Part V
The night was spent tormented with thoughts of her.
Spike had absolutely no idea how his life had become so thoroughly buggered in such a short amount of time. Two days ago, and things had been...well, not fine, but bloody well better than they were presently. He hadn’t tasted the Slayer’s lips then. Hadn’t felt her skin beneath his hands. Hadn’t drowned in her warmth by simply standing so close to her. Hadn’t lost himself to the world of her coy glances, her eyes that were torn between longing and confusion. Hadn’t swum in the rich scent of her arousal. She was so sweet. And he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
It wasn’t supposed to like this. His body wasn’t supposed to flood with warmth when he thought of her. He wasn’t supposed to want to touch her like a lover, take her with anything other than violence. His mouth wasn’t supposed to crave anything but her blood.
He stayed in most of the night, cursing himself for being a coward, but completely unprepared to face the Slayer, especially after what had happened the night before. After a while, though, the strain of restlessness got to him. Hours after sunset, he was desperate for a good, clean kill; one that would hopefully help to clear his head and give him perspective on what was truly important in life.
Why he found his feet carrying him toward Revello Drive, he didn’t know. Nothing in his mind made sense anymore. Nothing. Every time he attempted to focus on his plan, on his vow to himself to kill the Slayer and get the fuck out of Dodge, he found himself shivering at the thought of her dead. The image of the Slayer’s lifeless body haunted him for reasons that made absolutely no sense. Yes, her skin was annoyingly soft. Yes, her lips tasted like milk and honey. Yes, he wanted to bathe in her arousal. He wanted to taste her as she came, and it had nothing to do with her blood.
Furthermore, it had nothing to do with her calling. Absolutely nothing. Her calling hadn’t given her those eyes, those lips, or that body. Her calling hadn’t forced her to look at him the way she’d looked at him last night. Her calling had ensured that their paths cross, but it was the girl beneath the warrior that had touched his long ignored humanity.
She lived in his every thought. In the needless breaths he stole. He was so lost in thoughts of her that the loud sounds of Angelus fucking the Aurelius women, particularly Dru’s cries of pleasure, hadn’t fazed him.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural.
Spike eyed the tree that sat conveniently outside the Slayer’s window and glanced up. She had long since retired for the night, he was sure. It was incredibly late and he was a fool for trying, but this madness couldn’t continue. He needed her out of his life. He needed her six bloody feet under where her eyes wouldn’t captivate him. Once she was dead, he’d be able to forget that she’d ever existed in the first place. That sassy little girl had him hard as a fucking rock just by thinking about her, and it couldn’t continue.
It had to end. Tonight.
He released a deep sigh and stomped out his half-smoked cigarette beside the tree trunk.
Let’s get this over with.
Not exactly the motivational speech he’d given himself in the past when plotting a slayer’s death, but it was the best he could muster. He shoved his displacement aside, whispering the empty promise to himself that everything would be all right if he could only close his hands around her throat while simultaneously ignoring the temptation to pepper her sweet skin with kisses.
Spike growled inwardly. Knock it off.
He would get nowhere if he kept that up. Nor would he profit from observing how sweet she looked, cuddled up in bed, a stuffed pig clutched close to her breast. He inhaled deeply, trying to ignore how hard he was trembling. The burning sensation that ate at his insides, screaming in protest that he leave the girl be.
She’d fucked up his life too much to bloody well to leave her be.
He growled again and tapped harshly on her window before his inner William presented a convincing argument on why the chit should live to see another day. He watched eagerly as she stirred, rolling over, her eyes fluttering open. She glanced to the clock and groaned, flopping onto her back with a deep sigh. She hadn’t even tossed the window a look.
Another growl rumbled through his throat. He rapped on the window again. Louder.
Buffy sat up again with a start, her eyes finding his immediately. He tried not to melt at the way she clutched her heart, at the innocence she radiated while hiding her deadly potential under a facade of a helpless damsel. God, he wanted her so much.
