Spike had no idea what had caused Buffy’s sudden change of heart. When she had left that morning, she had been cold and distant with him, almost refusing to acknowledge that the infamous kiss had even happened at all. Her main interest seemed to be in preserving her fragile marriage, and she had made it very clear that severe punishment would be the result if he said a word about their single, tiny indiscretion.

Of course, Riley’s words during the brutal beating he had dealt him made it clear that somehow, the secret had gotten out. Spike wondered if someone had seen them that night. It had been so spontaneous, so unexpected, and his bedroom door had been standing wide open, he remembered ruefully. Anyone could have seen, and thought they could get in better standing with Master Finn by telling him what they had seen.

He had fully intended to hide the entire incident from Buffy, both out of a desire to protect her from more of Finn’s abuse, should she decide to confront him over it – and also with a certain measure of fear of her anger, should she find out that her shameful little secret was out, and blame him.

But the blind fury he had seen in her eyes, the absolute rage when she saw what her husband had done to him, had not been directed at him.

It had stunned him…and thrilled him, to think that it mattered that much to her, to think that she would feel so defensive of him and angry at Riley for hurting him that she would immediately march downstairs to find him and confront him about it…

And then it had terrified him.

To think that she was going down there to put herself in danger from a man who had already proven himself to be violent, when as much as he wanted to follow and defend her, he was doubly bound by her command, and the chip in his head that prevented him from being able to do anything but watch helplessly if Finn did decide to hurt her – the thought made him physically ill with worry.

But she had returned, unharmed – but seemingly not unchanged.

Her manner had been so vastly different from anything he had experienced from her thus far. She had been tender and gentle with him, looking at him with wide eyes full of warmth and affection…and an almost awed look, as if she was seeing him for the first time.

And when she had kissed him…time had stopped. Everything around them had simply melted away, and there was only her, and him, and the kiss that united them. When she pushed him down onto the bed under her, her dazzling emerald eyes shining with her need, it had stolen his breath.

He *was* hers. Completely. Totally. Without reservation.

When he had first come to her house, he had resented her possession of him, longed for a non-existent means of escape. But now – in a sense she had not to begin with – she owned him, body and soul. He knew without question that he would obey any command she gave him, do absolutely anything to please her, to make her happy.

He did not know why she suddenly wanted him, tonight – only that she *did*.

And he was hers, to do with as she would.

Still, even as she claimed him with her words, and he affirmed her claim, babbling out a response he could not remember an instant later, for the power of her intimate touch – a tiny wondering doubt worried at the corners of his mind.

What *had* caused this sudden desperate intensity of need in her? He knew that she had gone downstairs to confront her husband, knew just as certainly where she would have found him. He found himself wondering what had happened, what words had passed between them in that confrontation.

Had she caught Riley in one of his brazen indiscretions? Had she been forced to see through the pitiful mask of deception that had only fooled her because she had not wanted to know the truth? Had she finally seen once and for all that she could do infinitely better than the cruel, disrespectful, self-involved soldier who was so far beneath her?

Suddenly, as if sensing the wandering nature of his thoughts, her gently massaging fingers at the back of his scalp tightened slightly on his hair, tugging his head back a little as she moved in closer to deepen the kiss, her other hand leaving off her gentle ministrations long enough to fumble blindly at his zipper, in an attempt to remove the offending fabric that separated them.

*Stop thinking about G.I Git and what they said or didn’t say!* he ordered himself furiously, gasping for breath as she was finally successful, her hand leaving his head to join the other in sliding his jeans down over his hips. *Stop *thinking*, period, you stupid git! Her hands are all over you, she’s touching you, she *wants* you…don’t think…don’t think…just…*

“Oh, God, *Buffy*!” he gasped as his swollen, sensitive erection came in contact with the rough fabric of the short denim skirt she still wore, and she ground her body down against him when she saw his response, driving him ever closer to the edge with her mercilessly teasing touch.

Her hands sought his and pulled them up to the base of her shirt, guiding them silently to pull it off of her. Her lips found his again as his cool hands trailed up her sides to remove the shirt, sending delicious shivers all through her body at the sensation. They broke the kiss long enough to get her shirt over her head, and then immediately continued it as he tossed the shirt carelessly to the floor, his arms wrapping around her immediately, one hand running lightly but almost frantically up and down the smooth golden skin of her back, while the fingers of the other struggled with the clasp of her bra.

Buffy’s hands were working on her skirt, and as she wriggled out of it, pushing it down around her ankles to kick it off the foot of the bed, the enticing motion of her body against his sending a violent shudder of pleasure through him. With a gasp, he clutched at her, one hand sliding down to her bottom to pull her hard against him.

She let out a soft little moan as he came into contact with her hot, swollen center, and pressed herself against him harder.

The little whimpering cry of pleasure and need that escaped his throat at the motion against him only intensified her desire, and her eyes opened wide to stare down with a wild, almost feral possessiveness at the breathtaking creature beneath her on the bed. He was stunning, and desperate, nearly feverish with need for her…

And *hers*.

His pleasure, his need, was hers to fulfill or deny. As his desperate hands moved to rest at her hips and clutch her closer to him, she raised her hips up off of him, momentarily breaking contact, and denying him the nearness that he craved. He tried again, urgently, to pull her close, but she caught his wrists in her hands and pinned them tightly to the bed beside his head.

Confused, his wide blue eyes met hers in a silent question. Her lips quirked slowly upward into a seductive smile, as she rose up onto her hands and knees over him, her body no longer touching his, except for her hands on his wrists, and her knees at his hips.

