A/N: I’m a woman of my word…and my GOD, you guys completely blew me away with the response to the last chapter. Really, I’d expected the unfortunately necessary B/A to squick a lot of people; I’d prepared myself to lose readers. I never expected such an emphatic response…and really, that’s the way it’s been all along with this story. The reaction from my readers…you guys…you overwhelm me.

You guys are really doing your part to reinvigorate me in writing. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm. Really…your words mean the world to me. I’ll never be able to convey the depth of my gratitude, or thank you enough.

Perhaps if she’d been able to swallow her gasp, she could have wished herself awake.

Spike’s head shot up, the torn currents of his ocean-deep eyes burrowing into her with intensity that knocked the wind out of her. He was sitting on the corner of the bed, facing the wall that had served for weeks as her entry point to their secret rendezvous, and the minute their gazes clashed she felt every nerve of protest ram into every nerve of relief. God, she wanted to run into his arms and sob as he rocked her back and forth; she wanted to scream at him and beat on his chest and demand to know why he let her fall in love with him. Why he’d let her sink so miserably in a sentiment he could never return. She wanted to do so many things.

Mainly, she wanted to wake up.

Spike bounded to his feet, his eyes flashing in relief-drenched-outrage. “Where the bleeding hell have you been?” he demanded, storming forward.

Every cell in her body rocked closer to explosion. His proximity coupled with her tired, guilt-ridden soul had tears spilling down her cheeks in a blink. Buffy completely shut down, her back colliding with the wall behind her. Her body was torn—split with the agony of loving him and how much loving him had cost her. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She couldn’t stare into the face of the man who would be her killer. Her muscles were numb and her will was worn—she couldn’t fight him if he attacked, and she couldn’t hide herself.

He would tear her down and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

“Oh no,” Spike snarled, seizing her chin and jerking her face upward. “You don’ get to do that. You don’ get to disappear for three sodding weeks an’ then play it coy with me. Where the fuck have you been?”

Her skin buzzed and her body trembled. “Can you blame me?” she whispered. “After last time…you wanted this.”

“Bollocks.”

“You said—”

“Bugger what I said! I din’t—”

And that was it. The proverbial last straw. Buffy could no longer hold her weight—everything came crashing down. Her legs buckled and she would have collapsed were it not for the sudden presence of Spike’s hands gripping her hips. The flood behind her eyes broke free on a sob, and everything around her blurred.

“I can’t do this,” she cried, her voice torn between a whisper and a wail. Her throat was raw from sobbing already but she couldn’t stop. “I can’t. You’re killing me. This…everything…you tear me down and then touch me like…like I matter. Like I matter to you. You accused me of ruining your life and then…and now you’re angry with me for leaving you alone? I did exactly what you wanted! I did exactly what you said you…I’ve given you everything. My God, I’ve given you…and it’s killing me. Seeing you is killing me. Not seeing you is killing me. These last weeks—”

“Buffy—”

“I’ve alienated everyone. My friends. Giles. God, Angel…” Cold stabbed her insides and she buckled again, and was again supported by her vampire’s commanding hands. “I hurt him so bad—”

Spike went rigid. “What did you do?”

Though she barely heard him, the ready answer rolled off her lips. “I wanted to forget you. I wanted to get back at you. I wanted to feel—”

“What did you do?” The growl in his voice snapped her back to reality, and though she knew she should have cowered at the feral possessiveness in his eyes, the whole of her couldn’t summon enough will to care. “Bleeding hell, Buffy, I’ll kill him. Did you let him fuck you? Did you—”

“No. I couldn’t do that.” And then, just because she wanted to make him bleed, because she wanted to validate what she’d done in some way even if the guilt remained permanent, she added, “I blew him,” in a voice that sounded anything like her own.

Spike’s answering roar of fury was immensely satisfying, though it left her feeling hollow. He threw his fist through the wall beside her head, the bones in his face shifting as his fangs descended. “You’re mine!” he snarled. “I’ll fucking kill him. I bloody swear it, the wanker’s dust. No one touches you. No one!”

“Yours?” Buffy repeated incredulously, a half-insane laugh ripping off her lips. “Yours, Spike? When? When you decide? During the time you think I’m not ruining your life? I wanted to make you hurt. I wanted to make you bleed because you’re killing me. You’re killing me and you don’t care. You only care that I won’t be here to screw when your real—”

“Stop it!”

“—girlfriend isn’t in the mood. I wanted to hurt you…I knew Angel would hurt you, and I wanted to hurt you. But instead I hurt Angel…and me. I hurt myself more than I hurt you. I—”

“Stop it!”

“I—”

He cut her off by smashing his lips to hers, fangs and all. And the last string of her will snapped completely. Two roads converged in a yellow wood and she tore down each path with matched conviction. There was no fighting him—her heart hadn’t the strength and her body hadn’t the will. And at the same time, the part of her with mind enough to protest with the burden of knowledge understood she couldn’t battle her way back from this. Not from his sinful kisses or the mockingly tender way his hands caressed her skin. Not from the gentle murmurs he rumbled against her lips or the way his body trembled when he purred in pleasure. She both loved and hated him for it—for not allowing her refuge from this thing that was destroying her.

Then something happened—something she couldn’t have foreseen. Something which made the ground beneath her feet quiver in awe; something which made her heart pound with shades of hope rather than despair. Spike tore his mouth from hers, a sob choking his throat as his demon face melted away. And when their eyes clashed again, there was nothing of the hatred that had haunted her in the wake of their last disastrous encounter. Nothing of the biting resentment or the desire to have the desire to end her life. There was nothing but sorrow bathed in regret. He looked, for all the world, as though she had just tossed him a final lifeline, and he had only now opened his eyes to see what rejecting it would ultimately cost him.

“Buffy,” he gasped, the ocean in his human eyes finally spilling forward, crystallizing into tears. “My God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Incredulity stole any sort of response from her lips. There was nothing she could do but stare.

“I din’t mean it,” he babbled, seizing her cheeks and bathing her face in soft kisses. His lips consumed her like a man starved, drinking her tears and leaving her burning with want beyond hunger. “Not like I wanted to. I din’t wanna…fuck, I dunno what I wanted. But I can’t stand this. I can’t bloody stand this.”

Her voice broke. “Spike—”

“These last weeks without you…”

“It was what you wanted!”

Spike shook his head and tore away, the tears cascading down his cheeks mesmerizing her entirely. For whatever reason, she’d thought him incapable of crying—for her, anyway. And while she wanted to believe him—she wanted to believe the tears were genuine and the contrition wasn’t forged—the largest part of her was still bleeding from the lashes his words had cut into her skin. Deception of this magnitude seemed below Spike, but she was too jaded to believe anything at face value. Especially something like this—something her heart wanted more than anything; something her mind knew she could never have.

“I din’t know what I wanted,” he replied, his voice barely audible. “All I know is I can’t do rot without you. Every night I’ve…your face…your eyes. I know I’ve buggered everything, love. I know it. But I can’t…”

“You…and Dru—”

He shook his head again, harder this time. “There is no me and Dru. Not anymore.”

Something hard fell within her and had she not been against the wall already, she would have collapsed in anguish. Of course. Explanations abound. If Drusilla was through with him, he had nowhere else to turn. No one at all to fill the empty space beside him. And since Spike knew how Buffy felt about him, coercing her into occupying his bed would take little to no effort.

She wanted to scream at the world’s injustice, but all she could do was swallow hard. “There’s not?”

“No. I can’t…” A long, weary sigh rolled off his lips. “My life is sixes an’ sevens ‘cause of you. I know you din’t mean it, kitten, but it’s the way things happened. I look at her an’ all I see is you. Fuck me if I can make a lick of sense of it…all I know is when she…she makes like she really wants me for the firs’ time in years, an’ I don’t want her.” He was shaking so hard she thought he might crumble away right before her eyes, but when he managed to glance up and lock gazes with her again, there was resolution she’d never seen before. “I don’t want her. An’ I’ve never not wanted her. Never. She’s been my everything for over a century. She rescued me from mediocrity…she’s my maker, an’ every time she touches me, I can’t fucking take it ‘cause it’s not you.” A long still beat settled between them. “She’s not you. She’s not what I…she’s not you.”

Buffy exhaled slowly, her wide eyes drawing him in, every nerve in her body quivering with veiled hope. “What are you saying?”

“What am I…” Spike broke off, visibly grasping for control. He was quiet for a minute before a strained laugh tore through his body, and he turned away from her at last, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. I don’t know anythin’ anymore. You’ve taken me up, Slayer.” He paused. “Buffy. There’s nothin’ left of me. You’re buried so deep inside that all I can think about anymore is you. I’ve been outta my mind…thinkin’ about you. Knowin’…” He paused again, another long sigh rolling off his shoulders. “Knowin’ what I said to you. What it did. Watchin’ you cry an’ knowing I was the reason. I’ve wanted to stake myself so many times because of it. An’ the bitch of it is…I wanted you to hate me. I wanted you to hate me ’cause I couldn’t hate you, no matter what I tried. No matter what I said. I thought if I shoved you hard enough, you’d let me be. My world makes bugger all sense if I don’ want Dru. If she’s not my everything.” Spike stopped shortly, his eyes glazed over and haunted. “An’ she’s not. Not anymore. I hurt you, an’ that’s torn me up. Knowin’ that…”

Buffy couldn’t help herself; she burst into tears. The shapes around her again swirled and blended, and she couldn’t make anything out anymore. The rush of emotion from the rollercoaster he’d sent her on. The catastrophic events earlier in the night—making herself hurt because of Spike, and hurting someone else in turn. And now she was here. She was in the room she’d avoided with the man who owned her heart, and he was telling her things she hadn’t allowed herself to fantasize. Things beyond surreal—things her heart desperately wanted to believe, but her brain wouldn’t allow.

“Oh Buffy…” He cupped her cheeks again, his lips caressing hers with tenderness she hadn’t hoped to touch again. “God, I’m such a berk. Please don’ cry.”

He could beg all he wanted; her tears weren’t exactly under her control.

“’m so sorry. So sorry for everything.” She felt him sigh against her; felt the gentle kiss he brushed across her brow as his hands slid down her throat and shoulders until he wasn’t holding her at all anymore. Until they were separated by degrees—degrees which felt like miles. “I never meant for this. I swear it. You’ve jus’…you’ve consumed me. I din’t know how to handle it.”

“And now what?” she managed between sobs. “You know how to handle it and you’re sorry? Okay…but what happens when I forgive you and everything’s…back? What happens when you start hating me again? I can’t take it, Spike. This is…I know I’m not the kinda girl you want. I know what we have is only in here—”

“I don’ want that.”

“Now,” Buffy agreed, nodding hard. “I was…before the accident, you were so—”

“Sweetling, the accident changed my life.”

“Mine too.”

If she lived forever and a day, she would never forget the astonished look on Spike’s face at her whispered admission. It was something he’d known, of course. Something she’d told him the last time they spoke—something she’d told him before he ripped her to shreds. But there was a fine line between knowledge and understanding—a line one would only know after traveling both paths. In an instant, Spike understood. He understood everything, and she knew because she watched him understand it. She watched light fill his eyes, coupled with guilt and sadness.

“’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his eyes fogging over again. “I din’t wanna hear it. I was so selfish. I din’t wanna hear how it ruined you. All I know is I woke up wanting you. Needing you. I needed you to be there with me. I asked for you. It changed everythin’. I din’t know what the bugger we’d been playin’ at before; I din’t know things had changed for me. An’ it kills me to know what I said to you…” He clenched his fists, his eyes falling shut as he struggled to maintain his temper. “I sent you to him.”

“I wanted to hurt you.”

The words weren’t meant to cut, but she couldn’t help the satisfied rush that raced down her spine at the pain behind his eyes. Buffy didn’t consider herself a vindictive person—she really didn’t. But she wasn’t far enough away from what had happened to detach her reactions. He’d hurt her and she wanted him to hurt in turn; no matter how much she loved him. Her wounds couldn’t be healed with pretty words and silken kisses. Not when she’d felt herself teetering at the very edge of all-consuming despair.

“You succeeded,” Spike replied softly. “The thought of you…”

“I hated it.”

His jaw clenched. “Good.”

“I just needed to feel like…like I mattered.” Another trembling sigh rippled off her lips. “Like I was…worth anything. As a woman, you know? Not a girl or the Slayer or Buffy or a human or whatever…you’re the first man I’ve ever…done anything like this with. In or out of dreams, this is…and maybe I’m no good at it. Maybe I’m missing the part that makes me all with the feminine. But I—”

“Oh God.”

“—needed to feel like someone wanted me. You didn’t…I didn’t think you did. And Angel—”

A growl split the air as Spike cupped her face again, this time anchoring her mouth into his molten kiss. The will to fight vanished completely—the two roads in her yellow wood merging at last. There was no condemnation in his touch, no revulsion and certainly no hatred. His tongue worshipped hers as his thumbs caressed gentle circles into her cheeks. He made no move to touch her intimately, even with his mouth stroking her closer to a raging inferno of desire. God, she’d never thought she’d be here again. With Spike. Tasting her tears on his lips as his own poured into her mouth. She’d never thought she’d even come close.

“Buffy…” he whispered, his voice strained. “God, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much. Come in here every night…hoping you’d come back to me. Jus’…” He broke away, pressing his brow to hers. “Jus’ hoping I’d have the chance to tell you I din’t mean it.”

“But you did,” she protested.

“No, I…I was so angry with myself. I din’t wanna feel this. Not for you. Not for anyone but…an’ now I’m torn up with wanting to go to you so I can make things better in person.” A half smile stretched his lips. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak out on wheels?”

Buffy couldn’t help it. She giggled, and damn it felt good. “And here I thought if you ever sought me out again, it’d be to kill me.”

“No. God no.” Spike kissed her again hungrily. “Never. I swear it. You own too much of me. The second I’m outta that sodding chair….”

“No dusting Angel.”

He growled possessively and nipped at her lips. “He touched what’s mine.”

“I guess that ‘not-a-possession’ thing’s not gonna take, is it?”

“Never had a chance. You’re mine, love. Much as I am yours.”

Her heart leapt in her chest and the walls collapsed around her. There was suddenly a shortage of air in the room, the world around her falling silent. It was very possible he didn’t mean it; not out of malice, because history had proven Spike wasn’t the sort to manipulate. She just feared he didn’t know what he wanted and that he was living for the present rather than living for the tangible future. Spike wouldn’t know the difference; his present was his future, and if he was feeling something, he let the world know. Right now he was feeling like he belonged to her. It didn’t make it true, but the fact that he believed it melted the frozen tundra in her heart.

There were a thousand things she knew she should do, and an equal amount she knew she should avoid. A thousand things the following days could well teach her to regret. But right now—for this fleeting second—he belonged to her. He belonged to her because he believed it. The coming days could destroy her and might well, but not even knowing that could sway her. If he belonged to her, she was going to take advantage of it. This could be all she ever had and she sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Buffy whimpered and wove her fingers through his hair, attacking his mouth with hers. She bit desperately at his lips and waged war on his tongue with her own, devouring his taste. Memorizing the feel of his skin beneath hers and the cool sensation of his hair against her fingertips. Spike was stunned motionless for about three seconds before he growled and seized her hips, thrusting his clad cock hard against her center.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Spike…”

He lifted her in his arms and the next thing she knew, she was on her back on the bed, Spike’s lips showering her throat with kisses as his hands slid up her thighs, delicately plucking at the thin material of her panties. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whimpered again. “So much.”

Her heart raced again with the implication of words he couldn’t truly mean. However, knowledge couldn’t stop her from hoping, and repetition occasionally made lies sound like truth. “Really?”

Spike glanced up, and the anguish she saw buried in his violent blue eyes about tore her apart. “Really,” he murmured, nodding in a way that seemed crippled with grief. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. About everythin’. You’re not the sort’ve woman a man can jus’ walk away from, kitten.” He sighed harshly, resting his head against her belly, his left hand slipping under the hem of her nightshirt. “I hurt you, an’ I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for it.”

