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Chapter 1

The simple, brainless audacity of showing up at a frat party thrown by the commandos was perhaps the dumbest thing he’d done in recent memory. She honestly couldn’t believe he would be so stupid. Well, okay, that was a lie. It was Spike. Of course he was that stupid. Incredulity was on hold—Buffy just supposed that she was disappointed. Or amused. She wasn’t sure which. A part of her had always assumed that he had more smarts than this.

It didn’t matter, she supposed. It wasn’t like she gave a crap what happened to the bleached wonder. He could pretend to be the undead college student if he wanted. She had better things to do. Better things to worry about. Better things like her not-at-all dull boyfriend, who was currently making eyes at her. Giving her that look. The can-we-sneak-upstairs-for-a-quickie look.

Emphasis on quickie, she thought dryly, plastering on a smile and shooting him her best come-hither gaze with a forced, feminine bat of her eyes. He was so sweet. So wholesome in a really boring way. But the boring thing was nice. It was so…dull. And uneventful. And there wasn’t any sobbing over his evil counterpart, because to have an evil counterpart, Riley the First would have to have personality.

Riley the First seemed to be in the mood for a round of naked wrestling. Only not so much with the wrestling as the robotic push-ups, a few grunts, and passing out next to her. He’d tell her he loved her, and she’d repeat it, and she’d be happy because he was Joe Normal and that was so what she wanted. Mr. Normal. Mr. Mediocre Sex. Mr. Happy-To-Bring-Her-Breakfast-In-Bed.

Was she a complete freak for not making with the swooning? Probably. Buffy the Freak. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to this. She’d been Freak Buffy ever since high school. Why should college be any different?

It didn’t help that Riley was like communism. Good on paper. Not so much in real life.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy shook her head, jarred suddenly from her reverie. Her eyes caught sight of a familiar leather-clad platinum Brit stumbling away from a group of meat-headed frat boys, wiping his duster and glaring a glare that would bite if glares could.

“Watch where you’re going!” he growled. “This duster’s an antique!”

She rolled her eyes and set her drink down. Oh great. More Spike. Just the thing she needed to distract her from her only mildly-interesting boyfriend. Spike in the Lowell House, around the same commandos that had defanged him. Obviously the vamp had a dust-wish. And hey, she was the Slayer. She was bored. Two birds, one stake. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a bust after all.

Besides, that duster an antique? Yeah, in what universe?

Spike was shaking his head when he stalked in her direction, furious and obviously wanting to sink his fangs into something fleshy and human. She’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t the bane of her existence. He was so focused on being pissed off that he didn’t notice her until he bumped into her—very literally—and stumbled over his feet with an irritated growl.

“Oi! Shove off you—” The fire in his eyes calmed a bit when he realized who she was, then flared again when he remembered that he hated her. “Oh, it’s you. Slayer. Here with your enormous Ken doll?” He turned and scoured the room, grinning tightly to himself when his gaze landed on Riley. Riley, who was now not so much with the quickie-look and more with the where’s-the-nearest-stake look. “Ah. There he is. All the way on the other side of the room. What’s the matter? You two on the outs?”

Buffy planted her hands on her hips and tried very hard to ignore the not-a-tingly that raced down her spine. If she started analyzing why the hatred and loathing in Spike’s eyes did more to turn her on than the compassion and love in Riley’s, she’d end up as loopy as Drusilla. She was only excited because fighting with Spike kept her from being bored.

Well, it kept Riley from giving her the looks, which meant it kept her from sneaking off for the obligatory quickie. That’s what the girlfriend did, of course. Avoid oh-so-boring-but-wonderfully-normal quickies with a sweet, attentive, dull boyfriend. She was being normal girl. She was Josephine Normal.

And Spike, as unwanted as he always was, made for the perfect no-nookie excuse. She had some not-so empty threats to make.

Okay, so there would be no actual stakeage. That didn’t make the threats any less threatening.

“Spike. Just the vamp I’ve been meaning to stake.” She smiled sweetly. “What happened? Did not-eating-people get a little dull for you?”

He huffed, his eyes blazing with fury. “One day, Slayer,” he growled. “I’ll—”

“Make with the verbal intimidations? I’m trembling in my incredibly stylish shoes.” The sweet smile turned into a nasty smirk. “Or wait, no. That’s not trembling. That’s a lot more like laughing. You know, on the inside?”

Spike snarled, but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he rocked back on his heels, a strange light filling his eyes. “What is this? Oh, wait. Lemme take a poke. I’m guessin’ you’re on your monthlies, an’ I’m getting yet another glimpse of the Slayer when she’s sexually frustrated. Well…” He glanced over to Riley and sneered. “More-so than usual, anyhow.”

Okay, so it wasn’t as much fun when he was making fun of her. No, she much preferred it the other way around. “You are this close,” she hissed through her teeth, “to fitting in an ashtray.”

“Y’know, Slayer…” He paused, then shook his head. “No, I can’t even feign fear.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re all talk. All balls an’ swagger without any follow through.” He shrugged, his lips pulling up in that damn irritating smirk. He so deserved to have his ass utilized as a mop. “Face it, Slayer. There’s just not enough monster in you to do in—”

“The impotent?” she interjected, beaming. “The useless? The formerly scary? The—”

His eyes blazed amber, and for a fleeting second, Buffy found herself overwhelmed with the beauty of his restraint. He didn’t allow himself to lose so much control that he blew his cover—even though he wasn’t exactly being discreet with the shouting—but she had never thought of Spike as having any self-control. Especially when his monster wanted loose. Watching him allow the demon to peek out but not make with the grrr was an oddly arousing sight.

Buffy blinked. Okay. Be kind, rewind.

Arousing?

Okay, so maybe she was in need of some unsatisfying sex. If Spike was arousing, she was obviously deprived. Or just really horny.

So horny that bad sex made up for no sex at all.

“Watch it!” he snarled.

“Or you’ll what? Scold me?” Her smirk fell back into place and she linked her hands behind her, taking a slow step forward. “It’s not like you can vamp out, now is it, Spikey? These soldier boys get a look at your bumpies, and it’s back to the lab with your incredibly flaccid self.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Why, Slayer,” he purred. “With all the jabs you keep taking at my manhood, one would think you’re looking for a quick demo. An’, luv, it’s not that I’m not interested. It’s…” He paused and pretended to think. “Oh, wait. No, it’s exactly that I’m not interested.”

Oh, that was so far below the belt, it was in a different hemisphere. Buffy glared at him and fought to bite back a demon-like snarl, even if Spike so deserved to be snarled at. She balled her hand into a fist and would have smashed him across the room had he not clucked his tongue like a disappointed schoolmarm and caught her by the wrist before she could send him flying.

“Ah, ah, ah, Slayer. None of that.”

She was seething with anger, panting. Her boobs were doing the heaving thing. And those were so not sparks of lust that jolted through her.

Eww. Spike lust.

So, yes. She was deprived. Very deprived. Very much in need of bad sex. Buffy hazarded a glance at the provider of said bad sex. He’d gone from wanting-some-loving to wanting-a-stake to asking her, with a look, if she needed any assistance in dealing with her problem.

“Ohhh, I saw that,” Spike cooed, releasing her easily the second she thought to jerk herself free of his hold. “Your boy stepping on your toes, Slayer? It’s gotta smart not to have a super-honey to cuddle up with at night. Bet that bloody heartbeat gets in the way, too. You like your men…what? Room temperature?”

“Get bent.”

Okay, so as far as slayer jabs went, that pretty much sucked. Buffy’s cheeks seared with heat. Why was it that Spike always brought out the worst in her?

He mocked a gasp and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, Slayer. You wound me with your limited vocabulary.”

That was it. That was so completely it. He was going to get his ass kicked. His ass so thoroughly needed to be kicked. But not down here. Not where the commandos were. If they caught on that Spike was a vamp, they’d cart him off. And as much fun as that would be for about two minutes, she would definitely miss having a residential vamp at her disposal. One she could use as a punching bag whenever local baddies weren’t being giving with the showing-up-to-get-slain thing.

“That’s it,” Buffy spat, grabbing him by the ear. “You’re coming with me.”

“Ow!” Spike yelped and jerked hard, only prompting her to strengthen her hold. “Bleeding hell! What kind of ninny are you? Dragging a bloke by his—ow!”

She rolled her eyes, marching intently toward the stairs. “Yeah. That’s right. I’m the ninny. You’re such a baby, you know that?”

“Let a fella gain his footing, Slayer. Din’t know you liked it this rough.”

Her skin flushed with another wave of heat, and she ignored Forrest’s rich laugh. She’d know Forrest’s laugh anywhere. It was so boomy and…Forresty. He really had something against her, and undoubtedly, he’d do his best to make Riley feel like the cast-off. Stupid Forrest. After she was done kicking Spike’s pale ass, it was so his turn.

In her dream-world, at least. Forrest was so breakable and human. And, as Giles loved to remind her, there were rules for humans. Rather, rules protecting humans. Even the annoying ones.

Buffy led him directly to the only room she’d ever visited at the Lowell House, shoving him over the threshold violently and slamming the door behind her.

Spike stumbled inelegantly. “Christ. You’d think…” He paused, straightened, then sniffed at the air, his face contorting with disgust. “Bleeding hell, haven’t you an’ Soldier Boy ever heard of sodding air freshener? God, it’s gonna take a biblical flood of booze to get this smell outta my head.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Me?! You’re the one that dragged me up to your love nest!”

“It’s not my—” She paused, willed her eyes closed, and held up a hand. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Not that I care if you find yourself recaptured or dusted or—hey—both, if it’s a really good day, but what the hell are you doing here?”

Spike shrugged, unbothered. “It’s a free country.”

“And in the category of ‘excuses most used by five-year-olds,’ Spike the Impotent takes a staggering leap forward.” Buffy smiled unpleasantly, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m beginning to think that you want to be captured again.”

“An’ I’m beginning to think that you actually care,” Spike retorted. “Why else would you be dragging me away from the very blokes that are looking to make me a sodding lab rat again? If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Slayer has a soft spot for yours truly.”

“But that’s just the thing, Spike. You don’t know better.”

His brows perked in interest, his chest heaving and his angry eyes flecked with amusement. “So you’re saying it’s true, then?”

“What?”

“You just—”

Buffy held up a hand. “You know what? I’ve had it.”

“That song gets duller an’ duller the more you sing it.”

“I doubt Riley would mind if I broke off a piece of his headboard.” Okay, so with the heaving bosom? She didn’t know that women who technically had no bosoms to heave could make with the heaving, but she was having definite heaving. Plus her skin was all hot and tight and she was pretty sure that wasn’t only adrenalin rushing through her veins. “Especially if he learns that I used it to make you a bunch of dusty particles.”

Spike shrugged. “If I have to dust to keep that god-awful stench from rotting up the air,” he drawled, waving generally at the bed, “then it’s a bloody good cause.”

Heat crashed over her. “You are so beyond dust.”

“Oh, yeah, Slayer? Do your worst.”

So she did. She totally did. That is, she did if her worst consisted of leaping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and tugging his mouth up to hers. If her worst meant rubbing herself wantonly against the hardened strain of his denim-clad erection and sucking his tongue into her mouth. Spike growled and seized her shoulders, pulling her flush against him and nipping at her lips.

“Stop,” she gasped, trying futilely to pull away from him. “Stop!” She tugged him up for another kiss and thrust her pelvis against his. “God, Spike, let me go!”

“I’m trying,” he snarled, and he sounded so bewildered and furious that she believed him. Well, bewildered, furious, and turned-on beyond turned-on. “Get your grubby paws off me, you cock-sick bint!”

He concluded his tirade by fisting the loose material of her blouse and ripping it clean off her body, his mouth breaking from hers to kiss a wet path down her throat.

“Spike…” Her stomach was tightening in ways that it should not tighten around Spike. And God, she was wet. She was on fire. Every nerve in her body was ablaze, and Spike couldn’t touch her enough. “Stop touching me!”

“Are you deaf?” he growled, his teeth nipping at her breasts before ripping her bra away. “I’m trying.”

Buffy’s insides trembled. The thing was, she was trying to stop, as well. She was trying to shove him off, but every effort she made was countered by treacherous hands that tugged him closer and a mouth that was hexed to want nothing more than his kisses. She was trying to kick him off her so she could stake him for daring to make with the touchies, but her body wasn’t listening.

I can’t stop. Oh God, I can’t stop.

And from the way he was making quick work of her clothing, it didn’t take much to guess where this was headed.

Now was definitely a time for panic.

“You make me sick.”

Spike snorted, wrapping his lips around her nipple, his left hand slipping under the waistband of her slacks. “Yeah,” he growled, rubbing her cotton-clad pussy. “An’ this is all so bloody fun for me.”

“Do you have any idea how incredibly dead you are after this is over?” Buffy ground out, determined to keep her body from reacting from the sinful goodness of his oh-so-wrong touches. Didn’t exactly bode well for her when he coaxed her legs back to the floor easily enough, his fingers immediately occupied with the clasp of her pants. “I swear, Spike, once I’m through with you, there won’t be enough of you to fill a dust-buster.”

