Buffy looked up at him, confused. What did he mean, he owned her?

He continued, unable to look directly at her. Instead, he concentrated on her hand resting on his leg. “I know that you’re the Slayer and all, but with this new…situation we have on our hands, we have to be very careful. There are certain—”

“Wait—what are you saying? I’m not understanding you, Spike.” She removed her hand and forced him by default to look up at her face, which was displaying a definite frown.

“Buffy,” he said, his tone gentle, “You’re going to have to curb the slaying. At least for the next couple of weeks or so, until we can get the word out that I’ve released you.”

Anger flowed through her veins, burning her insides. “Curb my slaying? Spike, what the hell are you talking about?” She scrambled off the bed and to her feet, standing in front of him with her fists on her hips.

He shook his head with a frown of his own. “I knew that you wouldn’t take this well,” he mumbled and then looked back up at her. “Buffy, to the demon world, I own you. That means that you belong to me, to do whatever I want to do to you. It also means that I’m responsible for your actions. If you continue to slay without prejudice, you could get us both killed—me for not controlling my property, and you for being a rogue.”

He reached for her hands and she snatched them back before he could grab them. “I’m not changing anything, Spike—not my patrol schedule, not how much I slay, and I do not belong to you. You—you helped me last night, but that was it.”

Spike growled deep in his chest, his anger overwhelming him. He stood and grabbed her upper arms, dragging her closer to him, and snarled, “Slayer, you don’t seem to understand. We are talking demon protocols here. You. Live. On. A. Hellmouth. Regular rules do not apply.” Thrusting her away from him, he raked his hand through his hair, loosening the gelled curls to spring freely over his scalp. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

Buffy laid on the bed where he’d thrown her like a rag doll, looking up at him. He turned on her viciously and she recoiled, drawing back until her back was against the carved headboard. “How can you protect your mum or your sister if you’re dead? How can I?”

He softened his tone at her horrified look. “Pet, I’m not trying to keep the slave chains on you for long. Just long enough to formally release you at the next auction. When I do, you’ll be free to do as you wish. Until then, we both have to act like you’re my slave and I’m your master.”

“You’re not my master,” she said weakly, as she remembered the auction and the thousands of demons who had been there. Her heart leaped in her chest as he stalked toward her, his eyes telling a different story.

“Oh, but you’re wrong there, Slayer. You can try to tell me different, but you’re lying to yourself and you know that you are. Tell me that you didn’t come over here dressed like a wet dream to taste a little of what we had last night?” His eyes raked her from her sheer blouse to her leather pants. “Tell me you dress like that ever night when you patrol. I’ll call you a liar, because I know how you dress. I know what you think. I know a lot about you, Slayer, because I’ve made it a priority to know. And I know that right now, more than anything else, you want me to touch you and kiss you and take you places that you’ve only dreamed of before yesterday.”

He was close enough to touch her now and did, his hand resting on her shoulder and his thumb raking over the sensitive flesh of her collarbone. His voice was low when he spoke again, whispering in her ear. “You can rationalize this any way that you like, Slayer, but you like how I made you feel yesterday. You can pretend that you hate me, and that’s fine. Hate me—but at least admit the truth. You came here tonight hoping that I would shag you senseless again.”

Her eyes closed, shutting out his knowing look and her head fell back against the headboard. “I can’t…you’re—”

“Evil, yeah. So evil that I saved your gorgeous bum before I would let it get dragged all over the auction house. Come on, Buffy, the truth.” His hand glided down her arm to her hand and he plucked it off her lap to run his finger down the center of her palm.

She moaned. “We’re enemies,” she said, and he chuckled.

“We haven’t been enemies for a long time, pet. Not since I helped you send Angelus to hell.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, trailing his tongue over her wrist lightly.

Her slight gasping breath and the gooseflesh that rippled over her arm gave her away, more than any words could. “I don’t…I shouldn’t…Spike….” She tried to take control of her hand without success. Not that she was trying very hard….

His mouth traveled up her arm to the crook of her elbow. “Slayer,” he purred. “Buffy. You want this. Admit it.”

She was too weak to fight it, too aroused to deny it. “How can you tell? How do you know?” she whispered.

“Do you think that I could ever forget your scent after yesterday?” he started to answer, rubbing his cheek against hers. “The smell of you, turned on and wet and waiting for me? You’re wet right now. Your heart is pounding ninety miles a minute. Your pulse is throbbing in your neck. You’re breathing hard. Say it, Buffy. Say you want me.” His fingers traced designs on the inside of her arm, punctuating his words.

She turned her face away to keep him from seeing her defeat. “All right, yes! Yes, Spike, I want you,” she whispered.

He captured her chin in his fingers and gently turned her face back to his, rubbing his thumb sensuously over the fullness of her bottom lip. “Look me in the eyes and tell me again,” he commanded.

She opened her eyes and his face was so close—almost too close. She could see the incredible blueness of them, the gold flecks of his demon swirling in their depths. She was falling, drowning in the blue…. “Yes, Spike, I want you,” she whispered, then slid her mouth over his thumb and raked the pad with her tongue, a hiss of pleasure escaping from his mouth.

