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Chapter 29
 
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The beep of the answering machine echoed in the quiet of 1630 Revello Drive, powerless to wake its sleeping inhabitants.
 
“Hello Ms Summers, it’s Mrs Stevens from Sunnydale Middle School. I’m just calling to let you know that since this is now the third time Dawn has missed classes this year, we will be required to report her truancy. If she is unwell, do please let us know as soon as possible, and make sure Dawn brings in a doctor’s note when she returns. Thanks so much. Bye!”
 
Then again, a few hours later.
 
“I haven’t heard from anyone since Saturday and Spike is not answering his phone. Has something happened? Please call me back.”  A pause. “This is Bohdan Kosík.”
 
Closely followed by:
 
“Buffy? It’s me. If you’re there, could you pick up?” An inaudible count to ten. “Okay, I guess you’re not there. There's a rumour going 'round that the Order of Taraka is after Spike. I don't know who the hell that idiot's pissed off ... but I just  I thought you’d wanna know. So … yeah. Call me. Or, you know, don’t. But….” A sigh. “I’m just gonna hang up now. Be safe." A pause. "I love you."
 
 
 
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The girl slowly blinked her eyes open. She felt deliciously warm. But … not at all sure where she was. Or who she was.
 
Okay. Kinda scary.
 
She tried to get out of bed, but found herself immobilised: long, strong arms wrapped themselves more tightly around her, while rough, calloused hands stopped their lazy caresses to splay out and stop her from pulling away.
 
It surprised her that none of this made her feel trapped.
 
As soon as she stopped struggling, the thigh nestled between hers lifted to hook an ankle around her calf and tug her in closer.
 
       She giggled. Then bit back a moan as she felt the gentlest brush of soft lips against the back of her ear.
 
She sobered at the rapidly growing erection pressing into her. Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man was so not of the good. But … she wasn’t drunk – didn’t think she’d been drugged, either. Her head was clear, and she didn’t feel sick.
 
She was also wearing what felt suspiciously like flannel pyjamas.
 
Okay. So aside from the loss of memory, do I feel safe? She thought for a moment. Yes. I feel completely safe.
 
She looked around at the bedroom. It was so obviously not a man’s room. So this can’t be his bed. Maybe it’s mine. Only … it’s kinda teenager-y, and I feel older than that. 
 
She started looking for photos.
 
Then she realised she had no idea what she looked like.
 
This is so weird.
 
A girl with blonde hair was in most of the photos she could see. She shifted against the arm she was using as a pillow to look at her hair. Colour sorta matches.
 
A half-growl, half-purr sounded in her ear.
 
Maybe he knows who we are.
 
“Hey, Mystery Man, wake up.” She started moving, trying to twist herself around to look at him.
 
Apparently turning around was more acceptable than getting out of bed, because he helped this time: loosening his hold on her upper body and curling one hand around her bottom hip and tugging gently while she struggled to roll over in the barely four inches of space she had between the edge of the bed and his naked chest.
 
The girl forgot how to breathe for a second when she finally saw him.
 
So pretty. She licked her lips. Even if he is all sunburnt and looks like he’s gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.
 
Her movements had increased the amount of space between them just enough to get her arms free. She pushed her bottom arm up and under his head, so it was no longer pressed between their bodies. He arched his neck to rub his cheek against her, pushing at the fabric to get to her skin.
 
She raised her other hand to lightly trace his cheekbones with her fingertips, then cupped one side of his face. When she brushed his lower lip with her thumb, he turned to kiss the inside of her palm.
 
“Mmmmm. You smell good,” the man murmured sleepily, pressing his nose and lips against the inside of her wrist and nuzzling.
 
She giggled again, pulling her hand away. The man, blindly trying to follow her wrist, bumped his nose into hers. His eyes blinked open.
 
She didn’t think eyes could be so blue. “Like cornflowers,” she said softly.
 
“Mornin’ Beautiful,” he rumbled, his lips hovering over hers, tickling her with his breath. He smiled.
 
Must’ve done somethin’ bloody impressive to deserve all this. Fuck, she smells amazin’.
 
He peppered her face and neck with kisses, drinking in the scent of her skin.
 
His smile reminded her of a little boy in a candy store. Awed ... but hungry.
 
“I don’t think it’s morning anymore,” she said.
 
Instead of answering, he started sucking and teasing at her lips, his hand leaving her shoulder to trail upwards, his fingers tangling in her hair. He swallowed her breath, his tongue tracing the inside of her mouth like he owned it, owned her.
 
