Halloween I

Against The Wall, Against The Odds


Spike roamed the streets of Sunnyhell, enjoying the mayhem and madness. Demons ran amok, vampires were draining humans left and right, and every type of ghoulie was making a command appearance. He looked for only one thing. The Slayer. The bane of his existence. His greatest enemy. The one human he loved to fight.

His eye caught movement between two parked eighteen-wheelers, and he went to investigate. Maybe it was his next meal.

A pirate stood over a sprite of a girl in a fancy party frock that seemed to date to his time. When girls were proper and never unchaperoned, and men treated them like china dolls. This man was the exception to that rule. Everyone knew that pirates were the scum of the earth.

The dress…the cut, the color, the style, everything reminded him of Cecily. Even the girlish scream….

Scream? He stepped forward, grabbing the pirate by the scruff of the neck. “Unhand that woman, you knave,” he said, not a trace of Spike in his accent. He was pure William now, outraged at the mishandling of one of the fairer sex. Without any effort, he tossed the wanker to the side and looked down into the face of the Slayer.

The Slayer! Bloody bint knew that he would be looking for her, and here she was, in the clutches of a pirate! And he’d saved her bleeding life! He couldn’t believe that he’d let that poncy William side of him to the fore anyway, not with all this lovely chaos erupting all around him.

Bleeding bitch! She was probably laughing at him, inside. She wouldn’t be laughing for long. He would make certain of that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lady Elizabeth stared up into the face of the dirty pirate, all thoughts emptying from her mind. She could smell the reek of rotten teeth and whiskey as he hissed into her face, then shoved her onto a stack of wooden pallets. Her hair flipped over her eyes, and as she struggled not to fall, she missed the sneer of pleasure curl the blonde’s lips, then he grabbed the pirate by his neck and threw him into the wall.

Extending his hand, he reached for her, pulling her to her feet and against his body. She pushed her loosen curls out of her face, and saw his eyes for the first time. No words could describe the shock shivering her skin from her bones as she gazed into the depths of his eyes, so brilliantly blue, open, passionate, wanting. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation of his hard form pressed against hers, she nearly swooned when his hand came up to caress her cheek. “You okay, Slayer?”

“Beg pardon, sir, but who is this Slayer?”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t remember. He grabbed her hand and ran down the alley, and she followed, until the pirate and most everything else was far behind them. He knew that he should bite her while she was like this. Somehow, he felt that wouldn’t be sporting. He liked the challenge of besting this girl, not because of some buggering amnesia, but because he was the better vampire. He stopped in a dim alleyway, and pinned her in a dark recess in the wall.

“Sir, I don’t believe….”

“Have you hit your head, my dear, that you would not recognize your savior as your own husband?” Why did that come out of my mouth? Bloody hell, he thought. Hmm. Could have fun with this one though. He looked down into her breathless, wide-eyed face, and curled his mouth with a sincere smile. “It was only Providence that brought me near that coarse alley, darling. When I found out that they had taken you…I was nearly insane with fear.”

“Husband.” She paused for a moment, then threw herself into his arms, weeping. “Oh, darling, I have been so frightened!”

“There there, kitten.” He brushed tears off her cheeks. “You know, there are things that we can do to allay your fears, help you forget. Do you remember that fantasy that you spoke of only yesterday?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “Of being a doxy….”

“And being taken in an alleyway. We could try that, since we seem to be in an alleyway….” He dipped his finger into the cleavage peeking at her bodice. She gasped, and clutched at his arms.

“Yes, darling, please. Help me forget all that unpleasantness.” Her flesh trembled under his touch, flushed under his azure gaze. He bent his head, and captured her mouth with his. Her heart swelled in her chest, feelings yet new to her, not yet love, but building toward it with every intimate moment. He gathered her voluminous skirts in his hands, exposing her limbs to the cool night air, and she shivered when he placed a hand on her thigh.

He was kissing her neck now, as she began to moan in response to his caresses. His hand brushed against her inadequate coverings over her private parts, and she gasped with sensation as languor slipped into her limbs and she tipped her head back, affording him access to that which he sought. A noise, the hard coolness against her leg; she parted her thighs willingly and allowed him to stroke his member against her, cooling heated flesh.

Spike penetrated her slowly, so slow she didn’t feel the tearing of useless membranous skin as her hymen gave way. He started, surprised she was a virgin, then realized that was a stupid thought. The Slayer was with that poncy grandsire of his, who was too noble to suggest they have sex. Noble his ass. He was just afraid that he wouldn’t measure up.