He cupped her face and drew her to him slowly, then brushed his mouth over hers lightly. Her hands fluttered like birds, then came to land on his chest and she moaned at the chill of his skin against her heated palms. Her lips parted and he slid his tongue into her mouth, barely touching the sensitive skin inside her bottom lip and eliciting her gasping breath.

This was so different from the last time. Her hands smoothed upward to his shoulders, feeling the muscles play under her fingertips as he explored her mouth. His fingers buried in her hair, he traced his thumbs over the skin behind her ears, mesmerized by the softness as he deepened the kiss.

He wanted her closer to him and grabbed her waist with one hand, pulling her onto his lap. She came to him easily, reclining into his embrace, his arm supporting her head as she ran her hand over his back, nails tracing the ridges of his spine.

Her mind screamed at her—dirty!bad!wrong! She blocked out the screaming, listening to the drumbeat of her body as he touched her reverently on the skin exposed by her daring blouse with gentle hands. This was more than she had ever felt with anyone before and denial was not in her vocabulary at this moment.

His coolness soothed her. His body, tightly muscled and compact, excited her. Deep inside her, she had been waiting for this for years, ever since Willow had cast the spell that made them think they were engaged. Even before then, if she was honest. Since the first moment she’d seen him in the alley behind the Bronze she had craved his touch, and her dreams were finally coming true.

She captured his head between her hands and looked deep into his eyes, searching for evidence of perfidy and finding none. What she saw there amazed, even frightened her. He looked at her with such tenderness and passion; his eyes were windows into his heart and all his feelings were easily seen within.

He realized he was showing her too much and closed his eyes. “No, leave them open,” she pleaded. “Let me see.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said in a depreciating voice. “Don’t want to give you any more stakes for your arsenal.”

“I don’t need a stake, Spike—I need a reason.”

Her whispered supplication touched him and he opened his eyes once again to bare his heart to her gaze. He noted her quivering lip and the tears sparkling on her lashes and gathered her into his arms, pulling her close to his body.

He buried his face in her hair, drawing in the scent of her shampoo, soap, and the underlying pungency of her Slayer-ness. Her arousal pervaded his senses as well, and the combination of aromas gave her an individual bouquet, enticing and erotic and wholly her own.

“Buffy, I love you,” he heard himself murmur into her hair. “I think about you every minute. God, I’m drowning in you and I can’t stop myself.”

She froze in his arms, unable to process the declaration he’d just made. He felt her stiffen and prepared himself for her rejection, just as he’d always expected and feared he would get from her.

“You’re…you love me?” she asked, and he drew back to look into her eyes.

Where he thought he would see disgust he saw wonder and more than a little hope. He was stunned to speechlessness at the sight and instead of further confessions, he bent his head to kiss her properly.

Their mouths crashed together, her fingers twisting in his curls to pull him deeper into her mouth. She sucked on his tongue, massaging it with her own against the roof of her mouth. Their kisses were almost violent with unspent passion, neither one of them holding back from the feelings they had both fought against for so long.

Without breaking away, Spike placed her gently on the bed, covering her body with his. She could feel how excited he was becoming and reached down to touch the bulge building in his jeans. His muffled groan rumbled through his chest and vibrated enticingly against her erect nipples and she cupped his covered erection with her hand, stroking the fabric with each thrust of his tongue.

He tore his mouth away from her, gasping for breath that he didn’t need. “Buffy, love, you’re gonna make me come if you do that much longer.”

She looked up at him, breathing hard herself. “Isn’t that the point?” she asked. Still, she took her hand away from him to work the buttons on the front of her shirt, her fingers fumbling with them until he took over, stroking bared flesh as it came into view. He spread the shirt open on either side of her reclining form, drinking in the sight of her peachy skin and the black slash of satin covering her heaving breasts that rose and fell enticingly with each breath she took.

She shrugged out of the shirt, leaving it on the bed to frame her body as she reached up to pull him down on top of her. He came to her arms willingly, kissing her like a starving man until she broke away from him, gasping for much-needed air. “Spike, make love to me,” she begged, and again he chuckled.

“You mean, again? Because that’s what I was doing last night. I thought it would be my only chance to ever do anything like that.”

“Is that why you bought me? So you could….” She looked up at him with uncertainty and Spike quickly reeled back to look straight into her eyes.

“Bloody hell, no! I already told you—” he started, and she covered his mouth with her hand, a small smile on her lips.

“I know that you did. Teasing here. Well, and worried too.” She moved her hand to his cheek, tracing the knife-edge of his cheekbone with her fingertips. “I never did get over that spell that Willow cast, do you know that? I kept wondering what might have happened….”

He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth, planting a kiss in the palm. “I wondered too, pet. Fought it like a demon, too. Finally had to give in before I lost my mind.”

Buffy traced his lip with her finger until he was panting. “Then let’s not wonder any more. We’re here—we’re together. Let’s pretend that we’re still getting married.”

He didn’t have time to answer before she was kissing him like her life depended on it. Her tongue slipped between his parted lips and thrust into his mouth, much as he’d done to her earlier, and he found himself hard-pressed to maintain control. God, what this chit could do to him! He’d never had a more passionate or willing lover, even in Dru or Harmony.

