IV
Nothing in her life was normal. Nothing. Not her school, not her job, not her friends—hell, try as she might, even her mom was very much of the not normal. Nothing in her life fit the bill of an average teenage girl. So it wasn’t all that surprising when an old would-be-friend turned out to be a sleazy, double-crossing, I-wanna-live-forever type of baddie. He wanted to be immortal so badly he’d actually tracked her down and made a deal with the devil behind her back. A deal that would render her very much of the dead and ensure his body continued walking, never mind the incarnation.
Buffy had yet to decide whether or not she was lucky Ford had decided to go to Spike. The jury was still very much out. Even now, sitting on the edge of her bed, the night’s events playing over and over, she couldn’t decide if she was grateful that Spike’s was the face she’d stared into tonight.
Later, it’d be very clear that Spike had eyes for no one but her. As it was, the electrical current which raced through her body the second their gazes clashed still had her bones shaking and her skin buzzing with exhilaration. From the second he’d barreled inside, everyone else around them had melted away, and it was only him and her. Only Spike and Buffy.
And when she closed her eyes tonight, he’d be there. Spike would be there. Waiting for her.
Spike had gotten close enough to kill her tonight, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t killed her when he could have. He’d looked at her very much like a predator, and not like the passionate lover who caressed her at night. Not at all like the man whose ethereal touch followed her with every step. And yet, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t quiver at the thought of what awaited once sleep settled over her.
Everything was a blur. All Buffy knew for certain was one second, Ford had been behind her, trying to knock her out by means of a crowbar to the head. The next an explosion rocked the bunker and suddenly she was surrounded by a cluster of fang-happy vampires.
The interruption didn’t slow Ford at all. He barely blinked. The feast on the idiot-wannabes was about to begin, and she couldn’t stop it because her hands were tied by a human madman with nothing to lose. It was the sort of anxiety that could propel the feeblest minds into an arena of unexplainable will and strength—and though Ford’s freakish upper-hand was more due to the element of surprise, it still had her shaken that she wasn’t able to take him out.
Perhaps because he was human and she wasn’t used to dealing with human evils. Thus when he had a crowbar arched high above his head, his eyes flashing with mad desperation that could make murderers among saints, her mind had blanked. Royally blanked.
Buffy knew, logically, that she would have rolled away or kicked Ford in the gut or done something remotely like defend herself—at the last second. She did. Recovery was a huge part of the fight, and certain allowances had to be made when fighting someone who used to be her friend. Someone she used to crush on. However, even knowing she would have rolled safely to her feet regardless didn’t make the possessive snarl which speared the air any less tingle-worthy. The next thing she knew Ford was gone, tackled to the ground by a furious vampire.
“You don’ touch her!” Spike roared, dragging the boy to his feet and tossing him hard into the nearest partition. “How dare you touch her!”
She would’ve been touched were she not so rattled. But she didn’t have enough time to mull it over—Spike forgot about Ford the second the would-be villain passed out, and instead turned his yellow eyes to her.
“Slayer,” he rasped, his eyes bright with something she’d come to identify as angered-lust.
There wasn’t time for thought. No time to consider how much she loved what that mouth did to her after the world fell asleep—there were people to save. Stupid, stupid people, but people nonetheless. Buffy barely blinked—she lunged at him, fists swinging, legs kicking. Everything went on instinct, pain-recognition blinking out entirely. She knew he was hitting her—that his fangs were close to her throat and it wouldn’t be a mistake if he nicked her skin.
The logical part of her brain screamed he wouldn’t hesitate in killing her. The emotion-driven female wasn’t so sure. In fact, the emotion-driven female was getting her jollies in thrusting her hips against Spike’s at every opportunity, enjoying the way his eyes widened and his lips curled into a sneer before he thrust back.
And just like that, reality melted away. Suddenly she wasn’t in a bunker at all; she was against the wall in their shared hotel. The place they met every night. She was looking into the eyes of Dream Spike, only with the added thrill that it was real. It was a dream come to life. She was living her own fantasy—caught in the murky waters between illusion and reality.