Her pulse raced. In any other context, the words would have sounded melodramatic, and perhaps they were even now. But her girlish heart couldn’t help from swooning. It was another incident of believing he believed it. Right now with his fingers gently caressing the wet crotch of her panties, with his cheek rubbing against her as his lips pressed a series of kisses against her clothed stomach, she couldn’t help but give in to romanticism. This was the Spike she’d never thought she’d see again. The Spike she thought had died the night the organ fell.

“Memories of your taste have haunted me,” he whispered, sitting up and slowly drawing her sleep-shirt up her body. He hesitated just before baring her breasts. “Buffy?”

There was no want of protest. Not anymore. If this was all she was to have, she would cherish every single second. “Yes.”

Spike growled again and cupped her pussy with his right hand, his other tearing the sleep-shirt away. And the second cold air met her bare skin, a long whimper scratched his throat and he wrapped his hungry mouth around one of her aching breasts, cupping the weight of the other in his palm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured around her flesh, the hand between her legs carefully bunching the stretch of cotton protecting her pussy to the side. Then his fingertips were teasing her slit, his thumb sliding over her clit and rubbing her with such tenderness that she wanted to weep all over again.

“Ohh…”

“So beautiful.” He left her breast with a soft kiss, his lips mapping a slow path down her abdomen, coating her skin with kisses. “Want you on my tongue. You’ll let me, won’ you, Buffy?” Spike didn’t bother waiting for a response, instead ripping her panties away for good, burying his face between her thighs and inhaling sharply, licking her drenched folds with a contented purr. “You promise you’re still mine, sweetling?” he murmured. “You promise this pussy hasn’t been touched?”

“Not touched,” she swore breathlessly, arching her hips off the bed. “Please.”

“Please?”

“Just…please. Before you…” She tossed her head back and whimpered, subconsciously spreading her thighs wider for him. “I need…”

Spike licked his lips, his hands framing her pussy as his thumbs gently massaged her aching feminine flesh. “I know what you need, baby,” he replied softly. “You want my mouth on you?”

Electricity fired her skin. Buffy whimpered and nodded desperately, rolling her hips under him in offering. “Oh yes.”

“Your scent has haunted me. An’ your taste…” He trembled, dipping his head to run his tongue up her slit. “Fuck, your taste. A man can grow addicted to this taste. God knows I have.” A pause. “Though I don’ think I have to tell you what happens if another bloke gets close enough to get a sample.”

Buffy sighed, her eyes falling shut. “I didn’t…”

“No, you din’t. But you…God, you have no idea, do you?” he murmured, flicking his tongue over her clit and grinning at her tortured moan. “You have no idea what it was like…comin’ in here night after night. I wanted to stop but I din’t know how. I din’t know…an’ I din’t know if you were alive or dead or hurt or jus’…I wagered you found a way.” He wrapped his lips around her slippery pearl again and sucked hard. “A way to stay away from me. But I din’t know, did I? There was no way to know.”

The idea that she could have worried him at all made her insides warm. “You were…really?”

“I was really what?” he mused, spreading her pussy lips wide to lick at her pink flesh, purring in delight.

“Worried.”

Spike’s eyes slowly trailed up her body until they were locked with hers. “You get enough time, pet, an’ everythin’ runs through your mind. Every scenario. Every possibility. I was angry at firs’. Bloody outraged.” He paused again, his gaze returning to her pussy as he slipped two fingers inside her. “Love this,” he whispered. “Love watchin’ you drench my fingers. Love watchin’ a small part of me disappear inside you.”

She really hoped he wasn’t saying anything important, because the explosion of pleasure rocketing through her body had her ears ringing with the shrill of her own screams. It’d been so long. Every night seemed to eclipse a thousand years. And here she was again—spread naked on the bed before the man she loved, his mouth worshipping her pussy. His voice whispering words she’d never thought to hear in actuality.

“You’re so soft. So wet.”

“Spike…”

He smiled gently and dipped his head again, licking her clit with tender veneration that had her insides trembling. “I was angry at firs’,” he repeated. “At you…but really at me. I’m not an idiot, love. I knew what I’d done the second you were gone. What you said…the look in your eyes…” A still beat settled between them and Buffy shivered. She didn’t want any reminders of what she’d said—not now. And evidently Spike didn’t either, because instead of calling her on her admission, he turned his eyes to his thrusting fingers with a delighted purr. “I got worried after you din’t come back. I dunno what I thought…maybe jus’ a day would do it for you. But then you weren’ here the next day. Or the next. So…yeah, I started thinkin’ of everything that could’ve happened. An’ how it would’ve been my fault.”

“Your fault?” Buffy repeated softly, her brow furrowing. “How?”

Spike arched a brow and licked his lips. “You know how,” he replied, his eyes not leaving her pussy, seemingly entranced by his thrusting fingers. “I wanna be in here so badly. Know I mucked it up. Know I don’ deserve it. But God…I wanna feel you around my cock.”

“Spike—”

“I know, love. An’ I can wait. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove I deserve this. Doesn’ matter how long it takes; I’m here now. Not gonna do anythin’ to muck this up. Not again.” He slowly retracted his fingers from her warmth, and his moan of protest at the loss of her silken walls around his flesh nearly outdid hers. “’m here now,” he murmured again, sinking his tongue inside her as he captured her swollen clit between his fingers. “’m here, an’ I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

There were a few patchy incidents in her past when the words too good to be true provided an accurate summary for what she was feeling. All fell short to this moment. To Spike’s tongue thrusting deep inside her, drawing her juices into his throat as his fingers manipulated her clit and driving her to the proverbial edge with ferocity that would have terrified her had it not felt so good. He’d wormed his way through every conceivable barrier she’d attempted to construct in the fallout of their last meeting, and he’d done so without so much as batting an eye.

She loved him, and her body wanted him inside. More than the explosive feel of his tongue thrusting into her aching hole and his fingers massaging her clit. She wanted to cross the final threshold. She wanted him to mark her, and the rapidity of her surrender had her questioning every facet of herself.

But she didn’t care. Spike was with her now. Her wounded heart was healing.

“Not going anywhere?” Buffy demanded, weaving her fingers through his hair. “You promise?”

Spike glanced up, breathing raggedly, and the sight of his glistening mouth made her tremble. “I promise, Buffy,” he whispered. “I’m yours. I’m all yours. An’ I’ll—”

“What about Dru?”

She was amazed she was able to say the woman’s name without spitting nails. Especially now. Now when she was vulnerable to him in every sense of the word. Emotionally. Physically. Entirely. She was naked and spread, his head perched between her thighs, and he literally held her in his hands.

Mentioning the very woman who had separated them was probably the stupidest thing she could have done. But at the same time, she needed to know. Before she gave him the last bit of herself—before she submitted to him entirely—she needed him to be honest with her. She needed him to not scream at the reminder of his sire. She needed this Spike to remain with her no matter what was said or done.

If he was telling her the truth—the truth beyond what he believed was true and what was actually true—then he was right. He was hers.

The seconds between question and answer could have occupied a millennia.

“I told you, kitten,” Spike said at last. “Dru’s not a factor.”

“But—”

“She’s not. I don’t let her touch me, an’ she’s stopped trying.” He sucked her clit between his lips with a delighted whimper, his eyes rolling back when she cried out and thrust her pussy against his face. “I know…I can’t manage without you. Not anymore.”

Buffy blinked rapidly, doing her best to ignore the sparks of ecstasy shooting through her veins. He was much too good at distracting her. “But what if—”

“What if nothin’. I mean it.”

“Even—”

“Slayer, when I’m healed, I’m leavin’. I’m leavin’ her completely.” He paused and let the words settle, his eyes challenging her to question the seriousness of the assertion. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t question—she couldn’t do anything. She was stunned beyond reaction. Her nerves buzzed and her body throbbed and she couldn’t do anything but stare at him in astonishment. When he was satisfied she understood, he smiled and raised himself up on his arms, slowly prowling up her body and making sure she felt every thick inch of him through the denim separating them. “I dunno what I’ll do yet,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and thrusting his hard cock against her wet flesh. “Where I’ll go.”

“Go?”

Spike arched a brow, a heartbreakingly kind smile tickling his lips. He reached a hand up to brush wayward strands of hair away from her face. “You think I’m gonna leave? Three weeks away from you an’ I nearly lost my sodding mind. I can’t leave.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“If you wanted to teach me a lesson in how much you mean to me, then—”

“Spike, I didn’t mean for that to be—”

He cut her off with a soft kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, a whimper clawing at his throat. “I know,” he whispered. “But that’s what happened. I’m not gonna be fool enough to let you go again. Far as I’m concerned, you’re it.”

“I don’t—”

“You love me.”

There it was. The unspoken cloud of tension between them finally exploded. It was out. God, it was there between them. Her throat ached. Her heart pounded. Her eyes watered with the imminence of rejection. But there was nothing but warmth in his gaze. Nothing to suggest her heart was about to be trampled for the unpardonable sin of loving him. Perhaps, then, it really was that simple. Perhaps things could be fixed that easily. Perhaps all he’d needed was distance and time. Perhaps her disappearance really had impacted him, and in a manner she couldn’t have predicted.

“Spike…”

He brushed his lips across her brow. “You love me,” he whispered.

Tears spilled over her eyes without warning. She was so damnably sick of crying. “I do,” she whispered, her voice sounding like a shout to her ears. “I didn’t mean to, but I—”

“You give me somethin’ that precious an’ I…” Spike shivered hard and pressed his brow to hers, his hips unable to keep from steadily grinding against hers, the zipper of his jeans rubbing her clit without mercy. “Buffy…”

“I’m it?” she asked breathlessly. The question was delayed, but she needed an answer nonetheless. And though she hated how hopeful she sounded, there was no helping herself. She needed to know. She needed to know so badly.

He kissed her sweetly and nodded against her lips. “Oh yes.”

And the tears swelled again. Lousy tears.

“Really?” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“God, yes.” His lips couldn’t stop caressing her skin, punctuating every word with a kiss. “I told you—lesson bloody well learned. I’m not doin’ this again. You…I don’ care what it costs me anymore. Not havin’ you here has…whatever I said before…I can’t imagine anythin’ worse than what I went through when you weren’t here, an’ I’d rather not try.”

“You don’t mind?” At his frown, she cleared her throat self-consciously and clarified, “The me slayer, you vampire thing. I don’t understand how it could go from being the most important thing to not important at all…but…you really don’t mind now?”

Spike paused at that, his eyes suddenly clouded with contemplation. And instinctively, Buffy began an emotional retreat. While she logically understood any answer needed to come with forethought lest he betray a lack of actual consideration, the empty spaces between his words did little more than fill her wounded heart with doubt.

“I can’t say that,” he conceded a second later, his hands seizing her shoulders when she unconsciously began to struggle beneath him. “Buffy…I’m still a vampire. I’m still evil at heart. I’m still tryin’ to wrap my mind around how you could’ve wheedled your way in so deep without me noticin’ until…until it was pointed out to me. I honestly dunno what we were playin’ at before. I dunno what I thought. An’ maybe I was hopin’ it wasn’ real jus’ as much as I wanted it to be real. When it was just my dreams, there wasn’t nearly as much on the line.” Spike broke his eyes away from hers, a long, heavy sigh racing through his body. “It’s gonna take time for me. I wanted to hate you more than anything, but I can’t. You’ve still buggered up my life but I don’ care anymore. I dunno how I went from bein’ so in love with Drusilla that the idea of…” He stopped talking when he realized how still she’d become, choosing his words carefully. “…an’ that was a large part of it. Coming to terms with the idea that my love for Dru wasn’ what I thought it was. It couldn’t be…not if it was so easy for you to sneak in.”

She was both singing with hope and bleeding from reopened wounds—she couldn’t stop listening but she couldn’t bear to hear another word. “Spike, I can’t—”

“Jus’ listen—”

“I don’t—”

“Slayer, I’m still workin’ through this myself. It’s not gonna be an easy ride whichever way we mount it. All I know for certain is I need you.”

There was no disguising the tremble in her voice. “Need?”

Spike grinned. “Haven’t you gotten that through your thick skull? With as outta my mind as I’ve been, you’re not leavin’ my sight. An’ that’s it, love. That’s all I know. The rest…I wager we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

And there was really nothing more she could ask for, was there? While the words she longed to hear were nowhere near the surface of his many confessions, what he’d given her would have to be enough. He was with her, peppering her skin with soft kisses and moving against her body. He was with her because he needed her—because this was where he wanted to be. Because he’d chosen her.

Then something amazing happened. Spike pulled back and flashed her—Buffy—a nervous grin. “Is that…” he began tentatively. “Is that somethin’…I know it’s not what you want jus’ yet, but God help me, I’m tryin’. I—”

In cases like these, there was no better answer than grasping a handful of hair and tugging him down to her lips, swallowing him in an eager, demanding kiss that left nothing of her behind. It was enough. It was more than enough. It was a promise for something she never thought she’d touch. This was everything. Savoring his kisses and knowing there would be something to come back for tomorrow. Devouring his whimpers as her tongue declared war on his mouth. There wasn’t enough of him—she needed every bit of what he had to offer inside. He kissed her with a mouth that knew her intimately, and thrusting herself against the hardness cradled at the apex of her thighs, her blood rushed and she knew she’d crossed the final barrier.

It was quick. So quick. But he had no reason to lie to her. Not when he knew he already had her love.

“Spike,” she gasped between kisses, her hands jerking his shirt up his back, forfeiting his delicious mouth for a second to rip the garment away for good. “I want…”

“Tell me,” Spike replied, his wandering lips wrapping around one of her nipples, his left hand again finding her breast. “What do you need, kitten?”

“You,” Buffy whispered with borrowed confidence. “Inside.”

The silence which ensued would have suffocated her had Spike looked at her with anything short of wonder. There was nothing for long seconds. Nothing but the awed stare of his azure eyes and the trembling breaths that needlessly rolled off his sinful lips. He was perched between her naked thighs, his hard denim-confined cock pressed against her pussy, and staring at her like she had been kissed by sunlight. “You…” he said after a few thick seconds, choked with emotion. “You want…”

She nodded, certain her thundering heart would break through her chest at any second. “I…I need—”

“I din’t…” Spike held her eyes a minute longer before ducking his head, every inch of him shaking. “Christ, love, I din’t think…you know I meant it, right? Everythin’ I said. I meant every blessed word. I din’t say it so you’d let me…’m not gonna turn back into a heartless prat if you don’ let me into your quim. I’m—”

“I know.” The words were braver than the sentiment behind them. In all honesty, Buffy didn’t know what she believed. Too much of what he’d said sounded like her every fantasy come to life. She was half convinced her lack-of-dreams had sent her into some sort of dream-overload—into a world where the dreams she entertained mirrored reality so closely she could fool herself into believing everything actually would be all right. But then again, she knew such fears were ridiculous. Spike believed every word that crossed his lips—the honesty in his eyes couldn’t be fabricated.

He’d taken her before without caring how she felt. He’d forced his cock between her lips back when she thought she hated him. If he wanted her pussy so badly, he could have it without whispering promises across her skin. Evil or not, soulless or not, Spike wasn’t the sort of man—or vampire—to lie about things like this. He was brutally honest in everything he did, as her healing heart could attest.

Even if he never loved her, she knew she could give him her body without regret. She belonged to him completely—trying to be with Angel had only proven as much. She couldn’t give any other man her virginity when she knew it belonged to Spike. And right now, under the tender caresses of his fingertips, the moment felt right. Perhaps it was rushed, perhaps she was thriving on hope, but her mind had shoved her over the final threshold and any lingering strands of uncertainty were banished completely.

