CHapter 3

For one split second he was rewarded with a look of surprise on her face, hazel eyes widening, before a cunning smile twisted her lips and she raised her chin.

"Kinda jumping the line there, but I'll let you off just this once. Although it does mean you get to hold the salt and the lime," she teased, grinning wickedly. She vaulted agiley from the table onto her feet, and Spike noticed she was wearing heeled calf length boots that added a good four inches to her height. Moving in close she stalked round him, turning him until his back was to the table then stepped away, hands on her hips. He took in the sight of her, stunned; gone were the shoulder length honey blonde waves that had shone like a beacon when she was fighting, replaced by a burgundy tinted brunette mane of curls that reached almost to her waist. He was reminded of a long gone Hallowe'en night where once again the Slayer had been in his grasp, only for her to slither away at the last minute, and he realised now, as then, the colour suited her. Her tan seemed paler now that it was framed with dark tendrils, her pupils seeming to glow, the colours shifting between burnt ochre and forest green and rimmed with thick, sooty kohl. This version of Buffy Summers had stopped flirting with darkness: she'd wooed and won it and the darkness was now her willing slave.

"Gonna have to take the leather off, babe," she smiled, red lips glistening at him. Holding eye contact he did as she said, pride swelling when her tongue slid out to chase briefly over the dark gloss she was wearing. The encouraging cat calls from the other nearby women didn't hurt his ego either and he flexed just slightly, knowing his black shirt was tight enough to make it a good display. He had an idea where this was going, but this was not the Slayer he'd seen blush crimson every time he'd made an off colour joke or double entendre. Now she was moving closer and his eyes dropped to where her bustier moulded her flesh into a deep cleavage, taking in the sway of her hips and shoulders, moving up to the pulse point on her neck. His demon was eager to be let loose, but Spike had self control when he wanted. He was going to let this game play out for the moment.

Grinning arrogantly, he put his hands behind him to prop himself against the table, his lean hips thrusting forward. "Liking what you see, pet?" He goaded her, wondering just how far she'd take this.

"Not enough's on show for me to make a decision on that," she dared him, gliding closer, eyes sparkling with amusement. Spike lifted one curved eyebrow, maintaining eye contact, deep blue to hazel, and wondered what was going on. The Slayer he'd encountered in Sunnydale had been a passionate firebrand when it came to her duty, but he'd come to realise that it was the only time she ever indulged her wild side. Yet here she was with a naughty twinkle in her eye, as though she knew exactly the effect she had on the opposite sex. Not to mention the outfit, of which he definitely approved. Good job she'd never gone patrolling in that little ensemble back in Sunnydale - Spike reckoned she'd have been able to dust him while his jaw was still on the floor.

He'd watched her with hooded lids as she advanced, shifting his weight and spreading his legs wider, deliberately emphasising the tightening bulge in his black jeans, returning the dare, and she didn't disappoint. As she stood between his knees he could feel the energy, the power, and her heat was burning through his clothes to his cool skin. He gripped the table edge behind him harder, concentrating hard to impose his will on the demon within, the muscles in his lower arms corded and tense. He looked down into her face, her eyes greener than he remembered,in contrast with her now dark hair, and barely registered the mischievous flicker before her hands balled into his t-shirt and jerked sharply. The fabric gave with an almost wet sound, peeling back from his body. The crowd around them let out a variety of squeals and roars of approval but Spike was aware of nothing but the girl, no, the woman in front of him. The eye contact was so intense that he thought he must now know how victims of Medusa felt, turned to stone forever in just one glimpse, unable to move to save themselves. Her body slowly curved even closer, her fingertips brushing lightly over his hard muscled torso, breathably close and yet still out of reach, and for the merest second pressed against him as she reached around him for something on the table. Spike was trembling with anticipation, with the urge to let his demon erupt and feast utterly on the creature teasing him so deliciously, his restraint almost worn to the quick. The trickle of something cold and wet on his smooth chest distracted him enough to win his inner battle, but when he looked down and saw her fingers squeezing a lime onto him drop by drop he had to throw his head back and groan quietly. He knew his eyes had warped to amber, he could feel his fangs pressing urgently against his lips in the same way that other areas of his body were screaming to be released. The torture was exquisite and he couldn't but wonder where she'd learned such sophistication. His hair was pulled, his head jerked forward, blonde hair mussed into curls by her fingers as she made him meet her gaze again.

"Now, now, stay with me here or I might have to punish you for being a bad boy," the Slayer admonished, pouting slightly. The darkening look in her eyes let him know that she wouldn't find punishing him a chore, far from it, and Spike felt a shiver run unexpectedly up his spine. He leered at the Slayer and licked his lips, determined at least to challenge her for control.

"And what if I've been very, very bad? What if I'm the Big Bad himself?" he taunted her, letting his eyes roam over her petite frame once more.

"Then I'm sure I could find a way to make you huff and puff," she smirked, hearing the squeals from the gathered females. "Now, hold still...if you can!"

With lightening speed Spike found a thin slice of lime popped in his mouth. He assumed the Slayer's speed took a lot of guys unaware, but he didn't have that problem, and was surprised she'd forgotten what he was capable of. His blunt teeth trapped her delicate finger, his mouth sucked once, quickly, and his tongue flicked over the end. Two could play the teasing game and he'd been playing for a lot longer. He heard her gasped intake of breath, the sudden increase in heartrate, smelt the fresh adrenaline as it flooded her system. He held it for a split second only before he relinquished the digit, but it definitely appeared to have the desired effect. Her brows drew together in a slight frown, and he recognised the expression of a prudish, righteous Slayer about to pummel him senseless. So she was still in there somewhere, he mused.

All thoughts fled as he felt a grainy substance sprinkled over his chest, clinging to him where the lime juice had coated his skin. He'd known what was going on simply by the bottle of tequila; after all, it didn't take a genius IQ and a tweed outfit to recognise a shot party, but body shots? He'd have bet easy money that the Sunnydale Slayer hadn't known what these were six months ago. He fleetingly wondered if she'd have the guts to go through with it, then found his back arching with the sensation of her tongue trailing between his pectorals, lapping at the salt, a cry that became a growl ripping from his throat. His demon burst loose, need and desire swamping Spike's control. He barely registered his hands convulsing and breaking the table with a sharp crack as Buffy took a swig from the bottle she held, and then one hand was in her dark hair, the other wrapped round her waist as he dragged her to his mouth. He tasted the bitterness of the tequila as they shared the sliver of lime in his mouth, but it was obliterated by the aroma and scent of the Slayer pressed against his body. She was responding to his possession of her, welcoming his tongue as she sucked lightly on it, kissing him back, letting him devour her, lips, teeth and tongues duelling, dancing, needing. He'd reared back to strike at her neck before he realised it, his long fingers in her hair tugging her head backwards to expose more of the vulnerable flesh. Gods above and below, she smelled so intoxicating, the sweet smell of her skin reminding him of honeysuckle and jasmine, overlaid with musk. The roar of her blood and the thunder of her heartbeat urged him on and his lips touched her pulse point, a whispered foreshadowing as his fangs slid from his gums.