It’s funny, but the words ‘perverse’ and ‘degrading’ now have different meanings for me. When I first said them, I was referring to that night in the abandoned building. The one we brought down. That night has nothing on what we have done since.

My room was once my refuge, but as I lie in my bed, I realize this room belongs to someone who has long since disappeared. With its candy colored pastels and photographs of happy times, it belongs to the girl who was buried last summer.

Or does it go farther back than that? I haven’t made any major changes since I first moved in when I was sixteen. Was this an unconscious decision on my part? Have I been trying to enshrine my innocence? Trying to remember what I had before I was chosen?

I press my fingers to my temples. My head hurts. I’m tired of thinking. I’ve always preferred action to philosophy.

I run the black scarf through my fingers. Spike must have slipped it in my pocket before I left. I almost hate him for sending me home with a reminder. Perhaps he knew I would try to discard the memories of what we had done when I got home. If I didn’t have the scarf with me, is that what I would have done?

Life used to be so simple. Before…before all the slayer stuff it was shop and look good. Then I was chosen and it became even simpler. I slay, and then I die. Now I don’t have even that.

*************************


I can still smell her. Her essence surrounds me. I wonder if her scent would linger on if she were to stop coming here? Or would it eventually fade to a memory? I hope I never have to find out, but I imagine I will. Too pessimistic? I doubt it. Can't imagine she'll stay much longer.

When I am in her, time stretches to infinity and there is no end or beginning to us. But at all other times, there is a feeling of futility. Like we are running out of time. Is it us as a couple or is it her as a mortal?

I pour myself another glass of whiskey. I know I shouldn’t be drinking. After one of our trysts, I become melancholy and philosophical. My inner poet emerges. Drinking doesn’t help, but I need something to focus on besides her. Anything, really, to help me through the long days.

************************

My life officially sucks.

After a restless sleep, filled with images of Spike, I worked all day in Doublemeat Hell. I come home, thinking to indulge in some quiet time. Maybe do some sisterly bonding, but my sister can’t stand to be in my presence. It hurts. I sacrificed myself for her and she would prefer to spend her nights away, with another family. My friends, trying to help, unknowingly make things worse. What had Xander said? “Slinging the doublemeat and pounding the big evil.” If he only knew.

And if he only knew that his words inspired longing rather than shame. What does it say about me that I would rather be with an evil, soulless vampire?

So here we are at the Bronze, trying to recapture what we’ve lost. The indomitable Scooby gang is imploding. We’re all pretending that we’re happy, that we’re all having a good time. Willow is unnaturally bright, hiding behind a happy façade. The cheeriness of Xander and Anya seems off. Almost forced. I wonder if there is trouble brewing there? And me? I am hiding more than the others. We are fracturing, and at this point I really don’t care.

*************************

She’s here with her ‘friends’. They remind me of the mimes in New York. The ones who stand perfectly sill, only changing positions when someone puts money in their hats. When they think no one is looking at them, they turn to stone. Their faces only become animated when others are looking. It’s creepy. It’s also a sad state of affairs when I am more alive than them.

But Buffy can break through. I’ve seen her do it. When she is with me, life pulses through her. It rises and crests within her. She is gloriously alive in my arms.

It humbles and excites me that I am the only one who can bring her back to life. Me, a vampire. A man, a thing, who lives in the shadows and never in the sunshine. I bring the light out in her.

************************

Thank god they’re all dancing. I thought I would scream if I had to hear Xander and Anya talk about the wedding one more time or hear Willow lay another subtle guilt trip on me. Why can’t she take care of herself? Why do I have to do it?

I can’t do this. I hate this life.

So many people. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here. I need to escape. But to where? Is anywhere safe anymore? An unbidden image of Spike’s crypt comes to mind. I push it away. I could have chosen earlier tonight to demur, but I didn’t. I agreed to come to the Bronze, so here I will stay. But not here at the table. I don’t want them to come back. I don’t want to have to make more small talk. And I hate that I don’t want to be with my friends.