The scent of her blood was rich in his nostrils, and he grit his teeth to control his demon, keep it buried until the right moment. She locked her arms around his neck, and he lifted her under her knees, spreading her legs further apart and cupping her ass with his hands. Her eyes opened wide as he filled her completely, her body stretching to accommodate his length and girth. She found him staring at her, awe clearly written on his features, and she looked adoringly into the eyes of the man who granted her even the most forbidden fantasy….

Spike could not believe how gullible the little bint was. He also could not believe that his cock was buried to the hilt in the hot, tight pussy of the Slayer. His face was buried in her neck, and it would be so easy—but no, she was a worthy opponent. He loved to watch her dance, both on the dance floor and in a fight. Her movements, her sensual nature, hell, even her puns indicated that she would be the shag of his unlife, and he just had to taste it, just once.

Something thrummed on the air, something magick, and it thrummed through their bodies as well. He heard a gasp next to his ear, and raised his head to look into the green eyes of the Slayer.

“Spike—uh—ohmygosh—ungh—what are we doing?”

He looked down between them where his cock split her in two, and drawled, “Looks like we’re shaggin’, Slayer. What do you think? Want me to stop?” He stopped all movement, burying himself inside her until his pubic bone bruised her.

“Ungh—” did she want him to stop? There was a moist, delicious heat curling through her nervous system, coiling tighter in the pit of her stomach, promising good things. She had no stakes; nothing but her fists. And, damn, did this feel good, or what? “No. Please…?”

Maybe it was the pleading tone, or the way she thought about her answer. Spike wondered if she knew she was amazingly transparent, her every nuance of thought telegraphing itself across her expressive features. He licked his lips, and pulled back farther to watch her face, especially her eyes. Those gorgeous eyes. “Please what, Slayer?”

“Oh, God—please finish, Spike. Please fu—I can’t say it, I can’t.” She tossed her head back and forth negatively to impress her inability to him.

“Say it.”

“Please…f-f-fuck me. Please. We’ll kill each other tomorrow, okay? Just, please, fuck me now.” She pulled his face to hers, and kissed him open mouthed, welcoming his tongue.

She locked her ankles around his hips as he fucked into her, deep and hard, his cock punishing nerves she never knew she had. Her moans echoed on the night air as he pistoned his hips, driving himself into her repeatedly. So good. So hot. So right. Tongues tangled within joined mouths, passions fighting for dominance, warring for the advantage in what was to come.

Spike knew this couldn’t last, this détente, so he reached between their bodies and began stroking her clit with his fingers. Her hands, simply holding him moments before, began digging into his shoulders like claws, her control slipping. She stiffened, and started bucking her body against his, Slayer muscles, both internal and external, squeezing him tightly. He lowered his mouth to the pale pink of her nipple where it had bounced out of her dress, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming out loud. Her pussy was an inferno, burning her mark upon him, and she clenched him tighter and tighter the closer she came, spiraling upward until he could barely move his hips.

He bent to kiss her mouth as she was still tossing her head, and he landed on her neck instead. Her blood sang in her vessels, just beneath the golden skin, and he could feel her pulse everywhere around him, hear it pounding in his ears. Slipping on his game face, he glided his fangs into her skin, that ripe, golden skin under his mouth. Her blood slid seductively over his tastebuds, tantalizing them before it exploded in his head, her heady nectar bringing him over his peak. She spasmed around him, her orgasm plummeting her to unbelievable heights as she felt him penetrating her, surrounding her, possessing her completely.

They tumbled apart, embarrassed by their actions and reactions. He covered himself quickly, staring at her passion-slack face as she continued to lean against the wall, her limbs lax with afterglow, when he heard voices coming down the alley.

“Slayer,” he hissed, “hit me.”

She looked at him, her face riddled with confusion. “Hit you? Why?”

Daft bint. “People are coming this way. Probably your Slayerettes.”

Reality hit, and she bunched up her hand intending to hit him with it, then slapped him open-handed on the cheek. She couldn’t bring herself to hit him, not after…what she had experienced with him. The sound of flesh hitting flesh galvanized them both, and he turned to sprint down the alley, away from the direction of the voices.

She turned to see her friends and Angel tiptoeing up the alleyway toward her. “Don’t worry, he’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Angel said, his voice tinged with foreknowledge and suspicion. He smelled his grandchilde. He knew it.

