It was the accusation that I was afraid of giving him the chance to hurt me that did it. I was pissed off, frustrated at his damned certainty that he was right about what I am, and, oh, yes, physically turned on from trying to kick his ass, when he finally said something that I couldn’t deny, couldn’t twist. So I just made him shut up the only way I knew how.

One moment we were fighting, exchanging vicious punches and even more vicious words, and the next thing I knew, I was attacking him with my lips, trying to prove something. Prove he was wrong, to prove that I wasn’t afraid of him, that I was not afraid of being close to him, that I wasn’t afraid to let him in. I’d show him how close he could be to me – inside, how about inside – and still not hurt me.

So I kissed him, just like I’d kissed him twice before: hard and passionate and greedy, as if I were trying to eat him alive, to swallow him whole and absorb him into my body. Even with my eyes closed, I felt him startle at the unexpected crush of my mouth against his, but Spike is always lightning-fast at improvising when a fight takes an unexpected turn. In the space of his non-existent heartbeat, his lips and tongue were pushing back at mine and the physical combat between us suddenly collapsed into this microcosmic struggle to see who could control that kiss. Even though my left arm was entwined around his neck, I couldn’t get close enough. I flung my right arm around him, crashing it through some insubstantial wallboard along the way, and roughly thrust my tongue more deeply into his cool mouth.

I may have won the little battle of the kiss, but he took advantage of my concentration on our frantic mouths to pick me up and urge me back against another wall, using his superior height to pinion me there with his lips and tongue while his hands began to assail the rest of my body. His hands grappled at the black leather of my skirt, fingers bunching up the material where my thighs met as he tried to grope me through the layers of panty and skirt. Never before had he been brazen enough to touch me that way when we’d kissed, to be so brutally plain about what he wanted. Taking one last gasping kiss from him, I shoved him away, twice, pushing him roughly backwards until he was the one whose back was against the wall, the one under siege.

He must have half thought I was going to revert to beating on him for trying to finger fuck me through my clothes, because he looked surprised but pleased when I grabbed the lapels of his leather duster and hauled his face down to mine again and snatched more ravenous kisses.

This time when he picked me up, I not only allowed it, I helped, throwing my legs around his lean waist. Still, I think he was stunned – I know I was – when I suddenly reached down with my left hand and tore his zipper down, pulled his erection free of his black jeans, shoved my skirt and panties aside, and hurriedly guided his cool and silky tip to my entrance.

I paused there for a moment, breaking free of our desperate kisses, feeling his hardness poised there, ready to penetrate me, impale me, but still just barely slipped between my folds. I could feel how wet I was, smell my own arousal, and feel the hot flush of my cheeks as the moment seemed to teeter on the brink of infinity. I felt a split second of fear as I rested on that precipice, open to him, about to let him inside me, to fill me. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. He can’t – won’t -- hurt me. I’m not afraid. I’ll show him I’m not afraid, even if he’s inside me. I’m not afraid.

And then our eyes met and it was true. I wasn’t afraid. His face was full of wonder and shock, and he was staring into my eyes as if he saw heaven there and expected it to vanish in an instant. I looked into that handsome and suddenly vulnerable face full of stunned amazement (and love, don’t forget the love) and I knew what I wanted for the first time since I’d come back.

So I slid down sharply around him and the world came crashing down to a single point in time and space as our bodies (and what else?) connected completely.

We both gasped as he surged home inside me, the fit between us perfect. I could say that he was bigger than I had imagined, but that would be a lie. He was every bit as big as I had imagined, especially these last few weeks, and he was inside me.

I began to rock up and down on him, that gloriously long and broad length that had so filled my imagination now filling my body even more completely than I had expected. The pleasure from the rapidly increasing friction was incredible and I felt myself shuddering lightly, my nipples like bolts under my lace blouse, my legs already beginning to tremble violently with tension around him. Just as my eyes drifted shut in ecstasy, I felt him lean into me and kiss me hungrily but lovingly, his lips (his heart, his very being) praising me, worshipping me, adoring me.