***********************

My poor little kitten is all alone at the table. Her friends have once again run off. I watch her from the shadows. I want to go to her. I want to erase that vacant look from her face.

Should I go to her? She probably wouldn’t appreciate being seen with me, but how can I leave her? I want to hold her. I want to make it all better. I want her to be alive again.

She’s up and moving now. Perhaps she’s heading out. I can meet her there. No, she’s on the way to the bar. And she walks away again which is good, as I really don’t want to deal with a drunken slayer tonight.

***********************

Where to go? It seems everywhere I turn, there are people. The bar is too crowded. The bathrooms are out. They’re cramped and after a busy night, they’re dirty. I look around. I smile. I know where to go.

***********************

She’s looking around as if she is lost. She’s so beautiful. My poor little lost kitten.
Her face haunts me even as she smiles. She’s moving again. This time with purpose.

I watch as she approaches the stairs that lead to the catwalk. Her movements are unconsciously sensual. The black lace skirt conforms itself to her every curve as her hips sway. The silky white sleeveless shirt hugs her body, emphasizing her breasts. There is something black around her neck. Is it the scarf? No, I don’t think so. But it’s close enough that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Was she thinking about me when she dressed for tonight?

Anyone watching her would see a small, fragile woman. But they don't know her like I do. Beneath the vulnerability is strength. I watch the way her calves flex with every step. I can see the muscles beneath the smooth skin. She is dangerous. She is a hunter.

I look up at the catwalk. It’s virtually deserted tonight, which is odd. Perhaps the fates are on our side for once. She’s pulling herself away from the herd. Is she up there to lure unsuspecting vamps to her? Or is she waiting for me? Does she sense me the way I sense her? Does she know I am here? Does she know I am watching her?

Should I follow? Of course I will. I, too, am a predator.

***********************

Ah freedom. Breathing space. I lean over the railing. It all looks surreal up from up here. The bodies gyrating on the dance floor, the strobe lights. I feel like I am a solitary creature looking at it from a distance…but I am not alone.

“You see? You try to be with them. But you always end up in the dark. With me.”

“Spike.” The name leaves my lips on an exhalation of breath. He’s standing behind me. I sensed his presence here earlier. I could feel his eyes on me, following my every movement.

Did I want him to follow me? I don’t know. What I do know is that my body is clenching in anticipation, yet I feel the most relaxed I’ve been this evening.

He stands close, but he’s not touching me. He says my name. His breath tickles my ear and raises goose bumps on my arm. I want to step back into his embrace. I want this so badly it frightens me. So I don’t move, except to clutch at the railing.

He raises his arm to my shoulder, trailing his hands lightly down my arm—so lightly that I can barely feel it. I suck in a breath. I shouldn’t want him, but god help me, I do.

I stare at my friends on the dance floor. They are oblivious to what is happening up here. He notices where my gaze is.

“What would they think of you? If they found out all the things you've done.” His hand moves from my waist to the front of my thigh, fingers sweeping upwards. “If they knew who you really were...”

His fingers are a hairsbreadth from my center. They feel so good. I don’t want him to ever stop, but we’re at the Bronze. We’re on the catwalk in plain view. We can’t do this here. “Don’t.” The word comes out much less forcefully than I intended.

His fingers brush my mound and I gasp. He presses his body against mine and whispers, “Stop me.”

His hand slowly travels up my body, lightly skimming my torso, my breast, my collarbone. His hand comes to rest at my neck. He fingers the necklace. “I like this. It reminds me of the scarf I gave you. Did you wear this for me?”

His voice, his beautiful voice, a rough whisper, sends shivers throughout me. “Did you? Did you wear this for me, kitten?”

That one word, ‘kitten’, brings me back to last night in his crypt. The feel of his body as he surrounded me, caressed me, filled me. I want him. I want those feelings back. I press against him, feeling his erection at my back.

“Yes. I wore it for you.”

************************

She wore this for me. This entire outfit, not just the necklace, is for me. Me! I have found my eden on the catwalk of the Bronze. I had thought to arouse her with some foreplay, entice her to come back to my crypt with me, but I don’t think I can wait that long.