“Spike. He was here, we fought, end of story. He heard you all coming, and went thataway.” She pointed in the opposite direction, and started toward her house.

“Buffy, you’re not going after him?” Xander was wide-eyed, not believing the Slayer wouldn’t go after her archenemy.

“Nope. I want out of this stupid dress, into a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep. And if I ever say anything even resembling the fact that I would ever dress up like this again? Talk me out of it.” She turned her back on them, even Angel, who was stuck with Cordy on his arm and confusion on his face. He smelled…something. Something that just wasn’t quite right.

He decided that maybe Buffy needed to be…monitored. And he was just the guy to do it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy was true to her word, if nothing else. She went right home, tossed the wig and the dress in the corner, and got under the hottest shower her skin would tolerate. She scrubbed her body head to toe with the roughest loofah she could find, determined to scrub off any skin that could have possibly touched Spike. Or skin that Spike had touched. She drew the line at scrubbing herself there with the loofah; it was already pleasantly sore. She wondered about what they’d done…then realized that Spike had, in truth, taken her virginity. Her mouth worked silently as she tried to wrap tired, confused brain cells around such an unbelievable concept. She had sex with Spike. Willingly. Even after the spell had been broken.

Even more inconceivable, she wasn’t upset, ashamed, or disgusted by it. In fact, she kinda thought it was cool. She had only really seen his regular face a couple of times, and when she had, his blue eyes struck her. Not light blue, like most eyes you see, but dark, sapphire blue, something she thought only contact lenses could do. And they were so piercing, she thought sometimes he could see through her clothes. In the few times they’d faced off so far, she knew by her blows and his clothes that his body was lean, lithe, and lethal. He could take her punches and kicks without flinching, and give back as good as he got. Slayer had to respect that. Always have to respect a worthy opponent. His mouth, with that inviting pout….

She shook her head, and got soap in her eye, but it distracted her mind away from Spike. He was a vampire without a soul, she hated him, and she never wanted to see him again. She did want to fuck him again, though.

What? Where did that stray thought come from? She isn’t supposed to like the evil vampires, just the good ones, like Angel. She wondered if Spike could be good. No, another bad thought. Spike didn’t have a soul and never would, so there was no point going there.

It’s too bad he’s so…handsome. Darn his sinister attraction anyway.

She jumped out of the shower, into her nightclothes, and into her bed without further delay. No more bad thoughts about Spike and what they had done. What’s done is done, and over, and people made mistakes. She couldn’t remember if those kinds of mistakes counted, or not.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike sat on the barstool at the end of the counter, and everyone in Willy’s knew not to mess with him that night. When the Halloween songs bothered him, they stopped singing. When the jukebox had bothered him, he threw a fledge into it, silencing it forever. Now the bar was silent as whispers, and you could hear the cooler under the counter humming as it kept the drinks at the right temperature.

Bloody hell, he was in a foul mood, and cursed the Slayer again, loudly and drunkenly. Silly bint. Looking so sweet and delicious in that dress, reminded him of what he was, not the monster he was now. Reminded him of being human.

And instead of killing her, he’d shagged her. Senseless, if her gait afterward was any revelation. And her a bleedin’ virgin too, to boot.

He rolled his tongue behind his teeth, tasting her sweet blood again. Wonderful bouquet, perfect mixture of fear and lust and woman and slayer. Underneath, the base note, was power. Incredible power, raw and untamed, and waiting for the right vampire to unleash it in her.

Old Spike had done his homework on the Slayers, he had. Have to know your prey, right? Bints could make a monster forget he was one. One book, written by a vampire and a demon together, kept going on and on about Slayer musk and Slayer muscles. Spike had a first hand recollection of both now, and he rubbed his sorely sensitive cock through rough blue jeans. Bint nearly ripped the skin off his prick when she came, she clamped down on him so tight.

His cock grew hard, and he slapped at it and the vision rousing it. Her face so close to his, her honey eyes looking at him with such unbridled passion and lust. Her mouth, sweet and savory with her flavor, her scent still in his nostrils, gripping his guts. God, how he hated her! There was no rhyme or reason to the whole thing. He wanted the Slayer, naked beneath him, writhing for him, and that, my boy, would never happen. Only in dreams now. He was shocked she hadn’t staked him the minute the spell ended.

Wait. Hold that thought, Spike, he said to himself. She didn’t stake him when the spell was over. In fact, she told him specifically to fuck her. After she had her full senses. After she knew she was the Slayer. She still wanted him to fuck her, wanted them both to finish.

