Actions

Work Header

Southern Comfort

Chapter Text

No words were exchanged over the drive back to town, though every few seconds Spike felt the slow sizzle of Buffy's eyes as she alternated from staring at him to staring at the road. He never glanced back; he couldn't. He was too shaken, too afraid, and he knew if he looked at her, she would recognize it.

Spike didn't know how the Reaper had attacked her, or why he'd chosen the venue he had. All he knew was he'd been used, and there was nothing he abhorred more than being used.

He needed to know how to overcome the Reaper's pull so he could rip apart the bastard himself.

It was late when the Desoto pulled into the drive at Maplewood, though not as late as it felt. Spike killed the engine and at last turned to Buffy, who wordlessly opened the car door and climbed into the night air. Perhaps that was it, then. They simply weren't going to talk about it.

“You want me to pop inside and grab you a nibble?” Spike asked. He'd never noticed how strange his voice sounded after a lengthy silence.

Buffy glanced up with a grateful smile. Her eyes were bright and awake, and after the drive they nearly brought him to his knees. She was so strong—a tower of fortitude. He'd never known a woman who could go through something like what had happened at the Myrtles without wilting; not one who possessed any softness about her, anyway. But then, perhaps that was his own folly. He'd never known a strong woman. Not his mother. Not Cecily. Not even Drusilla. Dru had made him feel needed, but that was nothing compared to Buffy's unyielding resolve.

Buffy didn't need him. She wanted him.

Spike had never before appreciated the difference. Not like he did now—looking at her wonderful, bright eyes.

“I'm not hungry,” she said at last. “Weird, huh?”

“You had that milkshake before we headed out,” he observed. Spike had insisted on it. No one knew better than he how blood operated. She needed something in her system after fainting, and though stopping had conflicted with his intense desire to vacate St. Francisville as quickly as possible, knowledge had overwhelmed instinct.

“I guess it filled me up.” Buffy tucked a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “I'm really wired, though. Like…I dunno, the last time I passed out it was because of…” A frown depressed her lips as she lifted a hand to her throat and gently stroked the mark there. And immediately, Spike's mood worsened. “It…ummm…I was really revv'd by the time I woke up. It was kinda…” She pursed her lips and looked away quickly. As though the subject matter made her feel as exposed as it did him. As though she was ashamed of what had transpired.

Not that Spike knew what had transpired, but the mark stank of Angel. Angel had sunk his pompous fangs into the Slayer's delectable throat. He didn't want the particulars. Just knowing his wanker of a relation had dared presume he had the right to take what was rightfully Spike's had his demon flaring in a dangerous way.

He didn't need to know.

Only if Angel's demon had staked a claim on the Slayer…

No. That he would know. He would have sniffed it on her the second he saw her fighting the demons in the graveyard. There was no doubt.

Though it must have been torture on the old git to taste the girl's blood without letting the world know to whom it belonged—at least in Angel's warped mind. No matter he'd left her behind to pursue other, nobler things. Other quirky blondes to muck up. Or perhaps the girl had grown too old for him. Eighteen did make Buffy a woman, and god knew Angelus didn't take a fancy to girls unless they were underdeveloped.

Then again, Spike might just be bitter.

“Let's get you inside,” he murmured, avoiding her inquisitive eyes. The last thing she needed tonight was to deal with his jealousy. What she needed was a good night's sleep.

What she needed was nowhere in the ballpark of what he needed.

What he craved.

Spike sighed and flipped on the light-switch, drinking her in as she moved around the room. There weren't any bruises marring her milky flesh—none that he could see, but an assault like the one she'd endured came with no guarantees. After all, if the Reaper could defeat her by attacking from the inside, what else could he do by working a bit of mojo? What could he do to her?

Buffy met his eyes and smiled softly, making him feel more vulnerable than he had in the whole of his existence. “You were really freaked, weren't you?”

“Wouldn't say freaked.” She arched a brow and his defenses met the gutter. Spike sighed, his eyes hitting the floor. “All right,” he conceded with a sigh. “Christ, pet, you're the strongest person I know. The strongest…not just talkin' brawn here. You've survived more than any girl—any bloke—anyone could. And when you fell, I fell with you.”

Her lips twitched. “You were there to catch me.”

“You don't need catching.”

“Not normally, but I did tonight.” Buffy moved toward him, tugging at her worn braid until ribbons of blonde cascaded over her shoulders. “Things have been…well, crazy. And I'm not…I don't know how to feel about a lot of things. But when I opened my eyes and saw you, I wasn't afraid. It's insane, Spike.” Her hands crisscrossed as she grasped the hem of her ruby blouse. And it didn't dawn on him that she was going to draw it over her head until the offending garment between them was gone and he was left staring at her white, lacy bra.