“My lovely girl.” My hands are at her shoulders again. She likes it when I run my fingers along her arms. “You look so beautiful. I could just eat you up.” I can tell my words are having an effect on her as both her breath and her heartbeat quicken.

My lips move to the back of her neck. Another sensitive spot. “Do you like this? Do you like the way I make you feel?” My hands move from her shoulders to her breasts. Her breath catches as I lightly caress her nipples. I can feel them pressing against the fabric of her top. She’s not wearing a bra. My naughty Slayer. “Do you want me to stop?”

She pauses, and then thrusts herself forward into my hands. “Don’t stop.” She swallows a moan as I pinch her nipples and rub against her.

If anyone looks up, they will see my hands on her breasts. I almost wish someone would. I want them to see me possessing her. I want them to see the look of ecstasy that is on her face when I touch her.

My hands move lower, over her abdomen and to the apex of her thighs. I caress her through her skirt. Another soft moan. She’s moving, pressing into my hands and then back into me. I tighten my hands and pull her hips to me. She gasps my name.

“What do you want, love? Do you want me to continue? Do you want me to stop?”

One of her hands reaches between us and grasps my erection through my jeans. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I groan. I can’t help it. The feel of her hand on me is driving me crazy. I can’t wait any longer.

I move my hands around to her back and reach under her skirt. Even in the dim lighting, I can see the blush that rises to the surface when I discover she’s not wearing any underwear. “My wicked Slayer,” I whisper as with one hand, I caress her ass, and with the other I reach between her legs. She is so wet for me. Soft mewling noises emerge from the back of her throat as I run my fingers along her. She’s moving against my hand. I am so hard at this point that I *really* can’t wait any longer.

“Undo my pants.” My voice comes out as a harsh whisper, an echo of how it usually sounds. The hand that had been clutching the railing reaches behind her to join her other hand. She quickly unbuttons my pants. She pushes them down a bit so that I spring free. I growl as she takes me in her hands.

“Now. It has to be now.” She nods in mute assent. “Lean forward, love, and tilt your hips back.” I hate the absence of her hands on me as she reaches for the railing again, but I am assuaged by the fact that I will be in her any second now.

With one hand, I hold her hip, while with the other I guide myself into her. I lose any semblance of control as soon as I feel my tip entering her wetness. I thrust all the way into her in one hard stroke. We both pause. The pleasure is so intense that I’m afraid that I am going to come right then and there if I move.

***********************

Oh god. He feels so good. But he’s not moving. I need him to move. A whimper escapes me as I press back onto him. He groans and flexes.

“Please Spike. Don’t stop.”

“No, love. I won’t ever stop.”

He begins thrusting in shallow movements. I arch back against him. His hands reach forward and caress my breasts.

My head falls forward. My eyes, which have been closed, open. They slowly focus on the crowd below us. Oh god! I’m at the Bronze. My friends are still dancing and I’m up here, with Spike inside me. I stiffen. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This isn’t me, is it?

“Stay with me love.” Spike of course notices my reaction.

“Spike, we’re…”

“Yes,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re up here. We’re away from them all. We’re above them.” His mouth nibbles on the skin on my neck. “We are the strong ones. Day after day you work to save them all. Isn’t it time you were rewarded?”

“Yes,” I whisper helplessly.

“And I’m your reward, right?”

Is he? Is he my reward? I give them my all. I work tirelessly to save them. I’ve sacrificed myself for them. Isn’t it time I got something back? He thrusts harder into me. The pleasure is intense. “Yes, Spike.”

“Yes what love?”

“Yes, you’re my reward.”

He groans and pinches my nipples. I want to scream, but I can’t. People would notice, my friends would notice. I swallow the scream and close my eyes.

“No. Don't close your eyes.” His voice is seductive, his breath cool against my neck. “Look at them. That's not your world. You belong in the shadows... with me. Look at your friends... and tell me you don't love getting away with this right under their noses.”

I watch my friends. They are oblivious. Not only tonight, but for several weeks now. They have no idea that I find pleasure -- screaming, mind-blowing -- pleasure with a vampire.