He took charge again, grasping my rotating hips and flipping us around so that I was once again pressed up against the wall. He thrust into me. Hard. Suddenly his cock was hitting everything that much deeper and fuller and harder, and I was rocketing toward orgasm.

I tried to grab at the wall behind me for balance, almost shrieking with the intensity of it. I began to shake with the first waves, dimly aware that he was grunting into my chest, close to release himself. As I felt my inner walls clench convulsively and powerfully on the now warm, hard length of him, I felt him lose control. His whole body trembled and shuddered as he came, his hands clutching at my hips hard enough to leave bruises. I knew he didn’t need to breathe, but he was panting nonetheless, groaning in these little, frantic puffs as if he were afraid his heart was going to burst through his chest.

It was really my fault we fell. Breathless and still lost in the ongoing ripples of my orgasm, I leaned into his weight, eager again to press my face into his broad shoulder, to feel closer to this person I was suddenly one with. I don’t know whether his knees or the floor collapsed first, but suddenly we were tumbling together, still connected flesh to flesh. We landed, me on top, still entwined on the basement floor below.

The sudden fall and slap of our bodies against the ground was more erotic than someone without our super-strength can imagine. It had the advantage of forcing him deeper inside me at the moment of impact, slamming against my cervix, making me groan and shiver, and I began to grind against him all over again, as if we hadn’t both just come seconds before. Our eyes met, and once again, he had that stunned and amazed look that had preceded the moment he entered me. And love. Love was in his face as he stared up at me.

I couldn’t help it then, looking at that face, at that look. It was as if something burst inside me, and I leaned in and kissed him passionately again. He groaned and his hands pushed roughly at my jacket, grappling at my lacy blouse as his hips continued to churn underneath my own undulating pelvis. I was tugging at the leather of his duster, and then his shirt. Finally we ended up tumbling this way and that as our clothing flew here and there around the room.

Continuing to move with him, picking up the pace, I helped him finish stripping my top half, tossing aside the camisole to reveal my bare breasts. I swear he almost came again just at seeing them, bouncing lightly in front of him in time with my hips. His sooty lashes dropped against his cheeks and he groaned something that sounded like "Christ, so beautiful," before letting out a shuddery little puff of air and desperately trying to catch a bobbing nipple in his mouth.

He succeeded and the intense pull of his suckling lips and tongue against my aureole went straight to my belly, making me lean forward, my hands clutching at his bare, muscled abdomen for balance. I began to whimper with pleasure as my inner muscles tightened steadily around the length of him. The pressure within built higher and faster with every thrust, until I felt so tight around him that it was as if I could distinguish the head of his cock from the shaft by the way the rim tugged against my walls on every backstroke. Nothing else existed at the moment, nothing but that single point of friction and pleasure (with Spike, I can’t believe I’m – )

"Oh, God, Buffy," he moaned, his hands suddenly pawing at my skirt, trying to bunch it up around my waist and shove my panties further out of the way so he could move more freely. Never pausing in my feverish motions, I undid the fastening of my wrap-around skirt and tore it free, leaving me dressed only in my now-soaked thong and boots.

No longer encumbered, Spike’s strong, firm hands were free to roam my body, and they did, first up to my breasts, where his fingers did amazing things to their rock-hard tips using a provocatively light touch, and then down to my panty-clad pelvis. Planting his hands firmly on the inside of my rocking thighs, he slid both of his thumbs inside the edges of my thong, nestling them to either side of my clit among the folds so that with every movement I made, the long, hidden base beneath my most sensitive point received a quick, hard stroke.

I began to slam my hips down onto him faster and harder, controlling both the pace and depth of his penetration inside me and the rhythm of the lightning-bolts of pleasure his fingers were giving me. It was only a matter of moments before the second orgasm began, a tsunami of ecstasy that made the first seem like a minor frisson of pleasure. This time, I did scream with the force of it, digging my nails into his bare chest as I shuddered before collapsing into a quivering heap on top of him.