“Buffy…”

“I'm not afraid anymore.”

He dragged his gaze away from her breasts long enough to find her eyes. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Afraid of what?”

“You. This.” She gestured between them. “I don't understand it, but…you…”

A harsh, shuddering breath ricocheted through him, knowledge warring with desire. She'd had a scare tonight—something had crawled up inside her and every fiber of her delectable body had weakened. There was every chance she was reaching out now only for the need to connect with someone who could hold her to solid ground. He knew it—he knew she could snap back at any second.

The man inside knew this, and furthermore knew what he should say.

But Spike was more than just a man. For a few precious seconds he'd feared he'd lost her, and his body was in desperate need of hers. He needed to reassure the angry demon that she wasn't lost after all. That she was, indeed, as tangible as she seemed. Her eyes were open and trusting and she stood before him in an invitation the blind could spot. He wanted her. Wanted her warmth against his skin and her pussy cradling his cock. Wanted her lips against his and her hair curled around his fingers. Wanted to feel her gasp and spasm against him. Wanted so many things.

Most of all, he wanted to commit her to memory. If they were on borrowed time he would make the most of it. Learn her now before she slipped through his fingers forever.

Words clawed at his throat but he shoved them aside. The next thing he knew, he'd closed the space between them and jerked her into his arms, his mouth crashing over hers with an urgency he barely recognized. There was no resistance—she flung her arms around his neck without hesitation as her tongue plunged inside his mouth, echoing the eager thrust of her hips against his erection. He'd never felt so fucking sensitive in his life—so scorched by the touch of any woman. So ablaze by the feel of her squirming against him. A growl savaged his throat as reality crashed hard with fantasy. Her lips fell slack with a half-moan, her tongue curling under his teeth as she grasped his upper arms to leverage herself against him.  The wall between them had collapsed—the same that had compelled her to shove him away just a few hours ago. The things she'd told him out of some sense of self-preservation. The things she'd told him to keep him at a distance. She'd already lost herself once, and though there was no hesitation in the way her lips molded against his, he felt her reserve. Her fear. Her absolute terror of falling again.

Of falling the way she was. In the arms of the enemy.

In the arms of a vampire. A real vampire. A vampire unlike the watered-down sort Angel had been. There were no excuses from where Spike came. No want of being anything other than exactly what he was.

Liar.

Spike growled into her mouth, digging his fingers into her firm ass and rubbing his cock against her molten core. He wasn't ready, and at the same time, he'd never been more ready. Her warmth had his flesh melting off his bones, and the burn had never been so sweet. She tasted so feminine. Body spray spiced with toothpaste and hints of a chocolate cookie she’d eaten hours before, offsetting the vanilla stolen from the milkshake he’d bought her after she fainted. All things that made her Buffy. Made her the woman to whom he’d lost his heart when he wasn’t paying attention. The girl. The human. The Slayer.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her lips when they broke apart, his hungry mouth dipping to taste her throat before he could miss her warmth. “So fucking sweet.”

“Ungh…”

“Wanted you the first second I saw you, kitten. You know that, right?” He sucked her flesh between his teeth and tugged. Warm breasts filled his palms, thumbs exciting her nipples through the tantalizing fabric of her bra. “’Course, I didn’t know it. Couldn’t know it. Couldn’t see what I see now.”

Every inch of her trembled under his touch. “What do you see?” she whispered. How a nymph could sound so shy was beyond him, but there was nothing of the seductress who had, just a few minutes before, shed her blouse and proclaimed her body his for the taking.

“You.”

She shrugged self-consciously, doing her best to ignore his wandering hand before he snapped the clasps holding up her bra. The offending fabric slipped down her arms and bared her breasts to his hungry eyes as her arms twitched as though she were fighting the need to cover herself. How she resisted, he didn’t know. For a girl who had only been naked with a man once before…

Not that Spike had much experience with virgins or the sexually inexperienced. Aside from his recent string of revenge-fucks, Spike had lived a life that revolved around a woman with more sexual tricks up her sleeve than the best-paid whores on God’s green earth.

The darkest chapter in his personal history stood as irrevocable proof that Buffy had known a man’s touch, but she could still wear white without any sense of irony. He wanted to tear into her body and stake his claim on her, at the very least with his dick if not with his fangs. He thought he’d had perfection before, but perfection hadn’t had a reliable definition until now.

Her self-awareness humbled him. It betrayed a desire to be desirable, as if the notion were a stretch of the imagination.

