or close her legs or conceal herself from him. She let him pet her, let him take her in, even as her body shook.
“Bloody hell.”
“It’s not gonna do a trick or anything,” Buffy said, her sarcasm betrayed by the tremor in her voice. She was anxious at presenting herself, her vagina as smooth and soft as the rest of her, and completely bald. She knew he hadn’t expected it. “Or bite you, for that matter.”
Spike met her eyes, his dancing with amusement. “I dunno…that would be either very hot or bloody terrifying.”
The red in her cheeks deepened. She turned her head to gaze at the wall. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry. You took me by surprise.” His fingers slipped lower until they were parting her labia, and all of him shuddered at the honey waiting to be tasted. “Din’t figure you…”
“I used to…get waxed. Back when I patrolled in mini-skirts and heels.”
He swallowed hard. God, if only he’d known then. “An’ now?”
“Now?” Buffy paused, then met his eyes again. “I guess…ummm…this is for you.”
“What?”
“I didn’t admit it at the time…not consciously, anyway. But I thought you’d…I dunno. Like it.” Her squirms became more pronounced. “I’ve known for a while, I guess. More than my just liking you and being okay with it. I think I knew I loved you. At least, I knew I wanted this. And I wanted you to like…me. Like…my body?”
Spike arched a brow, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing her gently. And God, watching her face dissolve in pleasure nearly had him spilling himself across her skin like some virginal teen. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
“I wanted you to really like me.” She blinked. “I saw the Bot, Spike. When she changed before the Glory-fight…she had to wear my clothes and since it was my body I…I saw her. She—”
“Was a stupid mess of wires and plastic, an’ I was a dolt for thinkin’ any amount of that could even begin to…” But his thoughts lingered, remained. She was right. The Bot had been bare down south, too. At the time he hadn’t given it much thought. It’d been a robot, after all, and there was only so much time a bloke could spend contemplating her mock-Buffy parts before ravaging her. If he’d thought too much, too hard, he would have come back to the conclusion he’d already reached before the order was even placed: she was a substitute for what he couldn’t have. No matter how hard he pretended, having her around would end up being a perpetual reminder that Buffy didn’t want him.
Only Buffy did want him. Buffy was in his bed, sighing and blushing and drenching his fingers. Her pussy was plump and smooth andhis, and she’d made herself bare down there for him. Because she’d seen the Bot. Because she thought he’d prefer this.
“You did this for me,” he said hoarsely, unable to draw his eyes away from her wet, pink flesh. The swollen little button of a clit his thumb couldn’t help but tease. “You…”
“It’s not like I got your name tattooed—”
“Buffy…you did it for me.” A long, happy sigh rumbled through his throat, his mouth descending. “You smell so good.”
It wasn’t until his objective was perfectly clear that the nervous look in Buffy’s eyes catapulted into all out panic. She made a quick move to close her legs—a quick move, but not quite quick enough. Spike’s hands braced her inner thighs stubbornly, determined to keep her spread. He felt the rush of blood beneath his fingers and watched, transfixed, as her most intimate flesh quivered under the power of his gaze. “Ah ah,” he murmured, unable to draw his eyes away from her. “You gave this to me, love. It’s all mine now.”
“You don’t have to—”
The tremor in her voice lent him pause. He glanced up.
“That…ummm…what you’re…” Buffy shifted—or tried to shift—but his hands held her down, determined to explore her even if he had to tie her to the bed. “It doesn’t do much…for me.”
Somehow he doubted that, but he was willing to play. “It doesn’t?” he replied, his tongue diving to take a long lap of her slit. And Christ, she became unmade around him; she whimpered helplessly and thrust herself against his face. It was damn near impossible to hide his grin. “Right. Pull the other one.”
“Ohh…my God.”
“That din’t do much for you?”
“I…uhhhh…I never…” Buffy blinked rapidly, her brow furrowing as she ostensibly fought to pull thoughts together. “I don’t…I mean…guys don’t like doing…that.”
Spike domed a brow. “You mean blokes you’ve been with,” he corrected, irritation swelling within his chest. “Soldier Boy din’t take the full bloody tour?”
