She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was fucking anyone else but him.

It didn’t work, of course. It never did. She always fell down on the fact that there was no one else.

Certainly not Richard, that wet blanket of a blind date Xander and Anya had brought to her birthday party. And not Riley, either. Thoughts of him only made her miserable, reminding her of her inadequacies. Maybe she wouldn’t need a monster to make her feel something if she hadn’t failed so thoroughly with men.

She wished she could pretend he was Angel, the cool hands that coasted over her burning skin, the noticeably absent heartbeat as his chest hovered above her, the inhuman strength that gave as good as he got, making her gasp with every burst of exquisite pain.

Except Angel had never done the things that Spike did to her. No one could do the things Spike did to her.

The illusion shattered before it ever took form, and she was left with no other choice but to open her eyes and gaze into the ardent blue ones that regarded her with such reverent awe. She hated that look. Hated how he worshipped her, even as he degraded her. She had to be sick and perverted to want this. Want him.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make herself want anyone else.