Part VII
While he didn’t truly have anything to compare it to, Spike supposed walking Buffy home that night was his equivalent to ending a first date on a high, however ambiguous note. The evening had already maxed out his comfort zone as far as the ultimate surreal life went, though try as he might, he was helpless to resist her shy eyes or the sweet temptation of her soft skin. He was a man thoroughly buggered, no matter which way he looked.
“Where will you go?” she asked. “You can’t go back to…wherever you and the others were, can you?”
Spike smiled dryly and shook his head, fishing his cigarettes out of his duster pocket. “I’m homeless,” he replied with a shrug. “No worries, pet. I’m sure I’ll find a place to crash.”
“And if you don’t?”
The look in her eyes lent him pause. He was sure, eventually, he would stop feeling the strings of astonishment pulling on his heart every time he knew that she was concerned over his welfare. It just wasn’t likely to happen soon.
He lit his fag and sighed, offering little more than a shrug. “’m not goin’ back, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“It’s not. That’s none of my business.”
There was a note in her voice that she couldn’t quite suppress. Whether or not it was any of her business, she’d never convince him that she didn’t care what he did or whose bed he occupied. Her eyes couldn’t lie to him.
“I’ll find a place. This town’s ripe with nice, roomy crypts. Jus’ a matter of findin’ the right one.”
Buffy made a face at that. “A crypt?”
“Yeh.”
“Like those things where the dead are stored?”
Spike waved a hand, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Hello, dead here,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not about to find an’ apartment in an upstanding neighborhood, Slayer. I’m not your bloody Angel. He wanted a heartbeat; I don’.”
She paused and worried a lip between her teeth. “I know,” she replied softly. “You…I’ve told you, I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to make you an Angel replacement, because I’m really, really not. I just…a crypt?”
“I do happen to be dead, an’ you gotta store me somewhere.”
A flinch crossed her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeh, you did, but we’ll ignore it.”
“No.” Buffy stopped suddenly, her voice sharp with intent. He turned to her wearily, mentally kicking himself but doing his best to look otherwise disengaged. “I didn’t. Don’t do that. Don’t try to justify whatever you’re feeling into treating me like crap because hey, Buffy misses her vamp boyfriend. That’s dumb. I said what I said not even thinking about vampires, because—even with that ‘lacking pulse’ thing, I don’t consider them dead. Things that walk, talk, and ingest fluids for the sake of survival are not dead. It’s just a hybrid of life. So don’t treat me like I’m trying to make you less than you are. I just didn’t know vamps camped out in cemeteries beyond the ‘climbing from the coffin’ thing. Okay? You got here and hid out at a factory, and now the others are at a mansion. Why on earth would I have any reason to think that you’d want a crypt? It just surprised me, is all.”
Spike stared at her for a long moment, amazement burning in his eyes.
“What?”
“You,” he replied hoarsely.
Her cheeks rouged at that, and she glanced to the pavement with a sudden surge of shyness. “What about me?”
“I’d get into it, but then we’d be out here all night.” He shook his head. “You’re remarkable, Buffy.”
There was a long beat at that; she looked up again in shock, and warmth filled her whole.
Spike frowned uncomfortably. He wasn’t accustomed to this—to being regarded as anything above a commodity. The wealth of affection that poured through her gaze was thoroughly alien to anything he’d ever experienced. Never had a woman looked at him like that. Like he was something important—something more than a walking vibrator.
She wasn’t supposed to stare at him like he was worth everything.
“What?” he asked after a few uncomfortable seconds.
“You called me ‘Buffy,’” she replied.
“And?”
A shy smile kissed her lips. “I like it. It’s not…‘Slayer’ or something. I just…it makes me feel like more than the Chosen One. You don’t call me that often, if you ever have.”
“You’re star-eyed because I called you Buffy? Not because I said you’re remarkable?”
“Well, that part helped.” She glanced down. “The past few days have been really confusing.”
That was, perhaps, the first logical thing he’d heard her say since that night in the motel. Spike smiled weakly and nodded in agreement. “Yeh,” he said. “But you seem to be taking it all well.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
“An’ how’s that workin’ out for you?”
“I’m actually managing to not think about it.”