He finished the bottle of Jack, and threw some bills he’d swiped off his last victim on the counter. Maybe that was the way to kill the bint. Shag her senseless, then drain her. He strutted out of the bar, oblivious to the sigh of relief that rippled through as he walked out the door. He had a Slayer to stalk.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He heard the singing screams before he got to the factory. Oh, sod it all, Dru was awake. He’d forgotten about Dru.

He went inside anyway, and found Dru singing and screaming, just like he’d heard outside, only it was all her. There was nobody hanging in the manacles. Good. That meant she’d eaten. She rounded on him, and ran to him. He spread his arms, thinking that she was happy to see him, and felt her nails rake through his tee shirt and down his torso. The smell of blood was hot on the air as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“The Slayer. You stink of her. You stink of sex and sunshine. Go wash, go wash, before I pull your eyes out on their stalks. Come to your dark princess smelling of Slayer and sex and sunshine and blood, and none for me! No Slayer blood ever for Dru! Never this one, not the next, no Slayer blood for Dru, unkind Willy.”

He looked down at her, and thought of soothing her, but shrugged his shoulders and went to the back of the factory where they had a shower rigged. Well, he had a shower rigged. He liked bathing, unlike some of his cohorts; but then again, Spike was an anachronism anyway. Liked bathing, liked food, liked sleep—all the creature comforts, so to speak.

While he showered, the Slayer again invaded his thoughts, and he resolved to finish this once and for all. Tomorrow. He was fagged out, needed some kip, then he’d be right as rain and ready for the Slayer tomorrow night. He fell into bed, his eyes closing the minute he hit the pillow. He never realized that eyes watched him closely, not only those of his princess, but other eyes that weren’t so friendly. Angel’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One day turned into another, and another, and a week raced by before Buffy realized it. A week! A week of patrolling, school, after school training, and no sign of Spike.

She shook her head, and blew a stray hair out of her face while she shrugged into her jacket. Things hadn’t been the same with Angel, either. She had to stifle the retorts that came to mind every time he chided her, had to listen to him and Giles both lecture on dangerous vampires, like Spike. Wasn’t there something in the books on vampire senses? She grabbed the dusty manuscript that Giles thought she should read, and inside, she found it.

She pulled the book closer, and read the paragraph aloud. “Vampire senses have been proven to be highly sensitive. The sense of smell, for example, is comparable to that of dogs, with the vampire able to distinguish over 1 billion different scents, alone and in combination with others, and in such miniscule amounts as 1 part per billion airborne.”

Eww. So what did that mean? That Angel and Spike could smell her? Smell her? Like when she was…wet? Eww. So if Angel could smell her, she thought, he knew what his kisses did to her…and did it anyway. He knew she was a walking, talking, slaying hormone bomb, and he still kissed her breathless and sent her home with drenched panties.

Pervert! He probably watched her through her window when she masturbated after those sessions too. Eww, pervert much?

So then, did that mean that he could tell that she and Spike…she still had to come to terms with that little factoid. She had sex with Spike. She had asked Spike to fuck her. “Fuck me Spike,” she said, rolling the words on her tongue. It sounded right. In fact, it sounded more than right, it sounded sexy. “Fuck me Angel.” Didn’t sound right. Didn’t feel right. Nothing about it was right.

Why did he help her that night anyway? She shrugged mentally. With Spike, there really was no telling. She could have sworn he said something like unhand her before he grabbed the pirate, but her memories were so fuzzy. Maybe she’d suppressed them, she wondered, like the psych teacher said people did, to keep herself from wigging out too badly.

That’s okay. She couldn’t think about that right now. She had homework, then training, then patrol later. Maybe after patrol she would think about all this, but according to Giles and Angel, patrol was the most important part of the day. Funny, she thought it was breakfast.

When the sun set, she was ready. Nothing was gonna stop her this time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was almost like he was waiting for her.

One minute, she was walking across Restfield, on her way home. She’d had a productive night, slaying quite a few fledges, a couple of early risers. The next minute, her gut churned familiarly, and she turned to find Spike, standing 10 yards behind her, smoking a cigarette. He tossed it away, and strolled casually toward her. “Hello cutie. Been waiting for you.”

“Have you? Waiting for me, or for Mr. Pointy?” She raised her stake, still in her fist. “No waiting for him, huh?”

He just stood there with his hips cocked and hands draped loosely in his belt, framing his bulge with his fingers. “Actually, wondering if you thought of me in the last week.”

