X
It was no surprise when she awoke in bed alone the next morning, but Buffy couldn’t help the sinking in her stomach when the arm around her middle vanished in the morning light. Spike had been cuddled at her back just seconds ago, purring gently into her ear and doing increasingly naughty things to her with his perpetually wandering hands. Every few minutes his hungry mouth would dip to explore her neck or her breasts or whatever he was hungry for, whispering precious adorations against her skin. Her heart was systematically being sewn back together, piece by piece, and for the first time in weeks she felt the future was again in her hands.
“Tell me again,” he’d whispered just before the tug of dawn had drawn her away. “Please…”
There was no denying him anything. Buffy had turned in his arms and kissed his lips, bearing her heart in her eyes. “I love you.”
If nothing else, the look on his face would remain with her forever.
The night had given her so much. There was warmth across the formerly icy plains of her heart and within the once-frozen channels of her veins. And though a part of her withered at awakening in an empty bed, the larger part of her was rejuvenated and charged with hope.
The largest part of her was trying to come to terms with everything the night had given her. How she could have gazed into her mirror just a few short hours ago consumed with guilt and self-disgust. How she could now gaze into the same mirror without drowning in despair. How she could think about facing another day without collapsing.
How so much could change in her sleep.
Spike’s words followed her through her morning routine. He was with her when she showered. He stood in the corner as she styled her hair. He leered at her as she rifled through her panty drawer and pouted when she ultimately dressed. He gently brushed his lips across hers before she left her room, promising he would be there when she returned.
Buffy faced the world no longer a virgin. Her legs wobbled when she met her mother’s eyes over the kitchen island; when Joyce told her she looked different. Buffy didn’t know how it was different, but in some way, it made sense. She felt different. Every step she took rocked her mind back to the magical night she’d shared with the man she loved. Everything in her eyes had changed.
But it had all taken place on a realm beyond the physical world. Her body was technically still untouched. Spike’s hands had never wandered between her legs in reality. Spike’s lips had never touched her clit, just as his cock had never been in her mouth. Every kiss they’d shared would be deemed a fantasy by the casual observer. And aside from the erotic encounter the night Billy Ford had tried to sell her out, nothing tangible had ever happened between them.
It amazed her that so much could have taken place without actually taking place. But then again, these dreams weren’t just dreams. What had occurred in reality had only reinforced her conviction. There was something greater at hand. Something allowing their minds to meet each other.
She just didn’t know what.
And in many ways, Buffy was beyond caring about how or why. She only knew what she knew, and trusted Giles to fill in the gaps should they need to be filled. Perhaps there were some things which didn’t have an explanation. Stranger things had occurred on the Hellmouth. All she knew was everything had changed. Everything.
She wasn’t a virgin anymore. Not in her eyes. Spike now owned every part of her. He’d held her against his chest with his cock deep inside her body, whispering adorations into her hair as his hands stroked her back. He’d brushed small kisses across her face, his chest rumbling with contented purrs against hers. He’d given her everything in one night.
Everything except the thing she wanted most.
And while she faced the day with newfound joy, Buffy wasn’t fool enough to believe everything would be all right now that the worst was seemingly behind them. Not twenty-four hours had passed since she felt the walls of the world caving in. Since she’d believed herself a pariah of the human world, relegated only to slaying the evils which stalked the night and averting the occasional apocalypse.
Since she’d hurt one of her friends in a desperate move to prove her own value.
The worst might be over, but she still had to wade through the aftermath. And even then she wasn’t sure how much hope to assign to the future. After all, just before the organ had crashed she’d been reasonably secure in that Spike enjoyed what they shared at least marginally as much as she did. She’d always known she was his second choice—or figured as much, anyway—but even in the darkest chamber of her heart, she’d never imagined an explosion anywhere near the magnitude of what had occurred. She’d never anticipated being so thoroughly gutted. She’d never foreseen the tender man she’d come to love using his words to cut rather than caress. Even when she knew he’d ultimately break her heart, she’d envisioned him doing it in a calm, sorry-this-is-over-but-at-least-we-had-fun kinda way. Not by methodically shredding every fiber of her being. Not by throwing everything they’d shared—every precious moment between them—in her face as though they meant nothing at all.