He smirked in spite of himself, nipping at her breast and dragging her slacks down her legs. “Kinky,” he commented, his smirk widening when she raised her hand to smack him, only to find her fingers weaving through his hair to hold him to her. “Mmm, Slayer. Gotta say, for a bint that has no bloody interest in me at all, your scent is—”

“Don’t you dare say anything nasty.”

“So I shouldn’t comment on how warm an’…gooey you are?” He leered unpleasantly, bunching the crotch of her panties aside. “Naughty li’l minx. Don’t tell me…the monster turns you on? You need your men cold.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“An’ yet,” he drawled, sliding a finger between her pussy lips. “You’re dripping with honey, honey.”

Spike tapped her clit before she could grind her teeth and attempt to kick him across the room. He laughed when she moaned, and the chime of his humor was so condescending she would stake him right now if she could…stake him right now. It was more than obvious that some bizarre-o spell had claimed her better senses. Like she wanted to be panting and moaning and writhing under Spike’s touch? Spike’s touch. Eww. How wrong was that?

“It’s Riley’s room,” she ground out, her treacherous hips thrusting forward and a long moan peeling from her lips as his fingers rubbed her clit. “You know? My hunky, demon-fighting boyfriend?”

Spike just laughed.

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?” He arched a brow. “Finding your lack of a sex life amusing? Don’t think so, luv.”

“I hate you.”

“Mutual.” Spike flashed another insolent smirk. “But oddly, that doesn’t make you any less wet for me. The Slayer doth protest too much, methinks.”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Spike wasn’t so much with the protesty now as he was with the going-along-with-it. Oh God. What if this was some sick way to get into her pants? What if he’d orchestrated this whole thing? He’d tricked her into luring him up into Riley’s room, and he’d put some spell on her to make her willingly submissive in his sick fantasies.

Yes. Yes. That was the only explanation. The only thing that made a bit of sense in her incredibly fogged-with-wrong-Spike-lust head. “You did this,” she hissed, her head rolling back as she stepped out of the pool of fabric that had wrapped around her ankles. Goodbye pants, hello panic. “You…freak.”

“I did this?” Spike’s surprised outrage was punctuated with a particularly jerky thrust of his fingers inside her core. Buffy mewled and grabbed a hold of his shoulders, squeezing tight to maintain balance. “You’re off your nutter.”

“You and your…sick…slayer…fixation.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, pet, but I’d rather have my innards turned inside out than give your useless self an’ even more useless shag.” He paused, easing his fingers out of her body and drawing them to his mouth. “Though, I gotta say…it’ll be a bloody hoot to boldly go where only one vamp has gone before.”

Buffy wanted to kick him. She really did. And she tried. She tried to lift her leg and send him across the room and hopefully out the nearest window. Instead, she found her rebellious calf wrapping around his waist, her non-punching hands sliding up his arms. God, this was wrong.

“Stop touching me!” she squealed, jumping when he pinched her nipples, his mouth nibbling at her throat. “I swear, Spike—”

“I’m bloody trying. You daft bint, don’t you listen to a word anyone other than you says?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’re trying very hard.”

“Yeah, an’ I’m sure this is you giving it your all.” Spike pulled his head back, his eyes narrowing when she suddenly fisted his tee and ripped the garment away without a blink. “An’ hold on a bleeding second. How is it that I don’t know that this isn’t all your doing?”

“My doing?” Okay, so her mouth wasn’t supposed to dive for his chest to shower his skin with kisses. And yet, there it went with the diving. And the showering with kisses. And—ohhh, God, this so wasn’t good. Both her feet were suddenly on the ground again and her lips were moving southward. Toward the denim-clad brick in Spike’s pants.

There was no spell on earth that would ever persuade her to stick anything of his into her mouth.

Unfortunately, as she realized after dropping to her knees, her body hadn’t received that memo. Her hands ripped at his belt.

“Yeah,” Spike said finally, his voice strained. She pressed her right hand fully against his length, rubbing him gently as her other hand pulled at his zipper. “You’re the…one with the…bloody witch for a friend.”

“And your point is?” Buffy’s eyes boggled as Spike’s incredibly…umm, erect cock sprang out at her. “Hey! Watch it! You nearly got my eye!”

“Well, then don’t lean in so close, you moron! What’d you think would happen?”

“I’m not trying to lean in!”

Spike smirked and wrapped a hand around his erection. “Yeah. An’ that’s not drool leakin’ out the corner of your mouth.”

“Ugh.”

“Admit it, pet. You’re stunned speechless. Bet you never saw one that could poke anything out before, yeah?”

“You’re depraved.”

“An’ you’re on your knees in front of me. What does that make you?”

Buffy’s eyes darkened and she hissed through her teeth, wincing when her mouth neared his cock, her lips parting to accommodate him. “Hexed,” she gritted out, her tongue indulging in a long lap of his velvety head. “And pissed off.”

Spike gasped shortly, his eyes rolling back and his hands flying to her face. “Oh, Christ,” he panted, hips surging forward and forcing his cock further down her throat. Buffy’s eyes bulged and she squeaked in complaint. “More. God, more. Take me in deeper.”

“I’ your ‘reamsph’,” she attempted to growl, only to incite another long moan.

“Fine. Talk,” he snarled, fisting a handful of her hair. “I don’t care what you say.”

Buffy growled—or rather, tried to. It just earned more cock down her throat.

“Fuck, yeah.”

“I ha’e you,” she spat, her insides boiling with fury when his eyes crossed and he thrust so hard that his balls slapped her chin. This was so degrading. And worst of all, her body was reacting to it in all the wrong ways. Every nerve was on fire, and the liquid heat between her legs was beginning to burn her skin. She wanted to be on the bed and under him. She wanted his cool touch to quench the fire blazing through her veins. Only, no, she didn’t want that. She wanted Spike’s dick out of her mouth and a stake through his chest. She wanted to be covered in his dust, not in his undead man juice.

“Know why…you’re such a hothead,” Spike said, his voice caught between a growl and a purr. “Oh, God.”

Buffy was thoroughly unraveled. Perhaps it was hearing that Spike didn’t hate this—that he was being so verbose about enjoying himself. There wasn’t a need for him to pretend. There wasn’t a need for him to make as though this was the most degrading, humiliating experience of his entire life. He had no ties—no steady vamp ho who demanded his fidelity. It wasn’t his skanky girlfriend’s bedroom that they were currently christening in the very, very bad sense. His mouth wasn’t on any of her girl parts.

This was just wrong. It was icky and wrong. Buffy didn’t care what her body told her; she didn’t care that her heart was racing in the purely have-to-have-you-now way or that her skin was tight with anticipation. And the fact that her pussy was drenched and aching for his touch? Purely the spell. The spell that, for whatever reason, demanded that Spike get some serious servicing. “Phhsop!”

Spike had lost himself to a series of guttural grunts and purrs, and his hips had found a steady rhythm. With every other gasp of unneeded breath, he rumbled what sounded like a dirty compliment about how hot she was or how good she felt. And for an instant—for an insane blink of lost rationality—Buffy could imagine that he meant it.

“Buffy—”

“Gmphh!”

He wasn’t going to stop; Buffy realized with a start that he wasn’t going to stop. That he likely couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. No more than she could evidently let him. Every time she tried to shove him away, her grip on his hips tightened. She wanted to chomp down on the intrusive appendage being shoved down her throat—just to get him away from her mouth, but every time the thought even fluttered across her mind, all she could do was suck him in deeper. There was nothing she could do. Absolutely nothing. Spike’s cock was thrusting steadily between her puckered lips, the sharp jerks of his hips becoming more pronounced as his body tightened beneath her touch.

Oh God. Oh God.

He wasn’t going to—

“Oh fuck. Buffy!” The bones in his face shifted and his fangs descended. And everything stopped. For a blink, for a fraction of a second, Buffy found herself stunned by the haunting beauty of his demon.

Then he trembled and roared and came, his fingers tightening around her hair, the head of his cock stabbing the back of her throat as his spendings spilled into her. Buffy choked in surprise, but found herself guzzling him down all the same. And then he was tugging her to her feet, his eyes bathing her in awe before blinking it away in lieu of the much-more-comfortable hatred and loathing.

“Don’t,” Buffy barked, commanding her knees to not tremble when he growled and leaned inward, his mouth finding her throat. “Say. A. Word.”

“Not like there’s anything to say, anyway,” he spat, and the venom in his voice made the insecure woman in her shrivel into a ball. “What is it, Slayer? Too much for you?”

“I—”

“Gotta say, din’t expect you to drink me down so willingly. Taste something you like?”

“Ugh!” It was useless; she knew it was useless. Every time she tried to hit him, her hands decided to do something stupid like grab his ass or squeeze his cock—or collaborate to do both simultaneously. “I’m going to have to swim in mouthwash to get that taste out of my mouth.”

“No real men for the Slayer, is that it?”

“Oh. A real man. Is that what you are?”

“You tell me. You’re the one that couldn’t handle the—”

Buffy growled—or rather tried, but it came out rather pathetic. Especially when Spike’s wandering fingers dove between her legs again and slid easily into her dripping pussy. “Don’t…ohhh…don’t even.”

“Can’t help it if your other blokes didn’t educate you properly. Think that’s why we’re doing this?” His thumb settled over her clit, his lips wrapping around one of her nipples and giving it a good suck. “Think Soldier Boy wanted to make things more interesting? Figured I was a bloke who had enough experience to—”

Anger clouded her vision and seized her veins. There weren’t words enough to describe how dust he was going to be when this was over. “Angel’s bigger than you!” she squealed, her nails digging into his upper arms when he pinched her sensitive pearl. “Sooo much bigger.”

Spike snarled angrily around her breast. “Nice try.”

“He—he is. He’s so…” Buffy’s anger melted on a whimper. God, his fingers felt so good inside her body, his mouth slowly trailing northward. He touched her with affection, even if his eyes regarded her with hatred. He reached places with his fingers that no man had ever reached before. “He’s…so…”

“You forget, love…” He bit lightly at her throat with his blunt teeth, growling into her skin when she gasped and jerked violently against his hand. “Angel’s got less modesty than Tommy Lee when he’s soulless. He never exactly covered up between sessions of fucking what’s left of Dru’s brains out. You’re not gonna get me on issues of size, sweets.”

“You sick pervert.”

Spike shrugged, wrangling a kiss from her lips. “You’re the one who brought it up,” he replied, rubbing her silken, slippery flesh with cool expertise. “Guess it’s only fair to assume you’re the one hung up on size issues, yeah? What’s the matter? Soldier Boy not fill you up in all the right places?”

“Get bent!”

Okay. So she said that a lot. It so didn’t mean anything. No Freudian-slips for Buffy.

“Ohhh. Does he not bend where you want him to?”

“You are this close—” She wrapped her left arm around his waist, rubbing herself wantonly against him as her other hand caught him by the neck to anchor him into her kisses. “To fitting—in an…an ash…tray.”

Another line on permanent repeat. Lust plus spell equaled not-so-punny Buffy.

“You can imagine how much fear that fails to strike in my unbeating heart,” Spike retorted, curling his fingers inside her. “You’re burning me up.”

“If only.”

He snarled, his thumb slipping over her clit again. “Tell me that now,” he barked, rubbing her with harshness offset by the pretense of gentility. “Tell me you’re not about to come in my hand for what I do to you.”

Buffy choked a gasp and tossed her head back. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her body was humming with need and Spike was there to quench it. It wasn’t fair that she had no control over what she was doing, especially when she was so conditioned to mediocre sex. It wasn’t fair that she was under a spell and caught upstairs in her boyfriend’s bedroom with a vampire she hated. It wasn’t fair that she was more aroused than she’d ever been in the whole of her life. It wasn’t fair that she was experiencing this with Spike. Spike. Spike, who, at best, should be nothing more than an illicit wet dream. A guilty pleasure to entertain her thoughts when things became too tedious in her never-tedious life. He was something off limits to her. Something totally forbidden. In no way should the sick, shady fantasies she’d entertained ever become reality. She felt dirty enough when she did the aforementioned entertaining of shady fantasies. Playing it out, with or without a spell? There wasn’t a big enough rock to climb under.

There had to be a way to fight this. There had to be a way to overcome her treacherous body before things fell even more out of control.

“Stop touching me,” she said lamely. “I swear, Spike, if you don’t stop touching me—”

“You’ll what? Suck me off, again?”

“You’re disgusting.”

He waggled his brows. “Don’t you mean delicious?”

That was it. She was going to shove him onto the nearest wooden point. Only not, because she knew, even as she grabbed his shoulders, that her body was not her own and she’d just end up kissing his lips off again. Thus it was as surprising to her as it was to him when she succeeded in tossing him away from her. Didn’t matter that he was taking those magical fingers with him—the further away from Spike she was, the better.

Only her body had a different agenda. Rather than turn on her heel, collect her clothing and the shattered remains of her dignity and march out, her so-not lustful eyes watched as he flopped on the bed.

She licked her lips, her gaze traveling to his cock. Emphasis on flop.

“Bloody hell!”

Yeah. Just looking at him, even—and especially when—he was all angry, made her hot. And only a part of it had to do with the stupid spell, or whatever had them all hands. She was completely depraved. She needed her head examined and possibly rebooted.