Then his hands slid under her thighs, and they were moving together against the nearest wall. Buffy straining and arching against Spike’s hard body, whimpering helplessly as he ground his hard cock against her aching center. She didn’t know when the predatory snarls rumbling through his throat turned into small growls of pleasure, or when the anger drained from his eyes, leaving her alone under the weight of pure hunger. All she knew—at that moment—was this was real. This was something outside of dreams. This was Spike in the Real World. Spike in the Real World was rubbing his cock against her pussy. Spike in the Real World had her trapped between himself and a wall, and he was doing things to her without touching her—things that would have her screaming in something which definitely wasn’tterror or pain very quickly.
Assuming, of course, the Scoobies didn’t show up. Which they did. The Scoobies, plus one watcher and a vampire with a soul. And then the world came tumbling back, and Buffy was smacked with a hard dose of reality. She remembered then where she was—and what she was doing. More importantly, what she was not doing. The wannabes were being made into vamp-chow and she was letting the ringleader dry-hump her against a wall. She was letting Spike play her close to an embarrassingly large orgasm as people around her bled.
Spike returned to himself almost at the exact same minute. The shades of would-be tenderness flecking his eyes vanished just as quickly, replaced with a furious roar as he tossed her coldly to the ground.
That was hours before, and her body was still throbbing. All of the groupies—Ford included—walked away with their lives. Angel grilled her about what had happened with Spike, but she didn’t have any answers. She barely knew what had happened with herself.
Her mind was so confused. The rest of her was just terrified.
Terrified and very much turned on.
If these dreams didn’t stop blurring reality for her, she was going to get herself killed. Herself or someone else.
Perhaps it was time to talk to Giles. Perhaps.
Only she hadn’t the strength. Not tonight. She didn’t want to think anymore tonight.
She just wanted to rest.
*~*~*
Conviction vanished the second their eyes clashed. Heat blazed across her skin, coaxing the fire he’d started just a few short hours before back to a raging inferno. All want of rationality—of logic—faded in a blur of ravenous lust. She just knew she needed him. Badly. And now.
A whimper accented in her voice peeled through the air, flavored with huskiness she’d thought only worldly, experienced women could replicate. It was both foreign and familiar. Both a comfort and a thrill. It wasn’t her but it couldn’t be anyone else. It was Buffy personified—trapped between reality and fantasy.
Right now, she was in the dream, and she needed him.
“Spike…”
Her vampire’s answering growl only made her hotter. His chest was pressed against her breasts the next instant, his strong hands clamping around her upper arms. A hoarse, “Need you,” whispering across her skin just before he smashed his lips to hers. And God, how could she be expected to want for good when sinning was so delicious? He consumed her without trying, his tongue exploring her lips in a way that promised to compromise all her secrets, his mouth moving against hers as though he was reciting poetry. He was making an opus of her body, and she was helpless to follow his lead.
“So bloody hot, you are,” he growled, releasing her just long enough to render her nightshirt into two ruined pieces of fabric. Whereas she would have been unbearably self-conscious under his eyes just nights before, Buffy found herself thrusting her breasts into his waiting hands, biting back a long moan when his fingertips pinched at her nipples. Then his mouth was at her ear, the cool vibrations of his voice shaking her to her core. “Wanted to fuck you so bad tonight.”
Buffy’s knees nearly buckled. “Oh God.”
“Made me forget myself. Made me forget why I was there.” His head dipped again, pressing a series of burning kisses down her throat and over her skin until his mouth wrapped around one of her breasts, teasing her with nothing resembling mercy. His left hand fell between her legs, fingers dancing along her hip with feather-light strokes that betrayed his intent. “Part your legs for me, baby.”
Buffy tossed her head back and obeyed mindlessly. “Please,” she gasped. “Need…”
“Oooh, no knickers?” he teased, his eyes lighting up. “Naughty girl.”
She nodded urgently and croaked another, “Need,” in a voice that hardly sounded like hers.
