Chapter 3
Maybe it had been wrong.
Hell, knowing him it had been wrong. But it was done now and couldn’t be undone.
He’d taken Buffy to his bed
again with so many things unsaid. Unresolved. Like the
anger burning in his heart. He was furious with her for doing exactly what he’d
sent her away to do; have a normal life. She’d tried to do it, but it hadn’t
worked out quite the way either of them expected.
She’d cried. There was real
pain reflected in her eyes. A part of him felt justified. Triumphant that she
was there with him, taking his shit
for once, and feeling the lack of love returned. It also tore him apart to see
her hurting.
He loved her. Always had and
always would. She was the part of him that he needed to feel whole. The part of
him that made him want to be a part of the light
again. He wanted to be a man for her.
He kissed her once more
before pulling out of her. She was panting, holding onto him with sweat slicked
fingers, her legs falling open as he left her. Covered in white, her hair still
done up with pins, her upper thighs and cunt exposed like a whore waiting for
the next john. Her eyes showed her vulnerability as they followed him. He hated
her for making him feel this way. One more person telling him that he was
wrong. Hated himself for making her feel so uncertain of where they stood.
Sighing, he nuzzled her neck
before turning her onto her side.
“Let’s get this dress off
you, Love,” Spike whispered in her ear. “No reason to be uncomfortable.”
“Thanks, it would feel a lot
better to be out of it,” Buffy said, with a laugh that was supposed to be
amusing, but it only sounded harsh. Almost bitter, if he
truly wanted to dissect it. He pushed it aside and concentrated on his
task.
There had to be a hundred
tiny pearl buttons down the back of her dress. His fingers,
unused to dealing with such delicate things, fumbled with the task. She
became more exposed with each one he undid. Her head was bowed, leaving her
face away from his view. Her silence left him unsure of what she was feeling. Too
many emotions were pouring from her that he couldn’t discern which one was the
strongest. They were all screaming, the positive and the negative. She was as
confused as he was. But he wanted, no needed, to know her feelings in the aftermath
of the sex they’d just shared.
Needing a response, an
inkling of where he stood, he kissed the space between her shoulder blades.
Buffy gave a whisper of a sigh. It wasn’t exactly the declaration he wanted,
but it was enough to let him know that she still desired him. That his touch was still welcomed by her, even if she was unsure of
him. It was the thread he would hold onto until things could be settled.
Buffy was wearing a corset. A
physical symbol of the emotional binding she suffered from. It was tight on her
petite frame, bending her to its will with the boning that it was made from. It
made him wonder how she’d managed to breath during their coupling. The reason
was now clear as to why she had been gasping for air.
Later he would remove it and
tend to the flesh pink from its confinement. Now he wanted to see her in it. Gaze
upon her breasts threatening to tumble free of their bindings. Once upon a time
he could have only fantasized about seeing her in something so alluring. Before she never would have worn something so deliberately sexual
for him. It would have been admitting that she desired him. He pushed the dress off her shoulders and she
sat up to tug it off.
“Lift,” Spike said.
He drew the dress down her
body, watching as it revealed what he’d missed all these years. She was as
lovely as he remembered. A few pounds added curves to the right places. Her
waist cinched tight led to hips free for his exploration. Those legs he loved
to be between were covered in silk stockings…everything she wore was virginal
white. A lie played to perfection. He knew all the things she could do in the
dark. How far into perversion she’d fallen with him. Who else had she shared
those talents with? Why had she let it break her so completely?
His rage returned at the
thought of her sharing the gifts he taught her with other men. He flung the
dress to the floor, never taking his eyes from his woman. Buffy sat up as if
she knew his mood had changed again. Her hands ran upwards along his thighs.
Her eyes pleading for that love again and it angered him even more. She’d
thrown his love into his face so many times and now she craved it like he did
blood. Begged for it like he once said she would.
It was mutual though. They
were bound together in ways that they didn’t even understand. A matched set, only completed when they were together.
He’d stayed away from her.