He groaned. Kill the girl. It’ll end this.
Still, his mouth couldn’t help but water at the way she moved to the window, unlatching the lock and pushing the pane open. She looked even sexier than she had two nights ago, wrapped in a bathrobe that did little to hide her goodies. The camisole she wore revealed more than it hid, tenting at her breasts where her nipples saluted him, imploring his mouth for a taste.
“Spike.” She breathed his name as though he were a patron saint, and his body hardened even further. “What are you doing here?”
He swallowed hard. “Come outside.”
“No.”
“Come outside, Slayer.”
She tilted her head and searched his eyes. “Why?”
“I’m here to kill you.”
The words rushed out before he could stop them, and something within him sank at their liberation. Now it was out there—it was said. A verbal contract against the cosmos. He had a duty to uphold now. A promise he’d made to himself, and signed with his tongue. Yet, Buffy didn’t disappoint. She maintained herself, determination wrought across her face. There was no shriveling back in fear or bursting into tears that the man that had all but fucked her against her front door little more than a day ago had decided it was time to end her life. Her eyes betrayed nothing but whimsical acceptance.
After a long minute, she drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
Spike balked as she moved away from the window.
Okay?
He watched, amazed, as she wiggled into a pair of sweats that had been casually strewn across the floor, his cock straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. The girl was a bloody enigma; there was no denying that. She dressed methodically, her body calm, her heartbeat tempered. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail before turning to what had to be her weapons chest. There she paused, considered, and ultimately decided against a stake. Against anything. Even the cross chain that she wore obsessively around that lovely neck of hers was nowhere to be seen. Spike nearly gasped when she finally turned back to him. The look buried in her gaze was all woman; the little girl was gone.
“You should move back,” she said. “I need to climb down.”
He nodded numbly, hungry eyes soaking her in.
A small smile kissed her lips. “Spike?”
“Yeh?”
“Move back.”
“Yeh.” He paused and snapped back to himself, giving his head a hard shake. “Right. Movin’ now.”
She was the manifestation of poetry and grace. Logically, he knew that experience had taught her feet where to find the good footholes, instructed her hands which branch held the most strength, making her dance to the ground entrancing to his privileged eyes. He knew that she was molded by the habits she’d developed since becoming the residential slayer—that, like himself, she was divided into two halves that made up who she was. The Slayer, an instrument of immeasurable strength for the want of good. And Buffy. The girl. The woman who carried the Slayer’s burden while attempting to balance duty and life.
In that moment, she reminded him so much of himself that he was nearly tempted to weep. The man that he had tried to kill, the one that Dru found so disgusting because it bore the face of humanity that no demon could destroy. The man that carried his demon’s burden, divided wholly between what he was and who he was, and the separate needs that built him into Spike. Into the compromise of a vampire with a human past and a human with a demon inside. He was so used to beating the human down that, when struck with pangs of humanity, he found himself at a complete and utter loss.
Buffy touched the human. That bloody well terrified him, because the human was the last thing he wanted to be. That form of himself was supposed to be wholly and rightfully dead. Dru hadn’t killed him as thoroughly as she should have. Too much of his old self had survived. He’d been able to suppress it now for nearly a hundred and twenty years, but this girl—this Slayer—managed to call out the frightened man inside. Managed to make him feel things that he should never, ever feel for a girl with a pulse. And certainly, never a girl with a pulse who had a calling to answer.
She dusted off her sweats after hopping down, then glanced up expectantly. “Okay.”
Spike nodded again, cursing his treacherous mind that protested at the thought of putting a light like Buffy under the ground. The hands that didn’t want to kill her flexed strenuously as a hard, relentless sigh pressed through his lips. He gestured to the back yard and blinked at her blasé attitude. The hopelessness he’d encountered two nights before was nowhere to be seen, but she wasn’t in a frame of mind to fight. Either she was entirely over-confident, or she didn’t believe his intention to kill her.