She released a deep breath and glanced down, moving forward slightly as they continued together down the sidewalk. Her house was within view, and again, like an awkward first date, Spike felt his chest constrict. He didn’t want to leave her now; now that they had reached something. There was some sort of understanding between them, tacit in nature but no less sacred.
He couldn’t get over the way she touched him. The calm kindness that warmed his flesh whenever his hand brushed against hers. It was a bolt of lightening, the way it struck him—the pure astonishment at realizing that he still could feel her affection for him when they weren’t stealing kisses, gazing heatedly at each other, or basking in post-coital highs.
“You’re not thinkin’ about it?” he echoed softly, sucking on his cigarette.
“I don’t want to talk myself out of this,” she replied. “I don’t. Right now, my world is crazy enough to fill in the spaces for Charlie Manson. I know if I stopped and really mulled it over, I’d know how wrong it is. I mean, I know how wrong it is right now without having to mull it over...mulling over plus long concentration equals headachy badness.” Buffy wet her lips and heaved a deep sigh. “I told you that I like you...and I do. I like the guy I got to know in the motel that night after you decided to stay with me. I like you...and right now, that’s all I want to think about.”
“Even though I came to kill you the other night?”
She grinned dryly. “You don’t want me dead, Spike.”
He smirked. “You don’ have to bloody well rub it in.”
“Oh, I really think I do.”
God, he loved the way her eyes danced. There was no malice within her gaze—nothing but humor and enjoyment. This was the face of someone who truly understood him, or at least cared enough to try. He hadn’t even known her for a week—not really. He’d known the Slayer; now he was getting to know Buffy.
The scary thing was, she was getting to know him in turn. The true self he’d buried under a facade of Big Bad—the facade that had nearly dwarfed him completely; not with sincerity, rather with a need to become the mask he wore.
She took the mask away and didn’t reject what she found underneath. He was more in her eyes than he’d ever been in Dru’s. And God, it made him feel like such an imposter. He was wearing someone else’s skin, living someone else’s life. He couldn’t be the man she thought he was, no matter how much he wanted it.
“If I think about how stupid I’m being, I’ll stop,” she continued softly. “And I don’t want to. I like you...and I don’t want to stop liking you. I don’t want to stop this—this thing that we have that’s really weird and completely wrong but God I need it. I know it’s dumb. I really, really know it...but you...”
Spike smiled softly, forcing himself to ignore the voice that commanded him to take her hand. There were certain boundaries he had yet to cross; holding hands with the Slayer was a no-no. It implied affection beyond the lust. It implied that simply being with her was enough to sustain him; that he wasn’t after sex or blood, or any combination of the two. And while the notion was buried in verity, and he knew that his fondness for her was tangible, it didn’t bloody well mean he had to make a public statement about it.
Her words haunted him with truth. It was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Holding her hand would only muddle matters more than they already were. Being with Buffy right now, simply walking her home, was confusing enough.
He’d taken so many steps. There was no turning back now; there was no deciding that he’d made a mistake. While he didn’t doubt that Dru would have him back, life with his family, following his leave, would make him crave death in ways he’d never truly thought possible. He wouldn’t last. Sunlight would be the only viable option.
Whichever road he took, he faced inevitable heartbreak. Buffy, however, would be much gentler with him. She might even cry authentic tears.
“You’re not like him,” she said softly, jarring him out of his reverie.
“What?”
“Angel. You’re not like Angel.” A pause. “Or Angelus, for that matter.”
The high vanished without warning. Of course he wasn’t like bleeding Angelus. Spike felt his chest tighten in preparation for the foreseeable punch. He clenched his jaw and glanced away to hide the hurt in a sea of anger. The last thing he needed was for her to discover how deeply she could cut him. How easily she could make him bleed. How much power she wielded with verbal weapons; how much damage she could really do if she wanted.
He felt her hand on his shoulder and tried not to shudder at her warmth. “No, Spike. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah,” he drawled bitterly, not willing to meet her eyes. God, he was such a ponce. Such a ninny. Such a pathetic open book, ready to be shredded by a sodding chicklet. “Right.”
“I don’t want you to be like Angel.”