Last night had done wonders to heal her wounds, but Buffy wasn’t going to be blindsided again. Spike could very well decide he didn’t want her after all, and the weeks he’d spent mourning her absence had romanticized his idea of their time together. Even with the echoes of his hands on her body, she couldn’t trust he knew himself well enough to know he meant what he’d said. She couldn’t trust he wouldn’t shatter her heart all over again.
As a result, she looked forward to seeing him again tonight—so much it had her shaking. She wanted it to be night almost as much as she dreaded it.
Fortunately for Buffy, the day was compact with other things to dread. Like talking to Angel. And explaining herself. And apologizing. And hoping there was some way he’d understand. Not that she’d blame him if he didn’t; she couldn’t, especially when she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself. She’d treated Angel the exact way she’d felt she’d been treated by the man she loved—as an object to forget someone else.
She’d have to apologize to Angel. For leading him on. For making him believe something that could never be true. For using him to forget her own problems.
She’d just have to hope an apology would be enough.
*~*~*
She’d barely had time to fall asleep before Spike had her cheeks cupped between his hands, his lips blanketing her face with worried, desperate kisses.
“Are you all right?” he demanded hurriedly. “He hasn’t touched you, has he?”
Buffy shivered, the tears she’d kept at bay all day surging forward with renewed vigor. Her eyes were already cracked from weeping nonstop these past few weeks, and while her heart was relieved the source of its pain wasn’t the man against her, she couldn’t keep it from bleeding.
“Buffy!” Spike growled, seizing her shoulders and shaking her hard. “Tell me you’re all right!”
“I’m all right.” It was barely a whisper, but evidently, it was enough. The panic in her vampire’s eyes died slowly, melting into concern. “I’m all right,” she said again. “He…he hasn’t…I mean, he…we fought and he…he said some things…”
Spike’s eyes darkened. “I can bloody well imagine,” he snarled.
“How did…how did you…?”
Words were failing her fast. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that Angel as she knew him was gone. Logically she knew it was the truth; she’d seen him. She’d heard him. He’d thrown everything in her face and smiled at her collapse. And while she’d been able to dismiss the bulk of his personal jabs as nothing more than an attempt to strip her of her self-worth, the words had landed their mark. And well.
“Now, I don’t know when Spike found the time to teach you that, but I gotta send the boy a fruit-basket.” He grinned and spread his arms. “It certainly changed my life.”
She was the reason. Somehow, someway, she was the reason this was happening.
“He came to us, pet,” Spike murmured, jarring her back to the present. She’d forgotten she’d even issued a question. “He popped over firs’ thing this mornin’. Fuck, he was there before I even had a chance to…” His eyes fluttered shut, his hands gently running the length of her arms. “You sure you’re all right?”
“He’s there?”
It wasn’t asked out of surprise; in all honesty, Buffy had expected the first thing a newly soulless Angel would do was turn to his family.
Spike offered a half smile and shrugged. “Probably shaggin’ Dru into a hole in the ground as we speak.”
“Dru?”
“It’s not important, kitten. Jus’—”
“Dru’s with Angel and it’s not important?”
“Not to me.” Spike kissed her lips softly. “Tell me you’re all right. He said—”
The perpetual question on Spike’s lips, despite her reassurances, had the numbness surrounding her heart melting into warmth. The day had been a nonstop hell-ride. It had begun with what should have been a painfully awkward visit to Angel’s apartment and hopefully ending with another magical night in her lover’s arms. It had begun so innocently; how had things spiraled beyond her control?
Then again, there was no how in the equation. She knew how Angel had turned evil.
His words left little to the imagination.
“I’m fine,” Buffy whispered again, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“I can’t be there to make sure you’re not lyin’ to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
The emphasis broke the last strain of her will, and she burst into tears. Of course she was lying. How in the world could she be all right? How could she? With the sting of Angel’s punches marring her skin, with the weight of his verbal barbs rubbing salt into open wounds, with the knowledge she was responsible weighing her down…how could anyone expect her to be all right? She was the reason. She didn’t know why, but she was the reason. She’d done something to remove the part of Angel which kept him grounded in humanity. She’d done something seemingly small and insignificant, and somehow it’d ended up costing her the world.
Well, not the world. And perhaps that was the worst part. She’d fallen asleep with hope in her heart because she knew Spike would be waiting for her, and Spike would make everything better. Spike wouldn’t mind if she needed to be weak. If she needed to cry. He’d already seen her at her weakest. He’d hold her if she asked it of him.