As much as he loved the idea of being the first to do this right by her, there was such rotten injustice at whatever notion her former lovers had planted in that gorgeous skull of hers. Any man who didn’t salivate at the thought of tasting her had a few dangerous screws loose.
She was blushing something fierce again. Undoubtedly, discussing her past sexual liaisons was the last thing she’d had in mind this morning. And while his gut clenched at the mere thought of the wankers who had touched her before, he knew this was needed. Better to get everything out on the table now rather than later. “He did,” she said. “But…ummm…he didn’t like it.”
“I thought you were the one who din’t like it.”
Spike thought he did a right admirable job in keeping his tone level for as outraged as he was. Trust Captain Cardboard to muck up the best thing anyone would ever find and make her believe the problem was hers.
“I don’t.”
“You mean you din’t like it when he did it,” he replied sharply, dipping his index, middle and ring fingers between her pussy lips, caressing her softly but not entering her. “You fancied yourself up for me. Lemme have a taste?”
“I don’t taste good.”
Bollocks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Spike settled between her legs entirely, the fingers already exploring her daring to sink a bit deeper, his right hand splaying out across her stomach. “I’ll stop if you want,” he promised softly, burying his face in her wet heat and inhaling. God. “But lemme taste.”
There was no reply, but she’d gone rigidly still as though she expected him to reel with disgust, wipe his lips clean, and search out the nearest mouthwash. Whatever had happened to her in the past had obviously made her jittery enough to think her taste so repugnant it would send him screaming.
Silly slayer.
Silly, delicious slayer.
“You really don’ know, do you?” Spike murmured. “How gorgeous you are down here?”
He spread her wide with his fingers and bared her wet, pink pussy to his hungry mouth. He didn’t waste time. His tongue took a slow, methodical sample of her flesh, rolling her honey in his mouth, his eyes falling shut. “You’re dripping,” he whispered, shaking. “Have you always been this wet for me?”
Buffy inhaled sharply, her lips falling apart with a melodious little whimper. “I…maybe? Oh…Spike…”
A rush of male pride slithered down his spine. He’d barely started touching her and she was already in a tangle. “Lesson the first, baby,” he murmured, licking her again, his tongue rougher, his body tightening. “There’s not an inch of you I don’t wanna devour. Especially this delicious quim.” The warm softness of her folds against his mouth was enough to do any bloke in. Feeling her wiggle beneath him, arching off the bed when he delved closer to penetrating her fully, his index finger running a torturous lap around her clit without touching her…there was nothing in the next world which could frighten him as long as he had her right now.
“Spike…”
“I love hearing you say my name like that,” he whispered, his tongue dipping inside her ever so slightly. Then again, and again, and then he was consuming her in earnest. Every sinful caress his taste buds stole of her sodden flesh made him entirely grateful he was on the bed, else he was sure his knees would give and he would collapse. She was so hot. So supple. So juicy. And it kept coming. Lick after lick; there wasn’t enough. She was going to drown him with her liquid sugar and he was her willing victim. There was no better way to go.
“Please!” she gasped, flailing off the mattress.
He pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Please what?” before renewing his assault.
“My…touch my…”
Spike arched a brow, his mouth curving into a grin. “Touch your what, darling?”
A long mewl rolled off her lips. “Spiiiiike, please!”
“You can ask as much as you want,” he replied between licks, his eyes dancing, his tongue plunging in and out of her in a manner which made his cock twitch with envy. “I’m not gonna know what you mean unless you say it.”
“So…unfair!” she complained half-heartedly, her hands fisting the bed sheets and yanking so tightly he was sure they would rip into bits. “Don’t…don’t make me…”
“What?” he asked, his index finger continuing its tortuous circle around her clit, granting her the hint of touch without actually touching her. God, she was a vision. Her skin damp with sweat, her honey-hair clinging to her forehead, her eyes wide and locked with his. So trusting. So open. The hand on her stomach remembered itself and quickly snaked upward to play with one of her nipples, and he had to fight off a chuckle when she dissolved into another long moan. She was so gorgeous like this, and she would never again be taken for granted. “Don’t make you what? Scream? Come till you can’t come anymore? Help a fella out, Slayer…”
“Say it,” Buffy gasped, thrusting herself wildly against his face.
Spike blinked, all innocence. “Say what?”
