Chapter Twenty

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She had grown quickly used to sleeping alone after Riley’s departure – almost a year ago now – and so she woke several times in the night, starting awake at the weight of Spike’s arm around her waist and the prickling sensation at the back of her neck that let her know a vampire was close. She would jolt awake, her heart beating, her neck tingling – and then she would remember where she was and she would let out a shaky breath, settling back against the vampire’s hard chest.

When she woke for the fourth time in as many hours, she let out a little groan of impatience, annoyed that she just couldn’t seem to sleep the night through in the vampire’s arms. Judging by the steady, if unnecessary, rise and fall of his chest, Spike was still fast asleep - and had hardly moved through all of her shifting and waking up. Except sometime between the last time she had woken up and this time, the T-shirt she was wearing – that had reached mid-thigh – was now bunched around her hips and Spike’s hand was splayed low on her stomach. As she woke up some more, she became more than aware of the pressure of his hand, tantalisingly close to the waistband of her panties.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep again. Only seconds later though, Spike shifted against her – if he was awake, she would have said rubbed himself against her – and let out a low moan that vibrated against her neck. His fingers twitched against her and he moved again – definitely more of a thrust now.

“Buffy,” he murmured, his nose buried against her neck.

She was pretty sure he was still asleep and half of her was glad, but half of her wished he would wake up and dissipate some of the ache that was building low in her stomach. She arched against him, pressing her bottom against him, and his hand tightened on her stomach.



If that had not signalled to her that he had woken, it was reaffirmed only moments later when his lips brushed against her neck.

“Wha’s matter, love?” he mumbled sleepily, even as his hand slipped under the T-shirt, tracing patterns over her stomach.

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’re wound up all tight,” he murmured, his lips skimming along the nape of her neck.

“Not used to this,” she whispered, arching against him as he moved against her once again.
He gave a low murmur of agreement, his mouth on her neck, his hand burning into the skin of her stomach.

“Spike,” she moaned lowly.

“Hmm?” he purred, not pausing in his maddening ministrations.

She arched her neck, her eyes closing with the feel of his mouth on her neck.

“Move your hand.”

“And where do you want it moved, my sweet Slayer?” he asked, openly teasing her now.

She groaned as his thumb skimmed over her skin, just below her breast.

“Anywhere,” she whispered, pushing herself against him.

He chuckled lowly and drew on the skin of her neck as his hand slid up her stomach and cupped her breast lightly.

“That better?”

She gave a whimper in reply and he chuckled again, pressing a kiss just below her ear.



It was funny – she had forgotten all of these delicious stages on the way to fourth base. All those little advances that made you tingle with anticipation; intimacies that brought you closer and closer to that crucial moment. She had forgotten that the build-up (in her limited experience, anyway) was often sweeter than the culmination – full of teasing touches that left you wanting more and flashes of white-hot desire. Spike’s teasing touch quickly brought her out of her trip down memory-lane though and she moaned, eyes falling closed as he stroked his thumb over her. And just as quickly, his hand was gone and she was mourning his loss for a full few seconds before he skimmed his hand over her front and brought it to rest dangerously low on her stomach.

“So warm,” he murmured, his voice still deliciously sleep-coated as he pressed another kiss to her skin.

“Spike, please.”

Okay, so she had resorted to begging now, but if that’s what it took to prompt him into motion, it was worth it. She couldn’t help but arch back against him with a gasp as his hand finally moved, slipping under the fabric and setting her alight with just one touch. He groaned and buried his head in her neck, murmuring jumbled phrases of adoration into her skin. She whimpered helplessly and tried to calm her frantic breathing, reaching back and holding his shoulder in a clumsy grip.



He shifted then, rolling her onto her back so those dark blue eyes were staring down at her, aflame with desire. She met his gaze for a long moment, forcing her fluttering eyelids open as he moved his hand against her, and then her hand locked behind his neck and brought his mouth crashing down on hers. There was nothing but Spike – Spike and his hand, and his cool lips scattering kisses all over her face and neck, and the smooth lines of back as she ran her hands over him, urging him closer. Only afterwards would she be able to marvel at the strength of his self-control; amazed – and maybe a little disappointed – that he hadn’t made any attempt to push for more. It took long minutes for that level of coherence to return to her though as she lay in a boneless pile, head lolling against Spike’s shoulder as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Love you,” he whispered, drawing her closer to press a kiss to her forehead.

She could only nod in reply and he chuckled.

“Think you can sleep now?”

She murmured in agreement and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her against him.

“Glad I could be of use.”

She pressed a chaste kiss to his chest and rested her heavy head against him, already fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Very useful,” she mumbled sleepily.

He pressed another kiss to her hairline as he chuckled and ran his hand down her shoulder.

“Night, love. Sweet dreams.”

She smiled and sank her head against him, letting her eyes fall closed.