That forgetting spell that she’d never actually made Willow do? Yeah, that was so happening once this was over. Not only would Buffy never remember what happened here, but she’d make sure Spike had no memories of it, either. The last thing she needed was a vampire who hated her following her around, making puns at how terrible she was in bed. Not that he’d tell her otherwise, regardless. Even if she gave him the best night of hot monkey love he’d ever experienced in his pathetic unlife, he’d do nothing but go for the throat.

Which was why she was going to make with the clothes-collecting and the reputation salvaging and bolt while he wasn’t touching her.

At least, that’s what she told herself. Reality wasn’t quite as giving. Before she could blink, Buffy found herself racing across the room and jumping onto the bed with an enthusiastic bounce.

Spike’s eyes flashed and he licked his lips, thrusting his pelvis upward when she straddled his waist. “Ohhh, baby,” he growled. “Like I said…should’ve known you liked it rough.”

Buffy sucked in a deep breath. The way his cock caressed her backside felt too good for him to be such a heartless bastard. Life was, in so many ways, the least fair thing ever.

“Shut up,” she spat. “And let me go!”

He blinked rapidly. “Umm, sweetling, in case you din’t notice, you’re the one on top.” His lips peeled back in an unpleasant sneer. “Now give me your tits if you’re gonna do nothing but wave them in my face.”

“I hate you.”

Spike’s smirk broadened and he blew her an insolent kiss. “Mutual.” He reached between them and wrapped his hand around his erection, rubbing himself against her sodden folds as she rotated her hips.

Oh God. Oh God. This was really happening. This was really, really happening. Kissing she could handle. Groping she was familiar with. A blowjob? Well, she’d need Willow to eradicate that memory. But this? Actual insertion-of-penis sex? There wasn’t a spell big enough to undo this.

“If you even think of putting that thing inside me, I’ll—” Buffy seized his wrists and forced his arms to the mattress beside his head, sinking down on his cock with a whimper. “Oh God.”

Okay. She needed a new plan.

“Buffy,” Spike growled, his eyes shining and his hips thrusting upward, trying to seat himself deeper within her. “Oh Christ.”

Right now.

The look in his eyes would remain with her for as long as she lived. It was so singular—so completely Spike in a way that rattled her insides. The blanket of awe that veiled his eyes was so open, so vulnerable and naked that she couldn’t keep herself from trembling. She’d only seen that look once before. Only once.

Once, when wiggling in his lap and under a very different spell, she’d tugged on his earlobe with her teeth and whispered how much she loved him.

He’d looked at her like she was a goddess. Like she was everything. No one had ever looked at her like that; in a blink, she’d known why she was marrying him. Spike loved her like no one else ever could.

When the spell was over, they’d gone back to hating each other. And every time that he’d looked at her thereafter, a part of her had wept that there was no love. There was no awe. There was only outrage and loathing.

Now Spike was looking at her like that again. Her hands were on his chest, her boobs were once more doing the heaving thing, and his cock was buried inside her.

“Buffy?” he asked softly, panting.

This was so wrong. So unbelievably wrong. Spike’s skin was beneath her fingers. And he was looking at her like she was made of gold.

“Oh my God,” she squeaked, her treacherous hips rising in a rhythm that, by now, her body knew well. Granted, with Riley, she never steered. He’d never given her the opportunity to steer. It was always girl-on-bottom with him, and she’d been happy with that. Riley was her Joe Normal, after all. And she did like him. Quite a bit. She wanted to keep him happy. She wanted to keep him with her and not running off to start up his own detective agency in LA. She was totally a fool-me-twice-shame-on-me girl.

Riley was comfortable. He was dependable. He was…

So not for her.

“Buffy,” Spike whispered again, his fingers sliding up her sides until he had two handfuls of Buffy-breasts. “You…”

If he said something about how she felt, she was going to die. The look in Spike’s eyes notwithstanding, she knew anything that came from his mouth would in no way be complimentary. So she slapped a hand over his mouth and moved to get off him—to hobble to the door, make a second attempt to gather her shredded dignity and head for the proverbial hills—and instead, quite predictably, found herself leaning over until her breasts were pressed against his chest.

“Don’t say anything,” she gritted out. “Just…don’t.”

That was it. The awed look vanished in a blink, as though he suddenly remembered who he was dealing with. His fingers dug into her hips and he bounced his pelvis upward, a nasty leer tickling his lips. “Well, are you gonna move or what? Honestly, you’re the Slayer. Don’t tell me you make the bloody boy do all the work. Thought you were dizzy with the girl power.”

Yeah. That was exactly the sort of thing she hadn’t wanted to hear.

“What can I say?” she spat back, choking back a gasp at the feel of his length sliding out of her. She sucked in a breath and hovered over him, her silken walls wrapped around his belled head. “You just don’t do it for me.”

Not exactly the most convincing thing she could have said, given how loud she moaned when she sank back onto his cock. But for the look on his face—the spark of insecurity that flashed across his eyes—a shiver of satisfaction raced down her spine.

It only lasted for a second. Spike’s uncertainty melted into a smirk, and he slipped a hand between them, his thumb rubbing her roughly where they were joined. “Oh, I dunno, Slayer,” he growled. “Feels like a job good an’ done to me.”

“You’re sick,” she panted.

“Can’t disagree. Buried balls-deep within the slayer an’ she’s not even wiggling properly. I do have the urge to heave.”

Buffy raised her hand to smack him—she really did. Only instead she found herself again seizing his shoulders and dragging his mouth upward until she was tearing kisses away from his sinfully delicious lips. And then her body couldn’t stand it. She had him inside her. She had Spike buried deep within her pussy, and she couldn’t fight her need anymore, if she ever had.

She swirled her hips and moaned into his kiss. “Oh God.”

“You’re telling me,” he murmured, the fire in his eyes fading again. “Knew you’d be tight. God, squeeze me, pet. Show me what those delicious muscles of yours can do.”

Her veins flushed with a confused combination of outrage and heat. “Do I need to remind you yet again how incredibly dusty you’re gonna be once this spell is over?” she barked, tossing her head back, her thrusts becoming harder and more boisterous. This on-top thing was definitely worth exploring. Later. With her boyfriend. After she had her mind scrubbed of the nastiness that was Spike.

Yeah, she was trembling because having his cock locked inside her was nasty. Much with the nasty. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

“Good,” he spat, though again his eyes curtained with hurt. “You’re not as warm as some other nice perky humans I’ve shagged. Guess Angel cooled you up all over.” He grinned cruelly. “Is that the reason you had the Red Witch hex us?”

“Shut up!”

“Ohhh. Hit a li’l close to the mark, there?” He nipped at her shoulder with his blunt teeth, his left palm pressing her ass against his cock as he rolled his hips under her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how good he felt. How his skin rubbed her inner walls in a way that she’d only read about in smutty romance novels. There was a burning in her belly that she’d only experienced three times. Once with Angel—a lifetime ago, and twice with Riley, though she was almost certain that her Rileygasms had been a mistake. He never really did anything different to ensure that she got off; though to be fair, she never told him that she didn’t. Sure, he’d made her scream in satisfaction a couple times, but only a couple. Enough to give her a good idea how to fake it, and fake it convincingly.

Though, in retrospect, he’d taught her nothing she couldn’t have learned from Meg Ryan.

What she felt now, though, paled in comparison to anything she’d felt before. It had to be the spell. It had to be. There was simply no civilization to be had.

“You wish,” she hissed.

“Yeah,” he agreed dryly, pinching her clit and pressing her harder against his cock. “I stay awake at night, dreaming of your quim. If this is all you had to offer, no wonder Soul Boy din’t stick around.”

She growled. Honest to God, Buffy growled, and smashed her pussy against him with such anger that her skin burned. She wanted to fuck him so hard that he ached. That his cock broke and he never found satisfaction in any woman ever again. She wanted him alive if it meant he suffered and ashes-to-ashes dead if he had something to live for.

“You’re—”

“Dust?” Spike’s brows flickered. “Not soon enough.”

Okay, words were just words, but the way Spike felt inside her? If she was going to be completely honest, there weren’t words enough. The cool, slippery slide of his flesh against hers made every nerve in her body hum to life. She was suddenly aware of everything. The air that crashed against her skin, the springs that squeaked every time her body collided with his, the steady rock of the headboard against the wall that grew louder with every thrust; every part of her was screaming. Spike was inside her, and she felt like screaming.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he growled with interest, his eyes shining. “You’re tightening around me. You’re about to come until you can’t walk.”

Yes, she totally was. Spike was about to make her come like a porn star—only sans the faking—and it was, perhaps, the most humiliating moment of her life. Spike should not possess the ability to make her come. “You…wish.”

“An’ evidently I’ve melted the few functioning bits of your brain.”

“Figured…that was…something…you’d…be used to.”

“Gotta, say, pet…I never pegged…you as the…sort that…could be fucked dizzy.” He grinned and, before she could blink, flipped her onto her back, pounding her brutally into the mattress. “Let me…know…if you…see stars.”

He was panting. Buffy’s eyes bulged. God, he was panting. Spike was bruising her body with his, slamming into her so hard that her bones shook, and he was panting. He was close, too. He was close to losing himself. He was close to getting lost in her. Angel had never panted in her ear. He had never given her any indication, even the night that he’d taken her virginity, that he’d ever been or ever wanted to be anything but a vampire. Spike was a vampire—that much was obvious. He was much with the dead and the pale and the lack of a beating heart and a liquid-only diet of totally disgusting proportions, but right now, he looked more alive than anyone she’d ever known.

And then the world detonated and everything melted away. She trembled and spasmed violently, and came so hard that she brought the stars he gave her back to earth. Every cell in her body exploded. She dug her nails into his biceps and sank her teeth into his shoulder, muffling her scream around his skin and shivering when he snarled and vamped.

“Buffy. Buffy!” The mask of hate was gone again, and his voice was bathed in awe. “Oh God. You feel…” He was thrusting wildly into her, but his movements were no longer guided by anger. Then he shook hard, buried his head in the crook of her neck, and came. And for a second—a split second of utter insanity—she felt something close to completion.

A long whimper tore off her lips. “Ohh!”

“Buffy…”

God, he sounded so helpless. So completely lost. She’d made him do that. She’d made him whimper and mewl. She’d knocked Spike to his knees without even trying. And, without warning, she was suddenly stormed with a rush of affection. A rush of…something. A rush of something not-hatred-like for Spike. And it took her by such surprise that the whole of her went numb.

“Buffy,” he whispered again, kissing her throat. “God, Buffy…”

The way he said her name made her tremble.

“Get off.”

Spike lifted his head drowsily, smacking his lips together. “Buffy?”

It was odd; Buffy had never before seen a vamp in game face when they weren’t snarling or making lame threats before she dusted their even lamer selves. It was quite unnerving. Spike was very much in game face. He’d vamped uncontrollably when he came, and he didn’t look to be rectifying that anytime soon. No matter that seeing him look at her like a woman, rather than the Slayer, wigged her out. Spike clearly didn’t care about wigging her out.

“It’s over. Let me up.”

She knew it was coming. Of course she knew it was coming. Shades of tenderness evaporated from his eyes, and then he was leering at her unpleasantly again. “What’s the hurry, luv?” he asked, wiggling his hips. And—okay—wow. That had to be a vampire thing. Angel hadn’t remained inside her long enough for her to have any basis for comparison, but the instant-erection thing struck her as something only a guy with super-strength could pull off, especially after what they’d just done.

“Ugh! You perv!”

Spike just chuckled and thrust hard into her, his fangs receding and his eyes melting back into the ocean blue that she so often admired against her will. “You shouldn’t throw stones.” The softness of his tone offset the scold in his words, but that didn’t matter the next second when he dropped his mouth to her throat. “Oh yeah,” he purred around a mouthful of Slayer-skin, moving inside her in slow, agonizing strokes. “Squeeze me tight. Jus’ like that.”

“I don’t want to squeeze your…” Buffy’s mouth fell slack when he wrapped his lips around one of her breasts, her traitorous hips rising to clash with his every time he tried to drag his cock away from her aching pussy. “Unh…”

“Admit it,” Spike drawled with a grin, teasing her nipple with his teeth. “You’re just eating this up.”

“Get over yourself.”

“Well, you were earlier, anyway.” He bit lightly at her flesh. “That was your first time, wasn’t it, Slayer? Taking it down the throat like that?”

Buffy’s skin flushed hot. No, it actually hadn’t been her first time…trying. Parker had been her first and, up until tonight, her last. And because of that, she’d always associated blowjobs with the nastiness that was frat boys and one-night-stands. Parker had been…well, a jerk, but he’d been a horny jerk at the time, so he’d refrained from commenting on her rather laughable attempt to bring him off with her mouth. She’d been so robotic. So jerky. And at one point, she’d squeezed him too hard and he’d yelped. Loudly.

She’d been working up the courage to try again with her oh-so-normal-and-proper-and-do-you-want-breakfast-in-bed boyfriend. Only Riley was very understanding and almost reluctant to have her try. And it wasn’t for lack of wanting—he was just old fashioned and almost more of a feminist than she was. He thought it was degrading, and to an extent, so did she.

Or rather, she had until she’d seen the look on Spike’s face. She might have been the one on her knees, but she’d held all the power. He’d babbled too much about how wonderful she was and how good she felt for the power to have been on his side of the scale. No matter how forceful he’d been, she’d clearly been in charge.