She’s in for a surprise.
If only he could convince himself.
“Right,” he said, his voice strained. “Let’s do this.”
Buffy nodded resignedly and raised her fists.
Little bint really thinks I’m gonna back down?
His determination accompanied need. If he couldn’t do this now, he was truly a man lost. And yet, even knowing the full of what was riding on his actions, he could do nothing for long, empty seconds but stare at her. The girl with the sloppy ponytail who had called his bluff, slithered into sweat pants, and had her dukes raised in near apathetic acceptance of what they had to do. What he had to prove to himself.
Suddenly, he felt like the biggest dolt in the world.
She’s just one girl, he growled, his bumpies shifting forward. Not even the face of his demon seemed to rattle her. Why is this so bleeding hard?
He already knew the answer, though. There was no sense pretending he didn’t.
Buffy wasn’t just any girl. She was something radiant. Something unique. Something he had never touched before. And simply knowing that was dangerous. Her existence threatened him on every conceivable level, even as he stood in the quiet night with a slayer to kill.
“Wait,” Buffy said shortly, relaxing her stance. “We can’t do this here.”
Spike quirked a brow and growled with more force than he felt. “Why not?’
She gestured to the house. “My mom’s trying to sleep.”
The snarl faded from his face, and he straightened with a nod of understanding. “Oh, right.”
“We could go to the park,” she suggested with a shrug. “Or one of the cemeteries.”
“Angelus an’ his merry lot might happen on us there,” he pointed out. The tone of the conversation was too bizarre to question. They might as well have been quarreling over restaurant selection. “Anywhere else?”
“School?” Buffy suggested with another shrug. “A good a place as any.”
“You understand that when we get there, I’m gonna be killin’ you, right?”
She nodded. “So you told me.”
“You know that killin’ you works out pretty rotten in your favor, right?”
“Look, Spike, I’m not getting any deader by standing here and arguing about how dead you’re gonna make me. So if you intend to kill me, let’s go and get it over with. I’m not about to kill myself, you know.”
The tone she employed amused him. Spike glanced down sharply to hide his grin and nodded as they turned together in the direction of the school. It was quickly turning into the strangest night he’d ever lived through. And yet, despite her flippancy, he found that he was enjoying himself. He didn’t want to enjoy himself; the sensation was very much against his will, but there nonetheless. Too present to ignore.
“I meant to ask you last night,” Buffy said softly, sliding her hands into the pockets of her sweats. “Something about what happened just didn’t sit right with me.”
Spike swallowed hard. He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly terrified that she was going to go into some righteous spiel about how it was wrong between vampires and slayers. Granted, he didn’t know why in the name of everything holy and unholy he should give a fuck. The girl was literally on a death march. And what’s more, it was wrong between vampires and slayers. It was so bloody wrong that killing her had become now a matter of self-preservation rather than a need to bag his third slayer.
But God, if she thought that what had happened against her door was wrong, she might as well pull his heart out so he could watch it crumple to dust before he followed suit.
“Yeh?” His voice was strained.
Wanker.
“Dru and Darla,” she started, and he released the unneeded breath he’d been holding. “They were just...there. I mean, she—Darla said they were there because of Angel—”
Spike cleared his throat like a displeased instructor and cast her a sharp glance. She flushed and conceded the point.
“Sorry. She said they were there because of Angelus, but...I’m sort’ve used to Darla’s M.O. now. She’s never been the ‘diabolical plan’ sort unless it works out in her favor. With me...not trying to kill me or even trying to fight me just...it was strange.”
“It’s the way Angelus wanted it, pet.”
“He wants me alive?”
“No. He wants you guessin’. Always guessin’. He wants you afraid to look around the corner an’ think twice about venturin’ down dark alleys by your lonesome. He’s usin’ the girls to play games with you. Lull you both into a false sense of security, an’ terrify your knickers off at the same time.”
He growled inwardly. Was it really necessary to mention the girl’s knickers?