Buffy exhaled slowly and shivered, forcing a smile to her lips and hoping her quaking nerves weren’t as fully displayed as she felt they were. She cupped his cheek and nodded. “Spike—”

Apparently, though, he saw whatever he needed in her eyes, for he didn’t let the words escape her lips. With a growl, the indecision in his gaze faded completely and he smashed his mouth to hers, his teeth scratching her lips and his tongue attacking hers with fervor which had every cell in her body wracking with foreign tension. She barely had time to kiss him back before he deprived her of his mouth again. “I won’ let you regret this,” he growled, nipping at her throat as he made his way down her body without ceremony. He bit her breast with a fevered moan, sliding a hand between them to free his cock. “I promise, baby, I won’—”

She tried to answer; she really did. What came out, though, sounded suspiciously like, “Inooougghh.”

Spike grinned up at her, and the mischief his eyes only made the ache between her legs more pronounced, though she wasn’t sure if it was for the look he gave her or the way his lips massaged her nipples—sucking one breast tender before turning to the other. “Sorry, sweet. Din’t catch that.”

The playfulness in his tone had the weight on her heart lightening by the second. “Jackass,” she retorted, her voice cracking as his hand found her pussy again, his fingertips gently caressing her wet folds as the rest of him fought to get his jeans down his legs. How he managed to manipulate her breasts, finger her pussy, and get himself mostly naked all at the same time was beyond her, but she wasn’t about to question it. She was just grateful for vampiric ingenuity.

“I jus’ love makin’ you incoherent,” he replied unrepentantly, flashing a quick grin. “I’ve missed that look. The way your eyes get all wide. The li’l sounds you make.” He released her completely without warning, his hands finding her wrists and encouraging her to sit up as he rose off the bed. “Lemme look at you, baby,” he murmured. “I’ve missed looking at you.”

Buffy licked her lips, her eyes following the eager bob of his erect cock as he pulled his jeans off completely. Yeah, she’d missed looking at him, too. She’d missed everything. She’d missed the way he smirked when she moaned. She’d missed the arrogant glow of his eyes and the matching words that rolled off his oh-so-talented lips. Most of all, she’d missed the way she could make all of the above vanish in a blink just by wrapping her hand around his erection.

“Oh fuck,” Spike gasped, tossing his head back and thrusting his hips forward. “Please…”

“You’ve missed this, too?” Buffy asked tentatively, her eyes fluttering to his face, heat reddening her cheeks. She didn’t know where her boldness was coming from, but she wasn’t about to shut it out. She needed to know he’d missed what she could do to him on top of everything else. Just as he missed her body and, hopefully, the brain that came with it. With as non-feminine as she’d felt since his rejection, she needed to know, as a female, that she could make him as crazy as he made her. “Have you missed—”

Spike’s eyes widened. “Buffy, please!”

She smiled and licked his silken head before her mind could interject, and the answering whimper which ripped through the air made her blood rush with heat. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied, wrapping her lips around him completely. She didn’t draw him all the way into her mouth—she too much enjoyed the tortured bliss on his face just from her suckling at his very tip. Knowing she could have him moaning for her by this alone…

But she didn’t stop him when he fisted a handful of hair and thrust his cock deeper into her mouth. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he moaned, sliding his length between her lips until only his belled head remained locked within her wet cavern. “So…God, Buffy…”

She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t to be released. It wasn’t for his cock to escape her mouth entirely. The next thing she knew, he had her back against the mattress again and Spike was on his knees, his hands slipping under her hips and lifting her pussy to his hungry mouth once more. “Missed this quim,” he growled, sliding his tongue up and down her slit before his lips wrapped around her inflamed pearl again. “Missed your clit. Missed how you moan for me.”

“Oh my God!”

Spike grinned and spread her lips. “You’re so perfect here,” he whispered, running his index finger up and down her exposed, slippery flesh. “So wet. So pink.” He eased his finger inside her, shuddering when she whimpered. “You’re really gonna let me in? Gonna drench my cock with these heavenly juices?”

“Yes! Yes, please!”

“I dunno how this is gonna work, pet.”

That much sliced through the fog and Buffy sat up, a nervous titter racing down her spine. “Then we’re in trouble,” she replied, her voice shaking. “What do you—”

“In here. Your virginity isn’t…” Spike frowned, and while she hated the absence of the sultry smirk, he kept her body on fire by the steady thrust of his finger, soon accompanied by a second. “It’s so bloody hard to remember this isn’t really happenin’.” As though it was the most natural thing in the world, his head dipped every few seconds between words to suck on her clit. “That you’re not really here…burning my skin off my fingers with your heat an’ tremblin’ beneath me.”

Buffy swallowed hard. It was beyond difficult to focus on what she knew was a very good point with his hand turning her into goo. “Is this…not good enough?”

His eyes widened. “Have I ever done anythin’ to make you think that?”

Those were dangerous words. He’d done a lot to make her feel inadequate, but at the same time, he knew he was on uneven ground. Furthermore, he was right; he hadn’t done anything to make her think the dream-world wasn’t enough for him, and to be truthful, that was a big part of the problem. The dream-world was enough for him, or it had been. And it had never been enough for her.

“No,” she whispered, “but—”

“It hurts, baby,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to her pussy, his wicked tongue licking his equally wicked lips at the sight of his fingers pushing into her soaking hole. “The firs’ time for girlies…it hurts. But I don’ know how it works in here. If it’ll hurt for you here…an’ out there.”

“Hurts?”

He nodded and licked her clit again. “For sweet li’l slayers,” he agreed. “Not for bad ass vamps.”

A shudder raced down her spine, laced with apprehension even as her hips rose to meet the eager thrusts of his hand. “That.” Pant. “Isn’t…fair.”

Spike smiled softly. “I know.”

Electric sparks burned her veins. “So girls…get…the short straw.”

Spike chuckled and nipped at her wet flesh, stretching her inner walls wider to accommodate a third finger. “They don’ teach you anythin’ in school, do they?” he mused, grinning.

“Sperm. Egg. Baby. Basics.”

“So they leave out the fun stuff,” he clarified. “But yeah, love…it hurts for girls the firs’ time. But here…I dunno if it’ll hurt here. If all outside rules applied, I’d be in a chair an’ not movin’ around like my back’s not mendin’. It’s not…it’s not real in here. Not in the way we want it. We’re not…it feels real.” He trembled and licked her clit again, his fingers curling inside her. “God, it feels real. But you’re not really here. You’re really in your sweet li’l beddy-by…an’ I’m—”

“With her,” Buffy ground out, her hips bucking.

“No.”

“But—”

“Sweetling, we’re at different sodding ends of the factory.” Spike sighed and gently eased his fingers out of her pussy, leaving her wet flesh with a parting lick. “She got sick of me whimpering for you in my sleep. Doesn’ matter, ‘course. I left her bed before she got the chance to kick me out. She jus’ started goin’ on about how you’re sunlight an’ how I’m lost to you.”

“You left?” Buffy repeated, sitting up as he rose to his feet. “You left before she—”

“You’re not my consolation prize,” Spike said firmly, taking her hand and encouraging her to turn as he dropped to the mattress. “’m here ‘cause I want you. I don’ want her. An’ I’m pretty sure we went over this.”

“Pardon a girl who was told she’d ruined your life for being a little insecure,” she retorted wryly.

Spike stiffened but didn’t reply, instead settling at the head of the bed, his back at the headboard, his legs stretched out. The eager protrusion of his cock rested proudly against his stomach, his hungry eyes raking down her body as she prowled up the mattress. “There’s nothin’ to be insecure about,” he murmured, palming her breasts as his mouth found the soft column of her throat. He moaned against her when her belly rubbed against his erection. “Nothin’.”

“It’s going to take me a while,” Buffy replied, her anxious hand wheedling between them, eager for the feel of his length rubbing against her palm again. “A long while.”

Pain flashed across his face, but he did not object. No matter how much progress had been made, the air between them was still wrought with tension. “I know.”

“But I trust you.” It was a dangerous admission, she knew; even with everything he’d promised her, even with the faith she had in the authenticity of his words, letting him know just how much he owned her—that he possessed both her love and her faith—could very well come back to haunt her. She was making a series of precarious leaps all at once and hoping the net beneath her was as sound as it looked. He knew she loved him. He knew her virginity belonged to him. He knew he held her trust. What else was there to give him, aside from her blood?

A wicked thrill raced down her spine. Her blood was his, too. Even as much as he’d hurt her, there was little she wouldn’t give him. Sitting astride his strong thighs, her hand pumping the length of his thick shaft as her eyes enjoyed the euphoric brightening of his. There was nothing she wouldn’t give him.

“You trust me?” he gasped, his hips jerking forward. “Oh Buffy…”

“I know. You don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Spike agreed with a nod. “Guess I’m lucky you love me.”

Buffy inhaled sharply. Were it not for the tender veneration in his eyes—the look which told her just how much those words meant to him—she would have felt she was being mocked.

But she wasn’t. Spike took those words seriously, and he would resent her doubt, no matter how right she was to preserve it. So she didn’t say anything, rather contented herself with his whimpers as she stroked his cock. There wasn’t anything to say—he knew she loved him, and he likewise realized he didn’t deserve it.

Not now, but he was trying to make up for it.

“Buffy…” Without warning, he seized her wrist again and gently coaxed her hand away from his erection. She would have pouted had he not immediately urged her upward until it felt like she was perched just above his balls, the base of his cock nestled against her crevice and his hard length rubbing her belly. And without warning, it occurred to her it was about to happen. She was about to have a man inside her body. And while it would do nothing to her physiologically—while she would awaken in her own bed with her virginity more or less intact—it didn’t make what was about to happen less real. Not to her.

Nothing they’d done in here had been false. Nothing.

He slipped a hand between her legs, his other snaking around her waist. “Hold onto my shoulders, kitten,” he purred, “an’ lift up jus’ a bit.”

She felt so open—so exposed. Her legs were open and her wet flesh was pressed intimately against him. True, they’d been like this before, but the effect refused to fade with time. And now, for the first time, she would take a man inside her. Not just any man: Spike. The man she loved. The vampire she loved. Tomorrow morning she would go to school and be with her friends and pretend nothing had changed because, ostensibly, nothing would have changed. Nothing except everything.

“Lemme know if it hurts, baby,” Spike whispered, bathing kisses down her throat, the hand at her back caressing her ass soothingly as the other positioned his cock at her sopping opening. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

Buffy hadn’t known what to expect with her first time. She wasn’t the sort of naïve little girl who dreamed of making love with her soulmate on a bed of white silk sheets amidst a scattering of rose petals. Until Spike, she hadn’t known if she was capable of the sort of love shared between lovers. Love had been such an abstract concept—something so far removed from anything feasibly attainable in any lifetime. And while she knew she was capable of love itself—she loved her mom, her friends, her Watcher, and when he wasn’t a jackass, her father—the idea of romantic, physical love remained something she craved but never thought to touch. Now with the head of Spike’s cock slipping inside her as he panted hard against her breast and gently stroked her clit with his thumb, every previous notion, every careless word she’d ever assigned to the art of lovemaking was washed away in a torrent of ecstasy.

“Oh my God,” Buffy gasped, her nails digging into his forearms.

“Jus’ a li’l more,” Spike replied, his voice strained, the hand at her back urging her ass to meet him. It was only then she noticed how stiff her legs were, how tension had locked every muscle in her body. She fought to overcome fear—to beat down the inner voice that promised she would never be good enough. That she would never be feminine enough. Not soft where he needed her to be and not firm where he liked his women firm. Perhaps she would make the wrong move and be laughed out of the room, therein solidifying her worse fears.

The Slayer was all-consuming, and the Woman represented nothing more than her assigned gender. After all, if she couldn’t make this work in a dream, what hope did she have at achieving it in reality?

Buffy was determined not to let her fears rule her. Not with every inch of her doused in pleasure. With a trembling breath, she forced her vaginal muscles to unclamp, drew in a sharp breath, and impaled herself on his cock completely. White blinded her eyes and every cell in her body cried out in ecstasy. The faint sting of discomfort faded almost instantly—left only with the feel of him, large and thick inside her. Stretching her in ways she’d never thought she could stretch. His smooth skin cradled against her molten walls, cooling her fire while simultaneously stroking the flames to new immeasurable highs.

Her back arched and her head rolled back. “Ohhh,” she cried. “Oh…my God.”

“My God,” Spike echoed, his head hitting the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut. “So hot. So fucking hot, you are.” His chest heaved with unnecessary pants and he forced his eyes open, swallowing her in his heated gaze. “Are you all right, kitten? Any pain?”

“I…I…” Buffy shook her head, her chest crushed with the weight of her gasps. “No. No. Oh God. Oh God.” She bit her lower lip hard and wiggled her hips, determined to create friction, needing to feel his flesh slide against her. “I just…I feel…full.”

The words sounded ridiculously cheesy to her ears, especially coated in her voice, but it didn’t make them any less true. Whatever discomfort she’d felt initially had only been the shock of invasion—the surprise of having Spike inside her body. She’d thought, on some level, the explorations of his fingers would have prepared her for this, but God, she was wrong. So incredibly wrong. And now that she had him inside her, she felt at last that she did own him—at least a small part. There was a part of Spike within her which no one else could touch now. Even if, despite his best wishes, he broke her heart, there was no way any other woman would ever get what she had now.

“You feel so good,” Spike whispered against her lips. His thumb remained poised above her clit, massaging her softly. “You’re so hot. You’re so bloody hot. I knew…I knew it. Knew you were hot, but God…” He caressed her lips with his, abandoning her hypersensitive bundle to cup her ass entirely. “Need you…Buffy…”

“What?”

“Move…ahhh…” He flashed a reassuring smile as she lifted herself off his cock, held for a hesitant second, then sank back down again. “Ohhh, yes. Yeah, that’s it. Jus’ like that, baby.”

This was another thing she’d never envisioned in her first time. While she was fully aware of a variety of sexual positions—okay, three—she’d never seen herself as the sort to control what happened in the bedroom. But here she was, grinding herself against Spike as she fought to find a rhythm which seemed natural. Her jerky breaths betrayed her nervousness, but when she seemingly faltered, he didn’t frown or roll his eyes or bring any of her worst fears to life. The look on his face remained reverent, his eyes never leaving hers.

She knew why he’d given her control. After all that had occurred, she needed it.

“That’s it,” Spike whispered again, squeezing her ass and helping her lift off his cock. The wet suctioning sound which filled the air between their shared pants should have made her nose wrinkle in distaste, but it only made the heat in her skin burn hotter and the flood between her legs more pronounced. “Oh, fuck, that’s it. Go as slow as you need.”

But she didn’t want slow. The blaze in her body was too intense. And from the edge in his voice, she could tell slow wasn’t exactly something he wanted, either. “What do…”

The words wouldn’t come. There just didn’t seem to be a good way to ask anyone how to have sex, especially since everything seemed really obvious. Insert, withdraw, repeat. But her jittering nerves and her racing mind and the compounded sensation of being split with pleasure and wracked with fear all at once had her drawing an infinite blank.

Thankfully, Spike didn’t make her clarify. Instead his eyes softened and he brushed his lips against hers. “Jus’ move with me,” he whispered, lifting her off his lap, and the wet slide of his cock between her pussy walls had her hips wiggling with a need to lock him inside and throw away the proverbial key. “An’ down,” he sighed, burying himself in her pussy again, the tip of him brushing nerves she’d thought solely reserved for hardcore fantasies. Spike kissed her lips again, then his mouth was at her ear, his voice reverberating through every facet of her body. “An’ up again.”

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, her body rising and falling. “Ohhh…”

“Feel so good,” he murmured, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “An’ again. Faster.”