“Yes, oh yes,” I hiss. And I realize I do.

One of his hands moves from my breast and slips beneath the front of my skirt. His finger rubs against me in time with his thrusts and I forget all about my friends.

“Come for me baby. I want to feel you come for me.” His thrusts grow harder, shorter. I am so close. I want this so badly. I press against him and I explode.

***********************

I feel her muscles clench around me as she reaches her peak. Her orgasm sets off my own, and suddenly I’m falling. I can feel it clear through to my bones. It seems that every time I’m with her I come harder and longer than ever before. Tonight is no exception.

We both shudder and gasp as we come to rest. I’m leaning heavily on her, and I don’t want to move. Her breathing and heartbeat slow, and I relax with her. Slowly and gently I pull. I right myself and smooth her skirt back in place. She is still leaning heavily on the rail, and her body shudders as I run my hands over her.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. She shivers in my embrace, but she doesn’t push me away. I don’t want this night to end. And perhaps neither does she.

“Come home with me.”

***********************

“Come home with me.”

The words are enticing. They lull me. I want to go with him, but I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing any of this. It’s all wrong. What has happened to my life? Why is it that the rough whisper of a vampire makes the most sense to me?

I watch my friends as they dance frenetically on the floor below. They haven’t noticed I’ve been gone. The lyrics of a song came to mind. ‘Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.’ All of them were dancing to forget. What gives them the right to seek solace when I can’t?

I want to forget too. I’ve had enough of pain. I want it gone, if only for a while. If they can forget for a while, why can’t I? Does it really matter what form my dance takes?

I’ve made my decision. I look up at Spike and whisper, “Yes.”

The wait seems interminable. I agreed to meet her outside so she could tell her friends she was leaving, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and she still hasn’t come out. Perhaps her friends have talked her into staying, or more likely she’s changed her mind.

Five ciggies in fifteen minutes.

Maybe a few more minutes before I leave. Or should I stay and wait? Great, she’s making me sound like a bad cover of The Clash. I have such plans for us if she would only show up.

********

Why won’t they accept that I’m tired and I want to go home? Ok, that’s a lie, but they don’t know that. To them, I’ve been working all day, and I had a bad emotional moment with my sister. So why wouldn’t I want to go home?

Of course, if they knew that I’d just had sex with a member of the undead and am planning on going back to his crypt for a lot more sex, then I could understand them complaining. But they don’t know that.

“Look guys. I’m beat, and you all are having a great time. I don’t want to bring you down.”

Willow immediately jumped into the breach, trying to placate me. “You’re not bringing us down. We’re all here making with the merry! See, I have on my happy face!”

“I know, Will. But, see, I’m wearing my tired face. And I don’t see it turning merry any time soon.”

God, would this conversation ever be over? Why do I have to explain my every action? I just want to go home. Well, go home with Spike.

We continue to talk around the issue except Anya though. She really doesn’t care one way or the other. Sometimes I like her more than my best friends. I finally convince them that I really am tired, and no, I don’t mind going home alone, and I will see them tomorrow.

Freedom!

***************

One more cigarette and then I’m definitely leaving. Obviously she’s not going to –

“You’re here.” Trying for relaxed nonchalance, and probably failing. I know my limitations.

With advent of the instamatic camera, in the early seventies, Dru and I spent many happy hours taking pictures of each other. She loved to capture my different facial expressions and it gave me a chance to see which ones worked and which didn’t. And now Buffy stands before me, and her smirk is eerily reminiscent of mine. “You didn’t think I was going to show, did you?”

Oh ho. Two can play at this game. Extending my arms out from my side and turning in a circle, I say, “Would you miss out on this? I don’t think so.”

She snorts, which is never a pretty sound, but I soon forget to care as she pushes me against the alley wall, her mouth attacking mine. The kiss is voracious. The desire, which had abated slightly, has returns in full force. I want to slam her against this wall and have her here, listening to her screaming her pleasure to anyone within hearing distance.

She pulls away, tugging on my hand. “Crypt. Now.”