Admit, deny, admit, and deny—she warred within herself, not knowing the battle played on her face as well. He watched her, dreamy smile one second, frown the next, and could almost hear her thoughts inside her head as he waited patiently, that stupid smirk on his face. As she watched, he lifted his head, nostrils flaring, then smiled at her, this time a genuine smile. She realized that while she studied him and tried to decide what to say, her body had betrayed her, the moisture drenching her panties, and now he smelled it. Eww.

“I can tell that you did, my little cherry. And did you touch yourself when you did? Did you stroke yourself while you laid in your virgin’s bed, thinking of the Big Bad and what he’d done to you? I know you’ve been a player in my fantasies over the last few days.” He cupped himself, loving the look in her eyes—that disgusted fascination, that horrified need. She wanted it. He knew it.

He made to take a step toward her, and she raised her stake at him. “You can smell me, can’t you?”

“Kitten, as much as you’re juicing right now, I can taste you.”

Her face flushed hotly red. “You can smell me. Okay, taste me. Right? Explain to me then—can Angel smell things like you can?”

“Poncy bugger. Yes, he can. He only got cursed with a soul, didn’t have any vampire powers taken away from him.”

“That prick.” Her whispered curse was harsh in the dark. “He knew, all this time, and he never….” She shook her head, and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “You know I don’t like you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I have that effect on Slayers.”

“But,” she said, dropping her head, “I liked what we did. In the alley. On Halloween.”

His jaw sagged at her admission. She did like him shagging her! He knew it! Resisting the urge to shout aloud, he smirked instead. “Okay, then. That means what to me?”

“I…I want you to do it again. Us to do it again. Now. Tonight.”

“Demanding little bint, aren’t you? And what do I get for this…service?” Avarice gleamed in his eyes, lust on his mouth.

“Two sips. Of my blood. Isn’t’ that currency with you vampires? Blood?”

“Blood and kittens. Okay, kitten, where do you want to go to consummate this deal?”

“My mom’s not home right now. We can go there. To my house.”

The Slayer inviting him home? The irony was delicious!

She turned her back on him and started home, amazing him with her trust. He fell into step beside her, coat flaring and arms swinging, trying to figure out what was in this chit’s head. “Don’t you know better?”

“Know better what?” she answered, not looking at him.

“Know better than to turn your back on a master vampire? I could have killed you.”

“No you won’t.”

The certainty in her tone surprised him. “And why not?” he said bitingly. “Why won’t I hurt you?”

“‘Cause you want this just as much as I do.” She looked up at him, and he got caught in the honey of her eyes, her sweet scent as she moved. “Don’t you, Spike?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He couldn’t hold back, bloody hell. “Haven’t stopped dreaming about it, every night.”

She was drowning, drowning in the blue of his eyes, so deep, dark, penetrating. “I don’t normally turn my back on any master vampire. Even Angel.”

His nancy boy grandsire. Right. Right mood breaker. “Thanks, Slayer. Lost the urge now, sorry.”

She stopped dead in the street, turning to look at him. “You mean, you don’t want to now?”

Looking down at her, he saw her fire quenched, her disappointment in his words. He stepped toward her. “No, I still want to. Just a turn of phrase, pet.” He extended his hand, and she took it. It was cool and strong, and just fit her hand. she didn’t feel all stretched like she did when she held Angel’s huge hand. He smiled at her, and his face completely changed, became almost boyish in appearance. She could almost imagine him being her own age, or maybe a little older, not older than her house.

It soothed her mind a little, and she smiled back up at him. It dazzled him, so much so he forgot to breathe. Her hand, so warm in his, so trusting. Her smile, so ingenious, fanned his waning embers of humanity in his heart, cold and dead as it was, and he knew the moment to kill this slayer was past. His demon howled with anger and loss. Gibbering, it demanded the Slayer’s blood, and Spike soothed it with the thought of later. Later, when she was soft and lax beneath him, lust and desire tingeing it sweeter than wine. Later, when she called his name and begged for more, later he would have his due. Tonight, he would taste the Slayer. In all her glory.

She went to the back door, opened it with a key, and turned solemnly to face him. “Spike, I invite you in.” She tossed the keys on the island in the center of the kitchen, and stripped off her jacket. “Can I take your coat?”

He handed it to her, and she disappeared for a moment, then was back. “I put it on the banister. I was careful with it.”

“Thank you.” He watched her move, amazed at her grace and ease. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, and tilted her head. “Do I offer you a drink?”