He grabbed my face and kissed me fervently, his fingers buried in my still half-caught up hair. "Hang on, luv, had enough of the sodding clothes," he panted before carefully pulling himself out of me.

I nearly swooned at the withdrawal, but felt a warm rush of excitement as he pushed my nearly worthless thong down over my hips and then worked it easily over my still-zipped knee high boots. Strangely, he didn’t touch the boots, but scrambled up, stuffing my panties into his back pocket (saving them for a souvenir or proof this wasn’t a dream or for blackmail purposes) then hurriedly yanking off his own boots and hastily dropping his black jeans.

My eyes were half-closed with residual pleasure as I lay against the floor (what the hell was poking me in the back) but I wasn’t so out of it that I didn’t notice that the Bot was right: you should see him naked. He was long and lean, but still well-muscled, and his cock – well, let’s just say that the view explained a lot about the incredible feelings he was able to invoke with it. I was intrigued by the way it seemed to curve up towards the tip, a gentle slope that looked as if would make the head brush some very interesting angles inside without any extra effort on his part. No wonder he had felt so good even pulling out of me.

I felt a sudden rush of liquid between my legs as I thought about what it was going to feel like to have that (him) back inside me, stroking, pumping, freely this time. My heart began to trip with anticipation. He must have known because he grinned at me knowingly and then did that obnoxious thing he does with his tongue as if he knew (he always knows) that I was thinking naughty thoughts.

Raising my chin a little, I deliberately let my thighs fall wider before him, staring challengingly into his eyes. He was caught off guard by the blatant invitation and the smirk was instantly replaced by that now-familiar look of wonder. I wasn’t about to be ashamed or shy now. I knew what I wanted. "Fuck me." I said it simply, plainly. "Spike, I want you to fuck me again." I rocked my hips once, thinking about how I wanted it to be, and he moaned almost imperceptibly. "Please," I whispered.

He didn’t need a second invitation. In an instant, he was back on me, back in me, to be precise. He pushed my thighs up towards my belly into a wide spread, hooking my knees over his arms, and then plunged into my body with a relieved groan of my name. I gasped at the blunt forcefulness (ecstasy, oblivion) as he began to drive his cock into me, plowing into me possessively. I let go of my last vestige of control and let the tension flow entirely from my thighs, letting my inner muscles take him in as deeply as I could bear it, welcoming him, opening myself up to his full penetration of my being.

He pounded himself into me harder, deeper than anything I had ever experienced, and I felt as if I could feel every thrust slam into and through me and it was good.

His eyes were on my face the entire time, watching my expression, listening to my increasingly shrill gasps, and I could see that he was reveling in my reaction. He wasn’t holding back with me, he wasn’t treating me like some delicate flower; he was fucking me and he was fucking me hard and it felt right.

"Spike –" I grunted. "Spike!"

"Wha-?" He huffed at me, focused on my face, but beginning to get lost in the sensation of my cunt swallowing him whole. That I was trying to talk must have made him think he wasn’t doing something right; his thrusts grew faster and more emphatic and I found myself trying to remember what point I had been about to make but losing it somewhere it amid my state of bliss.

"My boots. Don’t – unh, oh, god, oh, god, -- don’t you want to – unh!" He rammed into me harder and grinned cockily at my inability to finish what I wanted to say. "Take them – oh, my god – off? Oh, god."

"No – oh, fuck," he panted. "It’s sexy. My naughty – unh – powerful – oh, Christ – Slayer – in her kick-ass – oh, god – boots." He moaned and pounded faster. "Later. Take them off – oh, Jesus – later."

