Buffy stared into the dishwasher, trying to remember what she'd been doing.

Besides thinking about not thinking about Spike.

Right. Of course. Dishes. "Dawn? Will you bring me the dirty dishes?"

"'Kay," Dawn answered from the living room.

Detergent, Buffy told herself. Need detergent. She looked under the sink. What was I... oh yeah, detergent.

"Here ya go." Dawn entered the kitchen, carrying a few glasses and plates with the hand that wasn't hanging from a sling.

"Oh god, I forgot about your arm!" Buffy quickly commandeered the dishes and dropped them into place. "I'm sorry, Dawnie... I've been such a space case lately."

"It's no big, I'm still functional," the younger Summers insisted with a shrug. "I think that's why they give you two arms. Instead of just the one."

"Still--" The phone rang, making Buffy jump.

Dawn said, "Who could that be?"

Buffy rushed to answer it, imagining the horrors that could warrant a midnight call. "Hello?"

"I'm trying to understand..." a deep, familiar voice started, "that thing you do with your tongue."

Buffy gasped. And hung up the phone.

"Who was it?" Dawn closed the dishwasher and pressed a button.

"No one!" Buffy chirped, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Wrong number."

The phone rang again.

"I'll get it," Dawn offered.

"No!" Buffy blocked her way. "Just ignore it. It'll go away." She hoped.

It didn't.

They stood there, waiting, listening to it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

"This is stupid!" Dawn finally cried. "Just tell 'em it's a wrong number and they'll stop calling!"

Buffy sighed and snatched up the receiver, making sure to turn away from her sister. "What?!"

"Now, now, pet. It's just a little question. Your tongue. And that thing you did with it--"

"You've got the wrong number," she tersed, and hung up, heart racing.

"See?" Dawn said. "Was that so hard?"

Buffy's eyes widened. So hard.

And it rang again.

"Wow, really not gettin' the message, are they?" Dawn noticed, preparing to answer the phone herself.

Buffy intercepted, grabbed the phone and said into the mouthpiece, "Stop. Calling. Now."

"I'm callin' back in five minutes," he said casually. "You better be ready for me."

"What is wrong with you?" Buffy hissed, and peeked at her sister, whose forehead was scrunched in puzzlement. "...Sir?"

"Be ready," he said, and hung up.

Buffy slammed the phone down, glared at it for a moment, then yanked the entire thing out of the wall.

Dawn looked down at the mess. "Wow. Um, Buffy, I think maybe I should answer the phone from now on."

"No! Don't. Not tonight."

Thoroughly confused now, Dawn said, "Wha-huh?"

"Obscene," Buffy came up with. "Very obscene phone caller." Not a lie, after all.

"Oh! So that's why you're mad. What did he say?"

"Nothing. He was... nothing." She stepped over the broken phone. "I'll fix this tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"Just upstairs. I've got... in my room--" Buffy cleared her head. "I'm gonna go to bed. You should too. But whatever you do, don't answer the phone."

"Okay," Dawn conceded worriedly. "I won't."

* * *

As soon as Buffy sat down, the phone rang again. She swiftly brought it to her ear. "Spike! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why'd you answer the phone again?"

It was a valid point. "Because I... because I wanted to yell at you!"

"And why are you in your room, waitin' for my call?"

"How..." She peered out the window. "How do you know I'm in my room?"

"Just a guess, pet."

"Where are you?"

"My place."

"And why do you have a phone?"

"Cell phone. Found it. Now," he continued, "Back to what I was asking before..."

"You really expect me to believe you just found a phone lying around on the--"

"Fine, I stole it. Now take off your clothes."

Buffy's brow rose. "Excuse me?"

"I said, take off your clothes."

"No!"

"Look, I'm not gonna be the only one naked here."

"And I'm not gonna," Buffy lowered her voice, "have phone-sex with you!"

"How 'bout just the bottoms, then."

"Oh, right. I won't have phone sex with you, but I'll take off my pants. You're deranged." But then she noticed that her hands were moving of their own accord, and somehow her pants were sliding off her legs. She frowned and kicked them off the bed.

"Now the top," he said.

"Are you watching me?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "But now I know you did it."

She said, "I am NOT doing this."

"Oh, you are. You're unbuttoning your shirt right now, aren't you?"

She was shocked to find that she was doing that very thing. What's wrong with me? "No," she said defiantly.

"Which bra are you wearing? The lacey black one?"

"No, it's..." She stopped herself. "I'm not playing this game with you!"