Harmony. The thought of the flaky bint nearly put him off his excitement, but he filed the fleeting thought away for later. He needed to pack her to the curb and quickly, before she got wind of his involvement with the Slayer.

He had no more thought that when he heard the door upstairs open and shut, and a saccharine-sweet voice echo through the crypt. “Blondie Bear, I’m home! Come and see all the cute outfits that I got!”

Horrified, he looked down at Buffy, then over to the hole to the upstairs of the crypt. Buffy's face was a study of frustration and betrayal. “Stay here. I’m going to go get rid of her.”

“Harmony? She’s been your girlfriend? Spike, I can’t believe—” He could see Buffy building to a fine rant and covered her mouth with his hand.

“Not my girlfriend, Slayer. She came here looking for help because she thought that you were after her. Stay here,” he commanded, though her mutinous look made him worry more about what would happen to Harm if she didn’t.

He tossed on a tee shirt and climbed the ladder to the upstairs. “Harmony, I think that you need to go. The Slayer came round looking for you, but I think that I’ve thrown her off the scent for the time being. Better you aren’t here when she comes back.”

Harmony turned from her pile of clothes, holding a pink nightie up in front of her. “But Spikie, I got all these new outfits to wear for you. Don’t you want to try them out?”

He opened his mouth to answer but had no chance to get anything out before the door of the crypt burst open. Buffy stood there with a stake in her hand and murder in her eyes, glaring at the blond vampiress across the room.

“Thought that I’d find you here, Harmony. Where are your minions when you need them? Oh, that’s right—I dusted them to save my sister. Which, by the way, I still owe you for kidnapping.” She crossed the room quickly, stake raised and ready, when Spike stepped between them.

Spike's eyes narrowed, wondering how she’d found her way through the tunnel to the gardener’s shed and back to the crypt so quickly. “Slayer, I told you that Harmony was leaving town. Aren’t you, Harm?” he asked, turning to glare at the clueless vampire.

“Oh, yeah, I was just coming by to pick up some things….” Harmony faltered as her sensitive nose picked up the commingled scents coming from Spike. “Hey! Spike! You smell like you’ve been…oh, you’ve been having sex! With her!” she screeched, pointing at Buffy accusingly. “I can smell her all over you! You—you Slayer loving freak!”

Spike spread his hands in front of him in a placating gesture, more toward Buffy than Harmony. “Harm, just leave. Slayer—” he said, starting in her direction, “Buffy, calm down.”

“I will not! This skanky vampire ho kidnapped my sister, and now she’s…. And Harmony, did anyone ever tell you the smelling thing is really gross? And you dress like the ho that you always were in high school, only now the outfits are so two years ago.” She threw her barbs and waited for Harmony to react.

React she did. Harmony lunged at Buffy, and Spike barely caught her around the waist, his Slayer uppermost in his mind. He carried the kicking, screaming, cursing vampire to the door of the crypt and tossed her outside, then walked over to grab the clothes, which quickly followed her out the door and onto the ground beside her. “I asked you to leave, Harm. Don’t come back if you know what’s good for you.” He turned to close the door and paused, turning back to look at the vampire where she laid on the ground, sobbing. “Why don’t you go to LA? Hook up with Angel?”

Harmony looked up at him from where she lay on the ground, speaking through her tears. “I hate you, Spike. You’ve always been so mean to me and now you’ve really sunk low. You’re name will be mud in the demon community—is that what you want?”

Buffy appeared behind his shoulder, stake still at the ready. “Harmony, you need to leave before I drive this….” Buffy's voice trailed off into silence and she clutched her stomach.

Spike looked from vampire to Slayer. “Goodbye, Harmony. Slayer—” He closed the door in Harmony’s face, concerned about the greenish tinge to Buffy's skin. “Buffy, are you all right?”

She reeled over to flop down in his chair, holding her head and stomach. “No, Spike, I don’t think I am. I’m so dizzy and nauseous. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

He was at her side in three steps. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and found her clammy and hot. “Buffy, I think that you’re coming down sick.”

He picked her up in his arms and headed to the door of the crypt when his ears picked up Harmony’s sobs outside the door. He backtracked to the hole in the ground and dropped through, landing neatly on his feet, then made his way to the tunnels that connected him to nearly everywhere in Sunnydale.

He turned toward her house on Revello, intent on taking her home. She lifted her head. “Where are you taking me?”

He looked down at her. “Home, Slayer. You’re sick.”

She lifted her hand to touch his face. “No. Take me back to your bed. I’ll be all right, Spike. Just take me back to your place.”

He hesitated. Her color had improved since he’d carried her this far and he could hear her heart beating normally and her breathing was slow and deep. “Buffy—”

She ran her hand down his back to his taut buttocks, grabbing one cheek in her tiny hand. “Take me back to the crypt, Spike. We were so interrupted.”

Even though it was against his better judgement, Spike turned around and headed back to his crypt. No clue what this sick Slayer would do if she didn’t get her way….