Suddenly he leaned closer and kissed me passionately, continuing to pound into me the entire time. "Have to –" he grunted. "— get – " Thud, thud, thud. " – deeper – " (Deeper? Oh, please! How—) Pulling his mouth away from mine, he sat up straighter, grabbed my boot-clad ankles, placed them on his shoulders and pulled my hips into a new angle as he continued to plunge furiously inside me.

Oh. My. God.

Nothing we had done had prepared me for what it felt like to really have a man (vampire) penetrate me so profoundly and completely. I felt invaded, conquered, pierced right to the core. And I loved it. Oh my god, did I love it.

And so did he. His eyes were still fixed on my face, but I could see that he was losing himself in the sensation as much as I was. His brow was wrinkled in concentration (and still human, why was he still in human face?) his mouth slightly open as he panted my name like a mystical chant, his pupils slightly unfocused as our bodies slammed together.

It was riveting, seeing him so lost in me, and I couldn’t stop staring, wide-eyed, as I saw – and felt – his climax hit. He roared, that same amazing noise he made when he would leap into battle beside me, just as he thrust deep once more and grabbed my hips to still them as he poured himself into me. I couldn’t help it; watching his expression as he came, feeling the warm wetness now seeping out between my well-pounded thighs, made me start to come again. (That shouldn’t be possible, should it?) I gasped sharply and my legs jerked convulsively, driving the heel of one boot sharply into his shoulder and inadvertently kicking at his jaw line.

He collapsed onto me, breathing heavily, then kissed me, almost chastely, his lips brushing mine repeatedly, with a sweetness and tenderness that was (not really) unexpected.

"Uh, Spike – " Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Was he purring?

"Spike. I need to breathe." I tried to wriggle, but found it was nearly impossible with my legs pinned at basically head height between us.

His blue eyes looked almost dreamily at me for a moment before grasping the situation. Abruptly he sat up and carefully helped me lower my thighs to a more natural angle. "Oh, sorry, love." His strong hands were massaging at my hips now, and he was smiling at me thoughtfully. His hands worked down my thighs, soothing the stretched muscles, carefully stroking away any residual tension. Reaching my boots, he unzipped first one then the other and slid them gently off, then began to squeeze and brush my feet with his firm fingers and broad palms.

"Thought you liked me in my kick-ass, sexy boots," I murmured, relaxing into the firm, pleasant working of his hands. God, this felt good, almost as good as the sex.

"Oh, I do," he replied softly. "Hadn’t counted on you being quite such a violent kicker when you come, though." He grinned at me. "Want to make sure you don’t break my jaw just yet. I have plans that require it be in good working order..." He gently nibbled at one of my toes and then ran his tongue in slow waves along the arch of my foot.

I moaned as I felt another warm flush of arousal stir between my thighs.

"Like that, do you?" he whispered. "Like me tasting you?" His tongue slid sinuously around my ankle and he nibbled carefully up the back of my calf, continuing to stroke his fingers up and down my leg in counterpoint. He pressed his tongue into the crevice at the back of my knee, sucking delicately at the hollow he found there, and then continued his meandering path upwards, responding to my guttural moans, until he was brushing my inner thighs with his lips and his fingertips. Entranced by the pleasure, I just let the feelings flow, my breath beginning to hitch as he drew closer and closer to where I really wanted that mouth.

"Want me to eat you, baby?" My breath caught at the bluntness of the request, and I felt my nipples pucker with excitement.

The tip of his tongue tickled lightly at my creamy entrance, and then he took a long, slow lick between my folds, making me groan.

"Tell me you want me to taste you, Buffy." His voice was thick with desire. "I want to hear it, love." His tongue lapped delicately at the swollen pink surface beneath his lips, toying with and teasing me without mercy. "Tell me you want it." A finger slid into me sinuously and began to stroke lightly in and out, making me shiver with pleasure, urging me to answer.

"Oh, god, yes, please, Spike." I was nearly breathless with awareness of how close his mouth was to my burning clit. My hands rested tentatively against his hair, not quite willing to grab hold tight yet, but subtly trying to encourage him to bury his mouth in me.