"Pink? The pink one? I like that one."

She noticed that he was breathing. Audibly. "What are you... Are you...?"

"Yes I am, and thanks for asking. You should be too."

She lay back on her pillow, listening to him breathe, belabored and slow. "I told you no," she said, her tone suddenly laced with promise.

"Mm. Lucky I've learnt that 'no' means... something other than 'no' when it comes from you."

"Hey!" She'd meant it to sound authoritative, but it came out... coy.

"Now, about that bra..."

She glanced down. "White. Plain. Not very sexy."

"All your knickers are sexy."

"Believe me, this one--"

"Take it off," he interrupted.

"I'm not taking orders from you," Buffy claimed as she sat up to unhook and free the article in question.

"I'll interpret that as, 'I did as you said, and I'm ready for further instruction'."

She scoffed. "You are the most presumptuous..."

"Where are your hands right now?"

"What?" Her hands froze.

"Tell me."

"No!"

"On your stomach?"

"No," she whispered.

"On your ears?"

She snorted. "No."

His voice lowered. "Where then?"

"On my..." She felt her face flush as she tried to answer. "On my um..."

"Gonna be shy with me now?"

"I can't... this is different than--"

"Let's start over," he said softly. "Your right hand is where?"

"On my thigh."

"Your left hand is..."

"On my..." she shut her eyes, "nipple."

"Give it a little tug for me."

"And why would I do that?" she asked, playfully now.

"Because if I were there, I'd be doing a lot worse, wouldn't I?"

"But you wouldn't be here." She flicked her finger over the erect flesh and pulled.

"Remains to be seen. Now I want you to bring your fingers to your mouth... and lick them for me." He waited. "Got it?"

"Mm-mm," she denied, mouth full.

He exhaled a laugh. "Good. Now take 'em down to that rosy little nipple... swirl your fingers around it, imagining my tongue there..."

"Don't want your tongue," she said, eyes rolling back as the receptive peak goosebumped at her touch.

"Right. Now I'm going down. Down your ribcage... down your belly... down to your sexy little plain white knickers..."

She laughed, despite herself.

"Tell me what you feel there."

Buffy took a deep breath, and ran her fingers up and down the fabric. "Hot. Wet."

"Good girl," he praised. "Slip your hand inside."

She did.

"How often do you think about me?"

"Huh?"

"How often?"

"Never."

"Oh, I doubt that--"

"All the time," she said, breath catching.

A pause. "What are you doing?"

"None of your business."

Chuckling, he said, "Now you know that's wrong."

"What are you doing?"

"I asked you first."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'm probably doing the exact same thing you're doing."

"Well I doubt that, unless you've grown a dick since I last saw you."

"Ew!"

"Is your finger on your clit right now?"

Buffy didn't answer.

"Buffy."

"Yes," she admitted.

"You do this when you think about me?"

She paused, and finally answered, "Uh-huh."

"What do you do?"

Buffy inhaled. "I touch myself."

"Where?"

"You want me to say it?"

"Obviously."

"My um..." She giggled.

"This is adorable. What happened to the Slayer with the filthy mouth I met four nights ago?"

"She's hiding."

"Yeah? She gonna come out so she can tell me what you're doing?"

Buffy closed her eyes, and lowered her voice. "I'm circling my fingertips... around my clit."

"There she is!"

"Shut up."

"Not gonna happen now that she's back."

She smiled and continued, "I'm putting one finger inside. It's all wet..."

"Oh?" Spike's breath became jagged again.

"Uh-huh... What are you doing?"

"I'm pumping my finger into you while I suck on your clit," he answered plainly.

Buffy couldn't help but moan.

"In. Out. Two fingers. Now three..."

Buffy gulped and gasped. "I want more."

"You want me inside you, baby?"

"Yes," she said. "Deep..."

"I rip off your panties..."

Buffy tore the satin away.

"I rise above you... licking up your body all the while, nibbling at your tits..."

"Yes!"

"I reach down, and press my cock against your dripping wet, hot pussy..."

She roved a finger through her slippery folds. "Uh-huh..."

"I take your legs in my arms..."

"I pull you closer with my legs..."

"Yeah... You pull me in, you bossy little bitch..."

Buffy laughed. "And I make you fuck me."

"That's right. I'm just mindin' my own business, of course--"

"Spike," she chided.

"And I do. Exactly what you want."

She whispered, "How?"

"One deep stroke. All the way in."

Buffy grunted, three fingers hitting her core.

