Chapter 5

Buffy’s back arched away from the mattress as she stretched herself awake, smiling happily for no apparent reason. Her hands played about the soft covers beneath her fingertips, frowning at the unusual texture. Silk? When did she get silk sheets—

Her eyes shot open, her body jackknifing into a sitting position. A quick glance at the window revealed that it was still dark outside, and her eyes searched frantically for a clock, wondering how long she’d slept. Spike’s whereabouts were a close second.

As if her thoughts had conjured his appearance, he was there, leaning against the doorjamb. Clad only in black jeans that molded his thighs and crotch… indecently so. He’d not bothered with button or zipper, and her eyes zeroed in on the tuft of dark curls that disappeared into his pants. Her tongue darted out to lick at lips suddenly gone dry.

‘I’ve got to be insane,’ she thought, thoroughly mesmerized as he walked towards her. More like stalked her. Smirk firmly in place, growing wider when she began to fidget in anticipation on the bed. And who wouldn’t fidget as bit-by-bit his jeans slipped down his hips, exposed a hard cock jutting proudly from a nest of dark, wiry curls. It should have been comical, the way his pants fell down his legs. But not Spike. No, it was like the movement had been choreographed, so that all he needed to do was step out of the puddle his jeans made once he stopped beside the bed.

She felt the glide of the silk sheet as it was drawn down the length of her body, exposing herself an inch at a time to his piercing gaze. Goosebumps broke out on her flesh, the sheet pulled down over her breast and hardened nipples, then her abdomen and legs until she was completely exposed.

His smirk was gone now. Instead his face was a study in concentration, like he was trying to decide where he might want to start. She lay there trembling, eager for his touch, and when it came, it was like a bolt of lighting went straight through her body. A cool palm ran the length of her leg from ankle, up over her knee and towards her mound, but stopped midway up her thigh. She groaned, twisting to her side so that she brushed against his fingers, his knuckles making contact with her clitoris and causing her eyes to flare wide at the sensation.

Her hand shot out and locked around his wrist, holding it still while she ground herself against him.

“Want something, pet?” he whispered huskily, eyeing her body as it writhed against his fist.

“Spike,” she mewed plaintively.

“Onto your stomach, then.”

Buffy released his hand and did like he asked, her body thrumming in anticipation as he climbed onto the mattress and knelt between her legs. Her shivers were back in full force when he trailed both hands up either side of the back of her legs until they closed around the globes of her ass, giving them a gentle squeeze. Then farther still, skimming her lower back and beyond, up towards her shoulders. The slight massage felt heavenly and turned her muscles to mush, forcing her body deeper into the mattress. His fingers started their track back towards her hips and she hissed slightly as razor-sharp nails cut into her skin leaving two sets of shallow claw marks that oozed slightly with her blood.

Before the sting from the open wounds had fully registered in her mind, Buffy was drawn to all fours at his urging. She felt the head of his cock as it probed at her opening, and then nothing else mattered because he was sliding home, stretching her in the most delicious of ways. The agonizing slowness of his movements making her eyes roll up in her head, her neck arching invitingly beneath his amber gaze.

When he was buried as far as he could go, he stopped, and Buffy thought she’d die if he didn’t move. Like now. She tried to pull away so that she could thrust herself back against him, but his grip about her hips tightened, forcing her to remain still. To just feel him. Filling her so completely.

She did, and her inner walls tightened reflexively around him, producing a husky growl of appreciation that sent chills up her spine. His cock twitched inside her, drawing her attention back to where they were so intimately joined. It was only then that he moved, pulling out of her and thrusting back inside. Slow, arduous movements that stretched her, the head of his cock brushing against that special spot, triggering bursts of electrical pulses that snaked along her limbs and caused her toes to curl.