“And Darla’s letting this happen?”
“Well, she’s not happy about it, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Before last night’s shaga-threesome, the walls of the mansion had quaked with the fury of the elders’ argument. “When Angelus firs’ came back, she was trippin’ over herself with happiness at havin’ him with her again. But...he’s different. With as much of an annoyin’ git as he was in the days of yore, he’s even more so now. I think he’s over-compensatin’ for bein’ chin-deep in soul for a century. Feels he needs to be even bigger an’ badder than he was the firs’ time around.”
Buffy shivered. He didn’t blame her. “How so?” she asked softly.
“Well, he talks more nowadays about Armageddon. After he, you know, offs you.”
He heard the second her heart began pounding harder. “Oh,” she said, her voice a note higher. “Well, I guess he’ll have to live with disappointment, right?”
“Huh?”
“‘Cause you’re gonna kill me.”
“Oh.” Wanker. “Right.”
“Angel—”
“Ahem.”
Buffy held up a hand and nodded. “Okay. Angelus ...he didn’t want to end the world before?”
“Well, he used to mention it from time to time, but it wasn’ somethin’ he actively pursued, no.” Spike frowned. “He’s bluffin’, luv.” Why on earth he felt the need to comfort the girl, especially since she wasn’t going to be around to care about the world’s fate, was entirely beyond him. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. The need to soothe her was larger than he was. It had been with him two nights before when she collapsed in his arms, sobbing a thousand apologies for things that weren’t really her fault. “Angelus talks a good talk, but he likes the world’s luxuries too bloody much to give it up. An’ for what, really? The world ends an’ it ends for him, too. Unless he’s stupid enough to think he can brave Hell, this bloody rock isn’t goin’ anywhere.”
The Slayer nodded numbly, but didn’t reply. No other words were exchanged until they reached the school grounds.
His eyes soaked her up as she turned to face him, raising her fists once more. Reluctance tugged at every nerve in his being, the false pretense that whispered even emptier glee at the prospect of her death failing him completely.
You’ll feel better once she’s dead.
He didn’t think so. The minute he actually lashed forward, aiming a punch for her jaw, his gut lurched and a pang struck his heart. It was unnatural—almost as unnatural as Buffy’s response. She deflected the move indifferently, but made no attempt to hit back. Instead, she stepped back and raised her brows.
The tune of the dance was set, then. It continued like that for about ten minutes. Spike would attack; Buffy would block and step back. He found himself amused at first, but that quickly melted into irritation at her unwillingness to participate. Seemed she didn’t care that she was the cause of his crisis of faith in everything he was and had been. That simply being with her was unraveling him from the core.
The stupid girl wouldn’t play by the rules. Did she really think he was going to pity her if she refused to return the battle full force?
“What the bleedin’ hell is wrong with you?” he snarled. “Fight me!”
“You never said I had to fight,” Buffy protested, holding her hands up. “That was not a part of the deal, Spike.”
“It was bloody implied!”
“Not to me, it wasn’t.”
“Are you achin’ for death, is that it? Din’t get a good enough taste the other night, an’ you’re hopin’ to get your rocks off by bein’ beat within an inch of your life over an’ over again?”
“That’s masochism. It has nothing to do with death wishes.”
“Like I—”
“Look, Spike, I’m willing to do this as long as you are. I’ll come out here and pretend to fight. I’ll even cooperate when you wake me to kill me, and then don’t. You could’ve done it any time. Back home, while we walked here...the second I climbed outside, I was fair game.”
“An’ yet you’re here.”
She shrugged. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“Not for bloody long!”
“Yeah, okay.” Buffy spread her arms in welcome. “Then do it. Come on, Spike. Kill me.”
He started to leap in; he really did. Some unnatural force of nature kept him grounded.
Then the Slayer lowered her eyes to the ground, and blew what little was left of his world away with five soft, simple words. “I don’t want you dead.”