“I know what you need,” Spike snarled, nipping at her mouth, spreading her pussy lips wide. “You’re jus’ beggin’ for it.”
“Oh God!”
He drew back, his sparkling eyes drinking in her burning face. “If you wanna receive, love,” he purred, tapping her clit with his index finger, an outlandish smirk stretching his lips at her answering mewl. “You need to give.”
Her hands immediately flew to the clasp of his jeans, whipping his belt free and tugging at his zipper with fervor that would have embarrassed her had she given a damn. She didn’t—the only thing she cared about was the fact that Spike’s thick cock was in her hand, and now she could try to make him pant and moan and want her as much as she wanted him.
She could make him love this enough—these stolen hours between night and day. She could make him love this. She could show him. She could show him that she was so much better than the vamp-hoe who shared his bed when they weren’t together.
She could. She could.
“Bloody hell,” Spike panted, his brow falling to her shoulder. “Buffy…”
Buffy paused then with a frown, her hand ceasing its movements. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. She needed something else.
The vampire’s head shot up. “You bloody tease.”
“Your shirt,” she explained quickly. “Off.”
He froze and arched a brow. “Off?”
“And your jeans.”
“You want me…”
Her skin flamed, but she didn’t care. She knew what she wanted; Spike was giving her more and more confidence to ask for what she wanted. “Yes.”
A thoroughly illegal grin stretched his lips. “Ooh, what’s this?” Spike drawled, running a hand down his chest until the tips of his fingers were lightly stroking the base of his cock. “The Slayer wants to ogle my sexy bod?”
For the river that flooded between her thighs, she was amazed she was able to keep standing. Or remember how to talk. And even though the last thing he needed was an ego boost, Buffy found herself nodding nonetheless. “Yes. If I’m naked, you have to be naked. This is a naked dream. I deem it a naked dream.”
“Well, by all means.” He winked and reached for the hem of his tee, pausing to run his tongue over his teeth in the way he knew by now drove her out of her mind. “Wouldn’t wanna break the rules.”
“Absolutely,” Buffy agreed breathlessly. And then her voice abandoned her. Spike was standing before her naked. Entirely naked. They’d never been entirely naked together before, and the intimacy of the moment nearly brought her to her knees. It was a big move for her—a very big move. She didn’t know if he’d understand or care about how big a move this was, so she kept it to herself. Solely shaken in the significance of being naked with a man for the first time. The last stage before her quickly accumulating rites-of-passage crossed the boundary that separated girlhood from womanhood. A boundary she was increasingly certain she wanted to cross with Spike, no matter how wrong it was. “These rules are…very…ummm…”
“Important?”
“Yes. That word.”
Spike’s smirk broadened and he extended his arms, baring himself proudly to her appreciative gaze. “Well, here I am,” he purred. “Like what you see?”
Like didn’t begin to cover it. Buffy was breathless, terrified, and beyond turned-on. Spike was, in a word, a masterpiece. The sort of man who didn’t exist but on romance-novel covers and Playgirl centerfolds. The sort of man who was always on the arm of a power-model in a string-bikini; not with her. Not with average-except-for-the-slaying-thing Buffy Summers. From the slab of marble from which his chest had been carved to the thick-roped muscles in his arms to the flat, kissably-toned stomach right before the proud protrusion of his cock…yeah, he was pretty much perfect.
But she couldn’t tell him that, and she couldn’t keep silent. She went for something in the middle, but all that came out was, “Buahh…”
Spike chuckled and stretched, clearly soaking up every second. She knew she should stop now before his head grew so large he floated out of the room, but God, she couldn’t help herself. Her almost pivotal moment was being shared with a Greek-god. Who in their right mind could blame her?
“Wanna try again?” he asked teasingly.
“I—ummm…wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers, that’s for damn sure.”
Spike’s eyes flickered and he took a step forward, suddenly very close again, the head of his cock brushing her stomach. “I can assure you, Slayer,” he murmured, sighing when her hand wrapped around his length again, “when I’m in bed with you, crackers’ll be the last thing I eat.”
“Spike!”