“You’re soft,” Spike whispered, dragging his fingertips around her back until he had a handful of Buffybreast cradled in each palm once more. “You smell…”

“I smell?”

He glanced up wryly and chuckled. “Delicious.”

“Oh. I thought you meant I stink.”

A scoff. “Hardly,” he replied, flicking his tongue over one of her nipples. “You’re real. Earthy. Smell like…Buffy…just…”

“I didn’t know Buffy was a branded scent.”

He laughed again. “I prefer to keep it to myself,” he replied, lowering to his knees as his mouth moved southward, dropping kisses over her taut belly. “Don’t know how you bloody do it.”

A hard shudder commanded her body. “Do what?” she asked breathlessly.

“You’re so hard.”

“Ummm…thanks?” Buffy replied, uncertain, before quipping, “And here I thought that was my line.”

Spike aimed another amused glance upward. “You gotta be hard,” he explained, before tonguing her bellybutton and tugging at her slacks. “All muscle and fortitude…so strong. So hard, and I don’t understand it. Don’t understand how someone so hard can be so fucking soft.”

A low moan of protest slipped through her lips. “I’m not soft.”

With her trousers bunched at her ankles, Spike turned his attention her panties. The dewy circle at the crotch had him mesmerized, as did the shuddering breaths rocketing through her small, fiery body. And before he could help himself, he’d dipped under the elastic and combed his fingers through her damp curls. “Not soft?” Spike whispered, rubbing his nose against her. “I beg to bloody differ.”

“Oh…”

“Has anyone tasted you here?” he asked softly, bunching her panties entirely to the side to bare her quim to his eyes. The question didn’t need an answer. Angel was the only man that had ever been near her pussy and the thought of his mouth anywhere near this perfect flesh fed Spike’s demon a jealous rage unlike anything he’d ever felt.

He didn’t want to know.

As it was, Buffy tensed the second he breathed across her delicate skin. “You don’t…Spike…”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t need to…do that.”

He arched a brow. “Need has nothing to do with it, kitten. You really don’t know how wonderful you are, do you? How you look, how fucking lovely you are. And you smell so sweet. Christ, you make my mouth water.”

She blinked prettily, her expression bewildered. “You…you like doing that?”

Spike quirked his head. “Surprised?”

“I…I don’t…” Buffy blinked hard and looked away. “I just… I’ve read stuff. Not much but stuff. And I didn’t think that was something guys liked…you know, doing.”

“Vamps rely on the senses, pet. Can’t rightly speak for human blokes.”

“He tried,” she continued quickly, still not looking at him, speaking as though he had not. “That night…he tried, but I was too nervous to respond. My leg was shaking too hard—just one leg, not both. Isn’t that weird?”

Spike wrapped his arms around her legs and buried his face in her belly. He didn’t want to hear, but she needed to talk, so he didn’t interrupt.

“I barely felt anything. I was too…” She rested her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “You don’t…you don’t need to try.”

He scoffed and nuzzled her hot, delectable flesh. “I told you,” he replied, “need has nothing to do with it. I want your taste on my tongue. Want you to ride my face so good I’d suffocate if I were alive.” Spike fisted her panties and rendered them useless with a fierce tug. “On the bed with you.”

He kept expecting her to snap back to herself, and she kept surprising him with her resilience. Before his incredulous eyes, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled out of the trousers that had pooled at her feet. She moved quickly but without objection, and when she turned around and sat on the mattress, her eyes were clear. Anxious. Fearful. Eager.

And his. All his.

He couldn't lose this—any of this. Spike inhaled sharply. He had to do this right by her. Had to convey with his hands and mouth how much she meant to him.

He made quick work of his clothing, intensely aware of her eyes following the trail of his T-shirt as he stripped it over his chest. And when she gasped as his cock bobbed free, his mind went a bit fuzzy and the demon's need overpowered the man's desire to do this softly. She was spread on the bed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her legs open and her pussy his for the taking. She wasn't fighting; she was offering. Buffy was offering herself to him.

Spike shuddered hard, wrapping a hand around his erection. “Spread your lips for me.”

Her alabaster skin melted into bright red. “My…” She hesitated before trailing her hands downward and framing her quim. A shy smile tickled her lips. “I feel so naked.”

“Mmm, yeah.”

Buffy squirmed, laughing. “It just feels weird,” she said. “I've never been so…ummm…nude before.”