The finger slid in deeper and he stroked a spot on the top wall of my vagina, making my hips buck beneath him as I gasped. My fingers tightened amid his blond curls. (G-spot? Spike can find mine? Jesus.) He chuckled. "More explicit than that, Buffy," he said softly but intensely as his finger continued making delicious rhythmic strokes against that spot, driving me nearly insane. "Tell me you want me to eat you. Say it just like that." His tongue worried lazily against my clit, making me quake with near agony.

"Eat me, Spike, please. I want you to eat me!" I got the double meaning, even in my near stupor of arousal, but I found it strangely arousing instead of frightening. At that point, he could have sunk fangs into my femoral artery and I wouldn’t have cared so long as he continued to finger fuck me and use his tongue inside me until I came. (What a way to go –) I buried my fingers in his hair and stroked against his scalp persuasively as I tried to press my pussy against his mouth. "Please, baby. PLEASE eat me."

I don’t know whether it was the "please" or the "baby" that turned him on more, but he groaned with what sounded like happiness as he withdrew his finger, then plunged his tongue inside me and began to suck and lick in earnest. In some small, secret part of me, I had always wondered whether he was good at oral sex (that clever tongue, clever in more ways than one), my curiosity inflamed by the frighteningly sensuous way he had kissed me in the past. The reality so far outstripped the idle daydreams that I sobbed with the pleasure of it.

He drew me close to an orgasm with his mouth alone, and then, panting, inserted first the finger he had used before and then another, adding that delicious penetration to what he was doing with lips and tongue. I was burning, thrashing with exquisite sensations as he found my G-spot again and began to thrust the pads of his fingertips along its surface rhythmically.

I could feel the orgasm building in me, a cool wash of juicy goodness that threatened to flood my entire being and drown me in rapture. When it finally broke over me, I screamed and sobbed, tugging at his hair as if it were my anchor in the storm, and curling up in a shuddering knot against his wet and slippery face. It seemed to last forever, that orgasm; but maybe that was because he didn’t stop moving his fingers or his tongue even as the first waves crashed through me, or as they continued.

Somewhere along the line the continued stimulation slid from pleasure to nearly painful and back to rapturous as I slid helplessly into another peak and then another, my cries growing increasingly hoarse. It went on and on, waxing in intensity from one rush to another, until I felt transported and nearly delirious (taste of heaven on earth). It was only when my thighs involuntarily began to shake uncontrollably and I was beginning to hyperventilate from sobbing that he gently drew his mouth and fingers away from me and began to blow air lightly against my soaked center.

His lips began to graze my quivering thighs softly and I heard him chuckle. "Always knew you were capable of multiples, Slayer." The cool lips continued to press soothingly against my hot and sweaty flesh. "Did you?"

He didn’t actually wait for me to answer, but nuzzled his nose against my thigh and then licked gently at my knee cap. "Want more, love?" he said throatily. "Or have I tired you out?"

I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter and he raised his head and looked at me in surprise. "Laughing at the idea I could give you more multiple orgasms?" He looked almost hurt and I could see a defensive tension creep across his smooth shoulders.

"No, no..." I whispered, reaching down and brushing my fingers along his cheek and across his lips. "Just at the idea that I might have tired out first ... All that Slayer strength, you know?"

He grinned at me and then slid up my body until his mouth was nearly at my ear. "Well, that’s one advantage to doing a vamp, love ... don’t tire out as easily as the average mortal male," he growled, his breath tickling against my throat. He slipped his tongue into the outer shell of my ear, exploring delicately, and he began to slide his still rock-hard erection against my belly steadily, using my body sweat for lubrication. "And some parts never get tired..."

I grinned at him, enjoying this new and tentative playfulness between us. "Prove it," I said coyly. "Do me again. In fact, let’s see who has to give up first. I bet I can outlast you."