Well, as in charge as this spell had allowed for, anyway.

“No,” she hissed, enjoying the way his eyes widened in shock and…jealousy? Spike was jealous? That he hadn’t been her first? God, her life just couldn’t be any stranger. “No…you…uhhh…”

“You let another bloke into your mouth?” he demanded, his eyes burning with illogical outrage, his thrusts driving to frenzy without warning. Buffy squeaked ineloquently and squeezed his shoulders, her head falling back as her hips tried desperately to keep up with him. Every time his cock left her body, he took a part of her with him.

This wasn’t the spell anymore, was it? Shouldn’t she have kicked him across the room? God, why hadn’t she kicked him across the room?

He was growling something unintelligibly into her skin, cadencing against her with sharp, jerky thrusts to accentuate every breath that escaped his undead body. It wasn’t until his mouth was at her ear that she made any sense of what he was saying at all.

“Mine mine mine mine mine…”

The headboard was crashing against the wall again. Spike’s cock was pounding into her pussy. His mouth was at her ear. His hands were exploring her body possessively. He was marking her. God, he was marking her all over. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t shake—that didn’t tremble under the influence of his sinful touch. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t his.

“Mine!” he snarled, and she felt his ridges nudge her cheek. God, he’d vamped again. A dangerous vampire was at her throat, and all she could do was pant and moan and hope he didn’t kill her when his fangs slid inside.

And why didn’t that worry her? She knew it was coming. A part of her knew it was coming. She saw what would happen as though it had happened already. And for whatever reason, she couldn’t care. She couldn’t worry about his fangs. She couldn’t. She was too preoccupied with the wicked strokes of his cock. With the way she felt like dying every time he slid from her pussy, no matter how much his movements made her body sing.

Spike growled and fisted a handful of her hair, jerking her head back and fixing his eyes on the naked pulse-point of her neck. “You’re mine!” he snarled, his thrusts hard, his gaze feral. “You’re mine.”

A sliver of fear raced down her spine. Fear laced with defiance. She belonged to no one, least of all Spike. And hey! If she wanted to blow Riley, she’d blow Riley. That was absolutely none of his business. It didn’t matter that he was currently screwing her into oblivion in said boyfriend’s bed. A spell was a spell—nothing more. She had no control over herself, and she owed Spike diddly squat. Well, diddly aside from a nice, pointy stake through the heart. Just who did he think he was?

“Mine!” he barked again, smashing inside her. “Mine!”

“No!”

The feel of his ivory fangs slicing into her throat triggered an explosion of pure euphoria. Her mouth fought to latch onto something—anything—to stifle her elated cry, but Spike’s incisors were buried in her neck, he was pounding her into a Buffy-shaped hole in the mattress, and there was nothing to prevent the scream of his name from flying off her lips.

“Mine!” he snarled again, his head snapping back, his yellow eyes swallowing her whole. His lips were red with her blood, and she felt a rush of pure lust shoot straight to her core. “You’re mine, Buffy!”

“Oh God. Oh God.”

“Say it! Tell me you’re mine!”

A warning bell went off. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. She knew the second that she said yes that she would enter an eternity of regret. But in that instant, there was no other truth. She was Spike’s. She was completely his.

His head dipped, his mouth sucking on the bite he’d given her. “Mine!”

“Oh yes. Yes. Yes!”

Her nails raked down his back and her muscles clenched around him, and when he growled against her throat and spilled himself inside her, she’d never known a sweeter homecoming. She felt, for once in her life, that she was exactly where she belonged. She felt completion. Utter completion. The world around her dissolved in bliss.

“Mine,” Spike murmured into her throat, his hardening cock thrusting shallowly into her pussy. “You’re mine.”

Buffy sighed and curled her arms under his shoulders, trembling when he began to purr.

Perfection. This was perfection.

“Mine,” he growled again, pillowing his cheek against her breast. “Buffy…”

Then the world stopped.

“Oh my God,” Buffy gasped, shoving him hard. She sat up with a start, ignoring the sharp pang that shot through her the second that he left her body, and pressed her hand to her neck. Okay. Panicking hard. “Did you just—”

Spike scowled and bounced lightly at the foot of the bed. She really hadn’t intended to shove him that far but…well, then again, yes she had. She couldn’t shove him far enough away.

It really didn’t help that he was still close enough to touch her. If he touched her, her anger would dissipate, and she wanted to hold onto her anger. She deserved it. He’d just done something monumentally stupid that not only took away her promise of eventual rest, but linked her with him forever. The last thing she needed to consider was that her body missed his touch.

“Slayer—”

“You claimed me, you sonofabitch!”

To his credit, Spike didn’t look any more thrilled at the prospect than she was, now that the fog in his eyes was dissipating. “I didn’t mean to!” he objected, though from how visibly he was shaken, pointing out how very little that detail mattered likely wouldn’t do either of them any good. “I just…” He froze and shuddered. “Oh God.”

Buffy scowled, scooted over, and smacked his arm. Hard. “You claimed me? What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I obviously wasn’t, you miserable tart!” He scowled, wrapping his hand around his erection. And—okay. Spike was beating off right in front of her. He was sitting on his legs, looking at her, and beating off. As in right in front of her. There was something seriously wrong with this picture.

Only that had pretty much been the motto for the night, so it lacked the shock that Buffy would have liked. And why in the world was he beating off when she was very much with the naked and right in front of him? Was she not good enough for him now that he’d claimed her?

“No,” Spike growled irritably, pumping himself harder. “You shoved me out of your succulent pussy, remember?”

Buffy’s face blanked comically. “I…I don’t give you permission to read my thoughts! As soon as Giles finds out about this—”

“I can’t read your thoughts.”

“Then how—”

“Ears, luv. They’re called ears. An’ mine are particularly sensitive, even if you are muttering under your breath.” He smirked unpleasantly, palming his balls and giving them a good squeeze. “You want me back inside?”

Yes. She was aching all over. She was wet and aching and very much in need of him. She needed that cock inside her and not in his hand…no matter how hot watching him masturbate made her. Especially when his gaze flickered alternately from her boobs to her pussy. Especially when he licked his lips like that, and snarled all predatorily.

She was certifiable. Absolutely certifiable.

“The spell’s over,” she said slowly. “We…we’ve done—”

“I don’t know about you, Slayer,” Spike barked. Then he paused and sniffed at the air, his lips stretching into an obnoxious sneer. “Well, actually, I do know about you. You’re dripping for me.”

“Ugh!” Buffy shot out a leg in his direction, only to have him seize her by the ankle with his unoccupied hand. She tried hard to ignore how good his fingers felt against her. “Get over yourself.”

“We’re not done,” he replied softly.

Then he tugged on her leg and dragged her down the mattress, ignoring her surprised yelp and positioning himself at her opening yet again. She was certain that any second now her heart would leap out of her chest. She was on her back, stretched out before him, and he had her pelvis lifted as an offering for his cock. He wasn’t touching her at all. His body wasn’t stretched above hers. His chest wasn’t pressed against her breasts. He held her only where he needed to, rubbing his length across her slit.

“You’re mine, Buffy,” he said again. Slowly. Intently. He refused to look at her—his eyes were glued to her pussy. “For better or bloody worse.”

“I am not yours.”

“I claimed you.”

“Not my problem.”

Spike’s brows flickered with interest, but he didn’t look at her. “You accepted.”

“You forced me.”

He sniggered. “Yeah. I’ve never seen anyone react to force so enthusiastically.”

“It’ll go away.” The head of his cock brushed against her clit, and she trembled hard. Her body was reacting in all the wrong ways. If she was going to have sex with Spike, she wanted body-on-body contact. She wanted him with her and not using her only for what was between her legs. He wasn’t touching her. She needed him to touch her. She needed to feel him against her. “It’ll go—”

Spike tsked and shook his head, slipping his cock inside her again and tugging on her hard until her legs were wrapped around his waist. “Doesn’t go away,” he replied, his voice distant. “Not after you accept.”

“You made me—”

“Slayer, that point’s bloody moot. You’re stuck with me.” Finally, he blinked and trailed his eyes up her body until their gazes clashed. Only it wasn’t Spike that was looking at her. Not the Spike that had been with her all night. This was a different Spike. A Spike that was guarding himself from her. “You’re mine.”

Buffy shook her head and wiggled, earning little more than a sharp thrust and an enthusiastic gasp. “No!” she protested. “No!”

“Buffy—”

“You can’t—”

She choked out a sob and reached for him, feeling idle and stupid. She needed him to be with her if he was going to be with her. This emotional-distancing crap would only kill them both. Her body wasn’t conditioned for sex without feelings; hatred and anger was preferable over nothing. She needed Spike to feel something. She needed him to touch her. She needed him.

Oh God.

Spike blinked hard. It took only seconds for the façade to melt. “Oh Buffy.”

“Please?”

The next thing she knew, he’d slid his hands under her shoulders and lifted her into his embrace. Buffy linked her arms around his neck and swallowed him in a kiss.

Spike whimpered, his hands dropping to her ass, squeezing her encouragingly as she began to bounce on his cock with renewed enthusiasm. “Buffy,” he whispered, nipping at her lips. “God…”

“Keep touching me.” She kissed him again, wiggling her hips. “Spike…keep touching me.”

He smiled kindly, wrapping his arms around her to hold her to his chest, and her heart melted. “I’ll never stop.”

Buffy cupped his cheeks and kissed him, banishing her thoughts away.

She wasn’t going anywhere, and she was so tired of fighting. The rest didn’t matter—not right now.

Not so long as Spike was holding her.

It hadn’t happened until after Graduation. Giles had sat her down in his living room, dropped his glasses into the hem of his shirt, and told her how utterly foolish she’d been to allow Angel’s fangs anywhere near her throat. That although it wasn’t common anymore, some vampires were known to claim those they cared about. It was often a mistake. It was often just another word in a litany of words, spilled out in the heat of a moment. But it was binding, and if accepted, it was forever.

He’d told her that she was lucky Angel had maintained enough of himself to keep from claiming her, and absolutely forbade her from offering her neck to another dying vampire. Not that it was on her list of Ten Things To Do before the next slayer was called. It wasn’t like getting her throat torn out was something she wanted to pencil in during uneventful weekends.

Spike had claimed her, and she’d accepted.

She was tied for eternity to a vampire she didn’t even like.

“Lay back, sweetling,” he murmured, his cock slipping out of her. He just grinned when she mewled in complaint, nipping at her lips before dropping a kiss across her shoulder. “You’re gonna love this.”

Okay, so maybe she liked him a little bit.

“Fuck, but you’re pretty.” Spike grinned, licking at one of her nipples. “Gotta say, Slayer, when you’re not yapping, you’re just lovely.”

Buffy scowled. “Hey!”

And maybe she didn’t like him at all.

“Could be mated to someone much worse for all eternity, I s’pose.”

“Damn right, you could,” she grumbled, trying futilely to keep from moaning when he cupped her pussy. “N-not that it matters.”

“’Cause I’m one dusted vamp once this spell is over. Are we back to this song an’ dance already?”

She nodded, ignoring the pang that rushed through her. Stupid claim. Stupid Spike for initiating the stupid claim. Stupid Buffy for being dumb enough to accept it. “Uh huh.”

“You know that if you dust me, you’ll jus’ wither away an’ rot, right?”

“Liar.” Buffy scrunched her face up and shivered. “There has to be some spell that undoes it. This is the twentieth century. You’d think that some warlock or sorcerer or whatever would’ve come up with an antidote to stupid-vamps-who-claim-before-they-think by now.”

Spike chuckled, dropping kisses along her stomach as his mouth migrated southward. “Possibly,” he confessed. “Then again, vamps don’t exactly do much claiming nowadays. It’s outta practice. Reckon any sane person would figure it for an old wives’ tale or some rot. Face it, kitten. You could be stuck with me.” He pinched her clit and grinned when she moaned and arched off the mattress. “Forever.”

“I’d sooner dive off a cliff,” Buffy ground out without nearly as much venom as she would have liked.

“Yeah, but you’re the Slayer. That’s the sort of thing you could probably survive.”

“There isn’t anything about you that I don’t hate.”

Spike just chuckled again, settling between her legs. “An’ yet, you’re mysteriously drawn to me,” he replied, running a finger between her pussy lips and grinning madly when she whimpered in approval. “Aren’t you, kitten?”

She blinked stupidly. How in God’s name did he expect her to converse when he was all…down there and touching her in naughty places? “Huh?”

“Mysteriously drawn to me.”

“As if!”

Okay, was it possible for her to sound a little more like Alicia Silverstone? There was some room for improvement.

“You have such a pretty little pussy,” Spike purred, spreading her lips wide and favoring her forbidden skin with a long, sultry lick. And Buffy about bounced off the bed in shock. “My Slayer…”

Guh. As long as he kept that up, she’d be his anything.

“This is a first for you, isn’t it?” He slid two fingers inside her, his eyes flashing dangerously. “No one’s ever tasted you here.”

Buffy shivered. “I have a boyfriend, Spike.”

He growled and shoved his fingers deeper within her. “The enormous hall monitor’s too bloody white-bread to ever try anything this…spicy.” He solidified his point with a long lap of her clit before sucking her completely into his mouth. “Mmm. No. This part of you. This is mine.”