God, she hoped so. Her emotions were too frazzled, and she couldn’t make sense of herself.
When she snapped back to the present, she found she was seated at the edge of the bed with Spike on his knees before her, his hands drawing her camisole over her head, eager fingers mapping her exposed skin, mindful for wounds or bruises. “What did he do?” he demanded. “I’ll sodding kill him. I swear it.”
Buffy hiccupped miserably and forced a grin. “Spike—”
“If he touched you—”
“E-e-ven i-f he did, y-y-you c-couldn’t see it here. Rem-remember?” She raised her hand to his face, enjoying the smooth contours of his skin beneath her touch. She probably looked terrible—a blubbering mess of incoherence, a waterfall of tears cascading down her cheeks. But the look in Spike’s eyes made her feel beautiful nonetheless. “Dream-world.”
His eyes brightened and his nostrils flared. “The second my legs work—”
“H-he d-didn’t do an-anything.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’ve cr-cried a l-l-lot recently.” Buffy sniffed hard and wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”
Spike’s head shot up from where he’d been inspecting her belly, his hands poised and ready to draw her flannel bottoms down her legs. “Don’ you dare apologize,” he said shortly. “For what I put you through—”
“Spike—”
“But I know what…I know what I did, kitten. I know it. I don’ need any bloody clarification.” He fisted the waistline of her pajama bottoms. “But I can’t be there to make sure you’re not bleeding or worse. I don’ know what the wanker did, an’ he sure as hell isn’t talkin’. So you better be straight with me, or so help me, I’ll haul my broken arse to your house an’ find out for myself. Bugger the consequences.”
And just like that she was engulfed in heat, and a wave of calm washed over her. “You’d do that?” she asked softly.
If anything, Spike looked offended she had to ask. “Of course I would, you daft twig,” he retorted incredulously, quickly stripping her pajama bottoms down her legs, leaving her body bare to his inquisitive eyes. She hadn’t worn panties to bed tonight, and as always, her nighttime attire had carried through to the dream-world. Only for the first time, her nudity wasn’t soaked in with leers of appreciation and lurid comments; Spike was determined to inspect every inch of her for injury, despite the laws of rationality. “But seein’ as I really don’ fancy the Great Poof addin’ a few months onto my recuperation, I’d really prefer it if you would jus’ tell me.”
“That I’m okay?”
“Right.”
An almost reluctant smile quirked her lips. “You mean that thing I’ve been repeating since I first got here?”
He scowled. “Not very convincingly.”
“I’m fine, Spike.”
“I don’ believe you.”
And he didn’t. He really didn’t. The panic in his eyes was only heightened by the urgency in his voice. And without warning, she found herself gaining balance in a world of chaos to the one thing she knew without question. She was in love with Spike, and this was why. This gentle compassion he’d shown her over and over again before the restoration ritual—before everything blew up in her face. Only it was more pronounced now. There was something in his voice—in the desperation of his touch—that she’d never experienced before.
It hit home then. Something she hadn’t truly allowed herself to realize.
Spike was worried. About her.
Spike was worried about her. Beyond liking her body and the slayer coating it came in. She was crying and he was worried. He couldn’t stop touching her, and not in a way designed to make her body sizzle and her heart fly with lust. He was worried about her. He was worried about the girl inside the Slayer. He was worried about Buffy.
She wanted to cry all over again, but that would only worry him more. And though her eyes rejoiced at the idea of finally shedding some happy tears, the whole of her was too worn to cry anymore. She’d done her share of crying.
“Believe me,” Buffy whispered in lieu of another emotional onslaught, caressing his lips with hers. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Pardon my skepticism.”
“I’m fine now.” She smiled softly. “I’m with you.”
Belatedly, she realized she was seated on the very bed upon which she’d lost her virginity the night before, and she was naked. Spike hadn’t made a move to touch her breasts beyond inspecting them for injury, and for some reason that golden piece of knowledge moved her beyond reproach.
Then her eyes fell to his chest, which was covered by the customary black tee. Spike was always dressed when they met. Always. Whereas she fell asleep and wandered into their meeting room in her jammies, his clothing never changed. Did he have a way of projecting his standard outfit on himself before entering their secret rendezvous, or did he perpetually sleep in jeans? She didn’t see Spike as the sort to wear boxers to bed or own a pair of silk pajamas. In fact, she would have guessed him to be the kind of guy to sleep in the nude.