"I pull out, just a little..." He paused for dramatic effect. "And thrust right back in."

A squeak escaped from her lips.

"Remember what you said that night, pet?"

"Just... the right... fit?"

"That's right, baby. You've got me inside you, all the bloody way, and I'm pumping and pumping into you... you're--"

"Holding onto your neck, wrapping my... legs around you..."

"Kissing your sweet soft lips..."

"Sucking on my neck..."

"Worshipping your neck..."

"Biting--"

"Biting--"

"Biting--Ohhhohhhhhaaaahhh..." Buffy's shoulders lunged off the pillows as she pitched forward, spasming helplessly.

"Buffy-- Fuck--!" His breath sped up.

The receiver still plastered to her ear, she was nearly deafened by the sound of his explosion.

After listening to him sputter unintelligibly to a stop; after exhaling her own last blissful shudder, it suddenly occurred to her how badly she'd just screwed up.

Somehow, he'd managed to break through all of her defenses. Again.

How does he do that?

She could hear his sated stretch and smug grin. "'Night, pet."

Smug bastard.

"Don't call me again," she warned unsteadily.

The grin got even wider. "Same time tomorrow night?"

"Ooh!" She smacked the phone down.

Damn him!

Still panting, Buffy ran her hands over her quivering, naked body and rolled onto her stomach, waiting for the new ache he'd left her with to subside.

Waiting... Waiting... Then doing her best to alleviate it.

Finally, she groaned in defeat, reached for the phone and dialed *69.

Three rings, and a wary, "Hello?"

"Um," Buffy started. "About that thing... you know. With my tongue?"

There was a second of silence.

"Right," Spike rasped in awe. He cleared his throat. "About that..."

Spike reached for his pack of smokes, a big smile on his face. She'll be mine soon enough, he thought dreamily. Soon as she realizes it isn't just me who wants this...

Spike's smile faded. But she'll never realize that, will she?

He knew he had to accept that Buffy would never stop thinking of him as a mistake, as a truckstop on the highway to happiness, as a--

High, electronic blip tweeting The Flight of the Bumblebee?

"What the hell?" Spike sat up and scanned his crypt suspiciously.

"So the chip's rigged to torture me with Rimsky-Korsakov 'fore it blows my brains out," he surmised defeatedly. "Always wondered how they planned to do me in."

Then he realized it was coming from somewhere in the bed.

Fuck. Of course. The phone.

He picked it up and hesitated, wondering whether the owner was trying to track it down. "Your fault for leavin' it at the bloody theater," he mumbled.

Touching the talk button he'd spent an hour trying to find earlier, Spike tentatively brought the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"Um," a familiar voice began. "About that thing... you know. With my tongue?"

It was Buffy.

It was Buffy?

It was Buffy!

"Right," Spike said, amazed into near-speechlessness. He cleared his throat. "About that..."

"Which thing are we talking about, exactly?"

He sat back against his pillow and tossed his unlit cigarette aside. "I think you know which thing, love."

He could hear her smile. "The thing you really, really liked?"

"That's the one."

"The thing you made me do more than once."

His cock jumped, and he took hold of it. It was still slick with baby oil and come. "That thing."

"Okay... First, I want you to lick your fingers for me."

Spike grinned. "Well, I never."

"Oh yes you have."

"Yeah. I have." He licked his fingers.

"Now take two fingers, and run them around the head of your cock... Are you doing it?"

"Are you kidding?" Of course he was doing it.

Buffy chuckled, and added in a soft, slow lilt, "Imagine it's my tongue... circling the tip..."

Suddenly, Spike was at her mercy. "Fuck, Buffy..."

"But we're not even there yet..."

"Oh, I know..."

"I slide down, I take you all the way in..."

"Buffy, I need to see you," he blurted.

"That's not how the game goes, Spike..."

"Please," he choked.

"No."

"Just for a little while."

"This is my call, and I'm calling the shots."

"You can call any shot you want when I see--"

"I suck my cheeks in as I rolllllll back up..."

"Oh, Christ..."

"And my tongue flicks against the skin right beneath the head..."

He growled in frustration. "See, I can't do this with my hands--"

"Quiet, Spike. Or I hang up."

"Right then. Go on."

"My hands are working now, over all the spit and come that's covering you... two hands at once... remember?"

"Fuck yeah."

"But I think I'll stop."

He almost panicked. "Why?"

"Because I want to go down..."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. I lick your balls..."