“No worries, luv. I tried for years to master the role, an’ believe me, somethin’ in my performance always comes up short.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doin’ anythin’.”
“Yes, you are. Stop it.” She seized his hand forcibly and pulled him to a halt, though he honestly didn’t know what surprised him most; her audacity or the fact that she was touching him the way he’d wanted to touch her a minute ago. “Look, my feelings for Angel are...well, confused is the best way to describe them. The guy I knew doesn’t exist anymore. I have to kill the guy that took his place. He’s an evil, sadistic son of a bitch, and if Angel even had a chance of coming back, I’m not convinced that would be a good thing. He’s done too much. A-and if you’re right...about Angelus always being a part of Angel, then I just—”
“I am right. I’ve known the wanker a li’l longer than you, right?”
“But you never knew Angel. You’ve known him when he pretended to be Angelus, a-and when he was with me. It’s not like the two of you got together to catch up after you knew he was all with the soul.”
Spike’s eyes darkened. “You’re making excuses for him.”
“I am not!”
“Look, Slayer, I know I’m never gonna be your precious Angel. I bloody well have that figured, yeah? So don’ go into—”
“I don’t want you to be like Angel!”
“Well, we pretty much got that covered.”
“Can’t I still...I’m not saying I’m over Angel. I can’t be. It’s too soon.” She turned her eyes to the ground and shuddered. “But something’s happened to me. I don’t understand it. I won’t pretend to. What I was trying to say is...you...you’re soulless, like Angelus, but there’s this, too.” She squeezed his hand and he about melted on the spot. “I like this.”
“This is bloody dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You’re assumin’ I won’ come to my senses an’ kill you at any moment.”
“You could if you wanted to, yes. But you won’t.” Buffy released a deep breath. “Spike, this is a big thing for me. Huge. Not only are you...you’re turning my world upside down. Soulless vamps aren’t supposed to be like you.”
He snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“No, stop that.”
“You have any idea how much easier it’d make things if we jus’ agreed to hate each other?”
“I don’t want to hate you—I like you. Which is more than Angel ever got from me.”
For a minute there, he was certain the earth had stopped rotating. Spike nearly tripped, tearing his hand from hers and grasping her shoulder for leverage. “What?” he demanded. “What the hell does that mean? Honestly, Slayer, do you think I’ve been walkin’ around the Hellmouth blind for the past few months? I know bloody well what—”
“I never liked Angel. I loved him, yes, but I skipped that entire like thing. I thought he was creepy at first, then I hated him, then I fell for him. There was no liking him in between all that.” She rubbed her arms, turning her eyes to the pavement once more. “In some ways...in many ways...I feel closer to you than I ever did to him. I feel like I never knew him at all.”
She hadn’t, but he didn’t want to tell her that again. He didn’t want to disturb the ethereal wonder that settled around them in the aftermath of her outburst. The peace he felt with her revelation was worth the hurt—such that it nearly frightened him. While he constantly found himself in situations that caused him pain beyond pain, mostly by choice, Spike would never define himself as a masochist. He didn’t enjoy suffering, no matter that his decisions suggested otherwise.
Every second he spent with her, the further the proverbial knife twisted in his heart. He’d be dust by the time she was through with him—dust in the form of a man. Solid but never there. He was beginning to realize that Buffy simply wasn’t the sort of girl one recovered from with any measure of ease. It was the reason Angelus was so bloody obsessed with her. The reason that Spike couldn’t, for all the want of logic, let her go. The reason neither of them could overcome their reservations, as unwanted as they were, and kill her properly.
Angelus didn’t know what he’d given up. He’d never understand what he’d lost.
Spike grunted to himself and tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out beneath his boot. His grandsire would never understand what he’d lost; Spike wasn’t about to make that mistake.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he announced abruptly. And he didn’t hesitate; didn’t stop to allow her a word in. Instead, he stepped forward and cupped her cheeks, drawing her lips to his. Her kisses were drops of nirvana—so bloody pure, and though each taste sacrificed a little more of himself, he felt, in the end, a better man because of it. He swallowed her gasp of surprise, reveling in the long shudder that commanded her body. In the small mewl that she rumbled into his mouth. There were worse things, after all, than losing himself.