Yes. Faster. Faster was good. Faster was infinitely good. She just hoped she could handle faster. Buffy nodded harshly, her racing mind determined to keep up with every sensation. She was nervous and split apart with pleasure, focused on the wet slide of his erection inside her and, at the same time, the look on his face. Mindful for any grimaces or signs of exasperation at how pathetic she was. But there was nothing. Nothing but bliss stretching every curve of his face. Her named lived on his lips, her eyes swallowed in the endless blue heat of his. And at that moment, it was all she knew.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfect,” he moaned, encouraging her to bounce faster on his cock. The wet smack of their bodies rocking together echoed in her ears and served only to fuel the growing inferno in her belly. “So tight. God, you’re so…so tight. So bleeding hot.” He nibbled a kiss off her lips, coaxing her to lean forward until she was stretched to the breaking point. There was no way he wasn’t splitting her in half, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when the hurt felt this good. Not when his hips started lifting off the bed to meet her thrusts. “How…how do I…Buffy?”

“I…I’ve never…good.” And if that wasn’t the understatement of the year, she didn’t know what was. She only wished she had a way with words. Something that would make what she felt sound sexy and hot rather than adolescent and foolish. She wanted to tell him how she’d never realized how empty she was before—how she could’ve gone through life without being complete. But she knew how that sounded to her own ears—never mind how they would sound to his. It didn’t matter it was the truth. The truth was totally immune to clichés and really bad metaphors—the truth didn’t care how it sounded, it merely was. And for that reason, she bottled the truth inside and stuck to safe-ground. A place where her girlish sentiments couldn’t be mocked, even if the leftovers did her real feelings little justice. “Spike…oh God…”

“Good?” he repeated, grinning and swirling his hips under her before stabbing his cock inside her again. “Jus’ good?”

Colors burst behind her eyes. “OH!”

“Waited so long for you. So fucking long.”

Perhaps it had been long. She really didn’t remember at the moment. She could barely remember her own name. All she knew was her body was galloping closer to an explosion unlike anything she’d ever felt, and she could barely keep up with him. With the steady thrust of his hips beneath hers as she fought hard for the supremacy she’d forgotten she already had. She felt the eager slap of his balls against her wet flesh every time he arched off the bed, heard the squeaking of the mattress beneath their thrusting bodies and shivered at the colorful words she wasn’t even certain Spike was fully aware he released into the hot air between them.

“You feel so good. My Slayer. My Buffy. Mine mine mine mine.”

God, there was no arguing with that.

“You love this, don’ you?” he demanded, threading his fingers through her hair and jerking her head back just far enough so she felt the degrees of separation between them. “You love knowin’ I’m yours, almost as much as you love drenching my cock with your hot li’l slayer juices. Don’t you?”

She nodded before she knew what she was doing, her body shoved into overdrive. She clawed for balance, bouncing mercilessly in his lap, worries banished in favor of pleasure undoing every seam in her body. Spike had made her an addict at first taste. There was no way she could go without his erection piercing inside her wet sex. Her pussy throbbed and her body rocketed closer to explosion. And she was thoroughly lost.

“Oh God,” Spike whimpered, nipping at her breast. “Buffy…”

She tried to say his name, but words were, as always, lost. “Unh—”

He clenched his teeth and arched his back, and the deeper he burrowed himself, the more she wanted to keep him there. She started clenching muscles she’d forgotten she had with every thrust—muscles she typically reserved for extra-high kicks or other fancy slayer maneuvers. Muscles she’d never figured would ever come into play for anything else. And at the first contraction, his eyes went so wide she thought she’d hurt him—that was, until, her name tore off his lips as his hips started bucking madly.

“Oh my God. Oh God. Buffy Buffy Buffy! Squeeze me. Oh God, yes. Fuck yes.”

“Ohhh…”

“So fucking good. Gonna pop me, you are. Oh Christ.” One hand released her ass, resting at her abdomen and soaking up the sight of his cock sinking again and again into her warm depths. “Where the hell…” he gasped, his thumb sliding over her slippery clit, raw spasms quaking through her body, “did you learn that?”

Buffy shook her head because she hadn’t known she was doing anything, doing her best to rub herself against the pad of his thumb. The duality of sensation was going to unmake her. His length was inside her, his eyes were on her hot face, and he was stroking her swollen clit. There was no way. No way…

“Buffy—”

“Spike, please!”

A growl tore through the air and he jerked her to his chest, crushing his free arm around her middle and burying his face in the crook of her throat. “Tell me,” he whispered, massaging her furiously. “Tell me you love me.”

Tears choked her throat and she didn’t know why, only that her forbidden confession was spilling through her lips without hesitation. “I love you,” she cried, her pussy clenching as tremors seized her body, blinding ecstasy ripping through her every fiber. She couldn’t see—she could barely breathe if she wasn’t screaming his name. Her muscles clamped down around him, soaking his cock with the flood of her release. And he gave back as good as he got. His fangs were suddenly nipping at her throat, the growls rumbling through his body melting into helpless whimpers as he trembled hard and spilled himself inside her.

“Buffy,” Spike murmured, his incisors grazing her sweat-laced skin. “My Buffy…”

He didn’t bite her. She thought he might bite her, but he didn’t. And to her astonishment, she wasn’t sure if the sinking sensation in her gut was relief or disappointment.

What did that mean?

“My Buffy,” he said again, his hips still thrusting upward, his cock seemingly desperate for as much of her as she could give.

The silly vampire didn’t realize she’d already given him everything. And perhaps, for the time being, that was a good thing. Perhaps.

But as her trembling body fell back to earth, she knew it wouldn’t last. He owned every last bit of her. He’d asserted the claim, of course, but she’d given herself to him freely. And if he ever stopped reminding her that she belonged to him, perhaps then there would be actual cause for worry.

For now, though, as he wrapped his arms around her sated body and cuddled her to his chest, she refused to think about what came tomorrow. What happened in the fallout of what they’d shared. What he’d given her in place of all he’d taken. The words he’d demanded—the same words she’d willingly given. The words he had not returned.

The tender kiss at her brow told her he loved it that she loved him.

And for now, it was enough.

 

A/N: And another update! I’m leaving in two hours for Mississippi, but I couldn’t leave without posting another chapter. *glomps everyone* Again, thank you all SO MUCH for your enthusiasm and support. I’d be lost without you.

As always, my endless gratitude to my betas.

It was no surprise when she awoke in bed alone the next morning, but Buffy couldn’t help the sinking in her stomach when the arm around her middle vanished in the morning light. Spike had been cuddled at her back just seconds ago, purring gently into her ear and doing increasingly naughty things to her with his perpetually wandering hands. Every few minutes his hungry mouth would dip to explore her neck or her breasts or whatever he was hungry for, whispering precious adorations against her skin. Her heart was systematically being sewn back together, piece by piece, and for the first time in weeks she felt the future was again in her hands.

“Tell me again,” he’d whispered just before the tug of dawn had drawn her away. “Please…”

There was no denying him anything. Buffy had turned in his arms and kissed his lips, bearing her heart in her eyes. “I love you.”

If nothing else, the look on his face would remain with her forever.

The night had given her so much. There was warmth across the formerly icy plains of her heart and within the once-frozen channels of her veins. And though a part of her withered at awakening in an empty bed, the larger part of her was rejuvenated and charged with hope.

The largest part of her was trying to come to terms with everything the night had given her. How she could have gazed into her mirror just a few short hours ago consumed with guilt and self-disgust. How she could now gaze into the same mirror without drowning in despair. How she could think about facing another day without collapsing.

How so much could change in her sleep.

Spike’s words followed her through her morning routine. He was with her when she showered. He stood in the corner as she styled her hair. He leered at her as she rifled through her panty drawer and pouted when she ultimately dressed. He gently brushed his lips across hers before she left her room, promising he would be there when she returned.

Buffy faced the world no longer a virgin. Her legs wobbled when she met her mother’s eyes over the kitchen island; when Joyce told her she looked different. Buffy didn’t know how it was different, but in some way, it made sense. She felt different. Every step she took rocked her mind back to the magical night she’d shared with the man she loved. Everything in her eyes had changed.

But it had all taken place on a realm beyond the physical world. Her body was technically still untouched. Spike’s hands had never wandered between her legs in reality. Spike’s lips had never touched her clit, just as his cock had never been in her mouth. Every kiss they’d shared would be deemed a fantasy by the casual observer. And aside from the erotic encounter the night Billy Ford had tried to sell her out, nothing tangible had ever happened between them.

It amazed her that so much could have taken place without actually taking place. But then again, these dreams weren’t just dreams. What had occurred in reality had only reinforced her conviction. There was something greater at hand. Something allowing their minds to meet each other.

She just didn’t know what.

And in many ways, Buffy was beyond caring about how or why. She only knew what she knew, and trusted Giles to fill in the gaps should they need to be filled. Perhaps there were some things which didn’t have an explanation. Stranger things had occurred on the Hellmouth. All she knew was everything had changed. Everything.

She wasn’t a virgin anymore. Not in her eyes. Spike now owned every part of her. He’d held her against his chest with his cock deep inside her body, whispering adorations into her hair as his hands stroked her back. He’d brushed small kisses across her face, his chest rumbling with contented purrs against hers. He’d given her everything in one night.

Everything except the thing she wanted most.

And while she faced the day with newfound joy, Buffy wasn’t fool enough to believe everything would be all right now that the worst was seemingly behind them. Not twenty-four hours had passed since she felt the walls of the world caving in. Since she’d believed herself a pariah of the human world, relegated only to slaying the evils which stalked the night and averting the occasional apocalypse.

Since she’d hurt one of her friends in a desperate move to prove her own value.

The worst might be over, but she still had to wade through the aftermath. And even then she wasn’t sure how much hope to assign to the future. After all, just before the organ had crashed she’d been reasonably secure in that Spike enjoyed what they shared at least marginally as much as she did. She’d always known she was his second choice—or figured as much, anyway—but even in the darkest chamber of her heart, she’d never imagined an explosion anywhere near the magnitude of what had occurred. She’d never anticipated being so thoroughly gutted. She’d never foreseen the tender man she’d come to love using his words to cut rather than caress. Even when she knew he’d ultimately break her heart, she’d envisioned him doing it in a calm, sorry-this-is-over-but-at-least-we-had-fun kinda way. Not by methodically shredding every fiber of her being. Not by throwing everything they’d shared—every precious moment between them—in her face as though they meant nothing at all.

Last night had done wonders to heal her wounds, but Buffy wasn’t going to be blindsided again. Spike could very well decide he didn’t want her after all, and the weeks he’d spent mourning her absence had romanticized his idea of their time together. Even with the echoes of his hands on her body, she couldn’t trust he knew himself well enough to know he meant what he’d said. She couldn’t trust he wouldn’t shatter her heart all over again.

As a result, she looked forward to seeing him again tonight—so much it had her shaking. She wanted it to be night almost as much as she dreaded it.

Fortunately for Buffy, the day was compact with other things to dread. Like talking to Angel. And explaining herself. And apologizing. And hoping there was some way he’d understand. Not that she’d blame him if he didn’t; she couldn’t, especially when she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself. She’d treated Angel the exact way she’d felt she’d been treated by the man she loved—as an object to forget someone else.

She’d have to apologize to Angel. For leading him on. For making him believe something that could never be true. For using him to forget her own problems.

She’d just have to hope an apology would be enough.

She’d barely had time to fall asleep before Spike had her cheeks cupped between his hands, his lips blanketing her face with worried, desperate kisses.

“Are you all right?” he demanded hurriedly. “He hasn’t touched you, has he?”

Buffy shivered, the tears she’d kept at bay all day surging forward with renewed vigor. Her eyes were already cracked from weeping nonstop these past few weeks, and while her heart was relieved the source of its pain wasn’t the man against her, she couldn’t keep it from bleeding.

“Buffy!” Spike growled, seizing her shoulders and shaking her hard. “Tell me you’re all right!”

“I’m all right.” It was barely a whisper, but evidently, it was enough. The panic in her vampire’s eyes died slowly, melting into concern. “I’m all right,” she said again. “He…he hasn’t…I mean, he…we fought and he…he said some things…”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I can bloody well imagine,” he snarled.

“How did…how did you…?”

Words were failing her fast. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that Angel as she knew him was gone. Logically she knew it was the truth; she’d seen him. She’d heard him. He’d thrown everything in her face and smiled at her collapse. And while she’d been able to dismiss the bulk of his personal jabs as nothing more than an attempt to strip her of her self-worth, the words had landed their mark. And well.

“Now, I don’t know when Spike found the time to teach you that, but I gotta send the boy a fruit-basket.” He grinned and spread his arms. “It certainly changed my life.”

She was the reason. Somehow, someway, she was the reason this was happening.

“He came to us, pet,” Spike murmured, jarring her back to the present. She’d forgotten she’d even issued a question. “He popped over firs’ thing this mornin’. Fuck, he was there before I even had a chance to…” His eyes fluttered shut, his hands gently running the length of her arms. “You sure you’re all right?”

“He’s there?”

It wasn’t asked out of surprise; in all honesty, Buffy had expected the first thing a newly soulless Angel would do was turn to his family.

Spike offered a half smile and shrugged. “Probably shaggin’ Dru into a hole in the ground as we speak.”

“Dru?”

“It’s not important, kitten. Jus’—”

“Dru’s with Angel and it’s not important?”

“Not to me.” Spike kissed her lips softly. “Tell me you’re all right. He said—”

The perpetual question on Spike’s lips, despite her reassurances, had the numbness surrounding her heart melting into warmth. The day had been a nonstop hell-ride. It had begun with what should have been a painfully awkward visit to Angel’s apartment and hopefully ending with another magical night in her lover’s arms. It had begun so innocently; how had things spiraled beyond her control?

Then again, there was no how in the equation. She knew how Angel had turned evil.

His words left little to the imagination.

“I’m fine,” Buffy whispered again, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

“I can’t be there to make sure you’re not lyin’ to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

The emphasis broke the last strain of her will, and she burst into tears. Of course she was lying. How in the world could she be all right? How could she? With the sting of Angel’s punches marring her skin, with the weight of his verbal barbs rubbing salt into open wounds, with the knowledge she was responsible weighing her down…how could anyone expect her to be all right? She was the reason. She didn’t know why, but she was the reason. She’d done something to remove the part of Angel which kept him grounded in humanity. She’d done something seemingly small and insignificant, and somehow it’d ended up costing her the world.

Well, not the world. And perhaps that was the worst part. She’d fallen asleep with hope in her heart because she knew Spike would be waiting for her, and Spike would make everything better. Spike wouldn’t mind if she needed to be weak. If she needed to cry. He’d already seen her at her weakest. He’d hold her if she asked it of him.

God, she hoped so. Her emotions were too frazzled, and she couldn’t make sense of herself.

When she snapped back to the present, she found she was seated at the edge of the bed with Spike on his knees before her, his hands drawing her camisole over her head, eager fingers mapping her exposed skin, mindful for wounds or bruises. “What did he do?” he demanded. “I’ll sodding kill him. I swear it.”

Buffy hiccupped miserably and forced a grin. “Spike—”

“If he touched you—”

“E-e-ven i-f he did, y-y-you c-couldn’t see it here. Rem-remember?” She raised her hand to his face, enjoying the smooth contours of his skin beneath her touch. She probably looked terrible—a blubbering mess of incoherence, a waterfall of tears cascading down her cheeks. But the look in Spike’s eyes made her feel beautiful nonetheless. “Dream-world.”

His eyes brightened and his nostrils flared. “The second my legs work—”

“H-he d-didn’t do an-anything.”

“You’re crying.”

“I’ve cr-cried a l-l-lot recently.” Buffy sniffed hard and wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”

Spike’s head shot up from where he’d been inspecting her belly, his hands poised and ready to draw her flannel bottoms down her legs. “Don’ you dare apologize,” he said shortly. “For what I put you through—”

“Spike—”

“But I know what…I know what I did, kitten. I know it. I don’ need any bloody clarification.” He fisted the waistline of her pajama bottoms. “But I can’t be there to make sure you’re not bleeding or worse. I don’ know what the wanker did, an’ he sure as hell isn’t talkin’. So you better be straight with me, or so help me, I’ll haul my broken arse to your house an’ find out for myself. Bugger the consequences.”

And just like that she was engulfed in heat, and a wave of calm washed over her. “You’d do that?” she asked softly.