“Unh…”

“Tell me,” Spike whispered, his fingers finding a steady rhythm thrusting in and out of her sopping hole. He dropped a kiss across her inner thigh, nibbling at her skin with his blunt teeth. “Tell me this is mine.”

It was really hard to focus on telling him to go to hell when all she wanted to do was grab his head and rub herself against his mouth.

“Tell me, Buffy.” He nipped at her with a wink and drew her clit into his mouth again. “Tell me this delectable quim belongs to me.”

Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut, a strangled mewl tearing through her throat. If she started talking, she wouldn’t stop. She’d tell Spike enough to make her a slayer laughing-stock. How good he felt. How he awakened emotions within her that she was certain Angel had destroyed when he ripped her heart out. How, for the first time since returning from Los Angeles, her veins surged with something other than cold. Her skin hummed with something other than trepidation. The eggs she’d walked on with her first vampire lover were gone, and she had no idea why.

It wasn’t that Spike wasn’t intense. God, if anything, Spike had probably taught Angel a few lessons in intensity.

Only when Spike looked at her, there wasn’t a touch of hopelessness. Not at all. Not like what she was used to. Hell, there was every chance that she was tied to Spike for the rest of forever, and even then, she didn’t feel the hint of disaster that had always dogged her relationship with Angel.

Spike didn’t regard her as a burden. His eyes were mired in confusion, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’d thrown his entire existence into question—he’d tied himself to a slayer forever, and he was currently perched between her thighs, sucking on her pussy, and demanding that she promise that all of her belonged to him.

All of her.

The spell. It had to be the spell. Only the spell hadn’t affected their minds—just their bodies. The claim? No. No, claims didn’t do anything but play on emotions that already existed. Giles had reassured her of that after her massive wig that any faceless vamp might waltz up to her and make her an eternal love-bitch.

Spike hated her, though. He hated her and now they were linked together forever. Well, unless she could find a way to reverse it.

Would Spike even want to reverse it?

“I’ve lost you,” Spike murmured with a pout, withdrawing his touch and resting his cheek against her thigh. “I’m down here trying to give you the stars an’ you’re somewhere else.”

Buffy’s body cried out immediately at the absence of his mouth, thrusting demandingly against him. “No. No! More. Need you. Need—”

His brows perked with interest. “Need me?” he echoed, sliding a finger inside her. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

“I was thinking!”

“See? That’s my point exactly. You shouldn’t be able to think while I’m eating your pussy.”

His words made her skin blaze. “I was thinking about you, if that makes any difference.”

“Yeah, but it definitely went beyond ‘Spike good. Want more Spike now.’ You looked far too pensive.”

He shouldn’t be saying words like pensive when nestled so attentively between her thighs. It was turning her on, and that in itself was somewhat wigsome. Since when did hotties with big vocabularies turn her on?

Since when did Spike have a big vocabulary? And, more importantly, since when was Spike a hottie?

Buffy groaned inwardly. Since forever.

“Spike good,” she replied, stretching a leg over his shoulder. “Want more Spike now.”

“Now you’re just being ornery.”

Okay, first she was pensive; now ornery? Buffy whimpered and trembled hard, her hands sliding down her body to frame her pussy. “Please!” she moaned, arching beneath him. “I’m all…I need you. Please!”

“You need me?” Spike smirked and ran his finger up and down her damp slit, missing her clit by fractions of millimeters, and driving her out of her mind. “Where do you need me, baby?”

Was there any way he could say that and not sound like a Playgirl wet dream? Any way at all?

“Spike, please!”

“You gonna pay attention this time?”

“I was before!”

He tilted his head and tsked. And damn if the disgruntled schoolmaster thing didn’t turn her on more. “You were thinking before,” he scolded.

“About you, you peroxided moron!”

“Manners, Slayer. After all, you’re asking me to eat you out. Wouldn’t bloody kill you to be a mite nicer about it.”

How could he say it like that? How could he make with the casual while his hand was massaging her well into her next life, dipping shallowly inside her every few strokes? How could he be so calm when all she wanted to do was scream?

Buffy whimpered helplessly. “What do you want from me?”

“Your undivided attention, for starters.” He smirked at her and leaned forward, tapping her clit quickly with his tongue, wrangling a sharp jerk from her deliciously tense body. “An’ you gotta tell me.”

“My attention is yours!” She fisted lockfuls of his platinum hair and attempted to drag his avoidy mouth back to her center. “Spike!”

“Ah, ah, ah.”

“Spike!”

“You sure you’re gonna pay attention?”

Buffy all but gnashed her teeth together, her hips swaying toward him in offering. “I was! I was thinking about you!” Which she would most assuredly never, ever do again. Not after they left this room, anyway. But until the spell was over, she was completely at his mercy. “I was thinking h-how—”

Spike domed a brow. “Yes?”

“How…” How much she was going to invest in a vibrator. After tonight, after experiencing so many orgasms, there was no way she was going through another drought. “How much…”

How much I love what you’re doing to me.

Those words wouldn’t come.

“How much what, baby?” Spike asked softly, nipping at her wet folds with a playful, however gentle grin. It amazed her that he could pull that off in the same look. How he could be smoldering and arrogant, but kind and gentle all at once. It was really wigging her out. Was this another effect of the spell, or did Spike just really keep himself guarded?

Though, come to think of it, it wasn’t like she couldn’t imagine why he’d want to keep the fact that he was a softie a secret, especially with the recent blows to his reputation and self-image.

“How…” Buffy willed her eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. “What you do to…I’ve never…Spike, please!” She thrust her hips toward his mouth again and fought the ever-tempting urge to die when he didn’t dive in. “I need—”

Her pleas were turning him on. Well, on-ner. That was definitely evident. His eyes were doing the smoldering thing and his unneeded breaths were coming quicker, as though his long-dead lungs were actually fighting for air. As though his vampire-self depended on it. “Yes, well,” he replied, clearing his throat, “you still gotta tell me.”

“Tell you?” Her brain was surrounded by a fog. “Tell…”

“Tell me whose this is.” Spike tossed her a wicked grin before lowering his mouth to her throbbing clit, and she melted on the spot. Oh God. This was what she needed. His lips around her swollen pearl, his fingers teasing her opening, then running a wet trail up her body until he had a breast in each hand. “I’m the only man who’s been here, yeah? Tell me.”

God, Spike should stake a flag on her parts. She was so completely his.

“Yes, yes!” she agreed breathlessly, her eyes flying open.

“Your pussy is mine?”

If she nodded any harder, her head was going to pop off. “Yes!”

“Only mine? I don’t want anyone else touching it, sweetling. I’m a very possessive vamp, you know.” Then, as though threatened by the mere suggestion, Spike unearthed the most predatory growl she’d ever heard and vamped. His ridges caressed her thighs, the length of his fangs sliding along her clit before he drew back and plunged his tongue deep inside her.

Buffy positively howled. Her back arched off the bed, her legs closed around his face, and she drowned in a sea of pure bliss. He kept a steady rhythm, thrusting his tongue in and out of her soaking core as his left hand abandoned her breast to give her clit some much-needed attention. He pinched her nipple with his other fingers, and she felt his lips stretch into a grin when his name pealed through the air and vibrated off the walls.

His fangs never touched her. Not once. He was tonguing her into oblivion, doing things to her clit that should be illegal in forty-nine states, but his fangs never touched her. She didn’t know how. Maybe he was one of those guys who could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. It was certainly fitting. That beautiful organ inside his mouth deserved the Nobel Prize.

He stroked her like he cared. He loved her with his mouth like he loved her.

And when she met the cool, haunting amber of his demon eyes, the world around her dissolved into nothing. In that second, something changed. Something monumental changed. It reverberated through every nerve in her body. She was submerged in pure white. God, she was on fire, and he was the only thing keeping the burn from doing her in completely.

In that second, he’d broken through the wall she’d built around her heart.

And it terrified her.

“This is going to kill me.”

Spike grinned and flipped her beneath him, the move driving his cock deeper inside her. “What?” he whispered, nipping at her shoulder. “This?” He showered a trail of kisses back to the proud bite on her throat, sucking hard on his mark of ownership. “Or this?” He slid his hands under her thighs, buried his face in the crook of her neck, swirled his hips and slammed her with thrusts seemingly hard enough to send the bed crashing through the floors beneath them.

“Ohhh!” By the time the spell ended, Spike was going to look like he’d lost a nasty fight with a rake for all the scratching at his back that she was doing. “Oh yes! Spike!”

The words sounded strange colored in her own voice, but she didn’t know what else to say. Moreover, she couldn’t help herself. Every time his cock drove inside her, a slew of monosyllabic nothings sputtered through her lips.

“Just…want…to know…” He lifted his head to smile at her, and the sight made her heart clench. “Stretch your arms above you, baby. Grab hold of the post.”

“Huh?”

Spike nipped at her throat before pulling back to meet her gaze, flickering his eyebrows seductively and nodding at the head of the bed. “Trust me.”

Trust him? Did she even have the wiring for that?

He brushed his lips against hers in a sweet, almost loving kiss, and her world melted. God, she totally did. She had that wiring plus some. Buffy shuddered and obeyed, curling each hand around a post that ribbed the headboard.

Spike grinned and kissed her again. “Good girl,” he murmured. “My sweet, hot, tight li’l slayer.”

“I don’t…” Buffy’s teeth clenched, her grip around the bedpost tightening as his thrusts grew harder. Her body was still trembling from the last orgasm he’d given her. The feel of him sliding in and out of her was rubbing her nerves raw. Her skin was tender. Her body ached. But God, it felt so good that she couldn’t object. If he left her now, she was certain she would wake the dead with her scream of protest. “I don’t…I can’t…”

“You can’t what, baby? Come again?” The leer stretching his lips sent shivers across her skin. “I beg to differ.” His thrusts grew sharper with every drive; his cock was striking places within her increasingly sore body that she didn’t know existed. And even as pleasure danced closer to that shady area of pain, it was too sweet to relinquish. She was holding him to her, her hips battling his, wrestling to bruise him just as much as he was bruising her. She wanted him cross-eyed with pleasure. She wanted him so thoroughly covered with her that he wanted nothing else. She wanted him so addicted to her that he’d start convulsing if he ever withdrew his touch.

“Uhhh…I—”

“I love the way you feel around me. Squeezing me into bloody oblivion. I love feeling you come around me. You’re so wet and tight. Christ, Slayer, you feel so bloody good.” He brushed his lips along her jaw line. “How’s it that I went so many years without this? Without you around me? Without your warmth?”

There was a note in his voice that she’d never heard before. Something naked and vulnerable. Something startlingly pure. And the emotion swirling behind his eyes was enough to move continents.

“Is that…a question…you expect…answer?”

Spike chuckled. “Forgot…your…pronouns there, love.”

She absolutely adored the way he only became breathless when she did. The way his eyes became glossy. The way he swallowed her with wonder. She was growing really attached to the man that had her in bed right now. The man behind the mask that Spike wore to guard himself. The man that had peeked through the monster all night; the man that had only truly emerged when she reached for him.

She’d reached for him, and something had changed. And for everything in the world, Buffy didn’t want it to go back to the way it was. Not now. Not after she’d experienced this.

Not after she’d experienced Spike.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered again, his thrusts slowing in ferocity. He smiled and nipped at her mouth, running his hands up the tender undersides of her arms until his fingers were curled around each wrist. “Gimme.”

It was a soft demand, but a demand, nonetheless.

“You wanted my hands here,” she countered, sliding her left foot down the length of his leg. “I was just doing what you asked.”

“And I appreciate it, pet. But I want your arms around my neck now.” His lips fell over hers in a movingly soft kiss, and what little was left of her resistance completely vanished. There was no way she was walking out of this room unscathed. No way would she survive this with her heart intact.

And the more time she spent with Spike, the more determined she became to keep her memories. This time—right now—this was hers. And no one could ever take it away from her.

“Ahhh,” Spike purred, rolling them over again so that they were on their sides, facing each other. “I never want to leave here.”

Never was a long time, but somehow, she thought she could deal. “Uhhh…”

He smiled, his lips finding hers again, hooking a hand under her knee and lifting her leg over his thigh. “Never wanna leave you,” he whispered. “Once that door opens, this ends, doesn’t it? You’ll leave, an’ you’ll never wanna see me again.”

The very notion made her stomach twist. “No,” she argued. “No.”

“You’ve said so, sweets.”

“That…was before.” Before I saw you. “Before…”

Spike pressed his brow to hers, panting hard. “Before what, baby?” he asked, his eyes fluttering shut, his cock pumping sweetly into her body. She never wanted him to leave, either. She could stay here forever, happily, if not a little tender. After all, if he was going to render her unable to walk, she might as well remain in bed forever.

She didn’t know.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Buffy whimpered and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The wet slide of his cock from her pussy was driving her mad, and she couldn’t imagine a sweeter descent. “I don’t…I just…I need. I need. I need you.”

Spike gasped and jerked to a stop, his widening eyes swallowing her whole. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but things had changed now. Things were incredibly different. There was no anger. Not anymore. There was only Spike, and she needed him.