She murmured against his lips, her fingers curling around his upper arms as her mouth danced sweetly with his. “Spike...”
He’d conquer nations for the needy breathlessness that dominated her voice.
A whimper of complaint seized him when she finally pulled away, panting harshly, resting her brow against his. He trembled. The series of tender moments he’d shared with Buffy could fill a lifetime compared to those he’d ever had with Dru.
“You’ve turned my world upside down,” he murmured.
“You, too.”
“This doesn’ make any bloody sense.” Spike exhaled slowly and pressed his lips to her brow. The demon within roared in objection; unprovoked tenderness was not something to relish. “You’re changing everything.”
“Change isn’t a bad thing.”
The hope in her voice nearly made him laugh. There were times when he couldn’t deny that, in many ways, she was still such a little girl. Perhaps she didn’t see how this would end; perhaps she, in her youthful noble-mindedness, believed that anything they had could last forever. Perhaps.
The possibility that she could want anything resembling a normal relationship with him warmed him whole. Such idealism was reserved for fairytales.
He wanted a fairytale with her. He wanted it so bloody badly.
Spike hummed slightly and pulled away. “You make me crave things I can’t have,” he said, releasing a dejected sigh. “Come on, Slayer. We should get you home before your mum sends out a bloody search party.”
“There is nothing here that you can’t have.”
He trembled. “Buffy—”
“I really love it when you call me that.”
“If we do this, there’s no goin’ back.” He shook his head, his eyes heavy. “I don’ think you’re ready for that.”
“I—”
“I don’ think I am, either.”
She fell silent at that, nodding. There was resignation amid knowledge, and while he knew that it wasn’t the answer she wanted, he felt a sense of righteousness. Temptation was literally at his side, and he managed to shove his yearning away for the sake of what was right.
Though in retrospect, doing what’s right wasn’t exactly in the job description. Was he so thoroughly buggered that he’d completely reversed their roles?
Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum hair. Sod all.
She had him turned around. He didn’t know what was what anymore.
The rest of their walk was brief and laced with silence. He watched as she climbed up the trusty tree outside her bedroom window, and found himself following her without waiting for an invitation.
She climbed inside her window and turned to him with a small, forced smile. “Is that it, then?” she asked. “Or are we gonna say this is over and keep on meeting like this anyway?”
“It should be over, pet.”
“I don’t want it to be over.”
Then she leaned out her window and seized him by the lapels of his duster, attacking his mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. Spike froze for a long second, drunk with ecstasy, his skin aflame for the feel of her lips moving against his. He was such a fool. There was no denying her; no denying the completion he felt when she was in his arms. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her by the shoulders, all but dragging her through the window until she was on the branch beside him. He edged backward until his back met with the trunk. She followed him, unwilling to part her lips from his, to relinquish her mouth’s claim on his tongue as she warred with desperation that nearly matched his own.
“I want this,” Buffy gasped into his mouth. “I don’t care that it’s wrong.”
“You should,” he replied, nipping at her chin as his hands mapped her body. The scars he’d given her had all but faded now; the thought of marring her gorgeous skin with animosity made him quiver with self-loathing. Granted, without that first night, there would be none of this. This lovely, completely irrational bit of Elysium that they’d managed to find together, however woefully wrong it was.
“I don’t,” she replied breathlessly, tossing her head back as his mouth worshiped her throat. “I know I should, but I don’t. You’ve...God, you’ve confused that for me.”
He felt her hands unbuckling his belt, and for a long second, he could’ve sworn that his heart had started thundering once more.
“Buffy—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
Her nimble fingers pried open his fly, and the next thing he knew, his cock leapt into her willing hand, and he dissolved in warmth. A long moan tore from his lips and his head flew back against the tree trunk so hard that it hurt, though pain was secondary to rapture. With her hot, welcoming little hand was wrapped around his erection; there was no room for thought.
“Oh holy fuck!”
Buffy kissed his lips sweetly, and the world all but ignited.
“God, what are you doing to me?”