For all her loss of memory, the girl was sure no one else had ever kissed her like this. It was like with every stroke of his tongue he was touching her somewhere else. She raised her hand to his face, stroking along his jaw and up to his ear with her thumb.
 
He started rocking gently against her, one hand guiding her into his kisses and one pulling her hip against him to keep her from falling off the bed. He moved down along her jaw, then sucked her earlobe into his mouth. Letting it go with a soft pop, he whispered “Delicious,” before pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck, then gently closing his teeth around the skin and sucking.
 
The girl let out a breathy moan. Whatever he was doing to her neck seemed to be going straight to her clit. It was electric and soothing all at the same time.
 
More, he thought desperately, moving his hand from her hip to her bottom, cupping one cheek to pull her closer. Then he stroked his hand down to just above her knee, and closed his fingers around her thigh to drag her leg over his hip, pressing her tightly against his straining erection. Better.
 
She started running her foot along the inside of his thigh, scrunching her toes in the soft cotton of his trousers, and felt him twitch between her legs.
 
“My beautiful girl,” he crooned into her neck, his words as much a caress as his lips, his breath gliding over her increasingly sensitised skin.
 
"Ummm,” the girl breathed, arching to give him better access.
 
“Too many clothes,” he groaned into the hollow of her throat, making her skin buzz. He was running his hand up her pyjama-clad thigh, along her hip, and under her shirt at her waist. When he was finally in direct contact with her skin, he stretched out his fingers, and began teasing his thumb along her ribcage just below her breast.
 
She whimpered as his thumb grazed slightly higher, making her nipple snap to attention.
 
He unlatched from her neck with a sigh, his breath making her wet skin tingle. He pulled back to look at her again. His pupils had expanded, almost eclipsing the blue.
 
The girl let out a breathy gasp. “W-was gonna ask you something,” she panted. “Forget now.”
 
He let out a tiny whoop of delight, diving in to recapture her mouth with his, distracting both of them. “Makin’ you forget your own name, am I?” he said finally, in between nibbles at her lips.
 
“Do you remember yours?” she asked.
 
He froze, his eyes suddenly flooded with panic, and she could feel him softening. “I – I’ve no idea.”
 
 
 
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Across the hall, another girl drifted awake in a big bed not sure where she was … or who she was.
 
Then she realised she wasn’t alone.
 
She grinned. Maybe I got lucky last night. Then she faltered. There was a lot of space between her and Miss Sexy Pants over there.
 
Maybe we’re just friends….
 
But oh, she was so tempting. All that red hair streaking out on the pillow, almost glowing in the late afternoon sun….
 
 
 
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The man forced himself to be still. “Do – do you want to stop?” His voice was hoarse with need. Stupid git! You think you can stop now?! He stroked her hair away from her face, lingering to trace the outline of one ear.
 
She looked down at his naked chest, each muscle perfectly defined. Lickable. “Nuh-uh,” she said, feeling how tense and hard he was beneath her. She darted out her tongue to make ever-smaller circles around one perfect pec, stopping just short of his nipple.
 
“Oh god,” he moaned. Forcing his eyes open, staring into hers, he asked, “You sure, pet?” It hurt holding back now. “Don’ want you regrettin’ things later.”
 
“You’re sweet.” She smiled, slowly inching up his body, kissing and licking her way to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut as soon as she reached his jugular.
 
He whimpered, his body quivering beneath her. “Please, please don’ stop doin’ that.”
 
“Somebody has a sensitive spot,” she murmured, twining her fingers in his hair to position him for better access. She licked a single long stroke along the vein, and he shuddered, his hands pushing her bottom down while he arched up into her.
 
It felt to him like a very different vein.
 
As she alternated between licking and kissing his throat and just under his jaw, he started losing control, his hips thrusting harder against her.
 
“Direct line, huh?” she murmured, letting her lips stroke him as she spoke. Then she stopped.
 
He let out a desperate, almost-pain sound at the loss.
 
She sat up, straddling him, rocking slightly to get into position. She could feel his cock, thick and hard and heavy, between her legs. She felt so powerful, seeing the effect she had on the gorgeous, gorgeous man in her bed.
 
"Oh, but you’re cruel,” he moaned, forcing himself to open his eyes, running his hands along the outside of her thighs.
 
She pouted at him, her eyes dancing. “Wanna talk,” she said.
 
“‘M listenin’,” he said, trying to appear serious. She rewarded him by tracing his collarbone with her fingers, flicking light touches against his neck with every stroke, watching as he bit down on his lower lip, trying not to react to what she was doing.
 
