Chapter 8
“Oh, Slayer.” Spike caressed up and down her sopping cleft. “You’re soaking again, that’s bloody wonderful, that is.” He sucked his fingers loudly to demonstrate his pleasure. His tone was clipped by a lustful fervor that she’d heard many times but now it was tempered by something else. She couldn’t place it. It was something wide-eyed and surprising, like a kid on Christmas morning. It was that delightful fullness of receiving, of being granted a bountiful treasure.
“Spike–” She turned her head to one side trying to see him through her mussed hair. Her arousal burned into his nostrils. She felt electrified and numbed simultaneously just balancing there, splayed on an ugly motel dresser, waiting and wanting to be taken, to be transformed. By Spike. The clanging of her heart was deafening; its beat bruised Spike’s throat.
Into the land of the living, indeed.
“I’m here, pretty girl, I’m right here.” The buzz of his zipper filled her ears as Spike opened his jeans fully and shoved them down his thighs. Buffy looked into the mirror and was stunned by the shocking reflection of her wanton position.
“Hands up, Slayer.” His voice choked with lust as he led her hands up over the mirror and onto the wall. His arms curved around her body and his fingers traced down over the fullness of her lace covered breasts. Yeah, he’d get to that eventually, but right now she looked so nice just the way she was, all raunchy and bursting at the seams, ready to spill out all over him. He burrowed himself into the nape of her neck and tunneled into her hair with his nose. She felt the tip of his cock teasing her opening and turned again to try to see him.
“You want it, pet?” his low husky voice seized her mind. His eyes were closed as he began a relaxed interrogation. He couldn’t resist playing with her. Buffy nodded dumbly.
“Fucking right you want it,” he gritted out, barely able to control his own lust. “Do you have any idea how wet you are? How irresistible you smell? What you’re doing to me this very second?”
“Uhh–“
“Let me do the same to you, pet. Tell me what you like,” she hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone his next sentence. “You even know what you like, love?” He rubbed himself slowly over her weeping aperture. She was scorching him already.
“Uhhhh,” Buffy’s sigh revealed a pained naivetT.
“Let’s find out, yeah? See if you like it good…and hard,” he ground his fingers into her hips at that statement and then relaxed them. “Do you want to find out?” His voice was so tender and calm. Her hips began to vibrate in response.
“Y-yeah.” Her nodding whisper floated on a cloud.
“I bet you’ll like a bit of the rough, all messy and hungry. You’re probably starving for it, eh?” The softness of his voice was torturous.
“Wha–?”
“Are you a hungry kitty?” His free hand twisted loosely in her hair, grabbing and releasing fistfuls. She could feel his loose sneer as if he had cut it into her skin. “Ready to order, love?”
“H-huh?” Overwhelmed by the prospect before her, this thing she suddenly wanted more than her next breath, Buffy could hardly decipher his running comments.
“Problems with translation, love? You do get the picture here, don’t you?” His hand suddenly gripped her hair firmly, holding her cheek immobile against his mouth. Buffy’s mind swirled. She had no experience with this type of torture and that’s what it was, torture. He released her hair and softly kissed her cheek. “Maybe we need to clarify a few things first. Tell me love, why exactly are you so delightfully poised on this dreadful wooden box?” His eyes gazed in appreciation down over her glistening curves.
“Um…you…you’re gonna…” her dry mouth struggled to form the words. Why was he even talking? One day she would enjoy slamming a stake through his chest. But today? Today she wanted him to shut up and push himself inside her body as deep and dark as the deep blue sea.
Today she wanted to disappear inside him.
“Yes, love? There’s something I’m supposed to do?” His cock was drenched with her moisture as he swept it continually over her weeping folds. She wanted to slap his face really hard but she didn’t want to move for fear he would stop doing what he was doing between her legs.
“You’re… gonna…” her voice dwindled to near microscopic levels, “f-fuck me.”
“Think you got the wrong word there, love.” He pressed his chest tightly to her back, causing her to arch mindlessly into him in response.
What the hell was he doing to her? He had no business being there, inside her head. Telling her those things, making her want– She could feel herself dripping onto the hardness nestled between her legs. Even she smelled it now, the unmistakable heady musk of her deepest need. It was a truth she could not stop. Jesus.
“We, Slayer. We are gonna fuck. You and me, lamb.” He felt her jerk subtly in his embrace. This was going to be so sweet.
“Shall we go then, pet? See where the night takes us?” He goaded her carefully and threaded his fingers delicately through her hair.
“Yes.” Her soft affirmation thickened on her tongue. It was a low animal sound from the deepest reaches of her being. It was Spike’s kitty waking from her slumber. He could taste the lust percolating in her throat. She wanted it was badly as he did.
“Right. Look at yourself then, Slayer. Watch yourself come.” Buffy looked into the mirror and saw almost a child’s look of expectation and uncertainty on her face. Spike pressed forward solidly into her slick channel. She was lubricated enough for him to enter, but it was an impossibly tight fit. He failed to achieve the bruising pace his lust demanded but he pushed onward.
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and gulped a shuddered breath in reply to his urgent presence within her small body. Spike had size and feral urgency in his corner. It hurt. She thought she knew what to expect, but this was nothing like it had been with Angel. Her brow darkened as she accepted the pain. She did not react at all. This was what she deserved, nothing less. After all, the damned deserve their torment.
And she was one of the damned now.