He smirked, reaching for her foot with his free hand and pumping his cock harder with the other. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I mean…when I wasn't three and being given baths by my mom.” She blinked hard and looked away, the pink in her skin turning a deeper red. “Not even…”

Spike drew in a short breath. She hadn't let Angel see her in the light like this? Hadn't spread herself on a bed, perky breasts standing proudly in the air, nipples drawn and pussy flushed with liquid need? She hadn’t shown this to anyone else. He was the first. Spike. Spike the killer of slayers. Spike who had been her enemy only a week ago.

Fuck. It was no wonder he was in love with her. She kept surprising him.

She’d never stop.

Spike took another step toward her, the movement ricocheting through his insides like a shotgun blast. “Never?” he murmured.

“Nerves. If I’d…let’s just say, it would’ve killed the mood.”

He nodded, forcing the jealous knot down his throat. “You nervous now?” he asked. He skimmed his right hand up the silky contours of her left leg until her sex was under his fingertips.

“Are you kidding me?” Buffy replied, shrill. “Spike…I…”

“You can stop this whenever you want.”

“But I don’t want.”

“You don’t?”

“No. No, I want…” She broke away, fixing her eyes on some random spot along the wall. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. What I felt tonight was so…and you were there and you’re here and I don’t know. But something’s happening. It wasn’t just… When we’ve kissed, there’s been something.”

“I’ll bloody well say.”

“And I knew…God, is there any way we can talk when I’m slightly less naked?”

Spike smirked and kneeled before her. “Get my way, and naked’s all you’ll ever be,” he replied.

“Your way is science fiction.”

“Baby, you’re the guardian of the world and I’m one of those creatures that goes bump in the night. We’re the stuff of science fiction.”

Buffy fidgeted and blushed; she was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. And before she could fidget her way into changing her mind, he slid his arms under her hips and lifted her pussy to his ravenous mouth. “But we’re real, aren’t we?” he continued, nuzzling her soaked flesh. “My little Slayer.”

“Not…yours.

His heart twinged but he ignored it, deciding instead to focus on the gift open and ready for him. Perhaps he could change her mind if he gave her what no man had given her. If he showed her what her body could do. “Can’t you be my slayer?” he asked, parting her lips and gently running his thumb over her clit.

The response was immediate: Buffy gasped and twisted, her pelvis thrusting hard against him and her head falling back against the mattress. “Gahhh.”

“You were saying?”

“You’re a vampire.”

Spike frowned and caressed her again. “No, I don’t believe you were saying that.”

“Slayers…no vampires.”

“You did it before.”

“Learned my lesson,” she replied, hips arching off the bed. “Not his.”

“That mark on your throat says different.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well…you misunderstood.”

“So you don’t do vamps anymore?”

She shook her head, though she didn’t look convinced. “Supposed to stake you, you know.”

“Mhmm. Could you, Buffy?”

“What?”

“Stake me.” He moved his thumb over her clit again, soaking up the sight she presented. Her breathing had become labored in a second, beads of sweat gathered at her brow and her eyes sparkled with warmth he’d never before seen. “Could you really do it?”

“No,” she replied, arching hard against him. “Not unless…you plan on staring at me all night.”

Spike slipped his fingers over her labia. “Wouldn’t mind. You’re very pretty, love.”

“Spike—”

“Gorgeous, even.”

“Stop.”

“Make me.” He grinned and waggled his tongue at her, then dropped his gaze again to her pussy. “Can’t stop. You’re so warm and wet and I’m a parched man.”

Another jerk of her hips, this time accompanied by a whimper of protest. “If your goal is to make me less nervous, it’s really amazing how fantastically you’re failing.”

“I like you nervous,” he returned. “Nervous makes you wiggle.”

An anxious little laugh rushed between her lips. “You have no idea.” Buffy squeezed her eyes squeezed shut, her hips moving along with his fingers. “Mmm. Spike…”

“I love you like this. Panting for me. And you have such a sweet little clit…” He flicked her softly, eliciting another sharp jolt. “And you smell…”

She wiggled again. “If you keep saying that, I’m going to hide in the shower.”

A smirk stretching his lips, he slid his fingers over her entirely. “Never knew the Slayer could be so self-conscious,” he mused, pressing her harder as his mouth neared its target. Her heady, womanly smell just about did him in. It was difficult enough keeping his mind on track; if he moaned aloud, he might forfeit the advantage. After all, this was almost more for him than for her. Memorizing her taste. Committing her to memory. Knowing every sinful, juicy crevice of her pussy so he had something to carry with him for eternity.

Her whimpers echoing in his ears… God yes, this was for him. All for him.

Spike licked his lips. “Just occurred to me…I never got to eat tonight.”

“Ahhh…”

“Think I want a taste.” He rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh. “Don’t worry, kitten.”

“Who’s worried?” she replied with a bravado she clearly didn’t feel.