If anything, Spike looked offended she had to ask. “Of course I would, you daft twig,” he retorted incredulously, quickly stripping her pajama bottoms down her legs, leaving her body bare to his inquisitive eyes. She hadn’t worn panties to bed tonight, and as always, her nighttime attire had carried through to the dream-world. Only for the first time, her nudity wasn’t soaked in with leers of appreciation and lurid comments; Spike was determined to inspect every inch of her for injury, despite the laws of rationality. “But seein’ as I really don’ fancy the Great Poof addin’ a few months onto my recuperation, I’d really prefer it if you would jus’ tell me.”

“That I’m okay?”

“Right.”

An almost reluctant smile quirked her lips. “You mean that thing I’ve been repeating since I first got here?”

He scowled. “Not very convincingly.”

“I’m fine, Spike.”

“I don’ believe you.”

And he didn’t. He really didn’t. The panic in his eyes was only heightened by the urgency in his voice. And without warning, she found herself gaining balance in a world of chaos to the one thing she knew without question. She was in love with Spike, and this was why. This gentle compassion he’d shown her over and over again before the restoration ritual—before everything blew up in her face. Only it was more pronounced now. There was something in his voice—in the desperation of his touch—that she’d never experienced before.

It hit home then. Something she hadn’t truly allowed herself to realize.

Spike was worried. About her.

Spike was worried about her. Beyond liking her body and the slayer coating it came in. She was crying and he was worried. He couldn’t stop touching her, and not in a way designed to make her body sizzle and her heart fly with lust. He was worried about her. He was worried about the girl inside the Slayer. He was worried about Buffy.

She wanted to cry all over again, but that would only worry him more. And though her eyes rejoiced at the idea of finally shedding some happy tears, the whole of her was too worn to cry anymore. She’d done her share of crying.

“Believe me,” Buffy whispered in lieu of another emotional onslaught, caressing his lips with hers. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Pardon my skepticism.”

“I’m fine now.” She smiled softly. “I’m with you.”

Belatedly, she realized she was seated on the very bed upon which she’d lost her virginity the night before, and she was naked. Spike hadn’t made a move to touch her breasts beyond inspecting them for injury, and for some reason that golden piece of knowledge moved her beyond reproach.

Then her eyes fell to his chest, which was covered by the customary black tee. Spike was always dressed when they met. Always. Whereas she fell asleep and wandered into their meeting room in her jammies, his clothing never changed. Did he have a way of projecting his standard outfit on himself before entering their secret rendezvous, or did he perpetually sleep in jeans? She didn’t see Spike as the sort to wear boxers to bed or own a pair of silk pajamas. In fact, she would have guessed him to be the kind of guy to sleep in the nude.

It’d be a little jarring, she supposed, if she was met every night by a thoroughly naked Spike. A little jarring but not at all unpleasant.

“What are you thinkin’, pet?” he murmured, jerking her out of her musings.

Buffy’s cheeks reddened. “You…nothing.” She paused then, frowning as an unsettling thought shadowed over her. “He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

It hit her from nowhere, but she didn’t know why it’d taken so long to realize Spike might well have found himself on the blunt end of Angel’s wrath, if Angel’s pointed remarks were anything to trust. There was no longer any doubt whether or not her once almost-boyfriend had known something was going on between her and Spike. His words left nothing to the imagination, and if he was at the factory, she had much more reason to worry about Spike than he had to worry about her.

If he knew what she was hinting at, Spike betrayed nothing. “Hurt me?” he repeated, arching a brow. “I’m not followin’.”

“Like…I’m not speaking in euphemisms here. Has he hurt you?” Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “If he’s hurt you, he’s gonna get his ass kicked.”

A smile quirked Spike’s lips. “’S that right?”

“I…you…” There was no questioning it; not in her eyes. No matter that she held the blame for Angel’s missing soul, if she discovered he’d hurt the man she loved—a man currently confined to a wheelchair—he’d be dust so quickly he’d probably choke on himself. “Let’s just say,” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “I don’t play nice with anyone who messes with my…whatever you are.”

She literally had to bite back the word boyfriend. Spike wasn’t her boyfriend. Not in any realm—this one or the real world that lay dormant just outside their sleep. With everything she’d already lost, all the bleeding she’d already done, it would be a cold day in Hell before she allowed herself to verbally define their relationship before he did.

If he noticed her fumbling, Spike was gentleman enough not to mention it. Instead, his grin merely broadened with warmth. “I’m fine, sweetling.”

“He knows. He knows about us.”

“He does?”

The shriek of alarm bells had her deafened. If Angel hadn’t confronted Spike about their relationship, something was very wrong. “He told me he knew,” she protested, eyes widening. “He—he said…what I—”

Spike held up a hand. “Buffy—”

“He said—”

“He doesn’ know, kitten.”

Panic speared her veins. How could he be so blasé? So calm? How could he take anything at face value? “No,” she said firmly, “I was there. I heard him. He said—”

“He was tryin’ to rattle your chains is all.” Spike frowned, his brow furrowing. “How’s it they say…he lies with the truth. He doesn’ know rot. Point of fact, Slayer, he thinks I’ve been playin’ you.”

Buffy blinked. Hard. “What?”

“He thinks it’s a ploy. Whatever’s been goin’ on between us…” He paused again, and she could see the clockwork behind his eyes turning as he struggled to find the right words. “He thinks I’m…he thinks I’ve been jerkin’ you around as means to add another notch to my belt. Angelus’s head is bloody large enough to be seen from the sodding moon, love, an’ he’s not used to anyone challenging his word. He’s not used to bein’ wrong. It’s bad enough the great sod’s regarded as a king among other demons…the blokes who view vamps as an insult to demons everywhere. Angelus manages to make friends an’ enemies wherever he goes, an’ his word’s as good as infallible to mindless gits who don’ know better. I have minions who are trippin’ over themselves jus’ to touch the wanker.” He shook his head angrily, as though trying to banish a disturbing image. “Point is, love, whatever he told you was to make you…was to shake you up. He doesn’ know rot about us, ‘cept for this bloody hilarious idea he has that I’ve been toyin’ with you to soften you up for the kill. Make you love me jus’ a little so the fight’s all the more delicious. Your devastation…he thinks, I’ve played you so good you’ll jus’ fold in.” Spike’s eyes darkened. “He’s bloody well forgotten I’m not like him, the arrogant prat.”

There was a long beat of silence. “What?”

She flinched inwardly. The question was perpetually on her lips, but she couldn’t help herself. And if Spike noticed or cared, he didn’t comment. He just took what she said for what it was, and did his best to fill in the gaps.

“I’ve killed two slayers, pet.”

Yes, he had. And it should have bothered her the way he spoke of it so candidly. The way he was able to say the words without blinking, without dragging his eyes from hers, without even hesitating in anything that would suggest regret. It should have bothered her, but it didn’t.

And that was what truly bothered her.

“He also wagers I have a real need for a roll between the sheets since Dru’s been bedridden so bloody long,” Spike continued, a long sigh rolling off his shoulders. “He knows I don’ fuck around. That Dru’s…I’ve been as faithful to her as a sodding pup. But mix in my fascination with slayers…”

“Fascination?”

“I don’t play with my food, love, an’ I’d never…” He caressed the length of her arm with curled fingers, trembling at the feel of her flesh beneath his. “Buffy, you know I’d never hurt you, right?”

The rapidity at which her response came should have terrified her, but it didn’t. There was a fine line between deception and the truth, but she knew simply from loving him—from the worn path they’d traveled together—whatever he showed her was his true face. If he hated her, he’d tell her. If he wanted her, he’d tell her. If he hated the fact that he wanted her, he’d tell her. She knew because she’d seen it, and the deception Spike was referring to simply wasn’t in his wiring. He wasn’t one to screw around. If ever he decided he didn’t want her anymore, she’d be the first to know.

“I know it,” she whispered, smiling gently. “You don’t have to worry.”

A smile warmed his face, relief brightening his eyes. “Oh thank God,” he replied, kissing her brow. “I know…the point is he doesn’ know about us, baby. Not about what we really… He thinks I’m the best bloody weapon he has against you. He’s so certain.”

“He really thinks you’ve been leading me on?”

Spike nodded stoically. “He doesn’ know anything, sweetheart. He thinks I have you blinded. Ready to walk off a bloody cliff for me. You…he doesn’ know how I’ve gotten to you, ‘cause he hasn’t been able to pick up a whiff of me anywhere on your delicious body, but he’s convinced I managed to earn myself a taste of you. An’ that’s…”

His voice trailed off which was just as well because her ears were again ringing with the echoes of Angel’s taunts. He certainly hadn’t betrayed any such doubt or indecision. He’d been so certain; there’d been nothing but confidence in his taunting smirk. And if he had Spike convinced he thought it was all an act, for all his swagger, Spike might find himself blindsided. And she’d have no way to help him. “Are you sure?” Buffy asked shakily. “Maybe he just wants you to think—”

“No.”

The definitive note in his voice made her insides tremble. “Y-you sound so…how can you be certain?”

“I jus’ am.”

“Spike—”

“He saw me an’ Dru, okay?” Spike’s head dropped without warning, the words slicing through her skin and making her blood run cold. Inexplicably, every muscle in Buffy’s body locked up and her eyes felt the expected wave of new tears. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Not after last night. It couldn’t be possible after last night. Oh God, could it? Oh God. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? God, was he really capable of something like that? Of waking up after the night they’d shared and taking her passion with him so he could screw his insane girlfriend.

How could anyone be so callous?

Her thoughts must have been in surround sound, for the next thing she knew Spike had her face in his hands and was brushing needy kisses across her skin. “No,” he said hurriedly. “No. Not last night. God, not last night. Not for a bloody long time. Not even when…he din’t see what you’re thinkin’ he saw. I’d never do that to you, baby. Never. Not after last night.”

“You didn’t—”

“No. Buffy—”

She sniffed hard, feeling foolish and idle but she couldn’t keep her tears from rolling. The day had been too hard, and rolling off a night as magical and emotionally charged as the last, her eyes didn’t know how to keep from crying anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to…keep doing…this…”

Spike kissed her lips softly, his hands dropping to her naked shoulders. “Buffy…God, with everythin’ I put you through, there’s no bloody reason why…you don’ need to explain yourself to me. You’ve already given me so much. Last night was…” He trembled hard, his eyes dropping to her breasts almost reluctantly, but shooting up again like a child who didn’t want to get caught doing something he’d been instructed against. “Last night was…more than anythin’ in my life, sweetheart. An’ since this…this is only in here, I can’t bloody wait to get a taste outside. When it’s not a dream anymore.” He paused, his eyes falling shut and his body trembling hard in an ostensible struggle to maintain control. “When I say he doesn’ know, it’s because of what he saw when I had him goosed up an’ ready for Dru’s restoration ritual. He can’t know how I feel about you, baby. He’s seen nothin’. Dru’s tried to tell him, but he can’t understand her riddles worth rot. An’ what he saw…I was tryin’ so hard to convince myself I didn’t feel for you what I did…” He broke off again, a shaky breath shuddering off his lips. “My behavior wasn’ of a man infatuated with a girl beyond wantin’ her quim an’ a mouthful of her blood. I wanted to be what he thought I was. Someone who…was only after you to see you dead.”

It was impossible to deny the cold which settled over her, but Buffy refused to blink. These were things she already knew. Things that were in their past. What mattered was what they had now. What he’d told her in the aftermath. And while the words she desperately wanted to hear hadn’t yet touched the air—the words she’d already given him—he’d already fueled her heart with hope simply for everything he had said. Everything he’d already told her.

“I din’t touch Dru,” Spike continued. “I haven’t in…a long bloody time. But he saw enough…he saw me tryin’ to convince myself. Guess I did a good enough job to convince at leas’ one person. Dru din’t buy it. Angelus did.”

He didn’t let the thought muster. Before the words could even settle in her mind, Spike seized her cheeks again and devoured her mouth in a fiery, desperate kiss. As though his words could be forgotten under the persuasion of his lips and the gentle caress of his tongue. And if her wounds had been completely healed, he would have succeeded. He would have eradicated any echoes of doubt from a mind that wanted to believe him completely, and a heart that was thoroughly his.

Last night had given her so much, but she’d lost things she didn’t even know were in question upon awakening. She couldn’t allow herself to get lost so quickly—not with the knowledge of the hell she’d put herself through these past few weeks. “But now,” she gasped between kisses, her disobedient hands tugging his shirt over his head before she could stop herself. Her hands didn’t care about her wounds—they wanted to explore his chiseled chest, and it wasn’t like she could blame them. “Now…you don’t want it now, right?”

Spike moaned in protest. “Don’t want what?”

“To…to not…to not be here.”

“Fuck no,” he panted, palming her breasts at last, flicking his thumbs over her taut nipples. “I din’t want it then. To not be here. I always wanna be here. With you. That was the sodding problem.”

“Not anymore, right?” she asked breathlessly, nipping at his mouth. Her hands remained satisfied with the slab of marble he called a chest only for a few seconds before diving for his jeans, much more interested in the brick he kept concealed in his pants. Spike sensed her motives immediately and jumped to his feet to grant her access. His enthusiasm only made her heart swell. “It’s not a problem now.”

“No. No.”

“You want this,” Buffy said boldly, jerking his jeans down, the eager bob of his hard cock striking her jaw. “You want to be here. You want me. You want me doing this to you.”

“Oh God, yes,” Spike agreed, his eyes rolling back as her hand encircled the base of his erection, his hips jerking forward. “Always. Always.”

A small, confident smile stretched her lips, her tongue lapping at the silky head of his cock. “But that’s not it, right?” she asked softly, pumping the hard length of him, her eyes mesmerized by the movements of her hand. How something as seemingly small as running her hand up and down his shaft could inspire the moans which tingled the air, she would never know. But she loved the way he whimpered. The way he gasped her name as though she were a saint.

“What…oh God.” His hands wove through her hair, fingers tenderly massaging her scalp. “Buffy…my gorgeous li’l slayer. My…Christ…”

She grinned, sucking him hard between her lips. She loved the taste of his skin against her tongue. The way his flavor consumed her mouth. There was nothing like this—the fumbled attempt to forget Spike had only made her crave this more. She’d never be fool enough to think she could drown out his memory with anyone else ever again.

“Such a hot tongue,” Spike groaned, thrusting his cock deeper into her mouth. “God…lick me. Jus’ like that.”

Her skin buzzed and her blood burned, but she wasn’t about to deny him. She was too addicted to his taste. She murmured around him, scaling a hand between his legs to cup his balls. Her mouth trailed up his length until only the very tip of him remained trapped between her lips, her tongue exploring the sensitive dip in his head, moaning when he moaned.

“Buffy…God, you feel so good. So bloody good.”

Buffy smiled shyly and quickly turned her eyes from his when he peered down at her, releasing his cock with a wet plop. “Really?”

He whimpered an unintelligible response and thrust his hips forward, cock begging for reentrance. It wasn’t good enough, though; she wanted to hear the words. She needed to hear the words. She needed to hear how much he adored what she did to him. How she could give him something no one else could; how this was more than he’d ever had.

But she knew, despite wanting, those words wouldn’t come, and she couldn’t think ill of him. Not when he’d been nothing but honest with her. “Never mind,” she added quickly, her tongue licking a long path along the underside of his erection. If there was any luck to be had, he’d forget she’d spoken at all.

Spike blinked several times, evidently sensing something important had happened and he’d missed out. “Buffy?”

She sucked his sensitive head between her lips again, determined to distract him.

“I…ooh God.”

Buffy grinned inwardly, her mouth inching down his length, teeth just barely grazing his skin. She drew him in as deeply as she could—until his head brushed the back of her throat. She knew he loved it when she swallowed around him, and wasted no time contracting her throat muscles around his cock, sparks blazing across her skin at the throaty moans that ripped through the air.

“So good,” he babbled, unable to keep from attempting to drive himself deeper into her throat. “So bloody good.”