“You need me?” The way he spoke made her tremble. “You…”

“Spike…”

“You’re not gonna leave once this…” He rolled her over again, his mouth engulfing one of her breasts. The sudden movement plunged his cock deeper within her, and she tossed her head back with a loud yelp. Spike just purred and smiled around her rosy flesh. “You’re not gonna leave,” he whispered again, brushing a kiss against her nipple and raising his head to meet her eyes. “Once this is over?”

She couldn’t see herself going anywhere but right back to his arms. “No.”

“No?”

“I…you…you claimed…me.”

Spike glanced up sharply, freezing, his hand falling to clutch her thigh as though to prevent himself from falling out of her in astonishment. The fact that he needed balance when he was the one in control made her shiver. And realize how little control he truly had. “Is that why?” he demanded, his voice urgent and hoarse. “Is that why you’re…why you need me? Because I sodding claimed you?”

“No.” The word was off her lips before she could consider the implications, but God, she didn’t care anymore. It would be easy to blame everything on the claim. On the fact that his overly-zealous fangs had sliced into her skin. On the fact that he’d whispered words that linked them together forever. She could blame it on that. She could do it so easily.

But it wasn’t because of the claim. At least, she wasn’t feeling anything new because of what he’d done. Giles had promised her that. Whatever she felt now was entirely her. Things she’d suppressed. Things she’d repressed. Things she’d denied herself following the end of Willow’s stupid Will Be Done spell. Hell, things she’d denied since the moment he stepped out of the shadows two years earlier, and threatened to end her life on Saturday.

She wasn’t going to leave. Not when Spike’s gentle touch had done more to make her feel like a woman than any man before him.

“No,” Buffy said again, her voice stronger. She inhaled sharply and raised her hand to his astonished face, smiling softly as his cheek fell into her waiting palm. He was so gorgeous. Too gorgeous for an evil thing. For something that would kill her just as soon as look at her. And while his bedside manner could definitely be categorized as evil—especially knowing what his wicked tongue and wickeder body were capable of—the whole of him was surprisingly gentle. She knew that now. She knew that just from the way he looked at her. The way he talked to her. The way his hands stroked her body. He was absolutely gorgeous.

“No?” Spike whispered, rolling his hips. “It’s not because of the claim?”

“No.” She smiled softly and raised her lips to his. It was difficult fighting back a moan at his taste. She’d never taken the time, even when they were under the previous spell, to truly revel in the sensual flavor of his mouth. The way his tongue caressed her lips before becoming entangled in hers. The way he whimpered against her skin. The way his kiss made her melt.

“Do you like me, Buffy?” he asked once their lips parted, his mouth tugging into a smirk at the shattered moan that ripped through her body. He was rocking against her again with renewed fervor. “You like what I do to you?”

“Oh God, yes,” she agreed breathlessly, moving frantically beneath him, desperate to recapture his cock every time he slid away from her pussy. She needed him inside her. Always inside her. He made her warm. How was it that he made her warm? His body was cold—his skin chilled beneath her fingers. Every time his hard length drove into her, he subdued the heat splitting her apart, but similarly provided more warmth than she’d ever known. Soft warmth. Warmth that didn’t burn. Warmth that cushioned what she felt had to be the inevitable fall.

Spike grinned and nipped at her throat. “You like the way I feel, baby? You like the feel of me driving inside that hot, tight li’l cunny of yours?”

“Oh GOD!”

He grunted ineloquently, his thrusts accelerating. “That’s not an answer…love.”

“Oh!” She blinked hard, her nails digging into his skin. “Yes. Yes!”

The eager smile that stretched his lips was as infuriating as it was sexy. She wanted to kiss it right off that sinful mouth of his. “You jus’ love this, don’t you?” he growled. He was slamming into her now, harsh breaths bouncing off her flesh as his body strained closer to orgasm. “Wanna feel you come around me, sweet. Wanna feel you.”

“Spike—”

“Come for me, Buffy.”

The scream that ripped through her throat could have shattered glass. She trembled hard around him, her muscles clenching and the whole of her spasming as her vision failed and she was taken over by the brightest darkness she’d ever known. Spike growled and mauled her into the mattress, his fangs bursting through his gums and quickly finding the soft roundness of her breast.

The sensual, dangerous thrill of his bite sent her spiraling.

“Mine!”

She loved that word. Maybe she’d get it tattooed somewhere.

“Yes. Yours.” Her fingers wove through Spike’s hair, and she trembled when he trembled. Her muscles were milking him for everything he was worth. She absolutely loved the feel of him spilling inside her, and she wanted to revel in the sensation as long as possible. “Yours, Spike.”

Spike glanced up dazedly, his mouth smeared with her blood for the second time that night. “Buffy?”

She offered a watery smile, her vision blurring. Just another erratic emotion to catalogue in this increasingly bizarre night. She’d gone from loathing his touch to crying when he came inside her, all in a matter of hours. It was a bit much to digest.

“Yours,” she whispered again, kissing his lips. “Yours.”

A strange emotion overtook his eyes. For a fleeting instant, she thought he might cry. Instead, he gasped and kissed her fervently, then buried his face in her throat and lost himself in her embrace. “Buffy,” he whimpered. “Oh Buffy.”

She trembled, curling an arm under his shoulder, her other hand remaining woven in his platinum locks. He just whispered her name and worshipped her skin with soft, reverent kisses.

She’d shaken him. Somehow, she’d touched him where no one ever had.

That knowledge left her completely lost, but somehow, she didn’t mind.

Chapter 7

Buffy ran her hand down Spike’s arm until her fingers were laced through his. “More,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as he angled his thrusts to strike deeper within her. “Oh…yes. Like that.”

“Like what? This?” He dropped his mouth to her shoulder, tightening his grip around her middle and pulling her back flush against his chest. “Your skin tastes so sweet.”

“Uhhh…Spike, more.”

She felt him grin against her shoulder. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“I…”

“I wish I could see your eyes,” he murmured. “I love watching your eyes while you come.”

She trembled, squeezing his hand. “I…love…wha…you, too.”

Spike froze in astonishment, his harsh breaths crashing against her. “What?” he demanded, his mouth at her ear. “What did you—”

“Watching,” she choked out. The significance of her near-confession rolled off her, unnoticed. It wasn’t like she possessed the ability to think coherently and experience mind-numbing, cell-splitting ecstasy simultaneously. “Watching you…your…your eyes. You…Spike, please!”

“What?” he demanded, belatedly realizing he’d stopped moving. “Oh. Right.”

Buffy whimpered and clenched her muscles around him. “Touch me,” she begged. “I need…oh, please—”

Spike rotated his hips against her, the arm around her middle tightening. “Where do you need me?” he asked, the thrusts of his cock resuming a steady rhythm. “Your clit? You need me to rub your sweet li’l clit, baby?”

She choked a pleasured sob and nodded furiously. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. Please!”

She lamented the loss of his touch the second his hand slipped away from hers. Her vaginal muscles instinctively tightened around his cock, her ass thrusting back against him and her thighs stretching further apart as his fingers slid over her slippery flesh. Then he was massaging her softly, his thumb and index finger capturing her clit and stroking her into a heated frenzy.

“Oh GOD!”

“There’s my girl,” Spike murmured, his thrusts becoming hard and fast in a matter of seconds. He peppered her skin with kisses, rumbling sharp, hoarse grunts as the bed rocked and his balls slapped noisily against her wet flesh. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. You feel so bloody good.”

“Spike!”

“Scream it, kitten,” he snarled. Buffy shivered and clamped her teeth down on the inside of her cheek. “Scream it. Scream for the whole bloody house to hear. I wanna hear you scream my name like you mean it.” Then, growling softly, he sank his fangs into her shoulder and drank.

Buffy quite simply exploded. His name roared through her throat and leapt from her mouth in a tremulous, symphonic release. Stars veiled over her again, and for an eternity, the world blinked into blackness.

Spike was nuzzling her back when she was finally able to convince her eyes to open. “You still with me, sweetling?” he purred, stroking her stomach lazily. “Not getting tired, are you?”

Tired? Buffy bit back a laugh. If the spell actually let her sleep, she could snooze until February. But then again, if the spell decided that she needed another couple dozen orgasms, she wasn’t about to complain. “Not even close,” she replied coyly.

“Liar.”

“Nuh uh.”

“My cute li’l lying slayer.” Spike chuckled and slipped out of her, twisting her in his arms so that they were face to face. “You’re about to pass out.”

“Am not!” She pouted and swung her leg over his hip, sliding a hand between them and wrapping her fingers around his cock. “And get that thing back inside me.”

Spike arched a brow, his eyes dancing. “That thing?” he echoed.

“Yes. That very big, very…” She threw her head back and whimpered when his erection slipped within her again. “Oh. That’s better.”

A grin stretched across his lips. “I’ll say,” he purred, rubbing soothing circles into her hip. “My warm, sweet girl.”

“How long?”

“Forever, if I get my say.”

Buffy grinned and kissed him, a thrill racing down her spine when he whimpered into her, his cock pistoning deeper inside her body. “I meant,” she gasped when their lips parted. “How long…do you think…the spell?”

“How long will the spell keep us shagging nonstop?”

She nodded.

Spike pretended to mull it over, then blinked and shrugged. “Bugger if I know or care. Now…to much more important matters…” He pulled back until only the head of his cock was wrapped around her slick flesh. “Do you wanna be on top or on bottom? Or do you wanna try something new?”

“We…need…to talk…” Talking was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew they had to get it out of the way before he numbed her brain with more mind-shattering orgasms. “About…spell.”

“Best bloody spell in the bloody world,” Spike growled, rolling onto his back, and driving himself deep within her once more. “Throw your leg over my waist, baby. Ohh yeah. Just like that.”

A trembling breath rushed through her lips. Buffy pressed her hands to his chest, doing her best to stifle her whimper when he bucked his hips. “Wait. Wait.”

Spike froze and pouted. He actually poked out his lower lip and pouted. God, he wasn’t supposed to look that good. Not pouting. Not ever. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling a rush of affection for him. The kinship that had enveloped her over the past few hours—the thing that had originally been hate and revulsion had somehow transformed into tenderness and warmth—was growing to be a bigger part of her. The voice that liked him was becoming steadily louder than the one that was repulsed. And the longer he was with her, the longer she wanted to keep him.

And it wasn’t only her, though a part of it had been with Spike from the beginning. The awed look that had graced his gorgeous face when she first sank down on his cock. The way his hands caressed her. The way the wonder hadn’t abandoned him until she said something snide. Until she’d done something to ruin the moment. His sarcasm and nastiness had disappeared the second she touched him with kindness. The second that the malice in her own voice had blinked out permanently.

“Don’t wanna talk,” he replied peevishly, slipping his thumb over her clit. “Wanna dance.”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and shook her head. “What’s…making us…do this?”

“Brilliant luck?”

“Spike—”

“Buffy, please.” He gasped and thrust upward sharply. “Need to come.”

She quirked a brow, clenching her vaginal muscles around him and a purely feminine smile graced her lips. “Again? That’s how many times tonight?”

“Not enough.” He offered a petulant whimper and wiggled his hips. “Buffy, please.”

“You’re not gonna talk, are you?”

Spike pinched her clit and smacked his lips together. “Do you really wanna talk?”

Not at all. What she wanted to do was grab his wrists and ride him to a gallop. She wanted him filling every inch of her. She wanted him all over. “Okay,” she replied, her voice unsteady. Then, with a deep breath, she lifted herself off his erection and winced at the wet suctioning sound that filled the air when he left her body. As her pussy attempted to keep him where she truly wanted him. “Then I’ll try another way.”

Spike moaned, his hands flying to her hips. “Buffy, please.”

“Nope. You were being Mr. Stubborn.”

“You coming up here, then?” He licked his lips and flashed her a grin. “Want me to tongue you till you can’t walk?”

Buffy snorted ineloquently, shaking her head. “I’m not sure if I can walk now,” she replied, sliding down his body. “Walking isn’t exactly something we’ve tried.”

A very still beat settled through the room. Spike sat up with a start, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you…” he breathed. “Buffy, are you…?”

She flashed him his own patented arched brow and grinned. “Gonna try again?” she replied, her fingers wrapping around his cock. She waited until his unnecessary pants escalated to the point of what would be hyperventilation on a normal guy, then dipped her mouth to caress his silky head with her lips. “I might be moved to.”

The loud moan that tore through his lips made her blood burn. “Buffy—”

“I wonder if this is the way we were supposed to kill each other,” she mused thoughtfully, pressing a series of wet kisses along the underside of his cock. “We hated each other just a little while ago, you know.”

Spike blinked rapidly. “You don’t hate me anymore?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m down here kissing your penis because I can’t stand your non-breathing guts.”

He blinked again and barked a laugh. “You’re something else, Slayer.”

“I keep telling people this, and they don’t seem to get it.”

“People?” He cupped her cheek and shuddered when their eyes met. “You mean men. The blokes you’ve…”

“I was speaking figuratively,” she replied self-consciously. Stupid brain making with the stupid comments. She didn’t want to think of other men when she was with Spike, much less talk about them. “Let me get back to—”

“They’re fools, Buffy. All of them. Your precious Angel. The stupid prat that you jumped the second grand-pap packed his bags. An’ now Captain America.” He wove his fingers through her hair. “They didn’t know what they had, or what they have.”