“I drink. Eat too.”

“Angel doesn’t. He’s ‘above all that’.”

He laughed out loud when she did the air quotes. He couldn’t help himself. “Little tarnish there on the knight in shining armor?”

She pouted. “He’s too—stuffy. Like having Giles for a boyfriend. Eww.” She wrinkled her nose, and he fell hard. She mesmerized him. “Always, Buffy, it’s about the mission, Buffy, you’re the Chosen one, Buffy, you need to patrol—never anything like, Buffy, let’s go Bronzing tonight. Always Mr. Serious, no Mr. Fun.” He stared at her bottom lip, where it protruded. Gonna get that lip.

She realized he was staring at her mouth. Watching her. Memorizing her. “So, Spike—why do you want to fuck me, anyway?”

The profanity on her innocent mouth amused him. “Using the big words now, aren’t we pet?”

She moved her hand, and caught his gaze. “Can’t call it making love. I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Screwing is just crass. Knocking boots is just too passe. I think that fucking is the only description that fits.”

He just stared at her, open-mouthed, gasping like a fish. Shrugging, she continued. “You know I was a virgin. I know you know. If you can smell as good as…well, you smelled the blood. Why didn’t you kill me in that alley? You had your fangs in me, they were right there.” She swept her hair to the side, and exposed the twin pinpoints that dotted her neck. “So why didn’t you finish the job, Spike? Didn’t have the stones?”

“Had the stones.” Vampire quick, he was at her side, his arms around her waist. “Didn’t want to. Felt too good to kill.” His words were a whisper against her cheek, and she turned her face to his. Her breath was warm on his mouth. He could taste her sweetness, even from here. “Nervous?”

“Some.”

“I’ll make it good.” He closed the distance, and her mouth was his, his to plunder and explore. Her lips parted beneath his, and he swept his tongue inside, tasting her. She groaned, vibrating against him, and her arms came around his back, kneading his muscles through his shirt. She broke away, panting, her cheeks flushed and rosy, eyes bright. He followed her through the house and up the stairs, down the hall to her room, when she turned and pushed him hard against the doorframe, pasting her mouth onto his.

She ripped his shirt like tissue, and the shreds hung from his shoulders while her hands and mouth discovered the secrets of his body. She licked his collarbone, nudging his siring scar, and his sharp intake of breath signaled her that was a place to explore further, later. Her fingers played against the rippled stomach, the muscular pecs. Her mouth found his nipple, and she sucked it between her lips, testing its responsiveness. When she bit it, he let out a roar, and gripped her upper arms.

“Don’t play with fire, kitten, unless you want to get singed.”

“I know how dangerous fire is. It’s also pretty.” She grazed his other nipple with her nails. “And I think that you like me playing with fire.”

She touched the thin line of hair that trailed into the waistband of his jeans, and he groaned aloud. She unbuttoned the top, and he grabbed her hands. “Oh, not yet, little miss. You have too many clothes on.”

“Can take care of that.” In seconds, she was down to bra and panties, if that’s what you called them. Thin scraps of lace and satin that barely covered her. She glowed. Even with no light in the room, she glowed.

He stalked toward her, stripping the scraps of his tee shirt as he moved. She sat on the bed, scooting back, until her back was against the headboard. “Take them off,” she said, indicating his boots and jeans.

Damn Docs. He sat down to unlace them, then turned to look at her there, on the bed, waiting for him. She gave the pants a pointed look, and he shrugged. “Best leave them on, pet. Don’t wear knickers myself.”

Her face flushed at the thought of him without underwear. She squirmed a little. She was trying to be all woman of the world, and he kept making her feel like she was a silly virgin. Well, he had taken care of that part. Now she wanted to know more. She pouted again, and he came to her, taking her lip in his mouth and touching it gently with his tongue. She gasped at the sensation, and he kissed her fully. He stretched out next to her, and cupped her head in his hands, kissing her breathless.

It was only then he touched her anywhere, and that was only to lay the palm of his hand against her stomach. She looked up at him, fear and lust warring in her eyes, and he kissed her gently. “It won’t hurt this time, pet. Nothing but pleasure after the first time.” She nodded, unable to speak. He stroked her stomach lightly until he felt the gooseflesh rippling under his palm, then stroked her arms the same way, kissing her gently and whispering sweetly to relax her. When she lay lax and loose beside him, he brushed a hand over her lace-covered breast, and was rewarded with a tiny moan, barely audible to any but him.