“An’ you’ll be screamin’ that a lot, too,” he drawled, brushing a surprisingly soft kiss across her lips. “Such a hot li’l hand. Stroke me faster, pet. Feel so bloody good…”
“Like this?” she replied breathlessly, her small hand pumping his hard length in time with the gasps rolling through his chest. Despite the inherent enthusiasm in his words, the larger part of her was buried under virginal insecurities. “I…I don’t…”
“That’s perfect, that is. You’re so hot. So bloody hot.” He brushed his lips across her chin in something that felt like tenderness, his shining eyes turning upward. “Never knew anyone could be as warm as you.”
Buffy’s skin flushed. “Spike…”
“Feel so good. Jus’ like that. Stroke me jus’ like that.”
She did as he asked. God, she’d do whatever he asked. She didn’t ever want to stop touching him; not with his eyes glazed and his lips kissing sonnets across her skin. Not with these precious minutes with him isolated in pleasure and warmth—in something she could pretend was tenderness until the harsh light of morning served as the proverbial bucket of ice water. Until she had to step back into her life and face the cold circumstances of reality.
“Wanna fuck you so badly,” Spike murmured, nipping at her ear, his fingers slipping between her pussy lips once more, capturing her clit and massaging her with a combination of passion and tenderness she hadn’t known existed. “You have any idea what you did to me tonight? How it felt to have your legs around me? Knowin’ it was you? Knowin’ it…it was real?”
Buffy gasped, her hand tightening around his cock. Truthfully, she didn’t want to think about what happened in the bunker—lest she be sent upon a downward spiral of self-examination—but the memory of him pressed intimately against her was enough to banish her convictions entirely.
Unfortunately, Spike either didn’t pick up on her reluctance to reflect on what had happened tonight or didn’t care. He pulled back slowly, his twinkling eyes consuming her whole. “You wanted it too, din’t you, kitten?” he demanded. “You can’t lie to me. Your scent…you were bloody drenched. So hot an’ ready for me. You wanted my cock inside your tight li’l quim, din’t you? An’ when you got home…you couldn’t wait to fall asleep. You couldn’t wait to be here so we could do this.”
She both loved and hated the truth in his words. There was nowhere to hide in here; Spike saw through every averted glance. “Spike…”
“Tell me you want me,” he whispered.
He really wasn’t going to let it rest until he had her dignity in a jar, was he? Buffy whimpered, her head falling to his chest where her mouth quickly occupied itself in bathing his scrumptious skin with hungry kisses. “Spike…” she breathed again, her teeth skating over one of his nipples. “God…”
“Tell me you love this,” he murmured. “Tell me you love what I do to you. Tell me you live for dreaming…”
Buffy offered a jerky nod, her mouth impulsively lunging for his. God, she loved the taste of his kiss. The way he moaned and melted into her—the way his tongue danced with hers as their lips moved together. He kissed her like he was starved, and she was the only one who could quench his thirst.
“Yes,” she cried into his mouth, ignoring the protest of her conscience. “Oh, yes…”
He growled and bit her lower lip, his hands closing around her upper-arms again as he dragged her toward the bed. Then she was on her back, splayed before him with her legs spread and her wet pussy aching with need. Her heart thundered and her blood raced. From the way he regarded her, his hand pumping the length of his cock as his glazed eyes raked down her body, she knew what he was thinking. God, shewanted what he was thinking. She wanted to know what it felt like to have a man inside her; to have Spike inside her. She wanted to push herself beyond that final threshold. She wanted it—but God, the part of her that was terrified and still very much a child couldn’t reconcile womanly wishes and desires. Not now. Not easily.
Especially with things so confused.
“Fuck, but you’re gorgeous,” Spike rumbled. “Such a pretty pussy. All pink an’ wet…”
“Spike—”
“So bloody wet for me.”
“Spike…I…I don’t think…I can’t…with the actual…ummm.” Buffy blushed hard, averting her eyes quickly from the disappointed flash that crossed his face. “I just…”
“You want me,” he countered.