“You made me...last night, you made me come.” She blushed hard, something that him completely bewildered. The shyness, however, wasn’t a show. He knew she was terrified. The reverberation of her thundering heartbeat echoed through every inch of her skin. There was eagerness, too; excitement. A need to do what she was doing, even if the thought frightened her.
He wanted to tell her there was nothing to worry about, considering the way her hand massaged his length with expertise that made him want to either praise the gods or scream in jealous fury. The thought, however foolish, that she had done this before had his demon snarling for vengeance.
“You made me come,” she said again, this time with false bravado that made his heart swell. “Now I wanna make you come.”
There were no sweeter words in the English language.
Her hand pumped his shaft sweetly, her brow resting against his, her lips stealing kisses from his mouth every few seconds. He watched her in awe, his eyes shifting from her face to the sight of her fist coiled around his dick. Her thumb brushed against his head with every sweep, almost too softly, as though she was afraid adding pressure would break him.
“Oh, Buffy,” he moaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her grip tightened, coaxing a long whimper from his lips. “God, pet, that feels so good.”
“Really?” she replied, her voice leveled with uncertainty.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“I haven’t...I mean, I never...”
He raised his eyes to her almost reluctantly. “You an’ Angel never...” He trailed off, unable to see that thought to fruition. It was out there, ugly and real, though he was divided between need and dread at the prospect of her answer.
“No.” Her skin flushed deeper. “We kissed a lot. Before that...that night, there wasn’t a lot of other stuff. I was too...and I think he thought he’d break me.” She paused, her gaze trained on his cock. Her eyes on that part of him nearly did more to undo him than the magical feel of her hand stroking him. “Am I doing this right?”
He bit back a chuckle. “Trust me, pet, there’s no way to get it wrong.”
“Really?” He felt her lips brush against his throat. “Tell me what you like, Spike.”
He whimpered and attempted futilely to thrust his hips forward. “You won’ like it.”
“Blowjobs?” Buffy quirked a brow as her head reeled back. “I do know about guys and blowjobs.”
A sliver of fury combated with lust. “An’ how’s that?”
She smirked and leaned inward, nibbling gently on his lips. “I attend a public school, you know,” she murmured. It was amazing how sultry she could make a thoroughly unsexy statement sound. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like what you’re doing very much.”
“Tell me how to make it better.”
He paused, then quirked a brow. “Well,” he replied, steadying his hands on her hips. “You could use both hands.”
Buffy paused at that and frowned. “Both hands?”
“For starters.” Spike grinned and nipped at her mouth. “We’re in a tree, luv. Doesn’ really give us enough room to go into everything that I like. Unless you wanna move this into your bedroom...”
The hesitance that flickered across her face at that was all the answer he needed. She wasn’t ready to let him into her home, which was likely a wise decision. He’d find himself sneaking in at all hours, and thus doing little more than strengthen the intensity of their increasingly confusing relationship. Instead of waiting for her answer, he kissed her, wrapping his hand around hers.
“Faster, luv,” he murmured, choking back a moan when she immediately complied. “Now...ahh, yeah. That’s it. God, feels like Heaven, that does. Such a sweet li’l hand. You like doing this? You like wanking off dangerous vamps jus’ feet away from where you’ll sleep t’night?”
Buffy’s eyes flared. “Guh,” she stated ineloquently, her eyes fluttering shut.
The scent of her arousal nearly drowned him. Her wetness stung the air, imploring his tongue for a taste.
“You like that? Like the feel of my cock in your hand?”
She nodded rapidly, her other hand delving further into his jeans until he felt her tentatively cupping his balls. Spike tossed his head back again and moaned, encouraging her to stroke him faster. She squeezed and stroked him, kneaded affection into him without words. The tenderness in her caresses was more than he’d ever thought to touch.
It happened too quickly. Hell, a year could have passed and it would’ve been too quickly. Spike barked something he thought sounded enough like a warning, then came violently into her hand. He felt her still around him, though her heart began pounding even harder. Her excitement touched the air like a firecracker, and even coming down from his plateau, he found himself wanting—needing—to taste more.
“Buffy...”
Her eyes were glued to the spendings that coated her skin. He expected disgust, but she seemed enthralled.