“I. Hate. You.”
“No, you love me. You told me so. Can’t take it back.” He grinned when she just glared at him, loving the liberated rush which shivered down his spine. She loved him. He felt it in every luscious quiver of her body. Every time her eyes clashed with his. Every time she whimpered his name, he felt her love for him. It was enough to reduce a grown man to tears.
“Please, Spike,” she hissed through her glare. “Touch…me…touch my…please.”
“Touch your what?”
“You know damn well what!”
His tongue took another long swipe of her pussy. “Maybe. I still wanna hear you say it.”
Oh, if looks could stake.
Still, he got what he wanted. “My clit. Please.”
Her voice breathing life to that one illicit word was perhaps the most erotic thing he’d ever heard, though granted, she kept redefining eroticism. “Buffy,” he gasped, leaving his fingers to fill her opening, his mouth drawn immediately where she needed him. “You unmake me.”
“I will if you don’t—”
He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard. He rolled her around his mouth, attacked her with his tongue, pulled lightly on her flesh and relished her every cry. His fingers developed a natural rhythm, pushing her closer to the edge. Feeling her body tighten and her legs close around his face. Holding him there as he gobbled her up, as her juices spilled down his hand, as he drew her harder between his lips, shaking her, massaging her, loving her with his mouth. With everything he was.
“Ohh…oh my…oh my God—I…Spike, oh my…”
He wanted to encourage her but didn’t dare tear himself away. Instead, he focused on relaying as much as possible with the strokes of his tongue. With his eyes. With every dip his fingers took inside her.
Drench me, baby. Drench me so good.
Her back rolled off the mattress a final time, and she exploded with a harsh cry, shaking so hard the ground shook with her. The walls swallowed her euphoric gasp and he abandoned her clit to his fingers, rubbing her gently as his mouth greedily sucked in her spendings. She burned his throat and he couldn’t get enough.
He could never get enough.
“Oh…”
Spike didn’t even try to conceal his self-satisfied smirk. He couldn’t. No more than he could help his tongue from stealing one final lap of her pussy before he rose up on all fours. “Yeah,” he purred, dropping kisses along her belly as he made his way up her delectable body. “You don’ like being eaten. Not at all.”
“Shut up,” she sniped affectionately, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him down for a long, desperate kiss. “Not. A. Word.”
“Bloody shame, you not liking it,” he teased, sliding a hand between them. Then—Christ—his cock was pressed against her naked pussy, the head exploring her wet folds, teasing them both mercilessly with little jerks of his hips. “You don’ want me to fuck your quim with my mouth again?”
“I never…said…that.”
“Well, if you don’ like it—”
“It was amazing and you know it.” Buffy bit at his lips desperately and tried to reach between them. Tried to force him to position his cock at her opening, but he batted her hand away, pressing his tip against her clit and rubbing them both blind with pleasure.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Spike grinned against her mouth. “You want me inside?”
“Inside now. Inside now please.” She kissed his lips desperately, hungrily, her eyes wide with need. “Spike…oh God…”
He shook, barely daring to believe it. Believe he was here. Poised above Buffy—Buffy in his bed. Buffy’s taste in his mouth. Buffy’s lips nipping at his. Buffy’s warm body aching and ready for him. Love shone in her eyes.
This is mine.
“Gotta say the words,” he murmured, honestly not knowing to whom he spoke or what words he wanted. Right now anything would do.
Buffy chose for him.
“I love you,” she whispered, cupping his face. “I do love you, Spike.”
His heart sang and tears stung his eyes. “I love you, too,” he replied, sinking inside her with a moan of completion. There was nothing more perfect than this. Her pussy hugged him, tightened around him as though determined to keep him locked in her body forever. “Oh Buffy. Buffy. So tight. So wet. Oh my God.”