“I do. But we tried to kill each other tonight. We tried—”
Spike frowned, jutting his chin for the ominous motel-room door. The door that led nowhere. The door that, for all intents and purposes, served as an emergency escape hatch. “Out there, yeah,” he agreed slowly. “But—”
And just like that, the illusion shattered. Buffy crashed inside, cold devastation spearing her veins. It was that easy for him, she supposed. Easy for him to compartmentalize his life in segments; what was in here and what was out there. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t have sex with Spike in here only to have him try and kill her the next time they met eye-to-eye. She couldn’t; it would break her completely.
“Love, in case you din’t notice, neither one of us got very far.”
“Yeah, but for how long?” she demanded, suddenly flushed with self-consciousness that had her reaching for the pillow at the head of the bed. Spike didn’t prevent her from covering herself, and she was glad. This wasn’t the sort of conversation she could have naked. “I can’t…Spike, I can’t be…with you in here and live with you trying to ruin me out there. I can’t.”
“Slayer—”
“You wake up next to someone else. I don’t. I don’t…God, since we started…this, I haven’t even looked at Angel—”
Spike’s nostrils flared. “An’ you better not.”
“But—that’s exactly it! You expect me to be faithful to…whatever the hell this is when you were not too long ago screaming about how much better what’s-her-face is.” Buffy sat up on her elbows on an impulse; namely because it was hard to argue with someone while lying naked on one’s back, pillow-covered or not. Granted, sitting up brought her to eye-level with his cock, which did little for her resolve, but she managed to ignore it. “How…I don’t know what we’re doing here. I don’t. But I can’t sleep with you in here and then look you in the eye tomorrow when you’re trying to kill me. I’m not built like that.”
“We can’t even be sure this is real,” Spike countered weakly, though something new had washed over his face. As though her words brought to light issues he hadn’t foreseen, which boggled her because it was all she could think of anymore. And it hurt to think how hard she’d agonized; that it didn’t even bother him to make such demands on her while living as he pleased. “We can’t—”
“If it weren’t real…do you think we’d both react to each other like we did tonight?” Buffy asked softly. “I mean, you’re hot, sure, but I’m not in the habit of jumping my enemies while people around me are getting hurt.”
Spike arched a brow. “’S that what this is about?”
“Everything is what this is about! I can’t…how can you ask me to remain faithful to a dream on the outside if what we’re doing isn’t real? And yes…” She held up a hand, anticipating his argument. “I know. Logic. Vampires. Not mixy. Believe me, that memo was very much gotten.” Buffy paused. “And even so…it’s not fair. It’s not fair, Spike. You’re with…her and I’m…I’m just here. While you’re with her. Waiting to fall asleep. Hoping you don’t kill me so I can still see you in my dreams. Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?”
“Buffy…I…”
God, he looked so torn. So thoroughly torn. Torn between comforting her and screaming in anger. Torn between taking her in his arms and laughing her out of the room. Torn between so many things—none of which he could voice. Ultimately, Spike sighed and rolled his shoulders back. “I din’t…fuck, I…I don’ know what this is.”
“Neither do I.”
“An’ honestly, pet, I don’ think there’s a way I could kill you now. I want to want to, but I don’. You’ve mucked up my head so bloody bad. All I see anymore is you.” He swallowed hard, pain lighting his eyes. “An’ I hate it, but I love it, too. I love knowin’…you’re here when I sleep. I don’ know what this is.”
Buffy’s vision blurred with tears that came from nowhere, relief purging her body. “Really?” she whimpered. “Really, Spike?”
He smiled half-heartedly. “Yeah. Really.”
“Then…God, I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just don’t know anymore. We need to find out once and for all if this is real. I mean…at this point, I’m pretty damn sure it has to be…but we need to…is there a way to signal each other?”
Spike arched a brow. “You don’ think dry-humpin’ each other serves as—”
“Well—”
“I mean, ‘f you wanna try that again, by all bloody means, don’ lemme stop you.”
