Chapter 11
“Give me your wrists,” his voice curled toward her. Buffy hesitated but her breath thickened. This new prospect was turning her on. Spike struggled to control his smirk. He wanted her aroused, not defensive or annoyed. There was a complex set of variables to balance, but the outcome was well worth it.
This one was worth his effort.
“This isn’t about hurting, is it?” Buffy spoke in a voice of inexperience. A dim recollection of Xander’s adolescent bondage references passed through her mind.
“You know about this? Why does that not surprise me, kitten?” His slow smile widened. “I knew you’d be an adventurous girl.” He playfully wrinkled his nose at her, signaling nothing untoward in his meaning.
Buffy shook her head and gulped a swallow. “Heard of it…from demon research.” She winced faintly, knowing that was a lame cover.
“I see,” he nodded seriously and then winked. “Don’t worry, pet, your secret’s safe with me.” Buffy stared at the belt undulating between his hands as her cheeks flushed with color.
“Um,” she said quickly and with conviction. He smiled at her hesitation.
“It’s just this, love.” Spike offered something tame. He looped the belt through the buckle and slipped it over his own wrists. “Nothing big, just a little restraint. If you don’t like it, just take it off.” He demonstrated a quick release. “It’s not about forcing,” he spoke with tender promise, “it’s about releasing, giving in. You’ll come so hard, love, you’ll–“
Buffy interrupted him with a small voice. “I’ll try it.” She surprised herself but her curiosity got the better of her. It was a risk she chose to take. Looking directly into his eyes she held out her trusting wrists with no hesitation.
“Yeah…in for a penny and all that.” Spike’s shaky voice merely accentuated the expression of wonder that crept onto his face. He couldn’t hold back his amazement or the extreme rigidity of his aroused flesh. This is how far they had come from a hate fueled fuck. His sworn enemy held out her wrists for him to bind. That was something beyond hate.
The raw eroticism of the situation seized him. All that remained within him was naked need: to see her face when she came, to hear her breathe his name in ecstasy and to see that shard of iris glint gold in her green brown eyes from an inch away.
He bound her carefully, showing her how to escape the tether as he proceeded. It was a thoughtful discussion but unnecessary. Nothing would hold back the Slayer if she wanted free of the restraint. He simply wanted her to know the only motivations he had were purely pleasurable ones.
Then he pushed her back onto the bed. His preparations were gentle and sensuous. With a deliberate slowness he placed her wrists over her head and spread her legs apart, readjusting the positioning of her knees with kisses and gentle caresses. “That’s right beauty, make me welcome.” Buffy felt light-headed with anticipation. She followed his progress with interest and a renewed arousal.
Buffy understood ‘horny’ and other snicker worthy generic sexual terms. They always struck her as goofy and silly. The halls of Sunnydale High hummed with near constant sexual innuendo supplied most days by Xander Harris, proponent of the ‘wink, wink, nudge, nudge’ school of thought.
This night expanded Buffy’s vocabulary one hundred fold. Words entered her mind and her body accompanied by Spike’s caresses and the urgent sounds of his pleasure.
She knew now that sex was not something ominous nor puerile you did and whispered about later with your friends. It was something you were, a presence inside you as defining as your heartbeat and breath. It was something to remember, something she’d always be grateful for.
Spike looked at her with a combination of drunken depravity and genuine tenderness. She needed to memorize that look on his face. Bloodlust, hatred, frustration, smug defiance: all of these were familiar expressions. She’d never thought him capable of the look he was giving her now. He showed her the simple desire of a man for a woman. She felt it numbing her jaw and thickening the back of her dry throat.
Nuzzling deeply into her neck, he slid solidly back into her. He started a slow meditative rhythm but soon his hips crashed possessively into hers over and over again. When he finally raised his head to look into her face again he was shocked to see her eyes clear and focused and boring into his. Those were the Slayer’s eyes, not those of some wandering child.
Her tethered wrists fueled something inside her. It was a darkness Spike knew intimately; a well of renegade ferocity, passion and defiance. Buffy felt this truth of her sexual identity for the first time. Instead of guilt she felt emboldened and awakened as if from a long slumber.
Struck by her ravenous responses, Spike felt a sudden urge to introduce himself drift across his mind. What couldn’t they have if this was their starting point? Instead, Buffy bit his lips into a kiss and took him over the snarling precipice of coherence.
The realization that he was being swept away within her had not dawned on him fully even though he felt his own surrender begin to unfurl. He simply let it happen. It was a delicious fullness he’d only dreamed about and he’d been a slave to far less delicious sensations in his long and perverse existence.
All previous dreams of this sort of perfection had been for Drusilla, when she finally turned away from Angelus and toward him totally. Those were now mere details that no longer mattered. Besides, Drusilla had been rather specific in their last parting. He’d truly been a fool to wait for her for so long. This sensation was immediate: rich, ripe and warm, and opened willingly beneath him.
Opened willingly beneath him. Such a gift. Such a chance. The poet in him sang a mouthless aria. Words, there would be time enough for words. William would see to that. The echoes of this night would last.
The lady was willing.
Spike’s mind convulsed with pleasure. The warmth of the Slayer’s honeyed skin, the shyness of her inexperience and the growl of her animal need were snares he had not anticipated. Spike was a conquered man, done in by her girlish curiosity.
She had infected him, infused herself through him. He was not alone under his skin. She was there as well with her fruity lip gloss, her manipulative pout and her crushing right cross.
His previous thoughts of training her to meet her death at his hands transformed in the elasticity of his mind. A different type of training tickled the edges of his mind. This new fantasy was as potent as the other one, perhaps even more so.
It certainly deserved as much time and attention as he’d given any of his other fantasies. Yes, only his careful and undivided attention would suffice now.