He swore that time stood still. Spike practically fell over, his eyes wide and imploring, searching hers and finding nothing but truth. Actualization. God, she really meant it. She didn’t want him dead. She, the Slayer, didn’t want him, the Vampire, dead.
He’d known. Of course he’d known. Her body language all but screamed it. However, giving the words form and voice changed everything. It made a theory a fact, and the knowledge had him thoroughly shaken.
“What?” he rasped.
“I don’t want you dead.” She glanced down. “I don’t even want you hurt.”
“Why the hell not?!”
“Because I like you, doofus.”
The world stopped rotating. God, he was thoroughly unmade. There was nothing left of him but the look in her eyes. The way she saw him now. A monster turned into a man again because of a girl.
“Stupid?” she continued with a nod. “Yes. I know it’s stupid, but that doesn’t change anything. I do like you, so I’m not going to fight you just because you’re going through a thing. And no, this isn’t a ‘you’re a vampire and I just lost my vampire boyfriend’ lapse of judgment. I know it’s dumb. Trust me, I’ve already gone through how stupid I am for...well, everything related to you, recently. But there it is. I like you. And I don’t want you hurt, dead, or anything in between.”
Spike glared at her. Colors were bleeding together, he was so bloody furious. She liked him? She liked him? Where the hell did she get off liking him? Didn’t the silly chit know who he was? What he was capable of? What his murderous hands had done? How many towns he’d painted red? And she, the sodding Slayer, liked him?
“Well, stop it!” he screamed, at a loss for logic.
Buffy quirked a brow and bit back a laugh. “Stop liking you?”
“Yes! Stop it!”
“It’s not like flipping a switch, Spike.”
“You stupid girl. I brought you out here to kill you. Doesn’ that sound off warning bells?”
“No. You’re not going to kill me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I already told you that. If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Only, no I wouldn’t, ‘cause I would have never left the house. Honestly, don’t you think I’d be dead already if I just popped outside whenever a vampire asked it of me?”
Spike drew in a deep breath, his chest tight, his throat clogged with a foray of angry words that demanded freedom. But God, he was too furious to speak.
“You don’t want me dead.”
He was going to rip her head off.
“You like me too much.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do.”
The calm, self-assurance in her tone was absolutely infuriating. “You’re off your nutter, you know?”
“Yeah, but you still like me.”
“Stop saying that!”
And then he couldn’t help himself. Any front he’d put up, any pretense he’d tried to pass, was already utterly shot to hell. Tonight had never been about killing her. God, he’d known it. He’d known it the second he stepped out of the mansion. The instant his renegade feet carried him to Revello Drive. He wanted to want her dead. Bugger all, wouldn’t that make everything right again. But no. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with what they’d shared. The remarkable little they’d shared that had somehow become his everything.
The acceptance she’d given him after an hour that completely washed away everything he’d ever thought to have with Dru. With anyone.
There was no sense fighting it. He was a man lost. The Slayer was under his skin, in his system, and he needed her like he’d needed no one.
This time when he approached, she didn’t move back. Didn’t prepare to block another half-assed attack. There was something else now; understanding burned her eyes. His arms closed around her waist, his body rejoicing. This. This was where she belonged. Where he belonged. Buffy in his arms, her hands hooking behind his neck, her face tilting upward in anticipation of his kiss. And God, her lips tasted like home.
The world had been made for kisses like hers. Soft, sweet kisses. She was full of innocence; of vulnerability. Of everything he loved to exploit, but now yearned to protect. Her soft body molded against his as their mouths danced together. He whimpered into her and the world around him came completely undone. The way she clutched at him, as though she needed him as desperately as he needed her, had his heart thoroughly captured. There was no want of escape. No going back from this.
When he finally broke his lips from hers, he shuddered at the passionate gasp that tore through her body. At the way she quivered beneath his kisses as his wandering mouth nipped at her throat, suckling at her sweet flesh hungrily. If she was at all concerned at having a vampire at her neck, she didn’t betray a thing.
