Hope and Good-byes


She was so tired. It felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Months. Longer. She walked through the cemetery, thinking about the confrontation with Spike earlier. She had been terrified when she heard his voice over the phone, worse when she actually walked into her house and saw his leather-clad form standing over her mother. He was making faces at Angel, taunting his Sire through the open back door, and she couldn’t help but throw him down on the island and press the wooden spoon to his chest.

It had been kinda hard not to notice his hipbones jutting against hers…at least, she thought it was his hipbones. It couldn’t have been his…could it? God, she hoped not. With her limited experience, it could have been something else, but why would he have a…no, she didn’t want to think of that. That road led to badness, and she needed to stay away from badness.

She was almost home free, almost out of the last cemetery of the night, when three vamps jumped out of the shadows. One in front, two behind, and she shook her head to clear the unwanted thoughts as she watched them circle like sharks around her. They scented her blood, and wanted a taste—wasn’t that what all vamps wanted?

As suddenly as they jumped her, they scurried off, and she heard the growl behind her, almost as an afterthought. She turned, and found him there, hips slung forward in his usual come-and-stake-me pose, and she licked lips suddenly gone dry.

“Thought you were leaving town?”

“I was. Got as far as the welcome sign when I remembered something.”

“What—what did you remember?”

He smirked at her, and her gut clenched. She felt the moisture flood her panties when he curled his tongue around his teeth, grinning. “Forgot how much I love this town, pet.”

“You’re—you’re not leaving?” Panic laced her voice, and he grinned even wider.

“Not yet. Something I have to do before I go.”

She was frozen in place as he grabbed her upper arms, pulling her to him. When she was pressed against the full length of his body, he growled next to her ear, “I didn’t say goodbye to the Slayer.”

He buried his fingers in her hair, holding her head immobile, and his mouth was on hers, their lips smashing together.

She felt paralyzed. She couldn’t move away, couldn’t move closer, could only stand there as he plundered her mouth with his cool lips and cooler tongue. Eyes wide with shock, she stared at him while he kissed her. This couldn’t be happening, could it? With Spike?

Her hands crept up of their own volition and stroked the lapels of his duster. His grip loosened slightly as their kiss went on, fingers raking through the long loose locks. Waves of sensation crashed through her as she relaxed, thoughts tumbling like flotsam and jetsam in her mind.

He’s…kissing me. And oh, God, it feels…wonderful. Where did he learn how to kiss? So soft—warm—lips of Spike. Spike lips. On mine. Hey, is that his hand--?

It was his hand, running down her back to cup her ass possessively and press her to the front of his body. He was hard and firm against her soft places, and her eyes opened wide at one of his hard places.

Is that…? Ohmigod, it is! He’s…pressing against me. It’s…big. Ginormus. That thing wouldn’t even fit in me without killing me. Would it? Ohhh….

Her head fell back and she gasped for breath as he ran his tongue down her neck. Her hands were in his hair now, fisted in the raw silken curls that sprang to life under her nimble fingers, pulling his mouth closer and closer to the hollow of her throat. His hands ghosted over her nipples, and she felt an answering throb deep in her groin. Her arousal perfumed the cool breeze, and he raised his head to look into her eyes.

Doubt played across her face for a moment, chased by lust and more than a little curiosity. Her decision.

Throwing caution to the wind and good sense out the window, she tightened her grip on his hair and pulled his mouth back down to her. His arms tightened around her, pulling her up on her tiptoes, and she realized how little control she had in this position. She also realized how much she liked it.

Her nails gripped his head like claws when his did something with his tongue in her mouth, and it was good…she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, pointing to a nearby crypt. He carried her, their mouths still joined, and kicked the rusted lock on the door. It burst apart under the force, and he stepped through the now-open door.

He set her down for a moment, and his duster was spread on the floor. He sat, and carried her down with him, curling her around him on his lap and leaning her back to kiss her again.

It felt only right for her to run her hand up under his shirt and touch him back, so she did. It all felt right with him. Snarking, fighting, kissing, and what was he doing now?

He had trailed his fingers under her shirt, skimmed them up her side to touch her breast with his hand. She reached down and pulled it over her head, and he yanked her bra cup to one side to access one of her already straining nipples.

Her breath caught in her throat when he touched it with his tongue then stopped altogether when he took it in his mouth, rolling it like a candy then pressing it against his teeth. He looked up into her flushed face, mischief written all over him, and she smiled inside. He pulled her leg around him on the other side and she straddled his lap, his mouth never leaving the nipple he’d claimed.

