| * * * * * Buffy stood before the mirror, admiring the new dress she'd bought. Flowing and femine, it was a delicate pale peach, backless and very, very diaphanous. She knew she shouldn’t have bought it but tonight was going to be a special night for her and Spike. Tonight at the Bronze she planned to reveal her love for him to her friends. She’d gone over the words in her mind a hundred times. “Xander, Willow, Anya…er…um…Spike and I are shagging like rabbits. Oops. No. Mustn’t use the bunny word around Anya. Or how about: I’d like to introduce you to the demon who’s been making love to me for the last few weeks.” She sighed in frustration. What was she going to tell them? How could she make them understand and accept her love and her need for him? “Pretty damn near impossible. Might as well just blurt it out and ride out the storm. I love him. He loves me. End of Story.” Spike told her he’d meet her later at the Bronze and to wait for him on the rear balcony. Said he’d had something special for her--something he had to give to her before they announced their love to her friends. She shivered in anticipation and a surge of longing for him engulfed her. “Forget it,” she smiled to herself, “I’m not changing pants yet again. He’ll just rip them off later anyway…” Spike paced nervously on the balcony. He was gambling everything. He knew it. His emotions swung between a curious exaltation and crushing despair. What if he lost everything tonight? But it had to be done. Must be done. Otherwise this whole dance with the Slayer would be just another cruel illusion which would dissolve in the daylight. He could smell her scent before she entered the building. He searched the faces of the incoming crowd, barely able to contain the demon surging inside him. He spotted her at the door. Absolutely bloody gorgeous. She moved slowly, sensuously across the floor, her body barely concealed in the transparent dress. “I could devour her,” he thought. “I will devour her.” His sudden arousal was excruciating. Buffy knew he was there the moment she walked in the door. His yearning was an almost palpable force seeking her out across the room. She could feel him drinking her in, felt him going mad with the scent of the sweet heat that was flowing from her. She quickly excused herself from her friends. She prowled toward him, deeply aroused, swollen and taching with a sensuous pain that could only be relieved by one thing. He watched her slowly climb the stairs. Her breasts and body swayed in a rhythm, with an intensity that spoke of how she’d ride him. Slow and deep. “She’s going to shag the bloody life out of me. Too bad. Dead already.” He met her at the top of the stairs and with an amazing amount of self control took her gently by the hand and led her over to a darkened part of the balcony that was invisible to those dancing on the floor below. He placed both her hands lightly on the balcony rail and stood behind her. “Do you trust me?” His voice was a mixture of pleading and raw lust. “Yes. Oh, please yes…” she moaned, arching her back and rubbing her buttocks against him. “Not yet love, close your eyes.” He knelt behind her, lifted her skirt aside and lightly grasped her thighs, he slowly moved her legs apart. Laying his cheek against the curve of her inner thigh, he inhaled deeply, savoring her musky scent. In low voice, he whispered against her skin, “Now pet, I’m going to love you with my tongue.” He ripped aside the tiny wisp of silk, and then he began to tenderly, and thoroughly taste her. His tongue traveled down the deep valley between her buttocks and up to her moist entrance and back, and forth. He paused to suckle on each aching lip. She cried out in relief at the touch of his soft tongue. His moans turned into a low growl and he plunged his cool tongue deep inside her. He sucked and sipped, almost burning his lips drinking in her sweet, hot wetness. She whimpered, mindlessly spreading her legs wider, tilting her buttocks slightly upward, begging him with her body to let his tongue reach her clit. His face, now vamped out in ecstasy, was completely covered with her juices. He reached down with one hand and stroked himself lightly. He paused to rub his swollen shaft against the slickness of her bare legs. Grasping her buttocks firmly, he shifted her so she was riding his face and tongue until he felt her orgasm rising: her whole body slick with sweat, trembling, shaking for release. She moaned his name over and over. She felt the roughness of his demon face and mouth and tongue devouring her, She moved her hips in a desperate rhythm, positioning his tongue just where she needed it. She came hard and then slowly collapsed backward onto his lap, pushing him deep inside her. He grabbed her around the waist and slowly stood up with her still impaled on his shaft. He put his hand between her shoulders and forced her to bend over allowing him to thrust deeper. She started to protest, but he only thrust harder. He reached down under her bent form and ripped away the top of her dress, allowing her full breasts to swing freely as he ravaged her from behind. She quickly glanced back at his face and stared with horror into his glinting, yellow eyes. She begged him to stop, torn between her terror and the orgasm that was building quickly inside her. “Oh, god,” she whimpered. She tried to twist away from him. He grabbed the top of her shoulders with both hands and forced her back down on him hard. “Love,” he moaned, as he throbbed and pulsed into her, “You’re mine!” . Stunned, she fell to her knees, turning her body so that he would slip out of her. She felt like crying. She was crying. How could he do this to her? Here. Now. Was this his “gift”? How could he push her so low to let his demon lick her, fuck her in front of her friends? She flushed in shame. She looked down at her torn and wet dress. Ruined. How could he? Spike softly stroked her back with gentle hands. She was his now. He’d claimed her before her friends. He’d marked her, filled her up with his love so that now when he stood proudly by her side, the scent of their lovemaking would let them know that she was his--his mate, fully claimed, owned and protected by him. This was his gift to her. Buffy twisted away from his hand and slowly stood up, trying to adjust her torn dress to cover her breasts. ”How could you?” she cried and slapped him hard across his face. “I’m leaving,” she said coldly. “But Buf…” Spike started to protest. “Don’t touch me. We need to talk, but not now. Tomorrow night. Your crypt. Don’t try to call me before then.” She stormed down the stairs and out the back exit. Spike stared at her retreating back. A look of desolation spread across his face as he realized what he’d just lost. (continued in “Ready for the Storm”) Back to Dragonfly Series Home Back to Dark Dreams |
| Part Two : Turn and Counter-Turn She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand; She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin; I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand; She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, Coming behind her for her pretty sake (But what prodigious mowing we did make). – Theodore Roethke (I Knew a Woman) |