“And you do, now? Just because we’ve been cosmically whammied to…cosmically whammy?” She giggled, but it was forced and sounded fake, even to her ears. If she was going to be honest, the notion that he would even broach the subject had her nerves on fire. Before he could offer another Buffy-melty-into-goo statement, she drew his cock entirely into her mouth and sucked hard, resting her left hand on his inner thigh, her other hand cupping his balls. Maybe if she distracted him with her mouth enough, he’d forget what he was saying.

I was the one who wanted to talk.

“Oh, fuck, pet,” he rumbled, his elbows wobbling as he fought to remain upright. “God, your mouth is so perfect. So hot.” He sighed his pleasure, his fingers massaging her scalp adoringly. “B-Buffy…I…if this was the…way…we were s’posed to…kill each other…I wouldn’t want it…any other…way.”

She slid her mouth up his length until only his head remained between her lips. “Me, either,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to kill you.”

“No?”

“Nope. Found other things to do with you.” She grinned, running her tongue up and down his length, her hand massaging his sac. “Things that are much more fun than killing you into dusty bits.”

“Dusty bits?”

“I like your bits…not so bitty and a lot more with the big.” Her teeth scaled his velvety head and she grinned when he whimpered. “And the hard.”

Spike’s grip on her hair tightened. “I know what I have,” he gasped, pulling her head back so that her eyes found his again. “I know it, Buffy. Better than any sodding boy you were with. Any vamp that might’ve sweet-talked—”

“Spike—”

“I know what I have. Right here. With you.”

She was going to cry. Dammit, he was going to make her cry. “Spike, don’t—”

“I love you.”

The world froze around her. It positively froze. The world froze as her heart thundered. Her blood ran hot and cold at the same time. Her head was light and heavy. And in a blink, everything changed. Everything changed in a way that it couldn’t have changed before. Everything changed in a way that tenderness and soft touches couldn’t achieve. Words changed things. Words changed everything. And these words meant the world.

I love you.

Buffy blinked back tears. “Spike—”

He reached for her. “Come up here,” he implored softly. “Need to be inside you.”

“Spike, I—”

He shook his head, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “Don’t need to say anything,” he said. “It’s okay. I know you can’t say it. I’m not expecting anything from you, sweetling. I just wanted you to know that I do know what I have. What you’ve given me in here is more than I’ve ever had.”

He loves me.

It didn’t surprise her. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her. Buffy trembled hard, prowling up his body, every nerve in hers singing with need. And he loved her. When she’d dragged him in here, he’d been ready to rip her throat out. He’d objected the second that the spell made with the whammy, just as she had. He’d been nasty, and crude, and he’d called her some unflattering names.

But he loved her. And that was the way it was between them. They fought and they fucked and somehow, they loved.

Only with Spike, she thought they actually had a chance of being friends as well.

“Spike,” she whispered against his mouth, sinking onto his cock with a blissful moan. “Spike…”

“Don’t say anything, sweetling.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. And the world that had frozen around her melted away. His kisses could make the stars fall down and weep. He explored her mouth thoroughly, nibbling on her lips, stroking her tongue with his as his hips undulated beneath hers. As his hands mapped her body. He touched her everywhere. He cupped the soft weight of her breasts and rolled her nipples between his fingers. He ran his hands up and down her arms before sliding between their thrusting bodies to rub her clit. Finally, he broke his mouth from hers, burying his face in her throat. “Don’t say anything.”

Then she was under him, her breasts pressed to his chest. Spike was covering every inch of her flesh with his lips and tongue. And in all her life, she’d never felt more loved than she did in that moment. More complete. She’d never belonged before. Never belonged. Not until now.

“Spike,” she whispered, nipping at his ear with her teeth. “You…”

“Shhh…” He licked at the pulse point on her throat, then gently ran his fangs over her skin. Buffy hadn’t even felt his bumpies burst through—or maybe she had, but hadn’t noticed. She never noticed when her men were in game face. “I want you to remember this,” he murmured, hissing when her muscles clenched and squeezed his cock. “I want you to remember right now. When this is over, I want you to remember everything you’re feeling right now. How good I make you feel.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Can’t forget,” she murmured, hugging him close to her. “Never.”

“Promise me.”

Hadn’t she told him that this wasn’t going to be over? Had she? The past few hours were such a blur. She’d had so many conversations with him—both in her head and aloud—but she was sure she’d made that point clear. He’d done things to her mind and body that she’d only read about. And if he thought that he could walk away once the guise of a spell was no longer protecting them, he had another thing coming.

Spike was splitting her in two. Every drive into her pussy, every stroke of his mouth against her skin, every gentle caress of his surprisingly loving hands. She was divided, and burning. He set her on fire and eased her with his cold body, and she shuddered with ecstasy.

“Tell me again,” Buffy gasped as her orgasm washed over her. “Tell me.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “I love you,” he whispered, trembling hard as he came. “I love you, Buffy. I love you so much.”

Now. Now was when she should tell him. Tell him that he wasn’t alone. That the night had changed her, too. She needed him to know.

“Spike,” she gasped as he collapsed against her, panting harshly. “Spike, I—”

She would have said it. She really would have. It was there on the tip of her tongue. She was going to tell him everything.

Only the door flew open before the words could leave her, and then the room was filled with too many voices. Too many.

“Buffy!”

“Oh my God!”

“Ahh! My eyes!”

Spike blinked and looked up wearily, the love and tenderness on his face frowning into something she knew well. Something she’d been on the receiving end of on more than one occasion.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t any of your lot ever knock?”

“I just had no idea. It's so creepy!” Buffy’s eyes traveled skeptically around the table. “He was really singing?”

“I'd say it was more like crooning,” Xander replied before turning to his attentive girlfriend. “If we grow old together, remind me to skip the midlife crisis.”

Anya smiled affectionately. “Okay.”

“Come on, you have to admit,” Willow intervened, “it was kinda sexy.”

Xander tossed her a pleading glance. “Please stop saying that. I'm willing to offer cash incentives.”

“The important thing is no one got injured.”

The sound of Riley’s voice made her shiver. He’d barely said three words to her all day, and it wasn’t like she could blame him. After all, she’d given him much more than the third degree after his sex-having with Buffy-dressed-Faith. She’d had a lot of sex with someone she knew wasn’t her boyfriend. Granted, the sex-having had been spell-induced, but somehow, Buffy figured that she’d only be able to get so far with that defense.

Especially since she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to defend herself. All day, she’d been fighting the urge to drop everything she was doing and run until she was buried in Spike’s arms. She missed him so much. She felt gutted; she felt like a part of her had been severed. She missed him, and while logic offered a simple solution, somehow, she didn’t know how to fix things.

God, she’d made such a mess.

“Is there a limit on how many times I can say, ‘I’m sorry?’” Buffy asked weakly, obligatorily, though her heart wasn’t in it.

Her heart was across town.

“It wasn't your fault,” Willow replied. “You were under the influence of powerful magicks.”

“We were like zombies. I had no control over myself at all.”

Not that she’d wanted control. Not at the end.

The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “Must have been horrible.”

“I love you. I love you, Buffy. I love you so much.”

Buffy blinked and forced a nod. “Yeah. Horrible.”

“Are you kidding?” Xander repeated, making a face. “She was forced into hours of endless sex with Captain Peroxide.”

“Vampires have excellent stamina,” Anya provided. “I’m sure Buffy enjoyed many pleasurable orgasms. Not that that excuses her from endangering our lives by copulating with him in her boyfriend’s bedroom…despite how amusingly ironic it is.”

Riley tossed Anya a look that all but screamed that she was fortunate she was human. “It was a spell,” he said sternly. “Just a spell. Buffy was overcome—overtaken. Like…like everyone else. It was crazy everywhere else, too. She was just caught in the crossfire.”

“With her pants down,” Anya added unhelpfully. “And with Spike’s penis inserted in her vagina.”

“ANYA!”

“All I’m saying is, at least she got orgasms out of the deal.”

Buffy barely flinched. It didn’t matter. Her mind was far away.

I miss him so much.

And yet, despite what her body told her to do, she sat still. She sat with her friends. She sat at a table in the sunlight, while the man she wanted was asleep in a tomb.

She missed him.

But for some reason, she didn’t budge.

She wasn’t used to sleeping. Didn’t matter how much she wanted to. Didn’t matter how tender she was between the thighs. Didn’t matter how ready she was to pass out the second she saw a non-Spike-occupied bed. Didn’t matter that she knew sleeping for a day or twenty would horde off the Scoobies and their endless questions. None of it mattered. One endless night with Spike, and Buffy just wasn’t used to rest.

It didn’t help that Willow kept hovering. Or that she’d unplugged the phone because Riley refused to take a hint.

The haze that had enveloped her in the Lowell House had faded a bit. She remembered shoving Spike off her in a fleeting bout of panic. She remembered clutching a sheet to her naked breasts to hide both her nudity and the bite marks that marred her skin. She remembered the horror and betrayal on Riley’s face; the disgust and dark curiosity in Xander’s eyes, and the sympathy and concern in Willow’s.

And then Spike. Spike had risen to his feet, his body compact and covered with love bites, panting harshly for air he didn’t need. He’d looked at them in anger, then at her. He’d looked at her with love and expectation. He needed her to say something. To tell them to scoot so they could get back with the monkey love. So she could tell him all those things that had been so ready to leave her lips just before her friends decided to rain on her parade.

Then with the shouting. Riley hurling threats in Spike’s direction with Xander oh-so willingly chipping in. Willow screaming over them, demanding to know if Buffy was all right.

Before the shock could wear off, Spike had snarled something vicious, grabbed his pants, and rushed out of the room without once looking back.

It wasn’t like she could blame him. She’d floundered. She should have screamed at him to stay. She should have tugged him back to bed, wrapped her arms around his middle, and told her pals to get lost. Instead, she’d allowed the intrusion of reality to chase her bravado away. The determination that she’d felt so vividly had just vanished.

The look on Riley’s face…

Not that it mattered. Buffy shivered and moaned, pulling the covers over her head. She wanted so badly just to sleep.

A sigh tore through her throat when the dorm-room door swung open. No chance of that.

“Buffy?”

Well, at least it was Willow. Better Willow than the boyfriend she was avoiding.

“Are you sleeping?”

Buffy snorted and threw the blankets back. “No,” she retorted snidely, sitting up on her elbows. “What gives you that idea?”

Willow flashed an awkward smile and shrugged. “Sorry. I…I just thought…I thought you might wanna know,” she said softly. “About the claim? You…last night, you mentioned something about Spike…with the claimage.”

Had she? Buffy stretched and avoided her friend’s eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I talked to Giles—”

She forced a laugh. “Giles knows? More good news.”

“I had to. A-and there is good news. He found something in one of his books. Something that’ll reverse the claim…or erase it. Or something.” The helpful look in Willow’s eyes just made the pain worse. “It’s…complicated. And an itty bit dangerous. And…from the way Giles put it, really painful.”

“Complicated danger wrapped in pain.” Buffy forced a nod and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Sounds like fun.”

Willow shrugged. “From what Giles said, he’d had it researched since Angel made with the drinking-to-near-death last year.”

“Man with a plan.”

“It’s not easy, Buffy. It requires cleansing your soul of Spike. The bits of him that he engrained on you when…with the bitey and the claim.” Willow wet her lips and sat on the edge of her bed, folding her hands in her lap. “Giles…I think he had to buy it. The anti-claim spell, I mean. The manuscript I looked at looked…authentic. Like only-copy authentic. It might even be from another dimension.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because that’s what Giles prepared for.” The redhead offered an unhelpful shrug and smiled weakly. “He’s been worried about this…so worried that he might have bartered with an otherworldly hell-beastie to be prepared to reverse the badness. In every book that I’ve ever looked in, claims are not so much with the reversible as they are with the permanent.”

Buffy arched a brow. “How many books have you looked in?”

“Between ever since you and Spike started with the horizontal tango and ten minutes ago?” Willow shrugged again. “You’d be surprised how many books I can go through when I have something important to study.”

“So you hit the books after you guys made the rounds and found…Giles singing?”

“I had to know what Spike could do to you.”

Buffy rubbed her arms, shivering hard. God, what couldn’t Spike do to her? What hadn’t he done?

“So you learned all about vampire mating rituals,” she observed, smiling warily when her friend nodded. Willow had read up on vamp sex while Buffy had lived it. Lovely. There were no secrets to be had anymore.

“Just the ones I found in all of Giles’s books.”

“All of them?”

The redhead nodded. “He has his books indexed, based on theme and content. I just had to pull out the right cards.”

Buffy snickered quietly. “Giles has an index?”

“I helped him alphabetize it the summer that you were all MIA.” Willow paused. “The point is…he’s all dead-set to try this. As in now. And we need Spike’s blood to do it. Spike’s and yours. Blood is what brought you together, so blood is what’s needed to undo the mojo. Only…” She wet her lips. “Only I’m not convinced that’s what you want.”

There was a long beat; then Buffy glanced up sharply, her eyes wide. “You’re not,” she repeated, though there was no question in her voice. Willow was most assuredly not convinced. She wasn’t anything of the sort. “Why?”