"Always the little competitor," he smirked. "Let’s see if you can handle this." He sat up and grasped my hips, flipping me over onto my stomach and then pulled my pelvis upwards. (Doggie-style, oh, god, my favorite –) As I shifted my weight unto my hands, I felt him lean over and bite gently at the globes of my ass with his human teeth, then lick and kiss the small of my back. He drew up straighter, and I felt the blunt tip of his cock slip silkily into me, gentle at first as I adjusted to the long, heavy length of him and the firm coolness of his large hands on my hips.

He groaned as he began to move in me, pulling at my hips urging me to rock them against him. At first I just let him control the motion, excited beyond measure at the feel of him moving my body against him as I stayed relaxed and passive, just letting him fuck me freely, allowing him make use of my warm, tight interior. My heart began to brim with a sensation of something unfamiliar (joy, pleasure) as I listened to the guttural noises he was making as he enjoyed my body. I was giving him so much pleasure without effort and I felt strangely proud of the fact.

I was so proud, in fact, that I wanted to increase the pleasure, to make him feel more, to make his voice strangle with ecstasy because of me. I began by squeezing my vaginal muscles on his thrusting cock, playing little games with the pressure and rhythm and tension, squeezing now this muscle group, then that, tightening firmly one moment and then flicking the muscles in fast little clenches. His vocally driven breathing began to hitch with each thrust as he grunted out incoherent praise at what I was doing.

I began to move my hips then as well, twisting and sliding them to counterpoint each of his thrusts, experimenting with force and depth, angle and torque. It had precisely the effect I wanted; I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him and feel him as he became overwhelmed with the loosely coordinated thrusting of our bodies against one another. I could hear it in the ragged way he was panting out encouragement to me. I could feel it in the way his fingers clutched spasmodically at my hips, pulling and pushing, sometimes just clutching frantically. I felt a tremendous rush of power and wonder as he pounded into me, enjoying his loss of control (due to me, he’s enjoying ME).

Suddenly I felt his body shift behind me, disconcerting me, as his left arm swept around my waist. He rocked back on his knees, pulling us into a more vertical angle, and I had to reach out to a nearby piece of building (support beam, wall, does it matter?) with my hands to keep my balance.

His right hand clutched fiercely at my shoulder as he continued to slam into me, his left hand searching for my hot and sensitive button. I felt him bite at the curve of my shoulder passionately with his blunt teeth as he continued to drive upwards into me, his fingers finding what he sought and stroking it with perfect timing and pressure.

My concentration on his pleasure was suddenly broken by the tidal wave of my own engulfing me. My fingers scratched at the wood as I sought to keep from coming apart as his cock pounded into me in time with his fingers, and when I finally came, he pulled my body back flush against his, panting his encouragement.

I was still shaking with it, feeling him continue to thrust greedily inside me, when he roared in my ear and sent us toppling forward, where we would have been thrown off balance but for the brace of my arms.

As I clutched at the wooden beam beneath my fingers, still gasping, I felt him wrap both arms around my body and bury his face against the side of my neck, kissing it passionately repeatedly. For a moment, we just sat there, his semen sliding down my leg in a damp stream, his cool chest pressed against my hot back, his lips slowing down to a more leisurely exploration, his hands beginning to stroke gently across my belly and around the curves of my breasts.

"Wow," I finally said. I felt him smile against my shoulder and heard a nearly silent chuckle. "So...you tired yet?"

"No, although I could stand to stretch my calves out a bit." His voice sounded clear and smooth as he continued to press kisses along my skin. "What about you, luv? Ready to stop? Concede the greater stamina of vampire kind?" His arms slid away from me just as I felt him slide out of me and I suddenly felt strangely bereft and cold.

Completely separate from me for the first time since he had removed our clothes, he stretched out on the floor, putting his hands behind his head and smiled at me.