“Given our oh-so-attractive sleepwear,” she said, scrunching up her nose in a moue of distaste, “I think it’s a safe bet we’re together – like long-term together – whoever we are.”
 
He finally grabbed her hand away from his neck, entwining her fingers with his, then bringing it to his lips. “Couple of old marrieds, yeah?”
 
“These are so very not the sort of clothes I would let a hot guy see me in,” she said, voice getting slightly breathy as he sucked her middle finger into his mouth and started stroking it with his tongue.
 
Releasing her finger with a soft pop, he tucked his tongue behind his teeth and turned his grin to a leer. “Think I’m hot, do you?”
 
The girl nodded. “Oh, yeah.” Her eyes shone.
 
He went serious, staring into her eyes. “Then I’m a lucky, lucky man.” He sat up to claim her mouth again. This time, his lips were comforting, loving. Like he was stroking her heart. He breathed her in, almost giddy from the scent and taste and touch.
 
All their urgency was suddenly gone, replaced with a feeling of … coming home.
 
My girl.
 
He held her face with both hands, staring into her eyes for a moment before kissing the tip of her nose and lying back down, grinning. He left his hands resting on her shoulders so he could play with her hair. “Reckon you’d be stunnin’ dressed in a sack.”
 
They just stared at each other for a few seconds, grinning like idiots. For all their memory loss, being together felt so comfortable, so safe.
 
He craned his neck to look around the room, thrusting up teasingly.
 
She closed her eyes, rubbing back against him.
 
“Don’ reckon we live here together,” he said. “But has to’ve been yours once upon a time – pictures of you everywhere.”
 
“Is that really what I look like?” she asked, frowning.
 
“Nah. They’re all at least a year old, mostly older.” He drew out a strand of her hair so she could see it. “Hair’s longer now.” He let the strand drop and started tracing the planes of her face with his fingers. “An’ you’re … leaner. Honed.” He frowned up at her. “Don’ look altogether healthy, pet.” He gently cupped her face with both hands, tracing the circles under her eyes with his thumbs, then ran his hands languidly up and down her body. Even through the flannel pyjamas, he could feel her bones pushing up through her skin. “Need to start feedin’ you better.”
 
“We don’t have the same accent. Maybe I’ve brought you home to meet my parents.” She stopped suddenly. “Oh god, what if my parents are next door or something!” She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks.
 
He didn’t think it was possible, but her blush made him even harder.
 
“They’re the ones letting us sleep in your bedroom, pet.” He grinned. “I say we give’m an earful.”
 
 
 
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At first he thought he must be hung over. He was lying on a supremely uncomfortable sofa; his mouth tasted of old socks; and he felt gritty and grimy.
 
But there was no queasiness, and although his head hurt, the ache seemed to be limited to the area around the goose egg he found on his temple.
 
Perhaps concussion-related memory loss?
 
But that only happens in films....
 
 
 
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The girl began running her fingers through the man’s hair, twisting and pulling on his curls. “Such a bad boy.”
 
He stretched and rubbed into her caresses like a cat.
 
“Bet you’re just a big ol’ softy on the inside.”
 
“What makes you say that?” he said, his voice thick and deep, almost like a purr.
 
“You’re totally rockin’ that bad-ass look with your bleached hair and that black eye, but no one with curls this soft could ever be hard on the inside.”
 
He closed his eyes briefly, luxuriating in the feel of her fingers.
 
“Oh, I’m plenty hard, kitten,” he said, half-opening his eyes and propelling his hips up against her again. “An’ you’re still wearin’ too many clothes.”
 
She giggled, then drew her arms up to slip her pyjama top over her head and off with a little shimmy.
 
The man’s eyes locked onto her bared breasts, glazing over with lust, conversation completely forgotten. He stroked his fingers up her sides to cup her breasts. “Perfect,” he breathed.
 
The girl arched her back, pushing herself into his hands.
 
He sat up, bending her backwards to take one of her breasts into his mouth, sucking on her nipple and gently closing his teeth around it. He cupped long fingers around the other breast, circling her areola with his thumb. The girl shifted, trying to uncurl her legs from beneath her to wrap around him. She let out a yelp as she overbalanced and they both toppled sideways.
 
He laughed, rich and joyous, as they shifted around, untangling themselves, until they were lying on their sides, facing each other.
 
“No more laughing, mister,” she said, slightly breathless and thoroughly embarrassed.
 
“You’re beautiful when you squeak,” he said, eyes crinkled and still shining with laughter.
 