“Slayer,” he gasped, eager fingers tugging at her sweats. “Oh God.”
“Uhhh...”
Somewhere, he knew that he was moving too fast for her. He knew it. The girl was still recovering from her last tryst—the scars that Angelus left on her invisible, but near impossible to heal. Logic, however, had no want of voice. He needed to feel her flesh beneath his fingers. He needed to taste the parts of her that were forbidden; the parts that had only been sampled once before, but in no way that could begin to do justice for a girl of her pure resplendence.
“Tell me to stop now,” he growled, pulling just far enough away so that he could see her eyes. The lost haze of lust that did little more than fuel his own desire. Her scent was driving him crazy, and if she didn’t shove him away now, control would be a thing of the past. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
“Buffy, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you.”
Spike growled at that and walked her backward until her back was pressed against the wall of the school. “You don’ know what you’re askin’ for,” he snarled, slipping his hand under the waistband of her sweats. “You want the monster, baby?” He bunched her panties to the side, his knees nearly buckling at the soft flesh waiting his touch. “Want me to show you everythin’ that Angel din’t? I’m up for it, but it’s not gonna be bloody soft an’poetic. I don’ have a bleedin’ soul to hold me back, an’ if you think you can tame me jus’ by battin’ those doe eyes of yours, you’re off your bird.”
Buffy didn’t balk. The determination in her eyes inspired an unwarranted surge of pride. He grinned nastily and kissed her again, his fingers dancing over the slick flesh between her thighs. God, she was so wet. The air was perfumed with her arousal, and he was parched with want of her.
It was in her eyes, then. Ferocity abandoned him. He no longer wanted to scare her into submission. No, she was worth so much more than that. She was something precious, and he’d be a fool to squander any chance he had at having her with some needless attempt at self-preservation. She wasn’t attempting to make him into anything. When she looked at him, the stars in her eyes were directed at no one else.
In all his years, he’d never had that. Not once.
He’d be a fool to ruin this with a quickie against a school building. Despite how much she wanted him now, he wanted her to want him tomorrow, too. And the next day. And the day after that. He wanted her to want him and no one else. Taking advantage of her now was one of the surest ways to ruin something priceless. The last thing he wanted was to walk away knowing he’d touched pure sunshine for the first and last time.
He slid a finger into her warm heat, and he was a man absolutely unwound. Spike worried a lip between his teeth, his eyes flashing when she gasped and bucked against him. God, she gripped him like a glove, drenching his skin with the slightest touch. Her hands were at his arms, gripping him so hard he thought his limbs would snap, but he wouldn’t move away for anything.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he blurted, then cursed himself for his abruptness. He might as well have slapped her across the face for how stricken she looked. “I mean...not tonight. I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”
A light entered her eyes that had not been there a minute ago. If there was a way for a person to look both relieved and disappointed in one stroke, she embodied it entirely. “Oh.” She paused. “Why?”
“‘Cause I’m not.”
“Is it something I’ve done?”
“God, no.” He flashed her a rakish grin, stretching her pussy lips wide and sliding a second finger into her tight sheath. “Christ, I jus’ don’ want you to stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you are right now.” He nipped at her breasts through her camisole. “Like I’m the only man in the world.”
Buffy gasped and arched against him, nodding wordlessly as his fingers manipulated her body.
Another whiff of her arousal hit him tenfold, and the last vestiges of control crumbled away completely. With a primitive growl, he dropped to his knees and jerked her sweats to the ground, working the left side free of her leg entirely. The surprised gasp that touched the air both enthralled him and made him quiver with the realization of the power he had over her. The Slayer was trembling at his touch. Christ, she was wholly at his mercy.
Buffy met his eyes and he shuddered. No, that wasn’t right.
He was wholly at hers.