Spike fisted a handful of cotton from his t-shirt and seized her wrist, wiping her skin off best he could. “You should go inside now,” he said quickly.
Her head flipped up at that, and the uncertainty in her eyes all but killed him. “What? Was that not good? Did I do something wrong? What did I do wrong?”
“No. God, no. But you should go inside.” He inhaled deeply, nuzzling her hair as he deftly tucked himself back inside his jeans. “I want you so bloody much, an’ I’m not above fucking the daylights outta you in a sodding tree, as uncomfortable as it is. You jus’ proved anythin’ possible.”
The scent of her arousal intensified, and his mouth watered.
“Slayer, get your biteable arse inside that girly bedroom of yours.”
He was immediately bereft the second that she left his arms. He watched with barely guised longing as she climbed back into the sanctuary of her room. The barrier was between them again, and while he cursed its presence, he was similarly grateful to have some boundaries defined.
“I want you to undress,” he said softly when she turned to meet his eyes. “I want you to stroke your clit until you come. An’ I wanna watch while you do it.”
There was a measure of satisfaction in the widening of her eyes. In the thrill that raced down her spine, nearly indiscernible, but there nonetheless.
“Spike—”
“I want to watch. An’ I want you to gimme your hand after you’ve come so I can lick up all your juice.”
“Spike, I need to say something.”
The sentence was so short, so declarative, that it leant him pause.
Buffy released a deep breath and glanced down. “I...what we’re doing...this is new. All of it. It’s new to me. Angel and I...well, I told you we didn’t do anything beyond make out up until...the actual sex part, as in you sticking your...” She gestured without meeting his eyes and flushed. “In me...I’m not ready for that.”
Spike softened and edged as close as he dared to the invisible barrier. “Slayer—”
“The first time was too terrible, and it broke me. This is helping me heal.” She exhaled softly. “This is something that’s ours. Yours and mine. But the actual sex part, however the hell you wanna define it...I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to hurt like that again. Angel told me he loved me and I got hurt. We...I don’t know what we’re doing, but I can’t do that part if...”
She trailed off awkwardly and her words fell with silent grace. Spike watched her for a long moment, then realized what she thought. That stating only oral play and handjobs, equaled not good enough if they couldn’t complete this mating dance with the traditional act of lovemaking. She didn’t need that—not if love wasn’t in the mix. She wanted love, and she was right to. No one deserved to be loved as much as the Slayer.
If he loved her, though, whatever hold he had left on his old life would be gone forever.
If, if, bloody if. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought it through to this extent. And with as terrifying as the notion was, there was a certain degree of peace that encompassed him with immeasurable warmth.
Love the Slayer...
Spike smiled softly and nodded, forcing his troubling thoughts away. She didn’t need to worry her pretty head about that tonight. If anything, he’d learned that making plans didn’t get him anywhere where she was concerned.
“No worries, sweet,” he reassured her. “We won’ do anythin’ you don’ want.”
Tension rolled off her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “Okay.”
There was a beat. She turned to her bed and began pulling down the covers.
“Slayer?”
She looked up.
“I’m still waiting for my juice.”
She paused at that, then a wise, womanly smile touched her face. “Oh,” she replied, straightening as she fisted the hem of her shirt. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Spike smirked and licked his lips, his eyes soaking her in.
There were worse things in the world than being wrong. The longer he stayed, the more he wanted. Only this was different. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t alone. More than affection, more than kindness—the lust that burned her eyes wasn’t imagined. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Perhaps then, just perhaps, he could allow himself to ponder.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have to let go of her at all.
Wishful thinking or not, shady hope was better than resignation. He wanted to keep her; he’d be a fool to wish otherwise. He’d made the mistake of telling himself what her decision would be. Buffy alone was in charge of her destiny.
He wasn’t going to try and talk himself out of anything anymore. The girl was unpredictable; trying to warn himself off with threats of his inevitable heartache was setting himself up for failure. That had to end. Nothing was decided now. The future wasn’t set. Buffy wanted him now, and chances were, she’d want him tomorrow. He’d underestimated her a time too many, and this was where the buck stopped.
Perhaps, in the end, she’d want him forever. He could live with that.
After all, she had yet to stop surprising him.
TBC |