"Never." I stretched my legs out for a moment, enjoying his expression as he watched me. I liked that he was looking at me that way, so full of desire (love) and satisfaction (all caused by me.) Finishing my gentle stretching of my legs, I crawled over to him on my hands and knees, my eyes on his face, studying him.

He startled a little when I bent down and kissed him softly on the mouth and then began to make a tiny rain of kisses all over his face. He grew still as my lips wandered along the line of his cheeks, then explored the soft hair of his brows, lingered briefly over the scar in the one.

"Close your eyes," I whispered.

He looked at me, a bit bewildered and maybe even a little wary before obeying. I softly kissed his eyelids and his lashes, then pressed another kiss to his mouth. "Keep them closed no matter what I do," I said quietly. "Just feel. Just feel what I’m going to do to you."

I gently pulled his arms from beneath his head, placing them at his sides, and then I began to explore his body with a calm, almost meditative thoroughness. I ran my palms over his lightly muscled shoulders, feeling the power coiled beneath his cool and silky skin, and then slipped my hands down his arms, squeezing to feel the firmness and strength there. I couldn’t help it; a little moan of approval slipped out and I saw a pleased smile cross his face, although he kept his eyes closed. (So biddable for me, so willing to please.)

My hands continued their leisurely wandering, over his six-packed abdomen, playfully into the well of his belly button, down his hips to his strong thighs and lanky calves. I avoided his cock, which was lay hard and thick, its odd little curve pressing it firmly against his belly. It twitched every now and again, as did his hands, which he was obviously fighting to keep relaxed.

"You’re being so good, I’m going to reward you," I whispered throatily. "Remember to keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."

I let my hair brush against his thighs and belly as I bent over his groin and slid my tongue playfully up the length of his erection. He jerked and gasped, his whole body instantly rigid with tension (anticipation.)

I took him into my small hand, my thumb gently brushing along the ridge at the bottom, and I studied him, thoughtfully. His pubic hair was a surprising honey brown color, and intriguingly soft when I twisted my fingertips into it, stroking gently between his balls. He shifted beneath me, obviously struggling not to respond too eagerly, but he couldn’t hide his excitement. He was making that little purring noise again, and I could see a tear of pre-ejaculate trembling at the tip of his cock.

I carefully licked it away with the flat of my tongue, rolling the taste of him in my mouth. He gasped sharply and groaned, "God, Buffy, are you trying to kill me?"

I chuckled and closed my hand around his thickness and began to stroke up and down. "Feel any stakes poking you?" I slid my hand from his tip downwards in a hard rush until my fist met his base. "Although I see my practice with a staking motion has other uses." I repeated the stroke, building up a nice, steady rhythm that had him panting and writhing. "You like that?"

"Oh, god, Buffy, yes," he groaned. His hips were beginning to thrust up against my hand, but his eyes were still closed. (Trying so hard to please me.)

I swirled my tongue once around the head of his cock once as I stilled my hand. "Spike. Open your eyes and look at me."

I waited until his dazed blue eyes met mine and were able to focus. "Watch me," I whispered. "Don’t take your eyes off me."

And then I watched his face as I slid his hard shaft into my mouth, using my hand to complete the sensation of enclosure, making him gasp and murmur my name. My eyes never leaving his, I began to move, my head following my hand, working his smooth, rounded tip between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, using the rest of my hand to drive the rest of the way to his base. I watched as breathless rapture (wonder, awe, love) spread over his face and he began to chant my name and God’s in an incoherent mix, his fingers clutching at the debris beneath us.

Taking my free hand, I pulled his right hand to my hair, signaling he could touch my head, and then began to concentrate in earnest on what I was doing with my lips and tongue. His fingers buried themselves among the strands of my hair and I could feel his thumbs stroking steadily at my temples as I continued to lick, suck and stroke him to the point of ecstasy.

As I began to move harder and faster around him, I used my other hand to seek out the hardness of his erection where it extended beneath his balls back towards his ass, stroking it steadily in time with my rocking motions. He began to writhe even more frantically, and I could feel him, thrusting into my mouth and cradled in my hands, teetering on the edge of an explosive orgasm.