Spike drew in a deep breath and hooked his thumbs under the sides of her panties, then slowly stripped them down her legs. Something within him started at the sight of her, bare and glistening in the cool night air. Her neatly trimmed curls did little to hide the prize beneath, her pussy sopping with need. He’d barely touched her, and his fingers were drenched.
Perhaps he’d lived too jaded for too long. Even when he had been actively fucking Drusilla, arousing her was as much an effort as anything. She wanted it hard and rough, and though he’d cave into her each time without fault, she was much too disassociated to give him what he needed. She didn’t want him; he didn’t know if she ever had. And as a result of that, she made him work for the prize of losing himself in her rigid body.
Two days ago, he’d been ready to snap this young girl’s neck for inadvertently instigating the loss of his black goddess. Now he was eye level with her pussy, and he couldn’t wish himself anywhere else.
“Has anyone tasted you here?” he asked, rubbing his finger along her slit.
Buffy expelled a deep breath and trembled beneath his touch. “No,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “No.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
Spike grinned, a thrill racing down his spine. He pinched her clit and licked his lips, his other hand turning to the clasp of his jeans. “No secret rendezvous with li’l boys in school? You never snuck off to play in the janitor’s closet?”
“Never...ohhh, God, what are you doing?”
“Not even Angel? He din’t service you before—”
“No!”
He loved the way she barked her rejection at the notion. If anything, he wanted to keep that revulsion in her voice whenever the great sod was mentioned. “You have such a sweet, juicy li’l quim,” he murmured, leaning into her, flicking his tongue over her clit as his cock sprang into his waiting hand. Buffy yelped in surprised and thrust her hips forward. Spike chuckled, his tongue exploring her drenched folds, his fingers parting her lips. “Mmm, somebody’s eager.”
“Oh my God.”
His grin broadened. “See what you’ve been missing, baby?”
“What are you...oh!” A long, impassioned mewl tore at the air. “Oh my God, what are you doing to me?”
This was going to be fast. Much too fast. He burned with the simple flavor of her; his hand working his cock rapidly, determined to reach his peak with her. She was so young, so blessedly inexperienced. A wreck that he was determined to fix. He would show her what it should have been like the first time. What Angel would have done to her had he had the stones. Stupid wanker didn’t even work the girl up proper—likely didn’t do much more than touch her south of the border to make sure he didn’t break her when he ripped her virginity away.
The thought of anyone else touching her infuriated him.
Mine! the demon raged. She’s mine! Angelus can’t have her.
Spike growled and saw red, plunging his tongue inside her tight, wet hole without warning. He was certain that Buffy’s cry of surprise would ring with him for the rest of his days. He captured her clit between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing her softly as he explored her pussy with his mouth. He stroked his shaft in time with her whimpers, murmuring sweetly into her wet skin a thousand wordless praises that he couldn’t let her wise up to. She already had too much power over him. Telling her how incredible she tasted would forfeit all control. She mustn’t know what she did to him. Never.
Women who held that sort of knowledge always—always—used it against him. He didn’t care how sodding pure they were. Dru, Cecily, and even though there was absolutely no love lost between them, Darla to an extent.
His tongue was bathed in her juices. He wanted to swallow her whole.
Buffy seemed lost to another world. She panted; she moaned; she writhed, and he found himself chipping away with every syllable, coherent or not, that crossed her lips. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her. Whether or not the effort was conscious, he didn’t know. He bit back a grin and abandoned her opening with a parting lick, his fingers slipping inside her once more as he turned his attention to her swollen clit. That pretty little pearl of flesh that saluted him in desperate want of attention.
“Oh my...oh my...” Her grip on him tightened. He sucked on her clit hard, his tongue making a dance of it. His teeth nipped at her as an afterthought, but for the pleasured gasp that escaped her lips, it seemed baby liked her men with fangs.
Well, if it’s fangs she wants...
“Spike! I’m on...my...I’m on fire!”
She sounded so genuinely confused, so concerned, and he was torn between laughter and tears.
“I...ohhhh, my God!”