It’d be a little jarring, she supposed, if she was met every night by a thoroughly naked Spike. A little jarring but not at all unpleasant.
“What are you thinkin’, pet?” he murmured, jerking her out of her musings.
Buffy’s cheeks reddened. “You…nothing.” She paused then, frowning as an unsettling thought shadowed over her. “He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
It hit her from nowhere, but she didn’t know why it’d taken so long to realize Spike might well have found himself on the blunt end of Angel’s wrath, if Angel’s pointed remarks were anything to trust. There was no longer any doubt whether or not her once almost-boyfriend had known something was going on between her and Spike. His words left nothing to the imagination, and if he was at the factory, she had much more reason to worry about Spike than he had to worry about her.
If he knew what she was hinting at, Spike betrayed nothing. “Hurt me?” he repeated, arching a brow. “I’m not followin’.”
“Like…I’m not speaking in euphemisms here. Has he hurt you?” Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “If he’s hurt you, he’s gonna get his ass kicked.”
A smile quirked Spike’s lips. “’S that right?”
“I…you…” There was no questioning it; not in her eyes. No matter that she held the blame for Angel’s missing soul, if she discovered he’d hurt the man she loved—a man currently confined to a wheelchair—he’d be dust so quickly he’d probably choke on himself. “Let’s just say,” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “I don’t play nice with anyone who messes with my…whatever you are.”
She literally had to bite back the word boyfriend. Spike wasn’t her boyfriend. Not in any realm—this one or the real world that lay dormant just outside their sleep. With everything she’d already lost, all the bleeding she’d already done, it would be a cold day in Hell before she allowed herself to verbally define their relationship before he did.
If he noticed her fumbling, Spike was gentleman enough not to mention it. Instead, his grin merely broadened with warmth. “I’m fine, sweetling.”
“He knows. He knows about us.”
“He does?”
The shriek of alarm bells had her deafened. If Angel hadn’t confronted Spike about their relationship, something was very wrong. “He told me he knew,” she protested, eyes widening. “He—he said…what I—”
Spike held up a hand. “Buffy—”
“He said—”
“He doesn’ know, kitten.”
Panic speared her veins. How could he be so blasé? So calm? How could he take anything at face value? “No,” she said firmly, “I was there. I heard him. He said—”
“He was tryin’ to rattle your chains is all.” Spike frowned, his brow furrowing. “How’s it they say…he lies with the truth. He doesn’ know rot. Point of fact, Slayer, he thinks I’ve been playin’ you.”
Buffy blinked. Hard. “What?”
“He thinks it’s a ploy. Whatever’s been goin’ on between us…” He paused again, and she could see the clockwork behind his eyes turning as he struggled to find the right words. “He thinks I’m…he thinks I’ve been jerkin’ you around as means to add another notch to my belt. Angelus’s head is bloody large enough to be seen from the sodding moon, love, an’ he’s not used to anyone challenging his word. He’s not used to bein’ wrong. It’s bad enough the great sod’s regarded as a king among other demons…the blokes who view vamps as an insult to demons everywhere. Angelus manages to make friends an’ enemies wherever he goes, an’ his word’s as good as infallible to mindless gits who don’ know better. I have minions who are trippin’ over themselves jus’ to touch the wanker.” He shook his head angrily, as though trying to banish a disturbing image. “Point is, love, whatever he told you was to make you…was to shake you up. He doesn’ know rot about us, ‘cept for this bloody hilarious idea he has that I’ve been toyin’ with you to soften you up for the kill. Make you love me jus’ a little so the fight’s all the more delicious. Your devastation…he thinks, I’ve played you so good you’ll jus’ fold in.” Spike’s eyes darkened. “He’s bloody well forgotten I’m not like him, the arrogant prat.”
There was a long beat of silence. “What?”
She flinched inwardly. The question was perpetually on her lips, but she couldn’t help herself. And if Spike noticed or cared, he didn’t comment. He just took what she said for what it was, and did his best to fill in the gaps.
“I’ve killed two slayers, pet.”
Yes, he had. And it should have bothered her the way he spoke of it so candidly. The way he was able to say the words without blinking, without dragging his eyes from hers, without even hesitating in anything that would suggest regret. It should have bothered her, but it didn’t.
And that was what truly bothered her.