“You’re trembling.”

“You’re nose-to-nose with my girly parts. And you’re, you know…” She wiggled again. “Spike…”

“I’m Spike,” he agreed, spreading her again and baring her soaked hole to his eyes. His prick swelled. She was so wet. God, she was so fucking wet and tight as a newly-tuned drum. And she was his.

If only for right now—for this moment—she was all his.

“That’s not what I meant. I—”

“Just want you to remember which name to scream.” And without further prompting, he dove into her warmth and lost himself entirely.

*~*~*

She’d never felt anything like this.

The night Angel had stolen her virginity, she’d nearly torn the bed apart with her body’s violent, nerve-induced tremors. While she didn’t remember hating the experience, any pleasure she had taken away from the night had been long buried under the hell that had followed. Of the act itself, there wasn’t much in her memory beyond a flash of pain and the sense of being invaded. It had been quick and, in her young mind, hopelessly romantic. Covered in rainwater on the eve of her birthday, enjoying womanly pleasures for the first time, still buzzed from the chase. Happy to be alive. Happy to have each other.

The fairytale was gone, and with it its fluffy, protective cushion. This bed was real. The quilt beneath her body. The cracks in the ceiling. The air against her skin. The vampire kneeling before her, exploring her soaking pussy with his mouth. Electric shocks followed every tentative lap of her flesh, but after a few seconds, the ache in her clit swelled to heights heretofore unexplored and she realized he was teasing her. He was touching her but not touching her. Tasting her, but not tasting her. The ball of his tongue traced the walls of her inner labia, his thumb navigating the sensitive area around her clit without giving her what she wanted. Teasing. Spike, whose legendary lack of patience would make him any gambler’s best bet, was teasing her.

“What…what are you…”

He flicked his eyes upward and met hers, and the shock of watching him as he feasted on her pussy with his mouth rocketed through her with unexpected urgency. Buffy gasped and jerked, tugging her head back to the mattress. She kept watching him. Watching as he grinned and waggled his face against her. Watching as his tongue parted her lips and slipped over her clit, sliding back and forth with such tenderness she would have cried had it not felt so good. And more. More. Every touch left her wanting more.

“Oh my…god.”

Spike chuckled and licked her opening once, twice, then finally sank his tongue inside her to lap at her inner walls. “Mmm.”

“Oh…”

“Mhmm,” he agreed, delving deeper, the rich sound of his murmur reminding her of a large cat. Licking up milk and purring its contentedness into the saucer. He pulled away once to smack his lips, brows flickering devilishly. “Not so shy tonight, are you, kitten?”

“That…oooh, I like that.”

He had the audacity to chuckle again. “Good thing, that,” he replied. “’Cause baby, you’re delicious.”

Spike was in her again before she could reply, tongue plunging in and out of her pussy as his fingers brushed over her mound to tickle her clit again. And rational thought abandoned her completely. She felt herself detach in favor of the white-hot shards tearing through her veins. It was so good—so good, but not enough. He was tasting her but teasing her all the same. Her clit remained woefully unattended aside from the odd nudge or cursory tap every few seconds, which only fueled the fire pushing at her insides. She needed something she couldn’t identify. She needed something she’d never before felt. She needed…

“Spike!” Buffy sobbed, arching her hips in offering. He kept his mouth on her without breaking stride. “Ah…I need. I need.”

He pulled away again, licked his lips, and slid a finger inside her. “What’s that you need, Slayer?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He quirked his head and nudged her clit with his knuckles. Again, an electric shock jolted through her body. Again, it was woefully short-lived. “You don’t know?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against her inner thigh. “You have no idea what your body is capable of, do you?”

“Ahhh…”

“Beyond those fancy-dancy moves you do…the way you move, contort. The way you mold yourself into a weapon…” He nuzzled her pussy again. “But you don’ know what you can do down here. How you can switch from pain to pleasure in a bloody blink. How these legs guard somethin’ so precious…so wholly…Buffy.”

“Wholly Buffy?”

Spike nodded, licking up her slit again. “Your core here. You’re not the Slayer now. You’re just a girl. Just my girl, if only for tonight. For this moment. Right here.”

Buffy whimpered and jerked, rolling her hips in nameless desperation. His voice clashed with understanding; it wasn’t until he’d lowered his head again that words separated from sound and made sense. Just for tonight. Just for the moment. Did he really think this was all it was to her? A night—a single night. The thought made her stomach twist. Whatever had occurred at the Myrtles, whatever had been brewing between them over the last couple days, wasn’t the sort of fire one could douse with a quick roll in the sack. As it was, Buffy wasn’t built for it. She couldn’t share this passion with someone and look at them the next day as though nothing had changed. As though she hadn’t made herself vulnerable in the most intimate way possible to his hands and mouth. To his eyes. To him.