She made a face at him. “No…it shouldn’t be something…something like that. It should be something…like a code word? Or a phrase? Or something. Something you and I wouldn’t say otherwise. Not to each other, anyway. And not while fighting, which survey says we’ll be doing.”
He grinned softly. “You’re bloody glorious when you’re fighting.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“’m not. Jus’ stating a fact.” Then, impulsively, he wove his fingers through her hair and dipped his head to capture her lips, and the tenderness behind his kiss sealed her heart’s fate. If this was real then she truly belonged to him. Heart, body, soul; the works. He owned her completely. There was no going back from this.
“How about…”
“Hard day’s night,” Spike suggested. He hadn’t released his hold on her, and she wasn’t about to ask.
“The Beatles’ song?”
He shrugged. “Seems as good as anythin’, right? Unless you figure yourself the type to spontaneously burst into a musical number in the middle of a fight, which, while right entertainin’, doesn’ seem likely.”
He was right; she’d suggested a code and he’d provided one. One that wasn’t likely to come up in any other context. And if it did, they could discuss another code in another dream. For now, though, it was perfect. It was perfect.
“All right,” she whispered, nodding. “That works.”
“All right. Next time…” Spike tugged her forward again for another kiss, his free hand turning back to his cock. “This time, I want—”
“I can’t—”
“Won’t enter you. I jus’…” He glanced down almost apologetically, released his erection. He paused, glanced questioningly into her eyes, then drew the pillow away with slow intent that had the fire in her blood roaring again. In seconds, his hand was cupping her pussy, his fingers massaging her still-soaking folds, sliding over her tender flesh until the pad of his thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her clit. “I want…lemme try this, yeah? We’ll stop if you don’ like it. I jus’…I jus’ need to feel you.”
“Feel…?”
“I’ll make you feel good, kitten,” he purred, dropping to his knees quickly, his face level with her pussy. One long lap of her slit, and she was irrevocably lost. “I’ll make you feel so good.”
“Spike…”
“Lemme have this one thing,” Spike said softly, tonguing her clit. “Lemme…”
There was no way she could deny him anything. It was a sad realization, but it didn’t make it any less true. Any less valid. Anything he wanted she would give him. If he’d kissed her and told her he wanted to make love to her, she would have caved. Reservations aside, she would have caved. And it killed her to know she could be so weak where anything was concerned, much less an evil vampire she didn’t have any prior claims on. He didn’t belong to her, not like she did him.
She feared she was halfway in love with him; in love with a dream. A dream that wasn’t a dream. A dream that couldn’t love her back. And yet, all the knowledge in the world couldn’t reverse inherent understanding. Couldn’t make the feeling in her gut any thinner. Couldn’t make her heart any lighter. There was nothing she’d deny him. Nothing.
That didn’t stop her, though, from squealing a panicked, “Spike!” when he kneeled over her on the bed, his cock nestled between her vaginal lips, his balls resting against her anus. “I—”
“Trust me, baby,” he moaned. “Jus’…lemme feel this.”
She held her breath but didn’t reply; waiting, every nerve in her body on fire. She waited with heartbreaking wonder as he sighed in pleasure, hooked his arms under hers and leaned forward until his brow was against her shoulder. Then he began moving his hips against her, sliding the length of his cock against her pussy, and the world around her dissolved.
“Oh my God,” Buffy gasped, scratching at his shoulders. “Oh my God.”
“So hot. So bloody hot.”
There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t burn. That didn’t sizzle with the feel of him moving intimately against her. His balls slapped her ass with every wondrous thrust of his hips, his cock massaging her wet flesh in a way his hands never could. Spike’s arms were around her and his brow was at her shoulder. If her heart pounded any faster it was sure to break through her chest.
She was holding him and for that moment, she could almost believe he was hers.
“God, Buffy…”
“Unhh…”
“You really don’ know how much power you have over me, do you?”
He didn’t let her mull the thought over; his weight was gone the next instant, his erection again nestled against his left palm. “Need to come,” he gasped, sinking two fingers inside her with his other hand, thrusting in time with the strokes he gave his cock. “Can I…?”