"Now that's a word I thought I'd never hear you say--"

"I suck one into my mouth."

"God, Buffy..."

"And the other... mmm... and down..."

"Bloody fucking hell, Buffy, come over."

"Down to that spot in between..."

"You're killing me."

"You asked for it."

"I did," he admitted.

"So take it."

"You want me to shoot off right now?"

"Not yet..."

"Then don't talk to me like that."

"I'll talk to you however I want. If you can't hold it, that's not my problem."

"Oh, I can hold it," he tried to convince himself.

"Good. 'Cause I'm wiggling my tongue there..."

"Mm... Your ass is wiggling too."

She gasped. "You ARE watching me!"

"What? No! I'm in my crypt, I swear it! Can't you hear the--" He squinted. "Your ass is wiggling?"

A pause. "No."

His curiosity piqued again, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm licking the skin beneath your balls while I jack you off," she answered plainly.

He smirked. Playing his game to the letter. His tongue pressed against his teeth as he replied, "How are you licking it?"

"First with a pointy tongue, gliiiiding up and down... Oh, will I put it there? Mm, I don't think so..."

He laughed.

"Not tonight, at least."

A rumble emanated from his throat.

"Then I flatten my tongue against you, and do that thing..."

He whispered, "What, what is the thing...?"

"That thing you like..."

"But -- but what..."

"I move up now, because I wanna suck your cock, I wanna catch it, I wanna drink you up..."

Spike's eyes rolled back. "Bloody hell, Buffy... You're the perfect woman, you know that? Bloody fucking... perfect!"

A gasp, and then dead silence on the other end.

Fuck! Good going, mate. Love talk was the Slayer's saltpeter. He slowed his hand movements as he waited for her to speak.

Eventually, he heard her breath return in uneven puffs. When she finally spoke, she tripped over her words. "My, my tongue... it rolls."

"What?"

"Rolls... you know... I can roll my tongue. That's what you like."

"Buffy--"

"I -- I should go."

"Don't go, Buffy. I didn't mean to--" He stopped himself before pushing her even farther away. "Can't let you off unsatisfied."

"I um... I'm not. I'm satisfied."

Already? "When?"

"Just... just now."

"But I didn't hear--"

"Yeah. 'Cause I covered the phone."

"Why?"

While she tried to settle on an answer, Spike figured it out.

Buffy climaxed when he said she was perfect.

Oh.

Oh!

"Buffy?"

"I have to--"

"Let me come over." He grabbed his cigarettes and reached for his jeans.

"Spike, no."

"Buffy, yes."

"Spike..."

"I need to be close to you again."

"I... No..."

"I need to feel you in my arms."

"Wha... I..."

"I want to make love to you, Buffy."

She seemed stunned by this.

"Nice and slow, whispering in your ear..."

"We can't."

"We can."

"But, Dawn..."

"I'll be quiet," he insisted. "And I won't stay."

"You 'won't stay'?" was her indignant response.

"I mean I... will if you want me to, 'course I will... just not if you don't."

"I don't!" she cried. "I don't even want you to come over!"

"But you wouldn't slay me if I did."

After a lengthy pause, Buffy stammered, "I-I don't know."

"You don't know?"

She sighed, exasperated. "Just get over here before I change my mind."

Spike smiled, already fully dressed and out the door. "I'll be there in a heartbeat."


More to come...

Buffy paced across her moonlit room, carpet matting beneath her toes.

"Not gonna happen," she muttered for the umpteenth time, and stopped in her tracks. She resolutely lifted her chin. "'I changed my mind, Spike. We can't do this. Go home.'" She folded her arms and tried again. "'Go. Home.'"

Catching a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror, Buffy realized, "Probably more convincing with clothes on."

Hurrying to her bureau, she rummaged through the drawers for something... Spike-proof. A Spike deterrent. Well, it was worth a try, anyway.

A swatch of maroon caught her eye. Sunnydale High sweats: old and worn, and a few seasons past spring fresh. They would have to do.

As she dug out the matching shirt, the prickly hairs on the back of her neck alerted her to an undead presence.

Damn, she thought. Actually, it sounded more like Yes! -- but who was listening?

She turned, expecting to see him at the window, and found his face just inches from hers.

Buffy's breath snagged in her throat. She tried to make her mouth work, make the sounds come out, but he was staring her down with those stupid, penetrating... sexy... No. Her brain looped a frantic plea to force him away, but her nerve endings kept insisting on singing an electric rejoice. Like in 'Fame', she thought, but without the purple leg warmers.