This moment wouldn’t be good enough. If she let him into her body…

But there was a fine line between stolen moments and a relationship. No matter what she thought in the heat of passion, she couldn’t ever afford to forget Spike was the same vampire who had hunted her vigorously the past two years. The same vampire responsible for Lord-knows how many deaths in Sunnydale alone. The same vampire who had made a career of matting Slayer-skin to his walls. The same Spike who had nothing but evil lurking within his chest. The last time she’d lost herself in a vampire’s arms, the world had nearly ended. And she’d trusted him so much. With everything she was. Spike she couldn’t trust for anything.

Except that wasn’t the way it was anymore. Something had changed. God, yes, something had changed. Spike looked at her as though she were crafted by the gods themselves. He touched her in such a manner she might believe he could feel the soft tenderness of his own caresses against his skin. When he spoke with her, it was as an equal. Not an older, wiser being with years of experience under his belt. A man who saw her as someone who matched him in every way possible. In the way he looked at her—the way he’d held her when she opened her eyes after fainting—never before had she felt more cherished.

All from Spike. It didn’t seem real.

And she didn’t want it to go away.

“This is what you need, innit?” he whispered before flattening his tongue over her clit. She must have spasmed, for the next thing she knew he was chuckling against her wet flesh hard enough to rack her body with violent tremors. “This is your magic button, kitten. Rub here, lick here…” He closed his mouth around her swollen pearl and gave a good tug, earning a hard gasp and another eager thrust of her hips. The tip of his tongue balled again, rubbing her, teasing her, loving her so gently she nearly came apart just for his tenderness. “Mmm,” he mused, pulling away again. “You like that, don’t you?”

Buffy lifted her hips again. “Spike, please.”

“Please what?”

“More.”

“More of what?”

She scowled at him. “Jerk-off.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Now, now. No need for name-calling.”

“I’m burning up!”

He shifted and covered her pussy with his hand and rubbing her with the heel of his palm. “I’ll bloody say.”

“Guh.”

“Makes me so hard,” he purred, eyes eating her up. “Watchin’ you moan. Feeling you writhe. You look at me and I…” Spike broke off and turned his attention back to her pussy. “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect. This cunt. Every delicious move your body makes. Your skin. I just wanna lose myself in you. Over and over and over again.”

He slid his lips slid her clit again before she could muster a reply, reaching up the length of her abdomen to palm a breast as his other hand ventured to her opening and danced across her labia. “So wet,” he murmured. “Feel this, baby? Feel your honey rolling over me? I tell you, a man could die happy here. Give me some and all I want is more. More of this. More of your taste. More of you.” He pressed two fingers into her opening, inhaling sharply when she mewled. “The sweet little sounds you make. For me, right? This is all for me. You’re letting me have every luscious inch.”

“Spike…”

“You want me inside you?” He pressed his fingers inside her again, then out and in. In easy seconds he’d developed a steady rhythm, stretching her, testing her, filling her. Stirring within her a hunger she barely understood. Every thrust deepened her craving, gnawing away until there was nothing but the harsh desire to have it satisfied. And when his tongue began flicking her clit again, thought dissolved into a blanket of ecstasy. White hot bolts of pleasure liquidated her veins, centering in her stomach and massing to a boil so sweet she could barely stand it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Spike encouraged between licks, drawing her clit into his mouth and wagging his head. “Mmm. Mmm.

“Unh…”

Buffy forced her eyes open and looked down again, and the sight of Spike eagerly sucking on her pussy set her off. The beads of pleasure ignited into something fierce, something ruthless, something which forced her from her body entirely. Jolt after jolt of pure euphoria rattled through her skin, constricting her veins, rushing through her with potency unlike anything she’d ever touched. The cries ripping off her lips barely sounded human, much less like they belonged to her—throaty, harsh, and desperate. Her body tensed and released and he didn’t let her up. Wave after glorious wave had her conquered and Spike kept sucking. Kept licking. Kept laving her clit and exploring her pussy as though her body had secrets it had yet not betrayed.

“Spi—” She tried to sit up but he overpowered her, his free hand flying to her thigh to hold her to the mattress as his mouth devoured. “Ahhh…oh gohh…stop. I…what…what are you…oooohhh…”

He chuckled, leaving her clit with a parting lick before his mouth wandered to her opening again to lap up her body’s juices. Every flicker delivered a sharp, electric shock, and the burn was so good she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away. In the end, her body chose for her, spasming impossibly once again toward a dark abyss of pleasure. She didn’t know how long it lasted—time lost its meaning once she regained use of her eyes. Her skin prickled. Her chest heaved. Hot rolls of sweat trickled into her eyes.