“Mmmm…”

Too quickly, he closed his hands around her shoulders and jerked her roughly to her feet, swallowing her mouth with his. “Don’ wanna come like that,” he said hurriedly. “Wanna come inside you.”

Something which felt suspiciously like disappointment flooded her veins.

“You’ll let me inside, right?” Spike asked, a hand slipping between her legs and cupping her wet flesh. And God, just the feel of his nimble fingers teasing her swollen clit had all fears banished in the light of pleasure. “You’ll let me in your sweet pussy again.”

Buffy nodded hard. “Yes. Oh God…”

He smirked. “But don’ think you can hide from me.” The last words rode out on a growl, emphasized by a sudden wave of desperation as he tossed her onto the bed and kicked his jeans off his legs completely. His eyes soaked in every move her body made; from the helpless parting of her lips when she sighed to the bounce of her breasts as she landed on her back.

“What—”

“When I say good, what I mean is best. Sodding best I’ve ever had.”

There was no way he could mean it.

“I mean it,” he countered. “Every word. No one…God, no one has ever tried to know me the way you do. Has ever wanted to know what I like…how I like to be touched. I never stop wanting you. Your mouth around me…your quim…you. All of you. An’ the only reason I wanted you to stop was the reason I gave you. You…Buffy…God, I dunno how I’m ever gonna convince you, but if it takes the rest of my days, I’ll make sure it gets through your thick skull.”

He didn’t allow the thought to muster, which was perhaps for the best because if the weight of his words had time to settle, she might have embarrassed herself with another emotional outburst. Instead, his left hand found one of her breasts, successfully distracting her with a tender pinch of her nipple. He licked his lips and soaked her up with his eyes, exhaling deeply and looking, for all the world, like a man on the brink of losing control. “I wanted to be back here the second I woke up,” he murmured. “You were gone an’ then I woke up.”

His words made Buffy’s blood sing. “I wanted to be back here, too,” she replied, her legs parting in silent welcome. She flushed with need the second his eyes raked down her body, his tongue licking those sinful lips the second his gaze landed on her pussy. “I wanted…”

“You miss me, pet?” Spike asked, his voice rough. The mattress dipped with his weight and then he was prowling up her body, settling himself between her legs and making sure she felt every inch of his skin against hers until they were face to face. His cock nestled in the wet valley between her legs, her breasts pressed fully against his chest. There was no hiding from his eyes, and she wouldn’t if she could.

“I wish you’d been with me when I woke up,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t like waking up alone.”

A small, sad smile stretched Spike’s face and he nodded, brushing a tender kiss across her brow. “’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his lips traveling to her cheek, then her chin, the corner of her mouth, her lips in full, his heart weighing in his eyes. And the emotion she saw there—the emotion pouring through his gaze—made her bones rattle. “I wanted tonight to be…I don’ know. I wanted…”

“About us?” she volunteered.

“For starters.” He kissed her again, seemingly incapable of preventing his lips from caressing her skin. “You distracted me with your hot li’l body last night. I never even got to ask you how it was you avoided me for so bloody long, so I can make sure it never happens again.”

“Pendant.”

“Pendant?”

“Some anti-dreams pendant. I asked Giles…” She shifted and averted her eyes, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I asked Giles to…keep…”

Spike arched a brow, not bothering to mask his surprise. “Your watcher knows about us?”

“About the dreams. He knew the night of the ritual. At least that’s when I think he found out.”

“How? We barely knew anything then.”

Buffy licked her lips, unable to keep her eyes from misting. It surprised her how often she saw what happened. Even after Spike had torn her heart in two, her nights were haunted by the perpetual fall of the pipe organ. Her throat still hurt from the scream that had split the air, her insides still burned with the crushing weight of her grief. And then that night—when she’d wrestled with sleep until it came to her only to find the room empty…no matter what had happened since—no matter that she knew Spike was as undead as he’d ever been—the night she’d thought she’d lost him would remain with her forever.

“When…when it happened,” she began carefully, unsure how much to betray. “I…he knew. He knew when the organ fell that something was…because I…he asked me later and I told him.”

Understanding stormed Spike’s eyes. “Buffy…”

“He asked me and he was okay with it…which, yeah, kinda weird, but…a-and I don’t know if he’s been researching anything or…anything. But he knew…s-so when I asked him for a way to…you know, stop coming here, he had one.” She broke her gaze from his, trembling hard. “He…I don’t…”

“Buffy…my God.”

She didn’t know what she expected, but the softness which befell his eyes was at the very bottom of the list. He regarded her for a long, quiet minute, his fingers gently caressing her temples, long shudders racing through his body. He touched her with quiet reserve—as though she was fragile and precious, rather than rough and expendable.

Was he really so moved at the notion she’d wept for him in front of her Watcher? Had he really not heard the deafening scream which ripped through her throat? Her body still ached when she thought of that night. It didn’t take much to propel her back—a turn of the head, the pull of a sore muscle, and she found herself standing at the altar of a burning church, watching helplessly as the man she loved disappeared under the crashing ceiling.

Had he thought she’d kept her screams silent until she was alone? Love didn’t care about propriety. Love didn’t care who was watching. Love wasn’t self-conscious. Love could give a damn that he was her enemy and she shouldn’t cry for him. Love had watched him vanish, and the world around her had broken in despair.

“You are gorgeous,” he murmured, shaken and apparently at a loss for words. “So gorgeous.” He sighed and brushed his lips across her cheek, then swallowed her with a gentle kiss. And God, she melted into him like wax. He gave her everything in a kiss. In the way he whimpered into her mouth as his body moved against hers. The way his tongue begged her lips for entrance. “So bloody gorgeous,” he said again, his hands cupping her breasts with a reverent gasp, shuddering at the feel of her hardened nipples against his palms.

Could beauty really affect a man like Spike?

His mouth left hers, wandering southward until he was pressing kisses against her breasts. There wasn’t much there for him to kiss, but if Spike was disappointed with her lack of cleavage, his mouth didn’t betray him. For the way his tongue teased her aching nipples and the ardent kisses he peppered across her milky flesh, she could almost believe he meant his own words. She could almost believe he thought she was beautiful.

“I’m bloody amazed,” Spike murmured, slipping a hand between them. His fingers teased her pussy lips before ultimately wrapping around his cock.

“By what?”

“You…God, you.” He glanced up, running his blunt teeth over the tip of her nipple, the hand between them directing the velvety head of his cock to tease her swollen clit in time with the near indiscernible movements of his body. “I gave you every sodding reason to kick me away. I sent you to…but you’re still here.” Spike shook his head and resumed his torturous tease of her body, rubbing his cock up and down her drenched slit and grinning when she gasped and arched beneath him. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

Every corner of her being was ablaze. “Spike…”

“You really love me.”

She felt like weeping. “I do. I really do.”

His fingertips grazed her clit as his lips found the pulse-point of her throat. “I…Buffy, God.”

“I love you.”

Every time those words left her lips, she lived with the hope that she would hear them back. Right now, she craved his love more than anything. Anything. If he told her he loved her—if he meant it—it would be worth losing Angel’s soul. It would be worth anything she had to sacrifice. But Spike was too good to deceive her, and she’d rather him not say anything than crush her with false words.

They hadn’t been back together for long, if they were together at all. If they ever had been, or would be. Spike wasn’t about to fool her with false confessions.

She was just the rebound girl. And men didn’t fall in love with the rebound girl.

But for the moment—for this blessed moment—she would make it be enough. Spike murmured against her lips as he sank balls-deep inside her pussy, whimpering small adorations which had her head floating and her heart ready for another suicidal dive.

She’d sold Angel to get here. And tomorrow she would deal with the consequences. The aftermath. Tomorrow she would start to pick up the pieces and try to figure out when things had spiraled so out of control.

Tomorrow.

The night belonged to her.

And while she could, she would spend what little time she had with the man she loved.

 

Even with a soulless monster terrorizing the Hellmouth, Buffy’s life managed to fall into a series of habits. On weekdays, she dragged herself from bed—usually tripping over the echoes of an earth-shattering orgasm—showered, avoided her mother’s intense gaze at the breakfast table, and went to school. She and Willow would commiserate over the resident baddie-slaying and how it was they’d both fallen madly in love with creatures of the night.

Well, Willow did most of the talking. While the weeks had eventually wrangled a confession from Buffy’s lips as to the confusing nature of her relationship with Spike, she was perceptive enough to know the redhead was weirded out at the idea of a slayer and a vampire bumping uglies.

Even if no uglies had actually been bumped in reality.

Willow didn’t pretend to understand Buffy’s relationship with Spike, which was fine because Buffy hardly understood it herself. All she knew was he was there for her. Every night, he was there for her. She didn’t know why. She didn’t really care that she didn’t know why; in the end, the why and how didn’t matter to her. Perhaps they really had been slated by the Powers to kill each other in their dreams, but if such was the case, the Powers clearly had no handle on who they were dealing with. Neither Buffy or Spike were prone for control, and they had an equally messy way of handling anyone who attempted to throw a leash around their necks.

He was there every night. Always first. Always waiting for her. He’d grin at her and rise to his feet the second she popped into the room. Then he’d storm forward and take her face in his hands, kiss her lips numb and walk her backward until they fell into a tangle on the bed. His hands knew her body so well now. Every night, he perched himself between her open legs and inspected her for new bruises, convinced they would carry over into their sub-reality if Angel had managed to get his hands on her.

Similarly, every night his inspections resulted in toe-curling pleasure. Spike never tired of teasing her with his hands and mouth. It seemed he could spend hours with his head between her thighs, happily tonguing her to the stars and back. If he was trying to make the hurt go away by paying her pussy extra attention without asking her to return the favor, he was on the way to full exoneration. Really, there was no way she could remain distrustful when he was currently her rock. He was the thing keeping her from completely losing her mind.

There was peace in her dreams even if reality was chaotic. Spike was with her. He was there. He kissed her and every concern niggling her brain melted into nothing. He was there. He caressed her and held her and let her be weak in a world where she was supposed to be nothing but strong. He was there.

Giles had given up trying to find an explanation for her nocturnal activities. Once she told him the pendant was no longer needed, his concern for her well-being—atop the looming threat of Angel and the deaths mounting around them—had him delving full-force into research mode. He’d been researching the dreams since the night the organ fell, but now that she had resumed her schedule of meeting Spike every night rather than avoiding him, the need to find the cause of her dreams had skyrocketed at full strength.

Only to no avail. There was nothing.

“I really have no answer,” Giles told her one day, frowning at the lack of concern on her face. “Any number of things could have happened to give you these dreams. Perhaps you unknowingly made a wish around a vengeance demon. Perhaps a witch cast a spell with rather peculiar results. Perhaps you’ve garnered the attention of a Greek deity who wished to have a little fun at your expense. There is no telling, Buffy. The psychology of dreams and the mysticism behind them…the possibilities are endless.”

Buffy mulled his revelation over for a long minute, wording her reply carefully. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?”

“I’m fine, Giles. I’m fine and more than fine.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “He…he makes me happy.”

Giles’s frown deepened. “He wasn’t making you happy before. You…Buffy, he made you miserable.”

“That was before. Drop it.”

“Buffy—”

“Giles. Drop it.”

And he did. She didn’t know why, but he did. Perhaps because he trusted she could handle herself. Perhaps because he knew she needed someone. Perhaps because he thought they could rely on Spike as a last resort. Perhaps because he knew Spike would let her know if Angel was planning something—or hoped, at least, that he would.

Buffy didn’t know, and she didn’t question it.

Spike was the one constant in her life. And she loved him.

No matter if he didn’t love her, she loved him.

Knowing she would see him at night got her through the day. And she wasn’t about to give that up.

Buffy blinked. Hard. She knew she’d had a weird day—one of the strangest in recent memory—but there was no way she thought it could get stranger after she went to sleep. If anything, she’d expected Spike’s faithful consistency to keep her grounded in sight of everything else that had occurred since she awoke. And while, yes, Valentine’s Day was a day for one’s respective honey to do something sweet and romantic, she hadn’t expected anything beyond the ordinary. Valentine’s Day just didn’t strike her as a holiday celebrated by demons.

And yet, here was Spike. Standing in the middle of their special room.

Oh yeah, and he was wearing a tux.

Spike. In a tux. Looking awkward but hopeful, his eyes shifting with shy uncertainty that had her stomach knotting and loosening all at once. His hair was slightly ruffled rather than slicked back, and she had the warming sensation it was due to a remark she’d made a few nights ago about how adorable he looked with bed-head.

The floor beneath her suddenly vanished and Buffy found her head inexplicably projected into the clouds.

Can anyone say yum?

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he said at last, shrugging awkwardly as though to present himself.

Buffy blinked again. “Oh my God.”

Spike shuffled, his eyes growing nervous. “I…I din’t know what…I…”

“You dressed up for me?” she asked softly. “God, you look good enough to eat.”

Her words banished all tension, and he rolled his shoulders back, a familiar cocky grin spreading across his face. “Might jus’ take you up on that, kitten,” he purred, running a hand down his front and giving her eyes no option but to follow. The lack of denim provided little doubt as to how she was affecting him—his cock was hard and straining for attention, tenting his slacks in a way that had her cheeks reddening and her head telling her it was rude to stare. But her eyes couldn’t be swayed. Spike wanted her. She’d just arrived, and he was already hard for her touch.

“I…umm…you’re…ummm…showing.”

Spike’s grin broadened and he licked his lips. “Like what you see?”

Buffy’s throat ran dry and she nodded numbly. “Uh huh.”

“Got a surprise for you,” he said slowly, taking a step forward.

“How did you manage to get into a tux?” she blurted before she could help herself.

The immediate frown on Spike’s face told her plainly he hadn’t expected to be questioned. “Huh’s that?”

“A tux. I…did you go to sleep in a tux? Wouldn’t Angel and Dru find that majorly weird?” For some reason she couldn’t stop herself from asking, even knowing she was ruining what Spike had tried to make special, but her inquiring mind couldn’t be denied. “A-and you always…do you really sleep in your clothes, or do you just show up like that? ‘Cause I always show up in the jammies I sleep in, and—”

Spike held up a hand, arching a brow. “Buffy?”

She pouted and kicked at the ground. “Sorry,” she said. “I just…I’ve been wondering.”

“And only now thought to ask?”

“Well, you’re in a tux!”

“Am I? Am I really?”

Buffy scowled, though she couldn’t help the smile tugging her lips. She loved it when he teased her. When his eyes brightened with mischief and sparkled as though the world around them wasn’t crumbling away. “Yes, and you look beyond yummy. But…I’m with the…massively confused.”

Spike grinned. “I don’ think I wanna share.”

“Huh?”

“I like seein’ you in your li’l slayer jams.” The look in his eyes was positively sinful, and it made her want to devour him from head to toe. “I like seein’ you the way no one else does. Makes this all the more mine.”

Her pout deepened. “Still…with the unfair.”

“’S a dream, love.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve dressed in some kinky lingerie or something.” A giggle battled her throat at the dreamy look that stormed his eyes. How was it that she’d thought of it before him? “You know…black lace…maybe a few appropriately placed little red bows. So you could open your Buffy present—”

“’S a dream,” Spike said urgently, his head bobbing with eagerness that betrayed him.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“I got here firs’ that firs’ night, yeah?”

“You always get here first.”

Spike waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Well, I got here that firs’ night…starkers, as you might imagine.”

She blinked again.

“…I sleep without a stitch, pet.”

Thoughts she’d had weeks ago surfaced without warning, and her cheeks reddened under the influence of some deliciously naughty images. Naughty images with her involved, of course. She didn’t like to think of Spike as being naked around Drusilla, especially since they’d been sharing a bed up until the organ collapsed. And knowing their nocturnal activities, it wasn’t hard to imagine Spike in real time getting aroused…and touched by another woman as he slept.

“Oh.”

He smiled softly as though reading her thoughts, but didn’t comment. Instead, he took her face in his hands and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. “I figured it to be a dream,” he continued, his low voice making her nerves buzz with anticipation. “So I wished me some clothes.”