I glanced upwards again to find his eyes still focused, dazed and intent on the sight of his cock thrusting into my mouth, as if he couldn’t quite believe the view. This time I did not look away but instead worked at him more rabidly. I dared (begged) him with my eyes to come in my mouth, to fill me up with the taste of him. My own breathing was ragged, and I could feel wetness streaming from between my legs as I burned with the desire to taste his loss of control and his love for me on my tongue.

Watching him as he hovered on the brink, tugging at him rhythmically with my hands and the vacuum of my mouth, I suddenly let him slide just that little bit deeper into my throat and at the same moment thrust the fingers of my left hand roughly against the soft ridge of his anus as if to unexpectedly penetrate him but without actually forcing it.

The unexpected immersion deeper into my throat combined with the sudden little near-violence pushed him over the edge with a strangled howl and suddenly his hands were tugging almost violently against my hair as he exploded into my mouth in sweet but salty jets that tickled against my tongue. I swallowed greedily, watching his face as he emptied himself into me, gulping up not only his semen but his stunned and blissful expression as he gaped, open-mouthed at my eager, intimate acceptance of him.

As his last little convulsion trembled on my tongue, I finally slowed my movement and let his still quivering cock rest in the warmth of my mouth, gently cradling it as I cupped his balls and just held them. He was still gazing in astonishment at me, amazed and bewildered, my name a few ragged breaths on his lips, when I finally let him slide from my mouth all together and smiled at him.

I crawled up his still-trembling body and he continued to stare until I pressed my lips to his and gave him a deep, tongue-thrusting kiss. He didn’t even hesitate, but slid his tongue sinuously against mine, tasting himself and a faint lingering taste of me. I relaxed on top of him, our mouths intertwined, my limbs relaxed against him, my wet pussy rocking against him seeking attention.

"I want you to make me come again," I whispered in his ear. "Over and over, until I’ve completely lost count." (As if you haven’t already.) "And I want you to come in me again. Over and over until there’s nothing left in you and it’s all in me. In my mouth, in my cunt, on my skin, in my hair, in my ass if that’s where you want it."

I kissed him passionately, holding his face between my hands, and looked into his eyes. "Make me feel you. I want to feel you." (I want to feel. You make me feel – )

He looked at me, his eyes shining with his love for me and more than a little adoration, and then he rolled me over onto my back. "Anything, Buffy. I’ll do anything you want me to."

And he did.

****

When we fell asleep that night, finally sated (exhausted, drained, blissful), I was covered in his marks and he in mine, bathed in his scent and his taste, and he in mine. But beneath the bruises, the bites, the scratches and the endless stream of body fluids, there was a deeper, more permanent mark inside me now.

Happiness.

I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t understand it. And it terrified me.

Spike had made me happy.

I don’t know if it was the joy of accepting that someone loved me while knowing me at my worst and knowing my secrets. I don’t know if it was the bliss of having someone meet me as an equal sexually, kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, for the first time ever. I don’t know if it’s just that I felt safe and at ease when I was with him in a way I didn’t feel with anyone else.

But I was happy. For a few hours, for the first time since I came back to this (painful, violent) existence, I was truly, blissfully happy.

That’s all changed now. I ran away from it (from him) when the sun came up, scared of what he made me feel, afraid of the happiness.

Afraid I was wrong to be so happy with him.

Despite all that I did that night to prove he was wrong about me, in the morning I proved he was right. I was afraid to let him hurt me. So I hurt him instead.

And sometimes I wonder now when (if) I see him again (I haven’t in five days), if I’ll ever again see those expressions that haunt my dreams. The wonder. The amazement. The bliss. The love.

Especially the love.

And if he’ll know (he always does) that whatever I may say about it, whatever lies I may tell him (and the others), I’m a marked woman now.