No complaints here. Hand in hand, we race across Sunnydale, black and white figures streaking through the night. There is freedom here, and laughter and joy. These are the things I want from her.

We reach my crypt and as soon as we cross the threshold, she is in my arms; her legs wrapped tightly around my hips, her hands tugging at my hair and her lips kissing mine. I try to move us across the room, but furniture and columns keep getting in my way. I had wanted to take her down to my bed, but here is as good a place as any.

*************

I can’t get enough of him. I want to dive deeper, embracing my freedom. Dawn is at a friend’s house, so no worries there. I don’t have to be a sister or a friend tonight. I can throw off the shackles of responsibility and just have fun!

He moans as I draw back and set my feet on the ground. I walk away from him, my hips swaying. I feel saucy and seductive. Looking at him over my shoulder, I say, “I thought we might use the bed tonight.” His eyes light up, and he is by my side before I can blink.

“Whatever you want, kitten.” A voice filled with erotic promise. I climb down the ladder in what I hope is a graceful and seductive manner. He doesn’t bother with it, simply jumping down to the lower level. He lands in front of me and walks me back towards the bed. “What does my lady desire tonight?”

Biting my lip, and peering at him through my eyelashes, I think about his question. What do I want? Hmm. “What do I want?” Suddenly I know. Throwing my arms in the air, laughing, I allow myself to fall back on the bed. “I want smut, smut, smut!”

A wide, happy smile covers his face. “Smut I can definitely do.” A startled yelp escapes me as he pounces on me. He peppers my face with small kisses, which elicit a joy I haven’t felt in ages. It forms in my stomach and bubbles forth, pouring out of my mouth as laughter.

He rolls off me and rummages around in the corner.

“Aha!” he exclaims, as he pulls a box out and sets it on the bed.

Curious, I peer into the box. I sit back stunned. “Umm. Wow. That’s, ah, quite a collection you have there.”

“Now don’t be shy, kitten. Take a peek. Pick out what you like. I got them all just for you.”

“What I like?” My voice comes out much squeakier that I had wanted. Tentatively, I move closer. With Spike’s continuing encouragement, I blindly reach in and grab the first thing. An ‘eep’ escapes me when I see what I am holding in my hand. I had no idea that there were such things out there.

“Is this what I think it’s for?” My voice embarrassingly rises an octave.
“Just what do you think it is?” He gives me his standard bad boy look, the one I can’t ever seem to resist.

“Um, I think I know where this part goes, but what am I supposed to do with it? I mean you wouldn’t, um, want me to do that to you? Would you? I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing. You know, with Dru and Harmony, I just figured that…” I sit back, unable to form the proper words. Are there people out there who can discuss things like this without stammering and blushing?

“Listen love, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t want to do with you.” Yes, but this? “Why don’t you see what else is in there.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” Definitely a good idea, I mumble to myself. Of course, he hears me, stupid vamp hearing. His chuckle follows me as I reach into the box again and find myself staring at a…vibrator? “Spike, what do you need one of these for?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for us. Or more specifically, for you.”

“But why would we need it if there are two of us?”

He sighs dramatically. “The guys you’ve been with really haven’t taught you anything, have they?” Wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, he tugs me closer to him. “Lucky you though. We’re going to have a grand old time.”

************

I wish I had had a camera to record her face when she looked into the box. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked me where I got all these things. Perhaps once the shock wears off she will. And will I tell her the truth? Will I tell her that I did a little unauthorized, late night browsing at Adam and Eve? Maybe not. But I can at least assure her they’re all new and have never been used.

She wants smut? Fun? Playtime? I can give all of those to her. But where to start? The Nexus seems to have shaken her. I need to soothe her, lull her into a feeling of comfort.

I am inherently a hunter, a predator. I watch, perceive weaknesses and then attack. I will have her desires and fears laid bare for me. She will not be able to hide beneath a cloak of indifference.

Bloody hell, I sound like William. My consolation is that he would never have known what to do with a willing woman in his bed.

She’s lounging on the sheets, staring up at me. Her lashes veil her eyes, but the look is intense. I forget that she, too, watches and hunts.