Unable to stand the intense pleasure any longer, her hands collapsed beneath the strain of holding herself upright, her head colliding with the pillow to remain there. Her ass still hiked high in the air. Held in place by Spike’s unyielding grip. All she could do was whimper and moan while he drove his cock into her over and over again, stringing her body tighter as it built towards that final release. She felt one of his hands leave her hips, a choked gasp that was his name issuing forth when his thumb and forefinger began to work her clit. Soft, sensual circles gave way to harder flicks and twists, the movement of his hips increasing to match the intensity of his manhandling.

The hold of his right hand was punishing, fingers digging tight into her flank while he slammed into her pussy, the sound of smacking flesh loud in the otherwise silent room.

Buffy tried to bite her lip to keep from shouting, but she could feel it bubbling up inside her. Slim fingers gripped the downy softness beneath her head, holding it over her mouth as she gave vent to the scream that proclaimed her release.

Spike released her oversensitized clit at the beginning of her orgasm and returned it to her hip, holding the Slayer in place while he pumped into her quim for all he was worth. Her tight sheath began milking his shaft and Spike clenched his jaw, determined to ride out her climax. He stared fixatedly at the open cuts on her back, until he realized the scent of her blood was enough to send him over the edge.

He wanted this to last. Hell, every time he touched her he wanted it to…

She was in his blood. Calling to him. Drawing him to his demise. One he’d eagerly take. For each time he was like this with her, he died a little death. Each climax wrung from his loins, drawing him in deeper. He craved her…this. This mindless motion of burying himself deep inside her. Craved her like he craved blood. Needed her like he needed blood.

If he had a coherent moment to think about it, he’d probably run away screaming. But around her, he couldn’t. All he could think about was the Slayer. How she’d saved him, gifted him with her blood. Accepted him without pause.

That thought sent him falling after her. Her name a curse, a benediction, torn from his lips. Choked out of him as he poured himself into her. Utterly spent, Spike collapsed over her back, panting much the same way she was.

Knowing that the position couldn’t be too comfortable for the Slayer, he roused himself enough to pull out of her and shift next to her on the bed, her knees now able to slide out from under her so that she was lying flush against the mattress. He propped himself up on his elbow, taking note of the claw marks on her back. They weren’t very deep, and knew for certainty that they probably stung the worse for it. Bending over her, his tongue laved at each line until they closed over. She’d hissed at his initial touch then fallen silent, allowing him to tend her.

When he finished, he leaned away. Spike was surprised that she hadn’t harped on him about what he’d done, only to smile wildly when it dawned on him that drawing her blood hadn’t fazed the Slayer in the least. That she’d actually gotten off on the slight pain. Definitely something worth mulling over in the future.

Seeing that she’d settled back into sleep, he reluctantly climbed out of bed. Spike prayed the Slayer would sleep until he got back. He had an Indian to track and a grandsire to avoid….at least for a little while longer.

~*~*~*~*~

When Buffy awoke next, she knew right away she’d slept through the night. Her eyes opened, taking in the minute light that rimmed the specially made blinds and curtains covering the window.

She sat up, barely displacing the vamp beside her.

‘Vamp beside her?’

Her eyes widened comically as memories came flooding back. The Indian. Spike’s sudden appearance. Him taking her home.

Home?

The Slayer looked around, blinking in astonishment. It hadn’t been a dream. He’d actually gotten them a place. Decorated it, too. A soft smile graced her lips at his actions. Forgetting for a moment that she was in bed with her mortal enemy. Had sex with him. Repeatedly. The memory of their last encounter staining her cheeks a bright red.

Dear god, she’d been marked and bitten and clawed open and left to bleed. And she’d liked it.

A lot!

She had to get out of there. Willow was probably wondering where she’d gotten off to, and she still had things to get for the Thanksgiving dinner, which she should be at Giles’ starting on right now. Scrambling out of bed with no thought to her nudity, Buffy searched frantically for something that would tell her what time it might be. She lucked out in the kitchen, spying the digital readout that told her it was still early enough that she’d have time to take a shower and dress before she needed to be at her watcher’s.