Cradling her shoulders, he leaned her back and traced the soft curves of flesh with his tongue. She threw her head back and let him. Somehow just the thought of losing control was making her hot, and he knew it. She knew he did.

It wasn’t like this with…oh, God, what is he doing with his tongue? So good…Spike, don’t stop…it feels…right….

He moved back up and kissed her mouth as his fingers worked the buttons and zippers separating them. She felt his hand slip into the waistband of her pants, and her thighs tensed, waiting for the touch so close…there. His fingers barely skimmed across her trimmed curls, and she arched into his hand, needing more, silently requesting he deepen his touch.

He complied with little fuss, slipping his fingers into her sopping wet folds of tender flesh. Her soft sigh of completion said more than a thousand words, and he slid his fingers over the throbbing nubbin at the cleft of her flesh. She arched against his hand, greedy and needy all at once, and he slid inside her, his coolness blissful on her heated flesh.

She needed…oh, she needed…. Her hands reached between their bodies to seek the object of her need and it was there, long and firm and cool in her hand. She stroked it from base to tip, wondering at its beauty. She snuck a peek when she saw his eyes close, and was gobsmacked at the hugeness of it. She thought it was truly the biggest one she’d ever seen.

She gripped it hard, her hand barely fitting around it, and tugged on it until she had his attention. His hands dragged her pants off her hips, then down one leg as she stroked him, stopping at the boot still on her foot. He yanked the boot off impatiently and tossed it aside, then she was free.

Her legs once again around his waist, he made short shrift of her panties, yanking them off her and baring her pussy to him. She lifted herself, rubbing her clit with the tip of his cock, her juices glistening where she touched herself with him, then she arched and put the tip inside her, waiting for the stretching sensation to pass.

When she thought she was ready, she flexed her legs and drove herself down. There was a sharp, tearing sensation that brought tears to her eyes. Damn Slayer healing. She pushed past it until her pelvic bone pressed hard against him, then pressed her forehead to his, gasping for needed breath as she waited for the pain to pass.

It didn’t take long. She felt so…full. Stretched out. He touched places inside her that she couldn’t reach, with toys or fingers. She wasn’t innocent, wasn’t a virgin by any means, but this…this was completely different. This was perfect. She didn’t feel crushed or smothered or girlish, she felt…womanly. Free.

She rocked against him slowly, grinding herself against him on every downstroke. He held her hips loosely, watching her face as she threw her head back to revel in the sensations. She rippled her muscles around him, watching the play of emotions across his face, and smiled inside when he forced himself to drag in unneeded breath. So easy to read, he was, his face open to every feeling and emotion that crossed his mind. She wondered why she’d never noticed before.

There were a lot of things she never noticed before.

She never noticed his hair was really curly. Really curly. It was lying in ringlets all over his head, and it really was cute. Better than the slick look he always had.

She ran her hands over his stomach, her fingers tracing each muscular outline and firmness of sculpted abs, then yanked his tee shirt off over his head to memorize the planes of a well-defined chest. She never noticed how buff he was. How fine. Salty goodness, yep, that was Spike. How did she miss something like that?

She touched his face, the jutting jaw, the carved cheekbones and their mysterious hollows, the scarred brow, and wondered aloud, “How did I miss this? All this time?”

He pulled his mouth away from her throat, and looked up into her eyes. It was the look in her eyes that did her in. The look of love, devotion, completion swimming in eyes so blue, so deep, she suddenly felt like she was drowning. So much behind those blue eyes and she’d never looked before. Never seen him, really. Only what she thought of him.

Knowledge flooded her consciousness, and she gasped as he hit something firm deep within her. She hadn’t even realized he had. He repositioned them, her on her back, and she let him move her like a rag doll, lost in the secret that lived inside her now, the newness of it too raw to share, even with him.

She was completely in love with Spike.

She reached up to cup his face in her hands, and pulled him down for a soul-searing kiss that took both their breath and their reticence and tossed them out the window. He moved slowly within her now, having smelled her virgin blood, and she arched into him, driven by her new knowledge and need. She needed this. She needed love and sex and intimacy. She felt alone always, and needed to feel this fire burning her within.

He began thrusting faster, feeling the brunt of her need with the clenching of her pussy around his cock, and she relished the feeling. She could feel herself building to peak, and welcomed it. It would be her first orgasm with another person. She’d faked it with Angel; she was too inexperienced to know what she was feeling then, and sex with him was out of the question forever with the soul and happiness issue.

His crisp curls raked against her tender flesh, and she welcomed the painful pleasure as it drove her upward toward climax. Her body yearned for it now, blossoming underneath him like a flower. He sensed a change in her, and slowed his movements.