Then he pounced – eliciting another squeak – to pin her flat on the bed. He straddled her thighs, and leaned in to touch his lips to the skin just beneath her ear, before slowly kissing and nibbling his way down her neck. He lost himself in her breasts for few minutes, then continued his sensual attack along her ribs and waist until his mouth was level with the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. He moved to lie beside her again, then, with a low growl, he grabbed the elastic with his teeth, and yanked her trousers past her hips.
 
She collapsed into giggles when he started sputtering out the flannel.
 
He kissed his way back up to her belly, lapping at her skin to get the last of the fuzz from his tongue. “Much better,” he said finally, releasing her arms so he could lift her legs up off the bed. He pulled her pyjamas the rest of the way off – draping her legs over his body in the process. She felt lazy and loved and excited and oh, so wet.
 
She wondered if it was always like this between them. She really hoped it was.
 
He inhaled deeply, groaning slightly as he let the breath go. “You smell so good.” He propped himself up on his elbow to rearrange her legs. When he was done, one knee was resting on his bottom shoulder with his right arm holding it in place, while the other was draped over his waist.
 
His long, strong fingers held her thigh in position as he started kissing along the smooth, sensitive skin towards her pelvis. “So beautiful, all opened up like a blossoming flower,” he whispered, leaning into her, his breath cool and shivery. “My sweet peach.” He licked his lips in anticipation, then swiped his tongue along her slit.
 
The girl whimpered.
 
“Feel good, kitten?” he whispered, his mouth and breath stroking at her lips. Then he licked her again, going deeper and higher, kissing her inner lips and swirling all the way around her clit but never quite touching it. He raised his head to look up at her. “Fuck, you taste like heaven.”
 
She arched her back slightly and, frowning, pushed her fingers into his hair to encourage him back down.
 
He laughed. “Your willing slave obeys.” He spread her open with his left hand, while his right pulled her trembling thighs even farther apart. He started nibbling and licking all around her clit, still not touching.
 
She moaned.
 
Then he sucked it into his mouth and she nearly arched off the bed.
 
“Oh!” She felt like she was dancing on a livewire. Jittery and buttery and like she couldn’t take any more but never wanted it to stop.
 
Continuing to suck gently, he slid a finger inside her, curling it upwards, stroking, searching. It took a while, but when her head started moving from side to side, he knew he’d found the right spot.
 
Her breathing changed then. And every time he pushed – right there, god! – a wave of pleasure seemed to run through her whole body.
 
He took his other hand away from her leg, placing it over her lower abdomen and pressing down, thrusting his finger up against the weight of his hand, and letting his head rest just where her pelvis joined her thigh.
 
The extra weight deepened and intensified everything. She felt fuller, and her hips started moving against him without her meaning them to.
 
“Oh god,” she breathed.
 
He slipped a second finger into her and angled his head upwards, watching her eyes shut tight, mouth open, every muscle in her face tense as her spine bowed rigid. “Talk to me, kitten. Tell me how it feels.” His voice was vibrating through her, his breath adding yet more stimulation.
 
“G-gah!” she squeaked.
 
Grinning, he went back to teasing her clit.
 
He heard her breathing speed up, started feeling her muscles fluttering, so he bit down and held, his fingers still, pressed up towards his hand.
 
Her world went white as the orgasm raced through her, something about the position of his hands sending extra shockwaves through her with each spasm.
 
She was making the sexiest sound in the back of her throat. He knew he’d never witnessed anything so perfect and beautiful and oh how I ache for you.
 
As her inner muscles slowed in their movements and she started fidgeting from overstimulation, he released her, first licking his fingers clean, then pressing his face back against her and gently thrusting in and out with his tongue.
 
 
 
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Someone is definitely having sex.
 
The girl paced back and forth across what she assumed was her bedroom, hoping against hope that it wasn’t her parents next door.
 
That'd mean therapy for years. Parental sex is so gross....
 
She felt a pang when she realised she couldn't picture her parents' faces. Or her own.
 
She kept pacing, not sure whether to feel safe or terrified that her door was barred on the inside.
 
 
 
 
 
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The girl tried to make words, but nothing seemed to be working anymore. She patted limply at the man's head, her whole body loose and boneless. Aftershocks were coursing through her system and every muscle was weak and trembling.
 
“Up,” she finally got out.
 
After one last, languorous kiss, he crawled slowly up her body until they were lying face-to-face. He twined himself around her, tangling their limbs together.
 
She tried to speak again, but it came out so garbled even she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She felt drunk.
 
“Could happily spend the rest of my life jus’ makin’ you come,” he said. “You glow.”
 
A wicked gleam came into her eyes as she rediscovered her powers of speech. Brushing her lips against his throat, she said, “You’re still wearing too many clothes….”
 
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