Buffy flexed and whimpered beneath him. “Spike…”
“Feel so good. So warm. Around me. God, Buffy…” Spike pressed his lips to her temple, her cheek, her chin. “So good. Gonna…” He withdrew completely, waited a beat, then slipped inside her again, a long sigh rolling off his lips. “Feel…love this…”
There were many ways he’d envisioned their first time together. A rampant ripping of each other’s clothes, perhaps as the capstone to a long sparring session in the cemetery. He’d pictured her visiting him one night, completely desolate and in need of something only he could provide. He’d imagined fucking her hard against the crypt wall. He’d imagined her riding him to a gallop in the green rocker upstairs. He’d imagined being discovered sneaking into her room, and then invited beneath the blankets with her. Outside, inside, hard, fast, slow, soft, tender, rough…a thousand different ways. But there was absolutely nothing to compare to this. To the slow hum of her skin. The roll of her hips as she lifted herself to recapture him every time his cock slipped from her body. The way the vortex of her eyes sucked him in, absorbing him, seeing what no one else saw. What no one else had ever wanted to see.
Her breaths crashed against his lips. She was so open. So vulnerable. So completely his. And she loved him.
“This is so different,” she whispered, digging her nails into his forearms and gasping when he pulled away from her. She arched off the bed instinctively, taking him back, reclaiming him, marking him, pulling him into her pussy and squeezing so hard the world blinked into light. “So different than I…thought…”
“Good different, I hope,” he murmured, driving into her a little rougher. The widening of her eyes had his heart jumping. He kissed the side of her mouth. “You’ve imagined this, then?”
“Lots of times.”
The admission made him ache. “Yeah?”
“Naughty…little…fantasies.” A seductive little grin crossed her lips and she lifted her head to kiss him, her vaginal muscles constricting as he slipped a little deeper inside her. “Things…no slayer…should think about.”
Spike grinned and sucked her lower lip between his teeth, his left hand scaling down her side and hooking under her knee. The rhythm they kept was careful but perfect. He felt every crevice of her. Every pull of her flesh against his cock. The way she molded around him, drank him in. And as much as he loved loving her slowly, the raging beast in his chest was roaring toward an unsteady explosion. He needed her hot and writhing. He needed her scratching his back and screaming his name so loud, the walls shook. He needed everything.
He just needed.
“So good, Spike. You feel…”
And harder still. Rougher. She clenched him so perfectly with every thrust. His cock, slick with her juices, couldn’t bury deep enough inside her. The springs of his bed whined with every plunge, the smacks of their bodies becoming heavier and more pronounced. His chest tightening as gasps for air pounded against his lungs. His eyes devoured her, his mouth helpless to keep from kissing her skin. Perfect. God, she was so perfect. So hot. So his.
“Feel…”
“Tell me, kitten,” he pleaded softly, nibbling on her lips. “Tell me…how I feel…”
“Feel like…home.” Tears blinked behind her eyes, scaring him witless until he caught the euphoria behind them. Her hands traveled down his back until she had his ass at her mercy, and then she was driving him. Faster. Harder. Her head flew back and a soundless cry rode off her lips. “Don’t leave,” she whimpered desperately. “Never leave.”
“Never could,” Spike swore, and God how he meant it. “I could never leave, Buffy. Not you. Never. Love you. Love you so much.”
“How much?”
The question startled, him but he wasn’t about to break away from a challenge. “Like the sky has stars,” he gasped. “That’s how I love you.”
She nodded and tore another needy kiss from his lips. “Me too,” she told him, her voice so soft he thought for a second that he’d dreamt it. That was, until, her face crumbled and she began crying in earnest. But there was no pull of panic this time; these weren’t tears of sadness. These were tears of release. Tears she needed. Tears she gave him as he pumped hotly into her pussy, bathing her face with kisses, feeling her tense and tighten around him. She wept.
“Spike…”
Spike released her leg at last and slipped his hand between their battling bodies in search of her clit. “’m here,” he promised. “’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
He found her, rubbed her, and watched as she dissolved. Her eyes locked with his and held. He felt her tense and tighten around him. Felt her hold on, and then she was gone. Crying. Trembling. Coming so hard she pulled him right along with her. Her arms went around his neck again, her lips ravaging his with desperation he recognized. Desperation he’d never thought anyone could feel for him. But there it was—she consumed his lips and claimed his tongue, cleansing him with her tears.
“I love you,” she told him again, as though worried he wouldn’t believe her. “I do. I do, Spike. So much.”
“I know.”
And he meant it. He truly did know.
He knew Buffy loved him.
The knowledge made him tremble.