Spike lay curled between her legs, eyes shining, his mouth twisted in a very pleased grin. “Ever feel anything like that, Slayer?”

His voice triggered something primal. Something hot and needy. Before thoughts could connect with action, she’d sprung up and seized her vampire by the cheeks, hauling his mouth to hers. And she devoured. She inhaled him, sucking on his tongue, drinking him in. Every crevice of his mouth was hers to explore. Hers. All hers.

“Oh baby.” Spike enveloped her in his arms and pressed her back to the bed, his thick cock resting against her soaked flesh. “Bloke can get used to this.”

“Amazing,” she gasped before sucking his lower lip between her teeth and edging backward. “My…Spike…”

“Mmm, that’s right.” He thrust his hips hard against hers and chuckled when she moaned. “Your Spike. All yours.”

“Never…never…”

“You’d never come before?” If anything, the satisfied grin on his lips spread wider. “Always knew old gramps was a prat.”

Buffy blinked dumbly. “That’s what that was?”

“Want me to do it again? If you weren’t sure…”

She shook her head hard. “Oh god, no. No. I think you’ll kill me.”

“It’s funny…I hear you say no, but your body…” Another jerk of his hips rendered her a whimpering mess. “Oh yeah, your body wants more.”

“Spike…”

“It’s not the main event. Just a sampler. A little sampler. I want more.” Spike began pressing sweet, anxious kisses into her throat. “Felt you come apart on my tongue. Now I gotta feel you around my cock. Squeezin’ me. Strangling me. Hurting me so good I’ll beg you for more. And you’ll wanna give it. You’ll give it over and over again.”

Something large pressed against her opening, parting her flesh as though it were a missing piece of her coming home. Buffy willed her eyes shut. She couldn’t survive another orgasm but she needed it all the same. Needed to feel what he’d promised. Needed him inside her—his body rocking against hers, plunging again and again. She needed it.

“Wrap your legs around me, precious.”

Buffy snorted inelegantly. “Legs? What are legs?”

“In your case? Lethal weapons.”

“That I currently can’t feel.”

“Better for me. Means I can do whatever I want.” He curled a hand around her knee and stretched her until her calf was wrapped around his waist. “’Atta girl. Now your arms. Around my neck.”

Somehow, she found the strength to obey, allowing him to edge them effortlessly up the mattress. Then she was stretched entirely across the bed with a pillow propped under her head and her legs spread to accommodate him. “It’s only been once,” she reminded him. His cock slid between her pussy lips, driving her insane with an impossible renewal of lust. Where her body had the strength to want more she didn’t know—all she knew was she did. She wanted more. She needed more. She needed in ways she didn’t know she could need, and she needed it now.

“I know,” Spike whispered, burying his face in her throat. “I know.”

How had she not known this side of him existed? How had she missed it? In the two years they’d known each other, she never would have thought him capable of this. Yet now, as he pressed her apart and began the slow slide inside her, it seemed so obvious she doubted she could ever trust her own insight again. Her memories of him were warped forever, twisted into something different yet the same. She’d known he’d been good to Drusilla—he’d coddled her, loved her, romanced her…every day during the hellish first year they’d known each other, he’d made it very clear that a hundred years hadn’t wilted a single petal on the rose. It was a passion women craved—passion Buffy hadn’t truly believed to be real.

He wasn’t ramming into her, though for the way he sucked in his cheeks, she could tell he wanted to. He wasn’t smirking at her; rather his eyes were devouring her in wonder. Her name rolled off his lips as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Further and further, her pussy expanded and welcomed him, dragging him inside her inch by agonizing inch. Her heart leaped into her throat and tears stung her eyes. It was too much—it wasn’t enough. She needed less and more at the same time, and her body sat war-torn, splitting with pleasure and stinging with pain. It was nothing like she remembered.

God, it was so much better.

“Ahhh,” Buffy hissed, arching beneath him to propel his cock deeper within her. “Spike…”

He murmured against her throat. Then sniffed. And before she could blink, a growl ripped through his lips and he surged his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. She gasped and clutched at his forearms, her chest thundering so hard she thought it might break. Then there was nothing but Spike. Spike inside her. Spike’s body pressed to her body, his heavy gasps rocking his chest against hers. He lifted himself onto his elbows and searched for her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “Didn’t mean to…just…the mark. Had…you’re mine. Mine, Buffy.”