Making her way to the bathroom, the Slayer spied her discarded clothes. More like the clothes that had been torn from her body as Spike had sought to inspect her injuries, but who was she to quibble over particulars. She cut the water on in the shower, sighing blissfully as she stepped inside and the heated spray pelted her frame.

Her thoughts soon turned to the vampire still sleeping in the bedroom.

There’d be no way she could explain away Spike’s reappearance in Sunnydale. As it was, she was going to have to find something to wrap around her neck to hide the latest bite marks he’d given her. Her fingers ghosted over the puckered scars, smiling in remembrance. No…explaining the vamp’s return was definitely out of the question.

When she’d scrubbed herself clean, Buffy cut the water off and snagged a towel to wrap around her body. She snuggled into the plush terry, the L.A. girl in her telling her that no expense had been spared here either.

Back in the bedroom, she walked towards the open walk-in closet, praying that there would be something for her to wear…at least until she could go home and get changed.

The Slayer blinked in surprise as one whole side of the closet revealed various tops, skirts, and pants in her size. Someone really had been busy! Her fingers skimmed along the various items, noting with some surprise the multi-colored garments. With Spike, she would have expected everything to be either black or red, since the vamp seemed rather partial to those severe colors. She grabbed the first thing that seemed to go together – and that would cover her neck discreetly. A sleeveless turtleneck confection in a soft butterscotch color and a pair of brown slacks; the brown boots she’d had on earlier would go well with the outfit.

Stepping out of the closet with the clothes she’d chosen, Buffy walked towards the dresser. She opened drawer after drawer, taking note of the array of lingerie stuffed within. Again her eyes widened in astonishment. She grabbed a neutral set, marveling as the tags revealed the appropriate size, and didn’t bother to question how he’d known…or why he’d bothered.

Her eyes locked on the vampire buried beneath silk and down.

She dressed quickly, senses tuned for any indication that he might be waking. He didn’t twitch the entire time, and it was only when she was dressed, that the Slayer expelled her breath.

Now to make good her escape.

Buffy made it all the way to the door when she stopped. Spike had done the courtesy of leaving her a note when he’d left before. Walking out without so much as a by-your-leave caused her heart to clench.

She walked into the kitchen and started looking through drawers for pen and paper to jot down where she’d gone, finally locating one in the drawer next to the telephone. The Slayer didn’t even bother to question why he’d have one of those.

It took her five tries before she managed to convey her whereabouts, trying for a balance between needy!Buffy and independent!Slayer. She walked on tiptoes back to the bedroom, slipping the folded piece of paper onto the pillow she’d been using. As she stared down at his boyish features, Buffy couldn’t help smiling at the picture he made. Her hand reached out of its own free will, tracing the hard line of his cheekbone. Then she went one step further and brushed her lips across his. Holding her breath all the while and praying he wouldn’t wake up and demand to know where she was going.

As quietly as possible, the Slayer retraced her steps out of the room. Then out of the apartment, making sure the door locked behind her. She’d paid no attention earlier when Spike had carried her from the church, too caught up in the pain radiating along her arm, and just prayed that wherever it was, it wasn’t too far from Giles’ house. She walked hurriedly towards the stairwell, her footsteps muffled by the carpet in the hallway; her eyes took note of the numbers on each door and realized that they were on the third floor. Well, she assumed as much since all the numbers began with a three.

Buffy flew down the stairs – sure enough, three flights of stairs – and let herself outside, blinking momentarily when the sun shone brightly in the face. She looked around, one hand arced above her brows to reduce the glare, trying to get her bearings. Her jaw dropped when she realized exactly where she was.

Leave it to Spike to practically move in next door to her watcher. The vamp definitely had a screw loose. Seriously. Either that, or a death wish. Looking at the townhomes across the street, Buffy shook her head in befuddlement and jogged towards Giles’ place.

tbc...

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