“He also wagers I have a real need for a roll between the sheets since Dru’s been bedridden so bloody long,” Spike continued, a long sigh rolling off his shoulders. “He knows I don’ fuck around. That Dru’s…I’ve been as faithful to her as a sodding pup. But mix in my fascination with slayers…”
“Fascination?”
“I don’t play with my food, love, an’ I’d never…” He caressed the length of her arm with curled fingers, trembling at the feel of her flesh beneath his. “Buffy, you know I’d never hurt you, right?”
The rapidity at which her response came should have terrified her, but it didn’t. There was a fine line between deception and the truth, but she knew simply from loving him—from the worn path they’d traveled together—whatever he showed her was his true face. If he hated her, he’d tell her. If he wanted her, he’d tell her. If he hated the fact that he wanted her, he’d tell her. She knew because she’d seen it, and the deception Spike was referring to simply wasn’t in his wiring. He wasn’t one to screw around. If ever he decided he didn’t want her anymore, she’d be the first to know.
“I know it,” she whispered, smiling gently. “You don’t have to worry.”
A smile warmed his face, relief brightening his eyes. “Oh thank God,” he replied, kissing her brow. “I know…the point is he doesn’ know about us, baby. Not about what we really… He thinks I’m the best bloody weapon he has against you. He’s so certain.”
“He really thinks you’ve been leading me on?”
Spike nodded stoically. “He doesn’ know anything, sweetheart. He thinks I have you blinded. Ready to walk off a bloody cliff for me. You…he doesn’ know how I’ve gotten to you, ‘cause he hasn’t been able to pick up a whiff of me anywhere on your delicious body, but he’s convinced I managed to earn myself a taste of you. An’ that’s…”
His voice trailed off which was just as well because her ears were again ringing with the echoes of Angel’s taunts. He certainly hadn’t betrayed any such doubt or indecision. He’d been so certain; there’d been nothing but confidence in his taunting smirk. And if he had Spike convinced he thought it was all an act, for all his swagger, Spike might find himself blindsided. And she’d have no way to help him. “Are you sure?” Buffy asked shakily. “Maybe he just wants you to think—”
“No.”
The definitive note in his voice made her insides tremble. “Y-you sound so…how can you be certain?”
“I jus’ am.”
“Spike—”
“He saw me an’ Dru, okay?” Spike’s head dropped without warning, the words slicing through her skin and making her blood run cold. Inexplicably, every muscle in Buffy’s body locked up and her eyes felt the expected wave of new tears. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Not after last night. It couldn’t be possible after last night. Oh God, could it? Oh God. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? God, was he really capable of something like that? Of waking up after the night they’d shared and taking her passion with him so he could screw his insane girlfriend.
How could anyone be so callous?
Her thoughts must have been in surround sound, for the next thing she knew Spike had her face in his hands and was brushing needy kisses across her skin. “No,” he said hurriedly. “No. Not last night. God, not last night. Not for a bloody long time. Not even when…he din’t see what you’re thinkin’ he saw. I’d never do that to you, baby. Never. Not after last night.”
“You didn’t—”
“No. Buffy—”
She sniffed hard, feeling foolish and idle but she couldn’t keep her tears from rolling. The day had been too hard, and rolling off a night as magical and emotionally charged as the last, her eyes didn’t know how to keep from crying anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to…keep doing…this…”
Spike kissed her lips softly, his hands dropping to her naked shoulders. “Buffy…God, with everythin’ I put you through, there’s no bloody reason why…you don’ need to explain yourself to me. You’ve already given me so much. Last night was…” He trembled hard, his eyes dropping to her breasts almost reluctantly, but shooting up again like a child who didn’t want to get caught doing something he’d been instructed against. “Last night was…more than anythin’ in my life, sweetheart. An’ since this…this is only in here, I can’t bloody wait to get a taste outside. When it’s not a dream anymore.” He paused, his eyes falling shut and his body trembling hard in an ostensible struggle to maintain control. “When I say he doesn’ know, it’s because of what he saw when I had him goosed up an’ ready for Dru’s restoration ritual. He can’t know how I feel about you, baby. He’s seen nothin’. Dru’s tried to tell him, but he can’t understand her riddles worth rot. An’ what he saw…I was tryin’ so hard to convince myself I didn’t feel for you what I did…” He broke off again, a shaky breath shuddering off his lips. “My behavior wasn’ of a man infatuated with a girl beyond wantin’ her quim an’ a mouthful of her blood. I wanted to be what he thought I was. Someone who…was only after you to see you dead.”