As he watched the conflict shine through her eyes, Spike reached out to caress her cheek, then traced a path down her body that stopped at the clothing she held in her hand.

"You won't be needing these," he said, easily divesting her of her armor and setting it back in the open drawer behind her. His nose lightly grazed hers, and as always, a palpable hum of an aura surged between them even before their lips connected.

Oh god oh god oh god... Mewling helplessly, Buffy gave in. Just one kiss, one last kiss, and then she'd tell him to go.

He groaned into her mouth. Four days he'd been without this, and that was four days too bloody long.

Calloused fingers swept down her spine and rested on the lower curve of her bottom to pull her closer, pick her up; maneuver her to a soft place.

Buffy resisted, her back hitting the bureau.

He shot an arm out to steady the wobbling dresser before it made a sound. "If it's more foreplay you're looking for, we can take this outside," he whispered, free hand leisurely combing through her hair. "Unless you want little sis to come knocking, askin' what all the racket's about."

Buffy quivered. Later. She'd tell him to go later.

"Reflex," she explained, her delicate fingers linking at the nape of his neck to guide his curtly smiling mouth back to hers.

When he took her in his arms again, she let him carry her to her bed.

Their tongues softly teasing, she felt her head connect with a pillow... and the contrast between this and their previous tryst struck her. This wasn't fierce or bruising -- this was a subtle, mounting whisper of a thing that ached with an entirely different kind of need.

The kind of need, he noticed, that had sod-all to do with 'convenience'.

Spike resurfaced to shed his jacket and t-shirt, then his boots, which weren't laced properly anyway, and finally, his jeans, with her assistance.

Fingers moving over the supple planes of her body, he kneeled at her side and effused, "God, you're magnificent."

She tremored at his words... or was it his touch? Both worked simultaneously to shut down all pretenses of will, logic... motor function...

Hands continuing to coast across her shivering form, he lowered his head to let his soft lips tickle her skin, his tongue occasionally darting out to remind her of everything he could do with it.

When he fluttered past her hipbone for the second time, she thrashed forward and clutched his head. "Oh god! Stop it!"

"Stop... what?" he rasped, almost innocently.

"The foreplay -- the phonecall... enough... Please!"

Smiling, he lay beside her, lazily trailing his fingers up and down her goosebumped torso. "What do you want, exactly?"

She captured his roaming hand, then answered shakily, "You. I-I want you."

Spike was surprised by her candor and willingness to say those words. But mostly he was impressed by how much she seemed not to hate herself for it.

He grinned cockily. "You want me to what?"

"Stop teasing me!" she begged, hating that he was able to render her helpless like this. "Just do what you came here to do!"

He chuckled. "What did I come here for, love?"

To get beat down? Buffy wanted to retort. But she had to play by his rules, or the game was over. "To make..." No, that wouldn't work. "To have..."

"To make to have? You'll have to be more specific than that."

She glared at him. "To fuck me."

"That's not what I came here for," he said with a shrug, and started to get up.

With a whimper, she caught his bicep, pulling him back to her. "The other thing."

He smirked at her. "What other thing?"

"The... the thing. The... m-making. Of stuff."

"'The making of stuff,'" Spike repeated scornfully, though he didn't really mind the way she was tracing little circles around his nipples. "Nice try."

"God, it's just a euphemism anyway!"

He shook his head in disappointment as he eased himself over her. "You'll say it."

"I won't," she swore, then dared, "You say it."

Easy for me to say. "I came here..." he murmured into one ear, then moved to the other, "to make love to you."

At once, her entire body responded -- eyes rolling back, chin jutting upward, back arching, arms and legs constricting around him.

Well. This was new. Maybe she wasn't in love with him just yet, but she sure as hell didn't mind hearing about his love for her.

Taking advantage of this new insight, he closed a hand around his cock, guided its tip to the apex of her inner thighs and said, "Not fucking, not having sex, not shagging your bloody brains out. This is making love."

Buffy shook in his arms. The anticipation of being filled with him, she told herself.

"God, the way you tremble when I..." He exhaled a shiver as he slipped into her. And just like the first night, a single thought gripped him: this was where he wanted to stay, forever.

"Mmmn," she purred, the same desire fleeting through her mind, despite her better judgement.

Slowly, Spike began to pump, resting his weight on one fully extended arm, deliberately keeping himself at a shallow depth. Tonight, he would show her that a good 'rough and tumble' wasn't his only purpose.