I grab the box and put it on the floor, out of her view, deliberately trying to relax her. “I think we’ll start somewhere else, love. But first, I do believe that one of us has on too many clothes.” I run my finger along the neckline of her shirt. “Why don’t we remedy that?”

My hands slide down her torso and grip the hem of her shirt. Slowly I pull the fabric up and off. She arches her back to assist me, which conveniently puts her breasts near my face. She pouts a bit when I don’t take advantage of their proximity. I guide her onto her stomach so I can remove her skirt.

I sigh at the expanse of skin before me. Her back is a map of the desert. Her vertebrae are ripples in the sun washed sand, her shoulder blades are dunes. Her muscles undulate when I touch her, causing the landscape to swell and shift. I could get lost here, never missing what I had left behind.

Her skin peeks through as I lower the zipper of her skirt. It is this part of her body, the small of her back, that I love the most. This slight concavity is practically virginal territory. Few have seen it, touched it; most probably never think about it. But I do. And with my lips and tongue, I claim it as my own.

She is gloriously naked as I urge her onto her back again, but she’s so still beneath me. At first, I’m afraid that she has pulled inward, disappearing into her silent shell. But it’s not that at all. Her mouth is open slightly, her tongue darting out at intervals to moisten her lips. Her breathing is increasingly rapid, her eyes, glassy with desire.

All this and we’ve barely begun. What a night it’s going to be!

**************

He kisses me softly. “Stay here, love. Don’t move.” Right, like I was going to. I feel exposed lying here on his bed, my arms and legs positioned just so. I once saw a show on Picasso’s models, how he would pose and then paint them. The idea sounded so exotic that I wanted to run off to Spain or France and live on wine and bread and cheese. And now here I am in the bed of the undead. He has spent in inordinate amount of time laying my arms out so that my hands are near my head with one leg bent, and the other extended. Did Picasso do the same thing? This is the closest, I think, that I’ll ever come to those countries and that carefree life.

He has this look about him. Something’s up. Ooh, bad pun, Buffy! He’s moved to his microwave and has put something in to heat. It had better not be blood. That is most definitely not the sort of foreplay I’d envisioned.

“What are you doing?”

As the microwave hums, he walks back towards me, hypnotically removing his clothes. I bet he could make a fortune stripping. I know I’d be happy to slip a few dollars into his g-string.

“It’s a surprise,” he tells me. “You are going to love this, kitten.” His voice is husky, full of wordless promises. I believe him.

The microwave finishes its cycle, and he walks over and removes something that looks like a ceramic jar. He dips his finger in it and swirls it around. His finger comes out coated in something dark, but I can’t tell what it is. He moves his finger to my lips, rubbing gently, seeking entrance. I open my mouth and his finger slips in. I suck on it and the taste explodes on my tongue. Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?

“Like that, love?”

“Mmm. Chocolate.”

“Not just chocolate. Belgian chocolate. Want some more?” I nod my head yes.

With his eyes on me, he dips his finger again, but this time brings it to his own mouth. I am entranced by the way his lips close around his finger. Wait! What about me? I want more. He must have read my mind because he leans over me, placing his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding along mine, coating it in chocolate. I moan in chocolate induced ecstasy. I suck on his tongue, trying to capture every last bit.

Mmm. This gives new meaning to ‘chocolate kisses’. Leaning back, he smiles at me. “More?”

“Oh, yes.”

Chuckling, he asks, “More of the chocolate or more of me?”

Tough decision. “Can’t I have both?”

“Greedy. I like that in a woman. Now I want you to just lie back and think of England.”

Huh? “Huh?”

“Sorry love, old saying. Now just lie back and let ol’ Spike here take care of you.” He lifts what looks like a Chinese calligraphy brush from his nightstand. Huh? He dips it in the chocolate and brings it to his mouth, licking it clean.

“Do you know any Neruda?” he asks me.

“What?”

“Neruda. Famous poet. Very erotic.” The brush is back in the jar and he’s swirling it around. “He writes of love and passion.”