It was impossible to deny the cold which settled over her, but Buffy refused to blink. These were things she already knew. Things that were in their past. What mattered was what they had now. What he’d told her in the aftermath. And while the words she desperately wanted to hear hadn’t yet touched the air—the words she’d already given him—he’d already fueled her heart with hope simply for everything he hadsaid. Everything he’d already told her.
“I din’t touch Dru,” Spike continued. “I haven’t in…a long bloody time. But he saw enough…he saw me tryin’ to convince myself. Guess I did a good enough job to convince at leas’ one person. Dru din’t buy it. Angelus did.”
He didn’t let the thought muster. Before the words could even settle in her mind, Spike seized her cheeks again and devoured her mouth in a fiery, desperate kiss. As though his words could be forgotten under the persuasion of his lips and the gentle caress of his tongue. And if her wounds had been completely healed, he would have succeeded. He would have eradicated any echoes of doubt from a mind that wanted to believe him completely, and a heart that was thoroughly his.
Last night had given her so much, but she’d lost things she didn’t even know were in question upon awakening. She couldn’t allow herself to get lost so quickly—not with the knowledge of the hell she’d put herself through these past few weeks. “But now,” she gasped between kisses, her disobedient hands tugging his shirt over his head before she could stop herself. Her hands didn’t care about her wounds—they wanted to explore his chiseled chest, and it wasn’t like she could blame them. “Now…you don’t want it now, right?”
Spike moaned in protest. “Don’t want what?”
“To…to not…to not be here.”
“Fuck no,” he panted, palming her breasts at last, flicking his thumbs over her taut nipples. “I din’t want it then. To not be here. I alwayswanna be here. With you. That was the sodding problem.”
“Not anymore, right?” she asked breathlessly, nipping at his mouth. Her hands remained satisfied with the slab of marble he called a chest only for a few seconds before diving for his jeans, much more interested in the brick he kept concealed in his pants. Spike sensed her motives immediately and jumped to his feet to grant her access. His enthusiasm only made her heart swell. “It’s not a problem now.”
“No. No.”
“You want this,” Buffy said boldly, jerking his jeans down, the eager bob of his hard cock striking her jaw. “You want to be here. You wantme. You want me doing this to you.”
“Oh God, yes,” Spike agreed, his eyes rolling back as her hand encircled the base of his erection, his hips jerking forward. “Always. Always.”
A small, confident smile stretched her lips, her tongue lapping at the silky head of his cock. “But that’s not it, right?” she asked softly, pumping the hard length of him, her eyes mesmerized by the movements of her hand. How something as seemingly small as running her hand up and down his shaft could inspire the moans which tingled the air, she would never know. But she loved the way he whimpered. The way he gasped her name as though she were a saint.
“What…oh God.” His hands wove through her hair, fingers tenderly massaging her scalp. “Buffy…my gorgeous li’l slayer. My…Christ…”
She grinned, sucking him hard between her lips. She loved the taste of his skin against her tongue. The way his flavor consumed her mouth. There was nothing like this—the fumbled attempt to forget Spike had only made her crave this more. She’d never be fool enough to think she could drown out his memory with anyone else ever again.
“Such a hot tongue,” Spike groaned, thrusting his cock deeper into her mouth. “God…lick me. Jus’ like that.”
Her skin buzzed and her blood burned, but she wasn’t about to deny him. She was too addicted to his taste. She murmured around him, scaling a hand between his legs to cup his balls. Her mouth trailed up his length until only the very tip of him remained trapped between her lips, her tongue exploring the sensitive dip in his head, moaning when he moaned.
“Buffy…God, you feel so good. So bloody good.”
Buffy smiled shyly and quickly turned her eyes from his when he peered down at her, releasing his cock with a wet plop. “Really?”
He whimpered an unintelligible response and thrust his hips forward, cock begging for reentrance. It wasn’t good enough, though; she wanted to hear the words. She needed to hear the words. She needed to hear how much he adored what she did to him. How she could give him something no one else could; how this was more than he’d ever had.
But she knew, despite wanting, those words wouldn’t come, and she couldn’t think ill of him. Not when he’d been nothing but honest with her. “Never mind,” she added quickly, her tongue licking a long path along the underside of his erection. If there was any luck to be had, he’d forget she’d spoken at all.