Let her flounder through a life that wasn’t real while he did the same. It was
only when she was about to belong to someone else had he been moved to bring
her to him. It seemed he was more possessive then he thought he was. Or wanted to admit to. By his own hand she was with him and
he could no longer hide from the need and the hatred he felt. Or from what she
had allowed herself to become.
Buffy wrapped her hand
around his cock, stroking it into hardness before lowering her head again. He
watched his cock disappearing between those pink lips and into the heat of her
mouth again. He grabbed her by the hair, gently tugging her away.
“My way,” Spike said when
she looked up at him, startled by his refusal.
Spike pushed her down on the
bed, amazed by her compliance to his demands. He lay between her legs,
spreading them, before lowering his own head. He tasted their mingled fluids.
Enjoying the richness of how they were together. His tongue darted to her
clitoris, teasing it by circling around it, letting her come to a simmer again.
She shifted beneath him.
“Please,” Buffy mewled.
He withdrew his tongue
letting it cover the outside of her folds. He flicked the tip. It barely
penetrated between her lips. His hands held her hips in an effort to hold her
quivering form still. She was all motion though, arching up, trying to receive
more of his attention. Her hands dived into his hair, pushing him against her.
There was power here. It
thrilled him that Buffy was at his mercy again. Memories of nights gone by came
to him. The nights that he gave everything to her, heart and body, and she used
him for what she needed. His heart refused to acknowledge those moments of tenderness,
of lovemaking, and all the times she called his name in the heat of the moment.
Like now, no one could truly be there for her.
And no one gave a fuck about
him.
What a pair they made.
His most precious memory
came to him though. The first time she kissed him in gratitude for protecting
Dawn from Glory. Never in his existence had anyone ever touched him with such
gentleness. Oh, he had loved her before then, worshipped her, wanted her, but
after that he was her willing slave for life. It was she that forever defined
happiness and love to him.
He hated himself for it.
A weak,
pathetic creature of the undead, loving the golden girl of the human race.
This time though he knew she
was his. Her cunt pressed to his face, his nose buried in the musky wetness of
her center, his tongue tasting the juices that ran for him. Here she was
vulnerable and here is where he could hurt her the most.
Spike slipped his arm
beneath her, flipping them so that she was sitting on his face. Buffy grabbed
the headboard while he pulled her down so he could drink from her. Her essence
mixed with his cum dripped down on him, cold, sticky, coating him from forehead
to chin. He swiped his tongue along her
slit, swallowing every bit he could get. She moaned above him. He ran his hands
along her sides, laying them flat on her back as she rode his tongue.
“Oh, Spike, yes,” Buffy
hissed. “I’ve missed you…what you can do.”
He slipped his fingers
inside the velvet walls of her pussy, pressing upwards, until she trembled from
the passion. Between tongue and finger, he played her like a symphony that
haunted your sleeping moments, but when needed was readily recalled during the
brilliance of day. She arched, and bucked above him, until he decided enough
was enough. He yanked her down his body and onto his cock.
She didn’t hesitate. Buffy
rose and fell on his hardened member like he was the prize bull at mating
season. He felt the first roar of her coming. His fingers kneaded her thighs
while her voice rose to a crescendo, shaking the walls with the scream that
erupted at her orgasm. She clamped down on him as he pushed up into her. They
continued to slap together until his body was tensed with need. He thrust
upwards with his heels, going so far inside of her, into that heat to shatter
into a million pieces and then let himself float back down. Buffy collapsed on top of him and he held her
tight.
“I love you,” Buffy mumbled.
Her sigh of contentment
brushed along his neck and shoulder in a gesture as intimate as the act they just
committed. His hand skimmed over her body again, pulling her legs apart so they
rested on either side of his hips. Then he pulled the comforter over them as
best as he could, considering they were still lying on it. The room smelt of
sex, sweat, and them. She was covered in his scent. Marked for anyone else to
know she belonged to someone. Later,
he thought brushing her hair away from her throat; I will mark her so that the world will see. I will drink of her and she of me. We will be one.
To be continued…