That was it. He lost all semblance of control. He curled his middle and index fingers within her as his mouth abandoned her, his thumb settling over her clit, massaging her furiously as his fangs exploded through his gums.
“Oh!”
His eyes caught the light in hers; there was fear there. Fear and a thrill of forbidden excitement. She was too lost to object, too close to likely form a coherent thought. Thus, when his fangs sliced into the milky inside of her thigh, there was nothing left for her to do but explode in his arms.
And God, he fell right with her. Her blood filling his mouth, her juices coating his fingers—it was perhaps the closest he’d ever been to another person. Human, vamp, demon; none had ever touched him like this. He came hard in his hand, swallowing mouthfuls of her rich blood as his fingers continued to thrust inside her, wanting more. Wanting to prolong this moment for another hour. Day. Decade. He didn’t care. He just didn’t want to come back to himself. Not after this. Not after the magic they’d shared.
Spike felt the minute that the pleasure from his bite turned to pain, and immediately retracted his fangs, lapping at the wound tenderly before turning his mouth back to her pussy. He followed his nose, drinking everything she’d given him with eagerness he was helpless to betray. He felt her shudder and gasp beneath him, felt her flinch as his tongue traced her more sensitive flesh. He felt her body responding, warming up to come for him again.
He glanced up and met her awestruck gaze, and berated himself for trembling when she cupped his cheek.
“Spike.” It wasn’t much; just his name, but whispered from her lips, he was thoroughly resigned.
Oh God.
She owned far too much of him.
He released a deep sigh and forced his disobedient mouth to part with her sweet flesh. Another taste, and he would be truly lost. He wasn’t ready for that. God, he wasn’t ready for so much.
“Spike?”
He glanced up again. Her eyes were so wide, so reverential. As though he had just taken her to the stars, and not the other way around. She wanted him to say something hopelessly romantic, he was certain. Tell her how she wasn’t like other girls, as though she actually needed the reassurance. Whisper that he’d never felt anything like that before. How special she was, and how he would proudly wear the badge of ‘Slayer’s Boyfriend’ now that she had him addicted to her pussy.
No. He wouldn’t allow it. He might want her more than he’d wanted anyone, he might not be able to kill her like he’d promised, but the girl was not going to house-train him. The line was drawn here.
Buffy was remarkable. He needed to get out of her life before he discovered just how remarkable she was.
Spike inhaled sharply and slid her panties back up her legs, followed by her sweats. He tucked himself safely back into his jeans, sighing in relief when their respective barriers were once again blocking the path to temptation.
He felt her hurt without needing to see it.
“Spike?”
“I’m gonna take you home,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I...did I do something wrong?”
The uncertainty in her voice killed him. No, of course not. It had absolutely nothing to do with her. He was the one that had buggered himself backwards when he wasn’t looking. He was the stupid sod that didn’t know how to read the warning signs to disaster.
He smiled. “No, baby. It’s late, an’ I’m gonna take you home.”
Buffy nodded numbly, and if possible, he felt like an even bigger wanker than before.
It wouldn’t change his mind, though. Nothing could.
The starry look in her eyes didn’t change anything, either, but it certainly didn’t help. Not even the kiss she gave him before he sent her back to her room. That heated, needy kiss that whispered relief and promise. He drank his fill of her mouth, knowing it had to be the last time. Absolutely the last time. They’d both get hurt the other way, and with as much as he wanted to protect his own heart, he found himself flinching at the thought of breaking hers.
He might be addicted to her, but he’d forget after awhile. Forget how sweet she tasted. How much promise he’d found in her arms.
The words sounded empty even to him, but he had to try. Buffy Summers was everything he couldn’t have. No amount of want could change that.
Thus when she whispered her goodbye to him, he knew it had to be final.
Even if he couldn’t muster the words to tell her, he knew it had to be final. What’s more, she did, too. Somewhere, she had to know how wrong they were to even hope for something more.
Despite how right it felt.
TBC |