Spike blinked several times, evidently sensing something important had happened and he’d missed out. “Buffy?”
She sucked his sensitive head between her lips again, determined to distract him.
“I…ooh God.”
Buffy grinned inwardly, her mouth inching down his length, teeth just barely grazing his skin. She drew him in as deeply as she could—until his head brushed the back of her throat. She knew he loved it when she swallowed around him, and wasted no time contracting her throat muscles around his cock, sparks blazing across her skin at the throaty moans that ripped through the air.
“So good,” he babbled, unable to keep from attempting to drive himself deeper into her throat. “So bloody good.”
“Mmmm…”
Too quickly, he closed his hands around her shoulders and jerked her roughly to her feet, swallowing her mouth with his. “Don’ wanna come like that,” he said hurriedly. “Wanna come inside you.”
Something which felt suspiciously like disappointment flooded her veins.
“You’ll let me inside, right?” Spike asked, a hand slipping between her legs and cupping her wet flesh. And God, just the feel of his nimble fingers teasing her swollen clit had all fears banished in the light of pleasure. “You’ll let me in your sweet pussy again.”
Buffy nodded hard. “Yes. Oh God…”
He smirked. “But don’ think you can hide from me.” The last words rode out on a growl, emphasized by a sudden wave of desperation as he tossed her onto the bed and kicked his jeans off his legs completely. His eyes soaked in every move her body made; from the helpless parting of her lips when she sighed to the bounce of her breasts as she landed on her back.
“What—”
“When I say good, what I mean is best. Sodding best I’ve ever had.”
There was no way he could mean it.
“I mean it,” he countered. “Every word. No one…God, no one has ever tried to know me the way you do. Has ever wanted to know what I like…how I like to be touched. I never stop wanting you. Your mouth around me…your quim…you. All of you. An’ the only reason I wanted you to stop was the reason I gave you. You…Buffy…God, I dunno how I’m ever gonna convince you, but if it takes the rest of my days, I’ll make sure it gets through your thick skull.”
He didn’t allow the thought to muster, which was perhaps for the best because if the weight of his words had time to settle, she might have embarrassed herself with another emotional outburst. Instead, his left hand found one of her breasts, successfully distracting her with a tender pinch of her nipple. He licked his lips and soaked her up with his eyes, exhaling deeply and looking, for all the world, like a man on the brink of losing control. “I wanted to be back here the second I woke up,” he murmured. “You were gone an’ then I woke up.”
His words made Buffy’s blood sing. “I wanted to be back here, too,” she replied, her legs parting in silent welcome. She flushed with need the second his eyes raked down her body, his tongue licking those sinful lips the second his gaze landed on her pussy. “I wanted…”
“You miss me, pet?” Spike asked, his voice rough. The mattress dipped with his weight and then he was prowling up her body, settling himself between her legs and making sure she felt every inch of his skin against hers until they were face to face. His cock nestled in the wet valley between her legs, her breasts pressed fully against his chest. There was no hiding from his eyes, and she wouldn’t if she could.
“I wish you’d been with me when I woke up,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t like waking up alone.”
A small, sad smile stretched Spike’s face and he nodded, brushing a tender kiss across her brow. “’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his lips traveling to her cheek, then her chin, the corner of her mouth, her lips in full, his heart weighing in his eyes. And the emotion she saw there—the emotion pouring through his gaze—made her bones rattle. “I wanted tonight to be…I don’ know. I wanted…”
“About us?” she volunteered.
“For starters.” He kissed her again, seemingly incapable of preventing his lips from caressing her skin. “You distracted me with your hot li’l body last night. I never even got to ask you how it was you avoided me for so bloody long, so I can make sure it never happens again.”
“Pendant.”
“Pendant?”
“Some anti-dreams pendant. I asked Giles…” She shifted and averted her eyes, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I asked Giles to…keep…”
Spike arched a brow, not bothering to mask his surprise. “Your watcher knows about us?”
“About the dreams. He knew the night of the ritual. At least that’s when I think he found out.”
“How? We barely knew anything then.”