He strained against her hands to rise, but she pressed down harder, shaking her head slightly in reproof. He stopped struggling, but his hips still raised unconsciously toward her in a vain attempt to reach her body, which she still withheld from him.

She leaned down to give him another slow, languorous kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth in a leisurely way, until finally she pulled away – long before he was ready. His hungry mouth followed hers, yearning to continue the kiss, but she gave him a teasing smile as she shook her head again and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want me, Spike?”

The feel of her hot breath against his skin, the low, seductive tone of her voice, and the question itself, sent another shudder through his body as he moaned, “Yes! Yes, I want you, Buffy! Oh, Buffy…”

She rewarded his pleading admission with another long, thorough kiss, leaving him as breathless as she was when it ended and she leaned in again. “How bad do you want me, Spike?”

“Oh…God, Buffy…I want you…I…I *need* you, Buffy…”

“Come on, Spike,” she murmured, suddenly lowering herself down against him and swiveling her hips slowly, eliciting a low groan of mingled pleasure and torment from his trembling, gasping lips. “You can do better than that…” Her voice dropped to a whisper again as she asked him, “What’ll you do for me, Spike?

“Buffy…I’ll do *anything*, pet…I need you…I need you so much! Oh, God, Buffy, *anything*!”

“Are you sure?” she teased, mercilessly continuing her blissful torture, rubbing herself slowly across his throbbing erection, but pulling back when he thrust toward her, denying him the entrance he so desperately sought, relishing her power, the depth of his need for her. “You really want me?”

“Buffy…oh, God…Buffy, I want you so bad!” he gasped. “Please…*please*, Buffy, I need you! Just – just let me *touch* you, love!”

He was not angered or ashamed to be made to submit to her little game. He belonged to her, plain and simple. His heart, his devotion, his very will, were hers to command. If she wanted to revel in the power she held over him, he would play her game. If she wanted him to beg, he was not too proud.

She was glorious and beautiful and powerful, a goddess in his eyes, and he would do anything just to be allowed to worship her.

And Buffy rewarded his adoration, finally lowering herself down onto his aching manhood, embracing him with the warmth of her body, and she moaned with the pleasure of his filling her, completing her, meeting the need of her love-starved body and spirit.

“Oh, Buffy….sweet, pretty Buffy…” he groaned with the intense feeling of her soft heat surrounding him. “Want you…so…so good, Buffy…”

Almost immediately, they found a perfect rhythm all their own, moving together as if they were made to be together. One of her arms slid around his waist to pull him closer to her, deepening their connection as her hand returned to his head to draw him into another deep, intimate kiss.

His hands moved quickly, almost desperately, over her body, up and down her arms, caressing the soft flesh of her stomach, her back, moving up to tenderly stroke her sensitive breasts, and she broke the kiss, throwing back her head with a little cry of pleasure.

“Oh, God, Spike!” she gasped. “Oh…oh, *Spike*!”

The encouraging sound of her voice, exulting in the pleasure *he* was giving her, drove him on, and he thrust into her, deeper, stronger, one hand continuing to caress her while the other moved down to the back of her thigh, lifting her slightly as he pushed into her.

“Oh…Spike…” she moaned, gasping for breath, her eyes opening wide at the powerful sensations of pleasure he was giving her, that she had not felt in so long. “Oh, don’t…don’t…”

He hesitated, drawing back a bit in an instantaneous response to her spoken wish.

She stared at him, her eyes desperate with need. “Don’t…don’t *stop*!” she gasped, her hands clutching at him and yanking him closer to her again.

Feeling a rush of pride and a thrill at the realization of *her* need for *him*, Spike was only too ready to comply with her plea.

It was not an order, not that time. She was begging him, needing him.

She had *never* felt like this before, not with anyone. Never.

As they climbed to the peak of their desire, entangled in each other’s arms, the intensity of their embrace, their kiss, rose to a feverish, frantic pitch with their need. Holding each other, pulling desperately closer, clinging to each other, they reached the edge and tumbled over into the thick, dark haze that fell over them as they collapsed to the bed in an exhausted, hot, damp tangle.

Spike did not need to breathe, but he was gasping, struggling to regain the breath he always drew anyway.

He could not remember the last time he had felt so happy, so…complete. All these years, even when he had not realized what it was he was longing for…he *had* longed for her. She had been the drawing force that had pulled him back to this place, over and over again.

And finally, his persistence had been rewarded.

He could scarcely believe that he was here, in this place, beneath her hot, trembling body, still shuddering in the wake of the pleasure that *he* had given her. His joy was nearly overwhelming. His heart felt so full that he could not speak, though he desperately wanted to say so many things to her.

Buffy felt a blissful calm fall over her, with the complete satisfaction of the need that had haunted her for years now, ever since Riley had decided that she was not what he needed anymore. To be held in strong, gentle arms that treated her like a precious treasure to be revered and cherished…to be desired as passionately as Spike had desired her…

She felt beautiful, and powerful, and…like a woman, again.

She laid her head down on his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing in the comforting scent of his body so near to hers. “That…was incredible, Spike,” she breathed, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Oh, Buffy,” he softly replied, and she could feel him shake his head slightly, in wonder. “Buffy...I – I love you,” he hesitantly whispered.

She felt her stomach drop suddenly, and her eyes opened wide in surprise…and dismay.

“Oh, God, Buffy, I love you so much!” he confessed, his voice trembling with tender emotion.

Buffy lay there, still and silent, unable to respond as he undoubtedly wanted her to – and therefore unable to respond at all.

*Oh, God,* she thought with a sudden uneasy sense of guilt. *What have I done?*