“Wished?”

“You can control dreams, love. The strong-willed can, anyway.” He pulled back with a devastatingly sexy wink before allowing his eyes to roam the length of her. “An’ you’re as bloody strong-willed as any chit I’ve ever met. So why don’ you wish yourself into some of that sexy lingerie you mentioned?”

Her will abandoned her. Sexy lingerie? Her? She’d just embarrass herself.

Luckily, Spike continued talking before she could protest.

“Or I could jus’…” He kissed her again, and the ground shook beneath her feet. “…give you your surprise.”

It was the last thing he said before vanishing.

Tapping. What was that tapping?

A thousand things could plague a girl before the truth reached the surface. All she knew was Spike was gone. He’d been there one second, his fingertips caressing her face, and he was gone the next. And in a world where nothing was certain, she couldn’t keep her head from screaming in panic.

What if he was dust? What if she’d been right all along and Angel really did know what was going on between them? What if, what if, what if.

Tap tap tap.

She paced the floor of the dream-world motel so hard it was a miracle she didn’t wear herself into a trench. She wanted to awaken so badly. She tried screaming her head off, tried pounding on the walls, tried singing The Song That Never Ends, tried pinching herself, tried everything under the proverbial sun and nothing worked. Nothing. It’d seemed so easy—the few times she’d forced herself awake in the past hadn’t required any thought. It was a silent acknowledgment. A voice within that whispered, I can’t be here anymore and she’d find herself awake.

Now when Spike might be in trouble, she couldn’t budge.

If she lost him, she’d never forgive herself. She couldn’t lose him.

She couldn’t.

Tap tap tap.

Buffy jerked awake with a chest-crushing gasp, twisting in her bed sheets and blinking hard until her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her. She was in her room, alone, and she was awake. Spike had been with her just minutes before, but he’d vanished. He’d vanished without a word. And now she had to—

Tap tap tap.

Tears in her throat, her head jerked up violently as her eyes settled on the window.

“Oh my God.”

In a blink, her fears washed into astonishment, her heart slowing in release when their eyes locked. For the first time in months, their eyes actually made contact. There was no fog between them. No distance. The vampire she’d fought with forced passion at the church—the vampire whose mission originally revolved around her death—sat outside her room. And despite everything, despite what she knew of him now and everything they had shared, a shiver of fear raced down her spine. Real meant no hiding. No jerking herself awake. Real meant true consequences.

Real changed everything.

And even knowing it—knowing she was treading new and unexplored territory—the shiver of fear quickly gave way, and all she felt was relief. It was the most potent reprieve she’d ever experienced. The burning panic in her veins washed away. Spike was all right. He was all right. He was here.

Buffy went numb, her heart cadencing back to a thunderous roar. Spike was here. Spike was at her house. He wasn’t being hurt by Angel or anything of the sort. He’d left the dream-world to come here. To come to her house. And there he was—all real, not imagined. The lines of his face were as authentic as the day was long as were the cool contours of his familiar body. Her panic died and resurfaced all in one blow, anxiety clamping down on every nerve in her tired being.

Anxiety which could do little to bade the sudden surge of anticipation away.

Spike smiled softly and offered a little wave, which was enough to break her from her daze. Wobbly legs met the carpet of her bedroom floor, her heart thundering relentlessly in a body that suddenly felt small. Spike was here. Spike was here. Her house. Her room. He was here, and God, she’d never gone from terrified beyond belief to quaking with nervousness so fast in all her life. The few times she and Spike had met each other outside the dream-world hadn’t gone well. He’d attempted to kill her on Halloween, he’d saved her life then dry-humped her against a wall in the bunker, he’d wound up in a wheelchair in the church; now he was at her home. The man she loved was at her home. There was no callousness in his eyes. Nothing but the tenderness she’d come to depend on every night.

She trembled as she unlatched the window and pushed it open. But confronted with closeness after so long knowing he was miles away, her voice failed her completely. She simply stared at him, numb, afraid he would vanish if she blinked. Wondering if the touch of his hands was as gentle as it was lethal. Wondering how his lips would taste in a realm where they could not hide from each other.

Wondering if he was here in actuality, or if her mind had finally collapsed with want.

The air between them was suspended. She heard him breathing. Watched the curve of his sensuous mouth as he grinned at her, his eyes drinking her in. He was so quiet she began to doubt he was really with her, then his lips parted and his voice washed over her like warm satin.

“Surprise,” he said softly, brows flickering.

“Ohhh…”

“I take it you weren’t expectin’ a visit?”

Buffy shook her head numbly, her eyes dropping to take him in. “You’re not in…you can walk?”

“Back’s all mended.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Spike cocked his head. “Wanted to show you,” he replied. “Wanted…are you all right?”

She licked her lips and nodded again, meeting his gaze and smiling sheepishly. “I’m just…you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“Why?”

He arched a brow. “’Cause here’s where you’re at. Should I…Buffy?”

She should speak. She knew she should speak, but words wouldn’t come. Not even when disappointment washed over his face, and he shifted uncomfortably as though only then realizing that his presence might not be welcome. It was the furthest thing from the truth, of course, but her stunned nerves were too numb to immediately jump and reassure him. So many months apart—never had they been face-to-face with the understanding they had now. And she didn’t know what to do. God, without the dreams, she didn’t know what to do.

She’d imagined their next real meeting a thousand different times. A thousand different ways. Never in her fantasies had she been stunned silent.

“You’re here,” she said again, her mind breaking through the haze. He wasn’t disappearing. She kept blinking and gaping and he was still there. Spike was with her in real-time. “Are you…we…”

“I was hopin’ you’d invite me in, love.”

Buffy blinked. “Oh…oh yes.” She nodded eagerly and stepped aside, a small smile replacing the thoughtful frown on her face. “Come in, Spike.”

It should have alarmed her how easily the decision came, but after the hysterical screaming died down and she realized he wasn’t going to vanish, the whole of her gave over to elation.

This is happening. This is real. This is really happening.

A long shudder coursed through Spike’s body, his gaze turning molten. “Jus’ like that?” he asked hoarsely, slipping under her window, his eyes fluttering shut as he stepped into the air that belonged to her. “You invite me in to the place where you…” He glanced to the rumpled state of her bed and sighed. “…sleep.”

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. Every cell in her body was attuned to him. He shifted and the movement rippled across her skin. And then she couldn’t stand the distance between them. He was in her room—he was in her space—and she’d never gotten to touch him as a lover. She’d never truly felt his flesh beneath her fingertips or known the taste of his lips. And now that he was here, she needed to know it was real. She needed to know so badly.

“Spike?”

Apparently, hearing his name was all he needed. Spike moaned in surrender, storming forward and taking her face in his hands. “I wanna kiss you,” he murmured, and for some reason, the vocalization of his desire did more for her than any amount of taking could have hoped to touch.

Lust flared in her eyes and she pressed her thighs together, nodding with desperation she didn’t recognize. “Yes. Yes.”

The second his lips brushed hers, the walls around her collapsed and she felt. She felt. Spike moaned into her mouth and she felt it. His hands slid down her shoulders and she felt it. He murmured her name against her lips, his tongue seeking hers, his hips thrusting up with eagerness that betrayed him. Warmth blazed every inch of her skin. She couldn’t get enough of him—enough of this. Enough of the long strokes of his tongue, of the sensuous dance of his lips against hers, of the guttural moans scratching at his throat. Every move he made was wrangled in need—need she recognized. Need she could identify.

Need for her.

Tears stung her eyes and she had to bite back a laugh. Seemed there was nothing she didn’t cry about nowadays. Spike didn’t want her, and she wept. Spike wanted her, and she wept. Spike kissed her, and she wept. Sooner or later she’d be a sniveling baby every time he changed his socks. She really needed to get a handle on her emotions. Buffy wasn’t used to being the teary-eyed female in any role, which was how her mother knew when she was really upset versus when she was overreacting for attention’s sake. Tears on Buffy equaled the rawest form of emotion.

Now she was crying because she was finally kissing Spike. It was no longer a dream. It wasn’t. He was really with her, and his taste was the warmest homecoming she’d ever known.

“What’s this?” Spike asked softly, raising a hand to her cheek again, his thumb wiping her tears away. “Din’t mean to make you cry, love.”

Buffy just laughed and cried harder. “You’re here,” she blubbered, unsurprised when his brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re really here.”

“Yeh…thought it’d be the sort’ve thing that’d make you happy.”

“I’m…” How could she even begin to describe how she felt? Buffy broke off, trembling with ecstasy wrapped in shock. Every fantasy she’d ever entertained had become solid. Spike was here. His skin was under her fingers and the very real taste of him flavored her mouth. His eyes were finally absorbing hers with nothing but yearning and softness—the qualities in the dream-world she’d come to cherish were soaring with life. Spike was here. The Spike she knew in her dreams was in her reality. Every strain of her being split with bliss and all at once, she felt she was soaring far above herself with no fear of the inevitable fall.

For the first time the prospect of crashing didn’t bother her. She had the immediacy of the moment. She had right now, and it was more than she’d ever thought she’d touch.

“You’re here,” she whispered, insensible to how foolish she seemed—how childish and vulnerable. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment; Spike was with her and nothing else was important. “I…I…”

“You are happy, right?” Spike ventured cautiously, his eyes searching hers. “These are happy tears?”

“Yes, doof!”

“Oi!”

Her gaze widened and she pressed her hand to his mouth, shivering at the soft feel of his lips against her skin. “Shhh,” she berated, her pulse racing. “My mom.”

Recognition swept across his face and he nodded sheepishly, though her warning didn’t prevent his tongue from taking a quick lick of her palm. The contact made every inch of her burn. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Jus’ watch the name-calling, yeah?”

“Well watch the stupid questions.”

“Doesn’ do much for a bloke’s ego when the girl starts weepin’ the second he kisses her,” he countered even as tension rolled off his shoulders. He glanced down to collect himself, and when he met her eyes again, the shine of emotion was so heady she nearly forgot to breathe. “I’ve wanted to be here so bloody badly.”

“You have?”

He blinked. “You doubt it?”

“N-no. I just…” Buffy shuddered hard and sighed, her eyes dropping to his chest, her hands soon following suit. He was no longer in the tux, obviously, as that had been a projection of the dreams, but his normal clothing was almost sexier. Perhaps because she knew it was real. “It’s just…I’ve…with the…being real, and all.”

“’S what I mean, kitten,” Spike replied, smiling gently, brushing his lips across her brow. “’ve wanted to be here.” His hands ran up and down her arms before hesitating and cupping her breasts. When she didn’t protest, his thumbs took to rubbing gentle circles against her aching nipples. “Wanted to feel you under my hands.” His mouth dropped to her throat, his tongue lapping eagerly at her throat. “See if you taste as sweet as you do in the dreams.”

“I-I…”

“Mmm…” He teased her breasts a minute longer before dropping his hands to the hem of her bedtime tank. Then he paused, his eyes seeking hers before proceeding. “Buffy?”

The move surprised her; the past few weeks hadn’t known any sense of propriety. They met and clothing was inevitably shed. It was the way things were—the way they were together. The imploration was as unexpected as it was moving; it took very little to conclude the symptom of his hesitance.

It was real. They were no longer guarded by the protective veil of a dream. Anything they did now carried the weight of permanence.

And amazing as it was—even while exploring the novelty of real touches between them—Buffy wasn’t afraid. She’d come to terms with her feelings and the unavoidable places they would take her long ago. Standing with Spike in her bedroom, while an unexpected turn, felt too right to fight, and she wouldn’t if she could.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and nodded, grinning and raising her arms in the air, enjoying the way his eyes widened and his unneeded breath caught in his throat. He paused as though fearing she would retract the invitation, then fisted the cotton of her tank and dragged it over her head with trembling hands. He held her eyes for a long second before dropping his gaze to the fabric in his hands, ultimately pitching it to the corner of her room.

“Buffy…” He flexed his hands, his jaw tightening. He looked anywhere but at her. “We…if we…”

“My mother’s asleep.”

Spike swallowed hard. “Yeah?” he replied, voice hoarse, his eyes unable to keep from zeroing in on her breasts a second longer. He stared at her hungrily for endless seconds, licking his lips before raising his head to meet her gaze. “She’s sleepin’?”

Buffy nodded and fought the urge to cover herself. Spike might have seen her naked a thousand times, but there would never be any getting over the sensation of his eyes on her body. Especially now. Especially this true first time. “S-she’s a…umm…a heavy sleeper.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “I’d think so.”

“Oh?”

“All the sneakin’ out you do.” Spike inhaled sharply and closed the space between them, raising a tentative hand to one of her breasts. His fingers were immediately drawn to her nipple, pinching her with a shared shiver. “Buffy…do you…do you want…?”

“Yes.”

Spike paused hopefully. “I din’t ask—”

“You don’t have to.” She raised her hands to his chest, pushing at the lapels of his duster until he unwound and allowed the leather coat to slide off his shoulders and to the floor. And while she hadn’t known what to expect, a part of her shivered when her eyes took in his muscular body. He was dressed, of course, but she knew that chest so well. She knew the arms the duster had hidden. She knew Spike, and her dreams had not lied to her. “I…I want…” She paused, words failing her. Verbalizing her desires had never been her strong suit—especially when she was caught unawares. Now, with her heart pounding so hard she could barely keep her breath, she trusted her body with words she couldn’t voice. Not allowing herself another moment’s pause, she consumed his mouth with hunger she barely recognized, pouring her nervous whimper into him as liberation burned her whole.

Spike melted into her with a growl, sucking her tongue greedily into his mouth. “You drive me wild,” he told her, breaking their kiss just long enough to rip his shirt over his head. “So much I can’t bloody think straight.”

She grinned with confidence she didn’t feel. “We’re even, then,” she replied, her eyes dropping to his flesh, placing a tentative hand on his chest. “This is…it’s real. No more…here, in this…in real-time, I’ve never gotten to touch you.”

For a second she thought he was going to object, but nothing but heat passed between them.

“I’ve never felt this chest,” she continued bravely, her fingers caressing his skin. “Never…gotten to taste your skin.” Fully aware she was echoing his earlier actions, her mouth dipped to nip at his breast. She’d never played with him the way he did her—tasted his skin, licked his nipples, or worshipped his body, aside from his cock, as he worshipped hers. She wanted to make up for it now. “Never…”

“Buffy…”

She smiled shyly and walked him backward until his legs hit the bed, her hands tugging on the waistband of his jeans. “I’ve never gotten to…to taste your…”

Spike’s eyes bore into hers with heat that had her melting into goo. “God, Buffy…”

Her bravado vanished before she could say the actual word. Where Spike had no trouble uttering little dirties, she was trying to perfect the art. Saying things like cock and balls, though knowing he’d probably get turned on just by hearing her try, was too far beyond the comfort zone she’d established for herself as a young teen. Eventually, she would try to incorporate what she called dirty language into her vocabulary for Spike’s benefit; right now it was a matter of mastering a verbal description of everything she wanted to do to him.

Her cheeks reddened even further, trembling fingers unzipping his fly. “I want—”

“You have me.”

She arched a brow with courage she didn’t feel. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“You can have whatever you want,” Spike replied urgently, jerking his hips forward. “Jus’—”

His words rode out on the sexiest moan she’d ever heard, her hand closing around his cock with a bizarre surge of novel familiarity. She’d done this a thousand times. She’d held him, laved his length with her tongue, taken him into her mouth and swallowed around him until she was drinking him down in earnest. She’d done it all without doing it; now her hand was truly around him. Her eyes were studying his naked erection for the first time, and all too soon it wasn’t enough. She wanted so much more than just to hold him; she wanted him inside her. She wanted his cock thrusting into her mouth, she wanted him cradled within her body. She wanted everything.

“Wanna taste,” she said, barely aware of her words, her hands pushing his jeans down his legs as he tried to kick off his shoes—a collaborative effort which had him crashing to her mattress with an enthusiastic bounce.