“Something wrong, pet?”

She was breathless when she answered, and it came out choppy. “No…no…I’m…fine…please don’t…stop….”

“Can’t stop now, kitten. It’s like a train…has to reach its destination….”

He moved again, and she still could not believe how full she felt. How complete. She dug her nails into his shoulders, urging him faster, and he complied readily, pistoning into her depths and urging her onward with every thrust. He grabbed a cheek of her curvaceous ass with each hand, and pulled her up to meet him, slamming into her forcefully, knowing she could take the pounding.

She needed it, oh how she needed it. Fast and hard and dirty, she needed to feel like a dirty girl. She grabbed her breasts with her hands, pinching her nipples between her fingers and offering them to his mouth. He licked them, swabbing her fingers along with the offered flesh, and a thrill shot straight into her clit.

She knew what would send her over. She knew vampire bites could be orgasmic, but to put herself in danger? Spike was soulless. He may not stop with just biting and a taste; he could drain you.

But what a way to die. Suspended on a climax between fangs and cock, heaven and hell, and balancing on the edge in between. She needed to come so bad. She knew he could make her, with just his mouth. It was a chance she would have to take.

“Spike, please….”

“Please what, kitten?”

She fisted her hands in her hair, so close…so damn close…. “Please, please, please….” She chanted with the rhythm of his thrusts.

He smoothed the hair back from her face, pulling her hands out of it. “What, Slayer? Anything?”

Her head moved back and forth, negating her own desires, her needs, but they spilled from lips ruddy and swollen from use. “Bite me. Bite me, drink me, make me come. I’m not afraid…I’m not afraid….”

She chanced opening her eyes, and saw surprise in his blue depths, but he changed instantly to the monster, and she was surprised to find she didn’t shrink from it. It was part and parcel, the fine line between lust and danger, and she wanted to walk it with her eyes open.

She reached up to caress the ridges gracing his forehead, and cupped the back of his head gently, then dragged her hair back with her other hand, and brought his mouth to her neck.

She could feel him licking with a rough tongue, her nerves standing on end, and his cool mouth stoking the fires. He nibbled her with his fangs, planning his strike, she guessed, and waited. Every lick, every nibble drove her frenzy level just a shade higher, until she was nearly sobbing with the need for relief.

When she thought she could stand it no longer, she felt his fangs slip into her skin. It stung at first, and then she felt his lips sealing it, drawing on the wound slow, yet firm. Every pull drew on a corded bundle of nerves directly connected with her clit, and her orgasm hit her suddenly, arching her into him. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bucked against him, needed the pressure, needing the pain. She jerked convulsively in his arms and spasmed inside, a knotting ball of lust exploding around his cock, and he dragged his mouth from her neck and shouted her name, plunging deep inside her and spilling his own lust into her depths.

She slowly came down off the clouds when she felt him licking her neck and sealing his wounds. He leaned up, and their eyes met, and she saw he was drunk on the taste of her. His human face slipped over his features, but the drunken glaze remained in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“You could have killed me.”

She watched his face for the look she had come to expect—that disgust and hate and sneer she cringed from, but that still attracted her to his kind. She didn’t see it, nor could she find it.

“Couldn’t do that, pet. Fists and fangs will kill you, not fangs and fucking. S’not fair.”

She did smile then, wide and inviting. “Not the honorable thing, huh?”

“Yeah.” He slipped out of her, and reached for his pants, yanking them over slender hips and muscled thighs. She stuffed her leg into her pants hurriedly, and walked across the room on tiptoe to retrieve her boot. While she was up, he picked up his duster and shook off the dirt clinging to the leather, sweeping it around him.

She turned, boot in hand, and the big bad stood there again, his mask of indifference in place. Her heart fell, and she crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly embarrassed by his frank look of admiration. “So are you leaving now?”

He grabbed a fag from his coat pocket, and lit it with his silver lighter. Snapping it shut, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. Heading south.”

She was conscious of his eyes on her as she slipped her breasts back into the cups of her bra, then pulled her shirt over her head. “Guess this is goodbye, then.”

“’Spose it is, Slayer. Try not to die before I get back.”

“Yeah. You try not to dust. That’s my job.”

He grinned, and she grinned back. As soon as he turned, the rictus left her face, leaving it blank and miserable, and she watched his back through the door of the crypt, never turning to look back at her.

Her heart cracked a little in her chest, but that was the way of it. She was the Slayer, he was a vampire, and if she was stupid, it was her own fault.

Then again, maybe someday the lines would blur enough, and they could be together. She could always hope.