Buffy licked her lips, unable to keep her eyes from misting. It surprised her how often she saw what happened. Even after Spike had torn her heart in two, her nights were haunted by the perpetual fall of the pipe organ. Her throat still hurt from the scream that had split the air, her insides still burned with the crushing weight of her grief. And then that night—when she’d wrestled with sleep until it came to her only to find the room empty…no matter what had happened since—no matter that she knew Spike was as undead as he’d ever been—the night she’d thought she’d lost him would remain with her forever.
“When…when it happened,” she began carefully, unsure how much to betray. “I…he knew. He knew when the organ fell that something was…because I…he asked me later and I told him.”
Understanding stormed Spike’s eyes. “Buffy…”
“He asked me and he was okay with it…which, yeah, kinda weird, but…a-and I don’t know if he’s been researching anything or…anything. But he knew…s-so when I asked him for a way to…you know, stop coming here, he had one.” She broke her gaze from his, trembling hard. “He…I don’t…”
“Buffy…my God.”
She didn’t know what she expected, but the softness which befell his eyes was at the very bottom of the list. He regarded her for a long, quiet minute, his fingers gently caressing her temples, long shudders racing through his body. He touched her with quiet reserve—as though she was fragile and precious, rather than rough and expendable.
Was he really so moved at the notion she’d wept for him in front of her Watcher? Had he really not heard the deafening scream which ripped through her throat? Her body still ached when she thought of that night. It didn’t take much to propel her back—a turn of the head, the pull of a sore muscle, and she found herself standing at the altar of a burning church, watching helplessly as the man she loved disappeared under the crashing ceiling.
Had he thought she’d kept her screams silent until she was alone? Love didn’t care about propriety. Love didn’t care who was watching. Love wasn’t self-conscious. Love could give a damn that he was her enemy and she shouldn’t cry for him. Love had watched him vanish, and the world around her had broken in despair.
“You are gorgeous,” he murmured, shaken and apparently at a loss for words. “So gorgeous.” He sighed and brushed his lips across her cheek, then swallowed her with a gentle kiss. And God, she melted into him like wax. He gave her everything in a kiss. In the way he whimpered into her mouth as his body moved against hers. The way his tongue begged her lips for entrance. “So bloody gorgeous,” he said again, his hands cupping her breasts with a reverent gasp, shuddering at the feel of her hardened nipples against his palms.
Could beauty really affect a man like Spike?
His mouth left hers, wandering southward until he was pressing kisses against her breasts. There wasn’t much there for him to kiss, but if Spike was disappointed with her lack of cleavage, his mouth didn’t betray him. For the way his tongue teased her aching nipples and the ardent kisses he peppered across her milky flesh, she could almost believe he meant his own words. She could almost believe he thought she was beautiful.
“I’m bloody amazed,” Spike murmured, slipping a hand between them. His fingers teased her pussy lips before ultimately wrapping around his cock.
“By what?”
“You…God, you.” He glanced up, running his blunt teeth over the tip of her nipple, the hand between them directing the velvety head of his cock to tease her swollen clit in time with the near indiscernible movements of his body. “I gave you every sodding reason to kick me away. I sent you to…but you’re still here.” Spike shook his head and resumed his torturous tease of her body, rubbing his cock up and down her drenched slit and grinning when she gasped and arched beneath him. “You really do love me, don’t you?”
Every corner of her being was ablaze. “Spike…”
“You really love me.”
She felt like weeping. “I do. I really do.”
His fingertips grazed her clit as his lips found the pulse-point of her throat. “I…Buffy, God.”
“I love you.”
Every time those words left her lips, she lived with the hope that she would hear them back. Right now, she craved his love more than anything. Anything. If he told her he loved her—if he meant it—it would be worth losing Angel’s soul. It would be worth anything she had to sacrifice. But Spike was too good to deceive her, and she’d rather him not say anything than crush her with false words.
They hadn’t been back together for long, if they were together at all. If they ever had been, or would be. Spike wasn’t about to fool her with false confessions.
She was just the rebound girl. And men didn’t fall in love with the rebound girl.
But for the moment—for this blessed moment—she would make it be enough. Spike murmured against her lips as he sank balls-deep inside her pussy, whimpering small adorations which had her head floating and her heart ready for another suicidal dive.
She’d sold Angel to get here. And tomorrow she would deal with the consequences. The aftermath. Tomorrow she would start to pick up the pieces and try to figure out when things had spiraled so out of control.
Tomorrow.
The night belonged to her.
And while she could, she would spend what little time she had with the man she loved.