Emitting a desperate whimper, she bucked upwards to take him in all the way.

He stayed her hip, reminding her, "Nice... and slow."

With each subsequent thrust, he slid in just a little more, promising, "Gonna make soft, slow, hot, blinding, love to you, all... night... long."

She cooed mindlessly.

"You like that, baby?"

Eyes closed, she nodded, biting her lower lip.

"Look at me, Buffy," he said, moving faster.

She obeyed. His thumb brushed against her lips, and she captured it between her teeth.

It made him quiver, his jaw clench. "Drive me crazy, you know that?"

"No, you," she slurred, her tongue flickering against his thumb.

He took a chance. "Say it."

She swallowed, hard. No fair.

He saw the fight flash in her eyes, but then...

...then she whispered it -- a little defiantly, but clear as water: "Make love to me."

With a satisfied smile, he thrust his weight forward, deftly catching her inevitable cry in his palm.

"Buffy," he choked, and released his hold over her mouth.

"Spike," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her, wanting him closer than he could possibly get.

"You know I can't stay away," he whispered feverishly. "Can't stay away from you..."

Her reply was muffled into his shoulder, but it sounded an awful lot like, "So don't."

"God, Buffy..." He kissed her neck, her ear, her mouth...

And she wouldn't let him go.

They writhed together, legs and arms and tongues intertwined.

As the bed began to squeak in time with their increasingly urgent pace, he proclaimed through grit teeth, "Mine, you're mine..."

Her body began to shake uncontrollably and her mouth began to spill: "Spike, yes, yes, yes, please, please, yes..."

Feeling her glorious internal muscles tightening around his shaft, he muttered, "My Buffy... My Slayer... so bloody... gorgeous... beautiful little bitch, love you!"

With a silent scream shaping her lips, she came, digging her fingernails into his back and unwittingly spurring on Spike's tethered beast of a climax.

Gasping and spent, he rested his forehead on her collarbone while she hissed a series of awed and exhausted post-orgasmic obscenities.

Spike loved that he was the cause of that, yet again.

After several minutes of idly stroking his hair, she said, "You know you're not leaving, right?"

He lifted his head, still dazed. "Wha?"

"You're not going anywhere," she resolved for him.

"I'm not?"

"No," she whispered, then caught the glimmer in his eye. "Don't get excited. I'm just saying. You did say 'all night long', and it's not even three o'clock yet, so, you're not allowed to just get up and leave."

He smirked, then rested his jaw in his hand before asking, "When am I allowed to leave?"

"Well. Tomorrow. You know," she said matter-of-factly. "When the light of day makes me wanna throw you out again."

He laughed. At least she was getting to know her own Jeckyll & Hyde-like tendencies.

"Deal?" she asked, tracing a nail around his ear.

"Deal. But only if you show me that thing."

"What thing? You mean this?" She opened her mouth, then flattened her tongue to set it into a rolling motion.

"How the--" Spike stuck his finger inside her mouth, then tried to move his own tongue the same way. "How the hell do you do that?"

"Must be magic," she teased with a shrug.

"Black magic, more like. That thing's the devil's work."

"Nuh-uh!" she objected playfully. "It's a superhero thing."

"Yeah, because it's so bloody imperative to be able to lick your enemies well."

She snorted. "Didn't hear you complaining."

He lifted a brow and offered, "It did bring me to my knees."

"See? Superhero technique."

He moved in close to murmur possessively, "Not gonna use it on any other enemies, are you?"

She smiled. "I think I'd have to get to know 'em a little first."

He pulled her flush against him in one swift motion. "Lucky I get to kill 'em before you have the chance."

"Aw..." she goaded, "But what if they're really hot?"

Growling, he clasped his human teeth over her neck and dipped a hand between her legs.

She shuddered and moaned, and took it all back. "You... hot... You... hottest of all hot -- hot--"

"And that thing with your tongue?"

"For you... only..." she shivered. "Only you."

He teased a finger in her most receptive spot. The place that with one nuanced touch, he could get her to say just about anything he wanted. "Because it's...?"

"Yours," she finished. "Yours. It's yours."

He took his hand away and grinned at her.

She shoved him. "Bastard."

"What'd I do?"

"That thing," she answered sorely.

"What thing?"

"That thing you do. With your hand."

"What? This thing?"

"Unh! Yesss! That thing!"

"But you like that thing..."

"No!" Her head lolled back and she corrected, "Love that thing."





THE END