Oh.

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair,” he quotes.

He removes the brush and lowers it to my body. The chocolate is deliciously warm against my skin. I look down and see that he is writing something diagonally across my stomach. I follow the letters and realize that the word ‘crave’ now decorates my skin. Oh!

“Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.”

His voice is low and seductive as the word ‘prowl’ is drawn on my inner arm. The soft bristles on the brush play across my skin.

“Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.”

His eyes, filled with such intense desire, burn into mine. He beckons me, calling me forth to join him as he writes ‘hunt’ across my right breast.

“I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest”

‘Hunger’ across my left breast. ‘Savage’ on my lower stomach right above my pubic bone. I can’t help but feel the words are appropriate. My lover is sleek and savage. My lover. The word tumbles in my mind and resonates like the chocolate on my tongue. My lover, not my boyfriend. The term boyfriend implies sweet kisses and happy smiles. Lover, on the other hand, suggests darker desires.

Somehow in the span of time from our first kiss to now, I have leapt from childhood to…what? Adulthood? Do other people do this? Are they filled with an all-consuming need as their ‘lover’ draws words of desire in chocolate on their skin?

“Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.”

‘Eat’ is drawn on my other arm. I watch as the brush moves on my skin. My body trembles at the sensation.

“I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.”

‘Lovely’ graces the skin under my breasts. He tugs on his bottom lip as he slowly brushes the word on my skin. I do feel lovely. And cherished under his careful ministrations.

“And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”

‘Hungry’ is drawn on my left inner thigh, ‘hunting’ on the right one. The words are no longer just letters put together. They are brands, which sear my skin, seeping through to my blood, altering it. Making it more like his.

He sits back with a satisfied look on his face. “That, my dear, is Neruda.”

******************

She swallows and says casually, “Great poet.” She lies languorously in my bed, my masterpiece drawn on her body. “Although that whole bit about the eating my skin like an almond. Can I just say ‘ewww.’”

Her eyes are lambent and her lips wanting. I can’t help myself; I dip my finger into the chocolate and bring it to her mouth. She sucks vigorously. I wonder if I were to coat other parts of my body in chocolate, would she react the same way? Definitely something to try later.

She looks so beautiful and wanton, stretched out on my bed. I would love to take a picture of her like this, to capture the memory of this moment for eternity. But I don’t think she’d agree. In fact, I think she would have some very strenuous objections. Oh well, it was just a thought.

I crawl over her, my body a hairsbreadth away from hers. “Now comes the fun part.”

“The fun part?”

“Now I get to lick you clean.”

Her mouth opens in a silent “O” and I can’t resist moving in for a kiss. Our lips meet hungrily, but I draw back as her body arches towards me. Don’t want to smear my work. At least not yet.

Our eyes locked, I bring my mouth to her left arm. Her head falls back and she moans as I slowly lick the chocolate off of her. I shift to her other arm, my tongue touches her skin, and she releases my name on a sigh.

Unable to resist, I move back to her mouth and kiss her again. Her tongue rubs against mine, capturing all the last traces of chocolate.

I slide down her body to just below her breasts. Her body hums as my mouth moves against her. I can feel her blood rising to the surface, enhancing the taste of her skin. Such a beautiful combination.

“Please, Spike.” Her voice is a whisper and I smile. I love hearing her call my name, begging me for pleasure. My mouth moves to her breast, and I carefully lick every bit of chocolate from her skin, leaving her nipple woefully unattended. A sorrowful whimper reaches my ears.

I say her name and when her eyes meet mine, I extend my tongue, lightly licking her nipple. Her gasp is my reward. I cover the bud with my mouth and suck greedily. She undulates beneath me, her body trying to press against mine. I pull back, knowing that if I give in now, the game will be lost. I will be sunk in the depths of her desire.

Moving to her other breast, I repeat the same process. She cries out ‘oh God!’ but there is no god here but me. I am in command of her pleasure.

“No, no more.” Her head thrashes on the pillow and her voice is plaintive, on the edge of distress. I move up her body, lying on my side, facing her. My fingers stroke the sensitive skin between her breasts, attempting to soothe her.