She blinked up at him before recalling Angel’s bite, and understanding dawned. He’d smelled another man on her and his reaction had been immediate. Primal. It should have scared her but it didn’t. If anything, it made her want him more.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, lifting her head to kiss him. She needed closeness. She hadn’t had closeness in such a long time. She needed to feel his kiss as he moved against her. As he withdrew from her body, her flesh pulling against his, and sank inside her again.

“Buffy…” His brow came to rest against hers, his fingers curled against her cheeks. “God, so warm. Burning me up. Burning…you always this hot, baby?”

Buffy rolled her head rolled, raising her hips as he slipped away again, and god, the drag of his flesh against hers was exquisite. “I…ahhh, umm.”

He chuckled shortly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can’t talk. Can’t…don’t make me.”

He brushed his lips over one of her eyes, and she suddenly realized she had squeezed them closed.

Perhaps he lived in her mind, for the next thing he said was, “Look at me.” And she did, as though she had been awaiting his command.

“So pretty,” he whispered, then stole another kiss from her lips. “So tight. Squeezing those muscles around my prick. Love this. God, how I love this. More, kitten?” He thrust harder without awaiting a response. “Do you love this, too? Love the feel of me inside your cunt?”

Buffy whimpered, digging her nails into his forearms and rolling her hips. “More. I need more.”

“More of what?”

“You. Deeper.”

Spike smiled, nibbling on her lower lip, driving his cock harder inside her. “Like this?” he asked. “Oh…that’s it, Slayer. Squeeze me hard.”

For whatever reason, hearing him address her by her title sent white-hot sparks through her insides. “More,” she gasped again, wrapping her arms around his throat and kissing him before he could reply. It didn’t matter—his reply was in his body. In the slippery drive of his cock into her pussy, in the sound of flesh slapping together, in the squeaks of the mattresses and the slams of the headboard against the wall. In the throaty moans ripping off Spike’s lips and falling into her mouth. More, more, more. More of this. More of him. More of everything.

“Oh god.”

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, pumping harder into her. Harder. Harder. It couldn’t be hard enough. She needed to meet that edge again. Meet it and fall over head first. “Fight me, precious. Fight me.”

“Need…”

“I know what you need.” He bit at her lips again before moving southward, mouth peppering kisses along her skin until he had one of her nipples sucked between his teeth. “Need to come apart. I need it, too. Need it. Want it. Wanna feel it. Want you coming around my cock.”

“Ahhh…” She tunneled her fingers through his hair as his hips smashed against hers. The burn she’d felt earlier flamed again, churning deliciously in the pit of her stomach. He kept pulling away, and while the feel of his cock dragging against her flesh had sparks flying before her eyes, she needed more. She needed it—an it she couldn’t identify but similarly couldn’t stop fighting to keep.

She needed…

“So beautiful. So beautiful.” He squeezed one of her breasts, his mouth playing with the other. “And all mine. All mine, Buffy. You hear?”

She wouldn’t dream of denying him now. Not now. Not when she needed. “Yes. More. Spike…more. Please!”

“So hot. So tight.”

“More!”

“All mine.” He shifted and something sharp skimmed her throat. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew what it was, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the burn. The sparks shooting through her body. The need to touch—need to feel—the need…

The need to keep him inside her. Time to fight back. The next time his cock thrust into her pussy, she contacted her muscles around him hard. Capture. Hold. Need.

“Bloody fuck!” Spike roared, his head reeling back, yellow eyes blazing. “Oh god. Oh yes. Again!” He thrust harder, feral. “Again. Do that…oh Buffy. Buffy. Buffy Buffy Buffy. My slayer. My Buffy. Squeeze me. Fucking yes.

She bucked wildly. “Spike!”

“Buffy!” The hand at her breast was suddenly gone, suddenly between them. Then his fingers were over her clit. Rubbing her. Teasing her. Playing with her. The burn deepened, need expanded. She was so close. So close.

The second his fangs sliced into her throat, her body exploded. Wave after wave crashed over her, seizing her and carrying her somewhere she’d never before traveled. The bed vanished. The walls vanished. Everything vanished—everything but Spike. Spike thrusting hard, growling into her bloodied throat as he trembled and emptied himself inside her. Tiny pinpricks danced across her sweat-laced flesh. Pleasure roped her veins and held. And when it was over, when the last wave receded, he was still with her. Still a part of her. Still inside. Still hers.

And it hit her. What she’d known before but hadn’t realized. Hadn’t understood. What she could only truly know at a moment like this.

He was hers. He was completely hers.

Spike was hers.

And he always had been.