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Authors Chapter Notes:
My muse thought-up this little one shot. She couldn't accept the fact that Buffy did absolutely nothing about Spike's nightly visits.

This story was fueled by the song "I get off" from Halestorm. Go here, have a listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4l14naR3dJQ The lyrics are the best: http://www.lyricsty.com/lyrics/h/halestorm/i_get_off.html


Buffy knew this was wrong. Despite this knowledge, desire dictating her actions. When she first noticed his behavior, this violation, she was to say the least, infuriated. Adamant about confronting him, she stormed outside, only to find he was gone. The ground littered with numerous spent cigarettes.



When she approached him the following day, she noticed a change. Her nearness caused him to react…unexpectedly. His typical sparkling blues were stormy with desire. His unneeded breath appeared to quicken. In an instant, an overwhelming sense of power filled her. This was not the power of a slayer, but that of a woman.



Vowing to confront him another time, Buffy didn’t speak a word. That was two weeks ago. Somewhere along the way, Buffy’s feelings changed. Strangely, his visits became part of her night and they were almost…anticipated. Not that she would ever tell him .



Situating herself into the muted beams of moonlight, streaming into her room, she stood adorned only in a sheer robe. Two strategically placed chopsticks held her long tresses, in a loose pile upon her head. After several moments, her skin ignited. He was here. His presence was announced, not only from the notable stench of cigarettes, but the distinct sensation she felt every time he was close.



Buffy’s gaze remained fixed elsewhere, anywhere but the ground below. Acknowledging his presence would affirm the reality of the situation. A truth she wasn’t ready to face.



Slowly working at the knot in the sash, she released the only bindings that concealed her. The sheer silk dragged across her inflamed skin, causing feather-like caresses in its wake. The robe gradually slipped from her body, silently landing on the floor. Releasing her hair from its confines, her long locks brushed against bare shoulders.



With lingering, lavish strokes, she applied vanilla scented lotion to her freshly showered body. Every inch of skin was treated with equal care, her breasts, the round globes of her ass, the apex of her inner thighs, just a hairsbreadth from her core. With several passes, her fingertips brushed across her womanly folds, causing her to tremble.



Extracting herself from the open window, she laid upon her bed. Pliable from the deluge of hot water, her own tender ministrations, and her audience, caused her to shake with need. Buffy’s deft hands traveled over her body, as she envisioned another above her. In her mind’s eye, her hands became his.



Her fingers plucked rosy peaks, as the other descended towards her core. Legs splayed, she welcomed eager fingers with a pleasurable mewl. They skimmed over her dampened folds, seeking the distended bundle of nerves. Waves of pleasure rippled throughout her as her fingers slowly stroked the pulsating nub.



Following endless moments of exquisite torture, her hand fervently abandoned her mounds, joining the other, as she stoked the fire that was building within. Two fingers plunged deep in tandem with the stimulation to her clit. Buffy hovered on the brink of release. His name hovered on her lips, as with a skillful twist and pinch, her fingers were coated with a rush of warm spendings.



Once the residual quakes from her climax subsided, Buffy’s spent body finally followed her commands to move, as she slid under her cool sheets. Lids heavy, Buffy began to succumb to sleep which beckoned her. Prior to entering into the land of nod, a content whisper fell from her lips.



“Good night, Spike.”



On the ground below, a lust-riddled vamp, stood motionless. Stamping out his tenth cigarette, Spike shifted slightly to dislodge his cock, which bit into the metal of his zipper. These tracks barely harnessed its release, as he inhaled deeply. The heady scent of vanilla and her feminine musk, filling his lungs, feeding his mind with steady pulses of lust.



“Sweet dreams, luv,” Spike purred, as he headed towards his crypt, for a much needed release.














Chapter End Notes:
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