She looks at me with wide, desire filled eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her color high on her skin, her lips parted and trembling.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”

“It’s…it’s just…” Her hesitant voice squeezes my heart. This is my Slayer. She should be strong, confident, not trembling. Her eyes fill and I capture, with my mouth, a salty tear, that escapes from the corner of her eye. “It’s…” There is a new catch in her voice, and she presses her lips together to stifle a sob.

“Shh, love.” I lay my hand on her forehead, and stroke down her cheek. She turns her head, her lips pressing against my palm.

“It’s so much. What I feel, what I want.” Her eyes are imploring. “I’m scared.” The words are whispered in the tone of a young girl, afraid of the dark. Was she this child once? Did she curl up at night, worrying about the nasties under the bed? Was the confidence and strength I see in her, won on a battlefield of chemically enhanced grass and marble headstones?

I know how hard it was for her to say this. We’re both fighters. One moment of weakness, and either of us could lose our edge and our lives. This anguished voice reminds me that she is nearly an innocent. Who among her previous lovers has ever taken the time to teach her to embrace her desires?

What words can I utter to assuage her fears and doubts? If ever there was a time when William the Bloody Poet was needed to make a grand entrance, it is now. What words could he capture from the heavens that would comfort her. Honestly, I don’t know. William is not here, only I am.

My hand caresses her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips. “Here in this bed, with me, you’re free. You can take anything you desire, have everything you want. There are no boundaries for us. We strive, we seek, we find and we do not yield.”

Her face is set in a moment of indecision, and then a small smile plays at the edges of her mouth. I relax into my own smile, my mouth teasing hers. The kisses become harder, more frantic, as her desire returns.

My mouth resumes its journey, traversing her skin in wanton kisses. I reach the word ‘savage’ and begin to lick my work. Her hips arch, unconsciously trying to urge me lower. All in good time.

My head moves between her legs and they fall open, welcoming me. “I hunger for you,” I murmur against her inner thigh. Her head thrashes and frantic sounds escape her lips. She freezes as my face brushes her center, and then moans as I continue to her other thigh. The scent of her arousal intoxicates me and all I want to do is drink deeply of her.

“Spike, please.” I suck on the tender skin before me, which elicits another moan. “Please, I need you. Don’t make me wait any longer.” Her litany of words washes over me and I succumb.

I turn my face back to her center and inhale her fragrance. My tongue extends and licks her gently. Another moan and then she is pushing herself against my face, begging for more. Who am I to deny her? Gone is any sense of delicacy. I am feasting on her with lips and tongue. My mouth captures that wonderful little bundle of nerves that has no purpose except to bring her pleasure. Her body arches, her cries reaching a crescendo. She freezes and then she comes against my face, my mouth absorbing every last bit of her. This is far more delicious than the chocolate, even if it is from Belgium.

Her hands are in my hair, tugging me towards her. I rise up and slam into her. I can never seem to enter her slowly. Always by this point, I am frantic with my own need. I am flexing and thrusting within her, my mouth ravaging hers. I swallow her cries, my own falling into her mouth. Her legs tighten around me and I can feel her muscles beginning to spasm around me. My movements grow harder, more erratic. All I can think about is joining her. Her mouth tears away from mine, and she screams my name as she reaches her climax. I rear back, thrusting wildly, various curses escaping my mouth. Yes, yes. At long last, I am here. Her name explodes from my lips as my body finds its release within her.

I collapse on top of her, my harsh pants matching her own. Several ‘oh gods’ escape me and I laugh, remembering when I declared myself her god. I had it wrong. She is my deity, and I will be happy to worship her forever.

“That was just…wow!”

I smile as I cover her face in grateful kisses. “Yes, kitten, it was wow!”

She stretches beneath me and I move off her, leaving my leg and arm to anchor her to my bed and body. Her hand traces my cheeks and lips.

Her voice is a lazy whisper as she asks, “How are we ever going to top this?”

“Don’t worry, love,” I tell her. “I have plans for us.”




TBC...