“Spike?”
“Your belly.”
She nodded before she realized she didn’t know what he meant, and then it was too late. With a trembling moan, he spilled himself on her skin, and the sight, coupled with the look on his face, was enough to trigger her own orgasm. She tossed her head back and thrust her hips madly against his fingers, wave after wave of ecstasy claiming her whole. It was over before it began but seemed to last lifetimes, and the effect was so dizzying she feared she might lose consciousness.
Lose consciousness in a dream.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured. His hand reached for her almost absently, his fingers spreading his spendings across her skin. “So bloody gorgeous when you come.”
“God…”
Spike exhaled slowly. “I wanna do this to you out there,” he continued, rubbing the sticky fluid up her abdomen until he was cupping her breast. “I want to touch you like this…out of this room. Out where it’s…an’ it’s drivin’ me outta my bloody mind. Thinkin’ of you like I do. Wanting the things I do. I’m going barmy an’ it’s all your fault. An’ I can’t stop…I can’t do anything. You’re consuming everything an’ I want…”
She sucked in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t finish his thought, and she didn’t press the issue. The more he said, the more he professed, the more she had to lose. The more stake she put into a future they would never have. The love he’d never feel for her.
“Buffy…” The note in his voice was near-reverential, his sticky fingers pinching her nipple once before trailing down her flat stomach. “’m marking you, baby. I’m markin’ you all over.”
He was. God, he was. She’d made him come, and he was marking her body with his spendings. The part of her that should have been disgusted was completely overpowered by the thumping of her heart and the resurging flood between her thighs. She’d been relegated to nothing more than a possession, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care what loving this made her.
“Do you think of me half as much as I think of you, kitten?” he asked hoarsely, as he gently rubbed his cum over her clit. “Do you spend your days wishin’ you were here? Waiting for the sun to go down? Tell the truth, now.”
“Oh God!”
“That’s not an answer, love.”
Buffy found herself screaming, “Yes!” before her scrambling mind remembered the question. “Oh God, yes!”
“Do you get hot in class? Thinkin’ of…this?”
His right hand slid up her stomach as his other worked her pussy, eager fingers pinching her nipple. And it was too much. God, it was too much. She was already slick and aching from what they’d just shared, and now he was going to make her come again. Just from touching her, he was going to send her spiraling over the edge. All the while, he utilized his power over her to unlock all her dirty little secrets.
“Spike…oh God, please!”
“Do you?”
She nodded helplessly. “Gnnaaugh!”
His breathing hitched. “You’re close again,” he rasped, his thumb caressing her slippery pearl as his eyes swallowed her whole. “Jus’ from this? Jus’ from my touching you?”
“Spike…”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Oh my God!” she whimpered, thrusting her hips against his hand, tears of pleasure scalding down her cheeks. Fire raced through her veins, hot spots of white blinking the room out entirely. Then it was only Spike. Spike’s fingers pushing inside her drenched pussy, coating her insides with his essence. Spike’s thumb torturing her clit as Spike’s hungry eyes consumed her entirely. He moaned when she moaned and gasped when she gasped, and when she trembled into another blinding orgasm around his fingers, her cry of release was nearly drowned out by his pleasured sigh.
It lasted forever but was still over much too soon. The world slowly blinked back, and she discovered herself snuggled in Spike’s arms when the world came back, her head cradled at his shoulder. His fingers danced idly down the length of her arm, his hard breaths unmaking her completely, but he didn’t speak. He held her but didn’t speak, and she was glad. If he spoke, she’d be forced to talk as well, and she didn’t know what to say. God, she doubted she could form words which made sense in any rational language.
She didn’t know what had just happened; her mind was numb, her body sated and wonderfully worn out. From the fight. From her inner civil war. From the phenomenal heights she’d reached and the fear of the inevitable fall.
The fall, however, could wait for now. Spike was with her. For this brief window into fantasy, he was with her.
She wouldn’t think about what the next fight would bring. She wouldn’t.
Spike was with her now. And if it killed her, she would make it be enough.