She arched her body into his touch, wanting and needing more. Her fumbling fingers unhooked the front of her bra, then pulled it open. She needed his skin on hers, his hands on her body before she lost her mind. He never hesitated, simply continued to caress and kiss her, fanning the embers of her desire, until they burst into full flame.

With a strangled cry that was a cross between a groan and a scream, she rolled him onto his back and straddled his groin, grinding her satin covered quim against him. He reached for her, and she grabbed his hands, pinning them next to his head, her need for relief erasing all conscious thought. She brought his hands to her breasts, gripping them against her. His touch cooled her, let her think. Think. What was she doing? Was she acting like a ho?

Reality slapped her in the face, and she fell back and off of him, her face hidden in her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry….”

He picked her up bodily, and sat her on his lap. “Passion, pet. That’s what put a mojo on you. Passion. I didn’t mind, nothing to be sorry for.” He captured her hand, and pressed it against the bulge in his jeans. “That’s from you, pet. For you. D’ya still want it?”

“God, yes.” Her tongue came out and moistened her lips. “Can I see it?”

He set her aside, and stood, dragging his jeans over his lean hips. His cock jutted proudly from his pelvis, and he turned. She stared in fascination. Her small hand encircled it, and it jumped at her touch. It was beautiful, pale on the shaft, a pink tinge at the head. She looked closely, and noticed a droplet of moisture on the very tip. She stuck her tongue out and snagged the glistening drop, and he threw his head back at the touch on his sensitive skin. Salty, she thought, but too good. She licked again, and looked up to see him looking down on her, his eyes unreadable.

He reached for her, impatient to feel her skin against his, and tore the lacy underthings from her body. She was perfection personified, his golden goddess, and he wanted to worship her the way she deserved. He touched her everywhere he could reach, from her silken golden hair that curled around his fingers, to her satin skin, smooth under his hand. Her gasping moans urged his explorations to continue, and he was happy to oblige.

He found the spot behind her ear that made her melt, tenderly nipping it between blunt teeth. He knew the perfect amount of pressure to use when he nibbled on her nipples, erect and straining for his touch. He touched her leg, behind the knee, and when she sucked in her breath, he licked and kissed it until she was breathless. He paid close attention to where he’d bit her before, nibbling it daintily as she thrust her hips beneath him, begging to be filled.

His mouth trailed down her body to her navel, and he dipped his tongue inside and swirled it sensuously. Her quim hit him in the chest when she bucked, and he lowered his head to inhale deeply, drinking in her scent. Her thighs glistened with her juices from her arousal, and he traced his finger through them, bringing it to his lips to savor it on his tongue.

She watched him, spellbound, as he bent his head to press his nose to the small patch of curls between her thighs. She was self-conscious, remembering the last time she showered, and tried to close her thighs to his probing, but this he would not allow. He held her legs apart, arms straining, and tipped his head to look at her. “You smell like heaven and sunshine, kitten. Let me see you.”

Wanting, needing, and tired of fighting, she let her legs fall apart, and it spread her labia open for his perusal. She was all pinks and reds, layers on layers of colors, delicate and beautiful. He ran his tongue over her thigh, first one side then the other, licking her juices off her skin, and swirling them in his mouth. “You’re delicious, pet. Just the right flavor.”

She let her head fall back, but brought it up immediately when she felt him swipe his tongue across her pussy from bottom to top. Her thighs trembled beneath his arms, and he felt her shudder beneath him, her need for him evident in her straining movements, her desire taking hold. She arched her pelvis toward him, begging silently for his touch. Bending his head to task, he flicked his tongue lightly over her clit, then as her movements became more overt, increased the pressure gradually, until her quim was quivering in his mouth, devouring his tongue as he delved inside her for more of her sweet juices.

She could take it no longer, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him on top of her. “Inside me. Please,” she dragged out, begging him for his cock. He kissed her again, and she tasted her juices on his mouth, on his lips, smelled her arousal all over his face, and was strangely turned on by it.

He positioned himself between her creamy thighs, the head of his cock brushing her clit with her thrusts. He stilled her hips with his hands, and slid into her easily, a perfect fit. She jerked her pelvis, and he was fully inside her, his cock sheathed in the tightest and wettest passage he’d ever felt in his entire unlife.

He propped himself up on his elbows, watching her face closely as he started to move. Shallow and gentle thrusts at first, until she was comfortable with him inside her, then long, slow, deep thrusts that widened her eyes and glazed them with passion as she surrendered herself to the sensations. He could feel her tightening within with every thrust, her pussy consuming him, burning him alive with her heat.