“Because I saw the way you looked at him when he left. A-and the way you were today…with the missing and not with the revulsion.”

Oh. That. Well, that would have done it. Buffy sighed. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know how…when we were alone, everything changed. He hated me and I hated him, and then he didn’t anymore. He claimed me and, yeah, I hit the panic button. But somehow…” She reached up, her fingers instinctively finding the bite mark and giving it a good, soothing rub. She missed his touch so much. “The more time we were together, the more time I wanted with him. I know it was only a few…hours at best, but it felt longer than that.”

Willow was quiet for a long minute. “So…what do you wanna do? You’re…all with the mixed signals. I mean, yeah, Giles is gonna pull a massive wig if you decide to remain all mate-of-vampire, but the big picture? Your life. Not his. He’s just the Watcher guy. You’re the Slayer. You’re the one that has to…it’s you, Buffy.”

“And Spike,” Buffy replied slowly. “It’s me and Spike. Spike…as in that guy who’s tried to kill us God-knows-how-many-times. The bloodsucking fiend guy?”

The redhead shrugged again. “Well, Xander’s dating Anya. Not seeing much of a difference, except I’m not convinced that Anya’s less evil than a bloodsucking fiend.”

Buffy cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

“Hey. Best friend. It’s a contractual obligation to be with the supportive.” She made a face. “Besides…I was beginning to see Riley as a…nice guy, but kinda—”

“Dullsville?”

Willow offered a small smile. “Putting it mildly.”

A long sigh eased through Buffy’s lips and she rolled her shoulders back, her eyes landing tiredly on the ceiling. “I dunno,” she said softly. “I don’t know…everything was so clear…when I was with Spike. I knew exactly what I wanted. And yeah, it helped that I was trapped in a spell and reality was kind of on hold. I just wanted the spell to be over.”

“Trust me, and so said all of us. It was wacky downstairs.”

“Wacky as falling for yet another vampire?” Buffy missed the look that flashed across her friend’s face, just as she missed the shiver that rippled through her body at what she’d just implied. “A-and I don’t know…how much of it can be blamed on the claim. How much I should…I just don’t know.”

“Claims can’t make feelings.”

“So say the books. I went from hating him to…and that didn’t start until after the claim. How do I know that we can trust anything the book says?”

Willow paused. “We can’t. But…I dunno, Buffy. It kinda sounds to me like you’re…trying to talk yourself out of something you want based on really silly stuff. Like the validity of claims, which Giles has assured you—”

“If Giles was that positive, why would he have some mystic book of unclaimy wonder?”

“Umm, let’s think. There was that year and a half you spent dating Angel. You know? The guy that not only ripped your throat out, but also murdered Giles’s girlfriend? Oh, and then you sent him some mystic Gem of Whatever. So what if Angelus came back? What if he came back, all invincible, and made you his?” Willow crossed her arms. “I don’t think it was Spike that Giles was thinking about when he started researching claims and how to undo them. Besides, you’ve been the Slayer for how long? If a vamp was gonna do it, he would’ve done it. The Master, for instance. Had you at his fangs and let you die instead.”

“The Master wouldn’t have wanted me forever.”

“Yeah, because you’re prepared to judge the inner workings of a psychotic madman.”

“Hey—”

“Buffy, I know Angel wanted normal for you.” Willow heaved out a deep breath, casting her eyes to the ground before glancing up again. “I know he did. Hello, you ranted with me all summer about it. About how he was all with the magnanimous walking away so you could be Normal Girl. News flash: Angel’s not you. It’s not his place to make judgment calls on your life, especially if he’s not even a part of it anymore. What he wants for you and what you want for you are two different things. If Spike’s what you want—what it takes to make you happy—I say go for it.” The redhead offered another helpless shrug. “It’s not like any of us have room to judge. Xander with his Bug Lady and Mummy Girl and Anya and…Cordelia. And me with Oz and…now I’m kind of gay, so—”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Now’s really not the time for that conversation.”

“You’re—”

Willow was blushing so hard that her skin was remarkably close to matching her hair. “I’m not driving stick anymore, as Faith loved pointing out. It’s…me and Tara. We’re…we’re kind of…girlfriends.”

“And this happened when?!”

“I…I dunno, it just happened. And again with not the point! Xander’s with a former demon and my relationship isn’t exactly socially acceptable, either.” Willow’s eyes were glued to the carpet. “If you and…I’m not saying I understand it, but I don’t want you pretending to be something because you’re scared of what’ll happen if the truth comes out. I’ve been doing that for weeks now, and it’s so much not with the fun.”

Buffy sighed. “You should have come to me, Will. I would’ve—”

“I know.”

“I—”

“It was one of those things that I had to figure out for myself,” the redhead said softly. “But I know. I know you would’ve been…well, wigged, but supportive. I know.”

Another still beat settled between them.

“So,” Buffy said, rubbing her legs. “You and…Tara.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s new.”

“Buffy, you need to go talk to Riley.”

She sighed again, thoroughly deflated. “What am I even gonna say to him? He was so…with the random understanding and the…and I still don’t know what to do about the claim. I mean, even if I do…have feelings for Spike, I don’t know if I want to be of the claimed. I don’t know if being with him is the answer. Maybe this was just a big cosmic wakeup from the PTB that I was with Mr. Wrong.”

“I still say you’re making excuses out of fear,” Willow replied dryly. “But if that’s the case then you owe Riley a decent breakup, at the very least. Don’t keep stringing him along out of guilt or obligation.”

That was very much the truth. If nothing else, Buffy knew now that she couldn’t be with Riley. The happiness that had once bloomed around their budding relationship was gone, replaced with cold emptiness. It just verified what she’d feared; what she had with Riley was fake. It couldn’t lead anywhere. She would never be happy as long as she was with him—not truly happy.

Right now, she owed him her honesty.

Then she had a decision to make. A decision to make about Spike.

I miss him so much.

A decision that was going to change her life forever.

One way or another.

Author’s Note: Well, here it be. The last chapter of my porntastic fic. I really can’t believe I managed to stretch nine chapters this long. *giggles* Thank you all so, so much for your comments. This story was such a blast to write, and knowing that it was enjoyed is just the icing on the cake.

As for future projects, I do have two fics that I’m working on, aside from what I’m writing under my other name…but my workload being what it is at school, I fear those updates would be even fewer and further between than my Possession updates…and this story was complete before I started posting it. So, while I technically could start posting new fic for you lovely people rather soon, I don’t have any sense of how frequently I could update and I wouldn’t want readers to get discouraged with me…or worse, lose interest. Maybe after I get a few chapters in—since I’m writing multiple things at once, I don’t have nearly the lead I was hoping for. So, yes, new stuff is on its way…very slowly.

I really miss the summer. Was I really writing/posting a chapter a day? That was so nice.

Again, thank you all so much for the warm reception to this fic. And thanks to Megan, Mari, Kimmie, and Jen for betaing and cheerleading my little pRon fic onward.

It felt weird knocking on a crypt door. Too weird to actually do it. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and stared at the stone barrier. Normal Buffy would just kick the door open and storm in like she owned the place. How much normality did she want to put into her entrance? If she knocked, he’d think she was coming to let him down gently. If she kicked the door open, he’d think she was coming by to beat the living hell out of him. If she just stood outside looking at the door, she’d never get to the other side, and that was where she wanted to be.

Buffy laughed shortly and rolled her shoulders. This was ridiculous. She drew in a deep breath and pressed her hands against the stone, and pushed.

“There,” she murmured to herself, wiping her hands on her hips. “Hard part dealt with.”

Then she glanced up and gasped. “Oh!”

Spike was staring at her as though he thought blinking would cause her to disappear. There was nothing for a long minute. Nothing but the burn of his azure eyes and the heavy, chest-crunching breaths that rocked needlessly through his otherwise still body. “Buffy…”

Hearing her name roll off his tongue shoved every word that she had rehearsed to the very back of her mind. It’d been too long since he’d touched her. Too long since she’d gotten to kiss those sinful lips of his. Too long since she’d heard him whisper that he loved her.

It took standing there and looking at him to realize why she’d had such trouble sleeping. She’d needed him beside her. She’d needed him holding her. She’d needed him, plain and simple. She never wanted to return to a Spikeless bed again. She needed him with her.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy blurted before launching herself into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands cupping cheeks and pulling him down to taste his lips in a kiss that melted her skin right off her bones. And when he growled and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, it was all she could do to keep herself from shoving him against the wall and making with naked goodness. “God, Spike,” she whimpered, nipping at his lips when she pulled away for air. “I’m so sorry.”

He growled again but didn’t reply. His hands were too busy ripping off her blouse. Good. Clothes were evil. She’d been far too clothed in the past twenty-four hours. She needed to be as naked as possible.

And hey, so did he. Stupid t-shirt. What was it thinking, covering up his marble chest and lickable six-pack? Same thing went for his jeans. His legs were way too gorgeous to hide behind denim. That ass that she could bounce quarters off of totally needed to be showcased. As for the other part of his anatomy that she was particularly fond of…well, that went without say.

“Pretty,” Spike commented roughly, fingering the strap of her lace-bra. It wasn’t really pretty. Her underwear was typically courtesy of Wal-Mart or whatever was convenient and cheap. Similarly, her underwire had a nasty habit of snapping after one-time wear, and the return policy at all her local hangs totally sucked. Evidently, broken-during-world-saveage wasn’t an acceptable reason to give her any money back. But if Spike thought her bra was sexy, she’d buy a dozen more. Something told her that her delicates weren’t going to last long around him, anyway, so it was likely wiser not to invest. As it was, she’d much rather have Spike breaking her bras than some fledgling wanna-vamp.

“Break it,” Buffy hissed, her feet hitting the ground as her hands ripped at his belt, her all-too eager fingers fumbling for the buttons of his jeans. “Tear it off.”

Spike blinked and looked up, his eyes dancing in amusement. “I can work a clasp, luv,” he replied teasingly, his mouth dropping to her shoulder. “No need to hurt your frilly things.”

“Hurt it!”

“Mmm, but then these lovelies will be all bare.” He cupped and lifted her breasts, his mouth venturing further southward until he had a lace-clad nipple sucked between his lips. “I rather like the way they look all—”

Buffy whimpered and thrust her hips anxiously against his. “Spike, please!”

“You kept me waiting,” he growled, sliding a hand between them to assist her scrabbling fingers in freeing his cock from the confines of his jeans. “You kept me waiting for thirty-two sodding hours.”

“Y-you…you counted?”

“I didn’t think you’d…when the spell was over—”

Buffy cried out in delight when his cock was finally in her hand. Now she could make him do that thing where he moaned and babbled and told her how much he loved her again. The helpless whimper that spilled through his lips set her blood on fire. “I told you,” she replied, ripping the aforementioned evil-tee away before he could protest. “I told you it wasn’t…I told you that it wouldn’t be over.”

“Yeah, an’ then the spell was over an’ your boy was there.”

“You didn’t give me time,” she protested weakly. “I was going to—”

“You shoved me away from you. You shoved me outta your pussy.” He nipped at her breast before pulling back to fist the sliver of material between the cups. With a quick jerk, her bra was effectively destroyed, and she couldn’t conceal her squeal of delight. “You shoved me away from you, Buffy. How was I supposed to react to that?”

“Calm understanding?”

Spike snorted and stepped back, pushing her away from him gently. When she whimpered and cried out in protest, his eyes flashed and a knowing leer tickled his lips. “Yeah,” he drawled, regaining the step between them and slipping his fingers beneath the waistline of her slacks. “See how you like it.”

“It was a part of my master plan!”

“To, what, panic an’ blame the ghosties?”

Buffy blinked. “Y-you heard about the ghosties?”

“Town this size, kitten, an’ some cosmic force makes a whole bloody frat house participate in a violence-laced orgy? News travels.” He used his hold on her slacks to drag her back to him, quickly dropping to his knees to drag the offending material down her legs. “Lift,” he murmured, making quick work of her footwear. “Christ, you smell so good.”

“Ohhh…”

“I’ve missed you, sweetling,” he purred, burying his face between her legs and inhaling. “Oh God.”

“Spike…”

“These hours without you have bloody well been the death of me.” He trailed his gaze heatedly up her body, his eyes flashing amber. “This lovely quim still mine?” he asked, rubbing her delicately through her panties. “You haven’t let anyone else touch it, have you?”

“No!” Buffy barked vehemently, repressing a shudder. “Ugh. Can’t you, like, smell that I’m all Buffy-of-the-non-touched?”

“I din’t think you’d fancy me sniffing you.”

She smirked. “Yeah, like that matters.”

Spike rumbled in amusement. “Thought you might’ve wanted the enormous hall-monitor to erase me from your sweet skin,” he teased, grinning and tonguing her through the thin cotton that separated her wet flesh from his amorous mouth. “You promise no one’s touched you here?”

“Couldn’t…uhhh. Spike, please…need your…need…”

“Couldn’t?” His bumpies burst through without warning, his fangs making quick work of her panties. Then she was standing naked before him. She was finally naked with Spike again. Naked was infinitely better than clothed, as long as her vampire was with her. And hey, if he was on his knees, she definitely wasn’t going to complain. “You couldn’t be with anyone else?”

“I didn’t want to!”

He arched a brow and met her eyes, his fangs re