“Buffy…” The need raging in his voice had her trembling to her core. It was very clear he was attempting to hold onto control; the slightest touch had him rattling dangerously close to the edge, and it was all at her hand. “Please…”

“Please?”

“I need…” He sighed heavily, his eyes soaking her in. “I…I know it’s…it’s different, yeah?”

His ability to read her without effort had her feeling even more self-conscious. Buffy shifted uneasily and shook her head, licking her lips. “It’s not…well, yes.” There was no sense lying to him when her emotions decorated her proverbial sleeves. “I am…with the real—”

Spike swallowed hard and forced a nod. “Buffy—”

“But I want you. I do.” Buffy leaned forward, her lips dropping to his throat. She loved the taste of his skin, almost as much as she loved having the flavor of Spike in her mouth. “I just…” Words scratched her throat, her lips doctoring his flesh with gentle, loving kisses. She didn’t know how thickly her emotions poured through actions; she didn’t know if Spike even cared that she tried to show her love through touch. All she knew was she loved him, and her body couldn’t turn off love. When she was with him, it was all she could do to keep her confession from rolling like a ceaseless mantra off her lips. “I didn’t…”

“Oh God,” Spike hissed as her teeth gently scraped one of his nipples. Then he blinked and closed his hands around her forearms. “What? Buffy?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what, sweetheart?”

Buffy inhaled deeply and avoided his eyes. She knew he would berate her indignantly for her fears, but she couldn’t help herself. “I didn’t know…you’d want this…here.”

Spike blinked dumbly. “Huss’at?”

“…with me. No dreams.” She motioned between them, feeling smaller by the second. “I-it’s real… I didn’t—”

“Oh for Christ’s sake—”

“Well, with everything—”

“Buffy, I thought we were…” He cupped her chin and jerked her face upwards, forcing her gaze to clash with his. “I know I was a right bastard not too long ago, an’ I know I deserve every sodding ounce of doubt, but you know I…it’s never been about not wantin’ you. Never.”

He was right. It was more about not wanting to want her. Not that the distinction made her feel any better, but she supposed it was only fair to get all the facts straight.

“I know,” Buffy replied a long minute later, her voice braver than she felt. “I…I just…”

“I wanna make love to you.” The emotion in his voice nearly swept her off her feet. “I wanna feel you around me. You’re…I’m lost for you, love. I’m completely buggered an’ I could give a damn ‘cause you’re here. I came here because I know the dreams…wonderful as they are…I know they’re not enough for you.” His hands gently caressed the length of her stomach, coming to rest above the waistline of her pajama bottoms. “They’re not enough for me, either.”

Her blood raced and her heart thundered with hope she barely allowed herself to feel.

“They’re not?” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as he palmed a breast, his thumb flicking her nipple as his hungry gaze devoured her face.

Spike swallowed hard and shook his head. “No,” he replied hoarsely, leaning in and favoring her nipple with a long, sultry lick. “To know I’m not really holding you? That you’re not really shivering against me? An’ waking up without you…without you beside me an’ knowing I won’ see you again till…”

Her face was a flood of tears. It seemed her poor eyes never caught a break. “Spike…”

“It’s not enough. Playin’ them at this angle isn’t enough for me anymore.” His mouth trailed a series of wet kisses to her other breast, his hands sliding her pajama bottoms over her ass and down her legs until they pooled around her ankles. “I can’t pretend to want you dead when the idea makes me…” He completed the thought in a rumbling growl around her flesh, coaxing her legs apart with his left hand, his fingers sliding sensually between her pussy lips. “God, you feel—”

“Unh…”

“Can’t wait to taste you.” He licked his lips and winked. “See if your honey’s as sweet here as it is in our dreams.”

“No.”

Spike arched a brow. “No? You’re not as sweet?”

“I wanted…I-I had a plan.” Her hand dipped between them, eager fingers wrapping around his cock, enjoying the bliss which clouded his eyes. “I wanted…you always make it…about me.”

“Oh Buffy—”

“I wanted—”

“Next time,” he promised, kissing her hard. “I wanna be inside you.”

“I want that, too. I just—”

“Slayer, if we…this is your…I know it’s bloody ridiculous, not to mention as deliciously twisted as anythin’ I’ve ever experienced, but you…you’re…” He paused, though not for lack of words. His eyes instead fell to her pussy, eager fingers rubbing her slit until his skin glistened with her juices. “We’ve never done this. Not here.”

“God, Spike—”

“You’re a virgin here.”

She suddenly had the urge to laugh, even if she knew it was true, and had known since their first night. It seemed so absurd for as often as they’d made love. She truly was a virgin in this world—in the real world. Her body had never known the touch of a man. And while this was nothing she hadn’t recited to herself a thousand times, he was right: it was ridiculous. They’d been lovers for weeks. They knew each other’s bodies as well as their own. And yet, in the real world, none of it had ever taken place.

“If we’re not careful, I could hurt you.” He thumbed her clit with careless grace, the move so light she nearly thought he wasn’t aware of his actions. The smoldering of his eyes told her otherwise. The trembles coursing through her body made him purr with pleasure. “I don’t ever wanna hurt you.”

Buffy’s hands had found his shoulders when she wasn’t looking, and she was holding onto him as though the world would fall away if she let go. “Ever?” she repeated, shuddering and bucking against his hand before she could stop herself.

“Sweetheart—”

“When…unh…when this is over—”

Spike lowered his head again, teasing her pert, eager nipples with his mouth, switching off to treat each breast with equal care. “When this is over,” he replied softly, his hands sliding to her hips, gently coaxing her forward until she risked either straddling his legs or falling onto him. She chose the former. “You an’ I…are gonna have a confrontation.”

Her heart clenched and her blood pulsed with panic. “You can’t—”

“A nice, delicious confrontation. Preferably somewhere far away from here with nothin’ but food, water, blood, an’ a big fluffy bed.” He regarded her with dancing eyes, mouth sucking intently on her breast. Fingers slipped between her thighs again, probing her feminine folds in a way she knew so well. She loved the way he rubbed her. The way his fingers thrust inside her pussy to test her readiness. To feel her feminine secretions roll down his skin. She’d never thought her body anywhere near the enigma Spike seemed to think it was; he was constantly exploring her, attempting to unlock her secrets, as though she had anything to hide.

“But no, kitten,” he replied, nipping at her breast and deftly sliding his touch away from her sopping hole. He regarded her with a heated look at her whimper as he wrapped his hand around his cock and lathered himself with her juices. “Not gonna hurt you.”

“I—”

“You love me. Don’ wanna bollocks that up.” He dragged his lips along her collarbone and up her neck until he was kissing her again in earnest, coaxing her body downward. He rubbed himself along her clit as he’d done countless times, hungrily absorbing every pleasured sigh coursing through her body. “Want you to keep loving me.”

“Always.”

Spike pulled back just a hair. Just so she saw the blue of his ocean gaze as he pierced her with a look. “Tell me,” he whispered, the head of his cock parting her wet, pink flesh. “Tell me, pet. Please.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I love you.”

A smile stretched his lips, and he tended to hers with a gentle kiss. “An’ you’re sure?” he whispered, even as his hands urged her downward, his cock pressing into her. “God, Buffy…”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s gonna hurt, love. Not like—”

She didn’t care. She’d waited too long for this moment. She’d waited too long to have Spike’s hard body against hers in reality. If she hesitated, if she blinked, it might all vanish. The world could have ended and she wouldn’t have cared. Buffy attacked his lips with hers and sank down on him, seating his erection deep within her. She waited for the explosion of pain he’d forewarned, but there was nothing. Nothing but the familiar tightening in her lower stomach as her flesh stretched to welcome him. It was uncomfortable only for a second before pleasure rippled through her body. Spike poured a helpless moan into her mouth and clutched desperately at her hips. Ecstasy spiked her blood, elation sparking her every cell. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t tremble. Every corner of her body echoed with ecstasy. She felt him everywhere. Her scalp tingled, her eyes blazed, her skin shivered, and he was there. Watching her hungrily. Devouring her face with veneration that betrayed him. For a blessed second, there was nothing between them. His wide eyes studied her face, his heavy breaths crashing against her mouth. She felt split down the middle, and sewn together all at the same time.

It was different but it was the same. It was wonderful. She nearly laughed when the familiar sting of tears attacked her eyes. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him to her, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Oh God,” Spike murmured into her hair. “Oh God.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she fell back on the only truth she knew. “I love you.”

“Oh Buffy.” He kissed her brow, his hands squeezing her ass as she lifted off his cock and sank down again. This was a dance they knew well—a dance they had perfected with each other. And while everything was different, there was so much that remained the same. “Are you…any pain, love?”

She shook her head, her eyes shining. “No.”

Spike arched a brow and kissed the corner of her mouth. “None?”

“Is that…ohh…is that bad?”

He grinned and shook his head. “No. I jus’…” He blinked and the matter became moot the second her pussy clenched around him. A long whimper tore through the air and his expression melted again, hands following the bounce of her ass as she moved in long strokes against him. “Oh God.”

Buffy tossed her hair back. The air around her burned with novelty. It was so new—so new, yet familiar all at once. Her body protested her mind’s knowledge, clenching when she wanted nothing more than to gallop him into a vampire-shaped hole in her mattress. “You’ve told me so many times,” she whispered, her teeth scratching his lips as she thrust her hips against him, “but…I never thought we’d really…here.” The rhythmic slide of his erection in and out of her pussy had her insides melting. She was surrounded by familiarity rather than the cold impersonal walls of an imagined room. The breaths against her lips were real, as were the muted mewls that whispered around them.

“Never say never.”

Spike’s arms slid around her middle and the next thing she knew, he’d flipped her back onto the mattress and was gazing down at her, perched on his elbows and nestled between her legs. He hadn’t broken contact; his cock was still moving inside her, striking her with mastery that only shared familiarity could allow. He knew every inch of her so well. So damnably well.

“Buffy…” His lips wandered across her face, rolling his hips as though savoring every contour of her being—his erection striking nerves inside her she still hadn’t been convinced truly existed outside the fantasy world. But the dreams hadn’t lied to her—hadn’t given her a false sense of worldly pleasure. The dreams had done nothing but provide what reality wouldn’t allow.

“I din’t think it’d feel like this,” he whispered hotly, hands sliding under her shoulders. “Din’t think anything could really feel so good.”

Buffy smiled hopefully, nipping at his lips when his mouth dipped for hers. “Do I?” she whispered.

“You’re so hot. So bloody hot.”

“D-different?”

“No.” He smiled and her heart soared. “An’ yes. I can’t…explain.” His mouth dropped to her throat, lips dancing across her skin with heated expertise. “It’s different, but God you’re still…you feel so good. So bloody good. Liquid heat, you are. My hot li’l slayer.”

Her nails clawed at his shoulders, her hips battling his in a desperate need to recapture his cock inside her body every time he drew away from her. The wet slide of his flesh against her vaginal walls had the room spinning. She was set with completion; there was nothing beyond this. Beyond Spike pounding her into the mattress. Beyond the feel of his balls slapping her ass with every thrust. Beyond the squeak of a bed she didn’t know could squeak so loud. The walls of a room that had previously defined her adolescence melting away as she embraced the fullness of her womanhood.

“Slayer,” Spike gasped against her mouth, his pace quickening. “God…”

“Spike…”

“Tell me,” he growled, his mouth dancing southward until he was nursing at her breast. A hand danced across her abdomen, slow and calm even as the thrusts of his body grew more demanding. She felt his breaths rocking against her skin, felt his moans rumble through his chest in the guise of a thundering heart. He chewed on her breast and captured her clit between his fingers, massaging her in gentle counterpoint to the wild stabs of his cock. “Tell me how this feels.”

Her burning face flushed even redder. “Spike…”

“No one else, love,” he snarled, panting hard into her skin. “No one else gets to taste this.”

“No one,” she agreed breathlessly. The idea alone was more than she could handle. Her body belonged to Spike. Her everything belonged to Spike. He possessed her thoroughly. She was his; his to fuck, his to love, his to break. She just didn’t know which option he would choose in the end. How he would regard the gift that was her.

Right now, she felt like he wanted to love her. It was a pipe dream, of course—the romanticism of the day swirling with the magic of the moment. Spike was in her room, in her bed, in her body, loving her with all the words he refused to speak. The love he kept from her.

None of it mattered. She belonged to him either way. She was irrevocably lost, and she’d consigned herself to her fate.

“You’re mine.” It was a statement rather than a proclamation; he was speaking of something he already knew. He’d vamped in a blink, his yellow eyes consuming hers, his slippery fingers caressing her clit speedily until the strokes, combined with the thrusts of his cock into her warm depths, had ecstasy piercing her every nerve. “Squeeze me, kitten,” he murmured around her breast. “Wanna feel that juicy li’l quim of yours squeezin’…God, please.”

A smile tickled her lips, her slayer muscles immediately contracting around him. Spike’s eyes fell shut and he surrendered with a low moan, and in the guise of his demon, she’d never seen anything more beautiful. He favored her breast with another long, lavish lick before seizing her lips with his, teasing her with the hint of his fangs against her hot skin even if he never came close to nicking her.

“Oh yeah,” he purred rakishly, his words riding out on a whimper. “Buffy…Buffy…”

“Need…need…”

“I know what you need, kitten.” He buried his face in the crook of her throat, shuddering hard. Every stroke of his fingers had bolts of lightening shooting through her body. The heat storm mounting in her belly was on the verge of an explosion the likes of which she’d never experienced. His mouth was on her, his fangs were glimmering in the shards of moonlight peering in through the open window, his cock stuffing her pussy with every stroke—it was too much.

“Wanna feel you strangling me,” Spike growled. “Want you to drench me with your sweet…”

“Spike—”

“Do it, Buffy. Come for me. Lemme hear it.”

And from nowhere, her blood shot with a desire so forbidden she nearly wept. But how could she deny herself when this might be all she ever had? When the novelty of screwing a slayer wore off—when her love for him was no longer deserving of reverence, and she became a punchline for the history books. She’d already sold herself this far—there was no sense holding back now.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the illicit smack of their naked bodies as she barreled closer to climax.

“You’ve got me.”

“I need…your fangs.”

Spike’s eyes went wide, but his body barely registered astonishment. She didn’t know what she’d expected; a laugh, a kiss, the immediate halt of their lovemaking so he could make sure he’d heard her properly. None of that happened. If anything, the instant her words hit the air, her mind and body parted completely—body lost to bone-melting pleasure as he unmade her with every stroke, her mind racing to catch up with the magnitude of what she’d just asked.

She thought for a second he might ask her to repeat herself to make sure it was something she truly wanted. He didn’t. Instead, a leer stretched his lips before he lowered his head again, his movements slow and intentional even as his hips rocked hard against her. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, and the words made her insides shiver in the midst of blazing heat.

Then his fangs sliced into her neck, and the world around her exploded into a foray of color. Buffy screamed—she was sure she screamed, only no sound escaped her lips. Her scream was muted but deafening, every cell in her body rocketing as her body clenched and spasmed around him. She felt herself pouring out; felt his incisors in a strained pleasure-pull, Spike drinking her down his throat. He growled around mouthfuls of blood as he spilled himself inside her, as his cock rubbed her wet, sensitive flesh. Pleasure numbed her until there was nothing left but a dull tingle. Until she was aware of nothing but his ivory fangs and the welcomed weight of his body. He was inside her in every possible way, and somehow, it was still not enough.

But he was with her. He’d given her more than she’d thought she’d ever have.

He’d given her a part of himself. Turnabout was fair like that; he owned everything she was.

“Buffy,” he whispered, soft lips caressing her bloodied skin. “My Buffy…”

She trembled and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes fluttering shut.

Perhaps if she held on tight enough, perhaps if she wished hard enough, morning would never come.

Perhaps he’d never disappear.

Perhaps this moment would last forever.

 

XII *~*~* XIII *~*~*