She never felt anything like this. He filled her perfectly, with every thrust, hitting places deep inside her that had never been touched, his cock rubbing her clit with every movement. Masturbation didn’t even come close to how this felt, to be full and replete and have a cool body over yours, touching and moving and kneading you into pliant submission. She hooked her ankles around his hips, raising her to meet him thrust for thrust, and she knew that she couldn’t, wouldn’t last long. She needed to come. Needed it so badly it hurt. It coiled inside her like a snake, poised and ready to strike at any moment. She just needed the right stimulus.

She pulled his head up, where he had bent to suckle her nipples, and held it steady in front of her. “Please, Spike. Bite me. Where you did before. I need to come. I want to. Please?”

His demon roared in triumph. There was his invitation. Caught in the honey of her eyes again, he promised himself he would not kill this golden goddess. He would do a lot of things, but something this beautiful, this special, would not be marred by something so vulgar as her death. He had never realized it before, as single-minded as he’d been, but fucking a Slayer was by far better than killing one. He thought about telling her, and discretion won out. Not a thing she needed to hear, especially not now.

He nuzzled her neck, over his week-old marks. She moaned, and pressed the back of his head, urging him closer. Game face sliding gracefully into place, he licked her with the rough tongue of the demon, tasting her sweat and sweetness, then glided his fangs into her flesh, withdrawing them quickly and allowing his face to return to normal. He sipped from her, two mouthfuls of the powerful, heady nectar that was Slayer blood, and it slicked his mouth and throat, put pictures in his mind of this woman, in his bed and in his heart. He pushed them away for later examination when he realized she was reaching her peak, her orgasm slamming into her, bending her double as she arched and writhed with pleasure.

She hissed through clenched teeth, until the final spasm wracked her, then she opened her mouth and shrieked like the damned, her nails scoring his flesh in attempts to pull him closer. He pounded into her viciously, seeking his own release, when she clamped her teeth on his straining neck and buried her nails in his ass, holding him still as she pulsated around him. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and he could almost feel it pounding in his chest as well as the pain diverged to pleasure and he came inside her, cool jets of semen splashing her insides and oozing onto the sheets with their continued movements. She came again as he twitched inside her, her pussy viselike as it fluttered against his cock, her head moving on the pillow beneath him, eyes tightly closed. She was saying something under her breath, and he leaned forward straining to hear it. “Spike Spike Spike fucking me fucking me God I love it Spike more please keep fucking me make me your slave fuck the Slayer Spike….” He crushed his mouth to hers, stopping her murmurs, but saving their memory for later examination as well.

He brushed her hair back from her face, and she looked up at him, her eyes luminous. “What have you done to me?” she whispered.

“Only what you asked me to, pet. Shagged you senseless.”

“Senseless, yeah. Like I had so much to begin with.”

He chuckled, and she groaned. Realizing his weight was too much, he rolled off of her, ignoring her mewls of protest as he did. He propped his head on his hand, and looked down at her. She looked up at him, and said, “You know, this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

“I still don’t like you.”

“Me either. Still don’t like you either, I mean.”

“Can we do this next year? On Halloween, I mean?”

He considered her proposition. Of course, he still wanted to kill her, drain her dry. But if he didn’t, he didn’t want anyone else to either. “I guess. If you’re still alive, and I’m not dusted, we can.”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna live for a long, long time, Spike. Knowing you, you will too.”

She sat up, wincing slightly as sore muscles protested, but ignored it pointedly. “Sit up. Gimme your hand.”

He extended his right hand, and she took it in her left. She laced their fingers together, held them tightly, and reached in her bedside table to pull out a dagger. She threaded it through the space between their hands, then turned it and pulled it out, slicing their palms. “This is our blood pact. If we are able and alive, we’ll meet next Halloween and have sex. When the scar itches and glows in our palms, we’ll know it’s time.”

Did she even know what she’d done? What magick she wrought? He doubted it. He doubted she knew that Slayer blood was used to sign demon contracts, knew that she would be horrified if she did. Once a pledge was sealed with Slayer’s blood, it was unbreakable. He looked at the line on his hand, crossing his head, heart, and life lines, and knew that there was no turning back. The Slayer had made him hers, whether she wanted it or not, and there would be no escape from their fate.

The magick tightened between them, pulling on them as a vortex might, then fell silent. Next year. Same time, next year. He couldn’t wait.