All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15

Wicked Ways
By jodyorjen

PAIRING: Spike/Tara, Spike/Willow, Spike/Buffy (Go, Spike!)
RATING: NC-17 overall
SPOILERS: Season 6 through “As You Were”.
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. GO team! Theirs, not mine.
AUTHOR”S NOTE: Ending scene was co-written with Zola, a wonderful writer who I am fortunate to have as a beta.
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask my permission first, just so I know where it’s headed.
FEEDBACK: Sure, fire away to jodyorjen@yahoo.com



Chapter 8

My face was buried in a soft cloud of sweet smelling hair. I breathed deeply. Raspberries. My hands were warm, and I realized I was cupping two small, pert breasts in my hands. I opened my eyes and my field of vision was filled with burnished strands of red and gold.

Willow turned to face me. Large green eyes peered into mine. She had gold flecks in her eyes, the same color as the gold in her hair. “You were feeling me up,” she said sternly.

I smiled at her. “I was sleeping, love. Doesn’t count.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Tara that when I see her,” she said seriously.

“So you’re going to tattle on me to my lady? That’s not very sporting of you. After all, you enticed me to your bed in the first place.”

She raised her eyebrows. “There was no enticing. It was perfectly innocent.”

“Oh, Spike,” I said in a falsetto. “Please come and lie down in my bed.”

She laughed. “That’s not how it went, you big liar guy.”

“I’m all alone,” I continued, imitating her. “And you look so hot in your silky pajamas.”

“You do look hot in your pajamas,” she said with a grin. “And you know it. You’re fishing for compliments.”

“It’s not my fault I’m a sexy thing. I’ve got no control over it. It’s a burden I must bear alone,” I said sorrowfully.

“You really are sexy,” she said thoughtfully. “I never really thought about it before.” She smiled. “I was envying you for having Tara and now I’m envying her for having you.”

“Too bad we didn’t think of it before,” I said. “All those months of celibacy when I could have been the meat in a nice Wicca sandwich.” I waggled my tongue at her.

“You’re a pervert,” she said, smacking me in the shoulder.

I laughed. “Yeah, I know. I get that a lot.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “I hate being third wheel girl,” she said sadly. “Everyone’s all couply except for me.”

“Well, you can get back out in the game,“ I suggested. “You’ve got a wide open dating pool out there. Girls and boys aplenty.”

“You make it sound like a menu,” she said. “Like I can just pick someone out and place an order.”

“Well, why not?” I asked her. “You’re a very beautiful girl, smart as a whip, funny as hell. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

“You really think so?” she said.

“Course I do,” I told her. I gently ran my fingers through her hair.

“I don’t feel very appealing,” she said. “I feel like a total dork, like I’m back in high school.”

“That’s just because you can’t do your spells,” I said. “But you still have your magic in you. You need to tap back into it, get your confidence back.”

“I can’t do that,” she said. “I have to stay clean.”

“What could be cleaner than plumbing your depths, getting in touch with the root of who you are?” I asked her. “If you turn your back on it, you’re rejecting part of yourself. That’s why you’re feeling disconnected.”

“I’m afraid of opening up the door to the dark,” she said. “I don’t trust myself.”

I thought for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me to that Wicca group you told me about? I’ll ask Tara to come. We could ask Anya and Xander too, if you want. We can all be there to support you, to help you down the right path,” I said.

“You’d do that for me?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course I would,” I said, picking up her hand. I kissed her knuckles. “I want to see you out of this rut you’re in, and being happy again.”

“Hey guys,” said Dawn from the doorway. “You look all comfy.”

Willow blushed. She leaned over and grabbed the remote from the bedside table, switching on the TV. “We were just going to watch cartoons.”

“Can I join in too?” asked Dawn.

“Sure thing, niblet,” I said as I scooted over closer to Willow. Dawn sat down next to me. She was wearing a pink chenille robe and bedroom slippers shaped like pigs. “Aren’t you a bit old for animal slippers, pet?”

Dawn looked aghast. “I love Mr. And Mrs. Piggington,” she said.

“The Summers women have a little known pig fixation,” Willow explained. “Buffy loves Mr. Gordo so much.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Dawn said defensively. “Mr. Gordo is a stupid stuffed pig. My slippers are practical, functional.”

“And, may I point out, two stuffed pigs,” I said.

She struggled to find a comeback, and then gave up, settling for smashing me in the face with a pillow.

“Hey! None of that!” I yelled. I twisted around to grab the other pillow from Willow’s side of the bed, and instead was smacked in the face from the other side. “Willow! You traitor!”

“Girls against boys,” she said teasingly.

“Well, that’s bloody terrific,” I said, dodging blows. “Evil bints, catching a guy when his guard is down.” They bashed me with the pillows, giggling mercilessly.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” asked Xander. He stood in the door, holding a beverage tray and a plastic bag.

“Throw me a pillow,” I yelled at him. “Don’t just stand there like a big sodden lump.”

“My hands are full,” he replied. “I have donuts.”

Abruptly, the barrage of blows ended. I moved my hands away from my face. “You brought us donuts?” said Willow

“And coffee,” said Xander. He looked at me. “And I brought something for you, too, Spike.” He looked serious. Willow turned and looked at me, concerned. I went over to him. He pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for us?” he suggested to the girls. They turned and looked at me.

“Go on,” I said. “I’ll be down in a minute.” They left. “You know what this says, don’t you?” I asked Xander.

He looked me straight in the eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spike,” he said. His face was tight, his eyes full of sorrow and pity. He turned and left me alone.

I sat down on the bed. I held the letter in my hands, turning it over and over again. I held it up to my nose and smelled the sweet scent of Tara, filling my nostrils. I pulled my pendant from my shirt and held it, feeling her energy, her essence. With her smell, the feel of her, I felt like I was home again. I felt peaceful, and serene, and gloriously fucking happy. I reveled in the moment, trying to hold on to it, burn it into my heart forever.

I ripped open the letter and carefully unfolded it. Just the sight of her handwriting made my throat clench up.

*Dear Spike,

Writing this letter is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.*

My hands clenched the paper and it tore. I forced myself to still, to keep reading.

*Please believe that I never wanted to hurt you.*

It felt like someone was shoving a stake right into my heart.

*I can’t discern what is real and what is false, what is true and what is an illusion. But I fear that I know the truth.*

Please, no. Please, no. Please.

*The love that we shared, it came on too strongly, too suddenly. I can’t believe in it. I can’t believe in us.*

White noise, flaring in my brain. White heat, running through my bloodstream. White pain, tearing me apart.

*I’m sorry, William.*

Fury. Humiliation. Rage. I roared, tearing the letter into pieces. I tore off the pendant and threw it into the wall with all my strength, shattering it. I let my demon free. It felt glorious, delicious. I ripped a door off the armoire and smashed it into the wall. Wood splintered everywhere, flying into my hands, my face. I ripped off the other door and smashed it into the floor. I beat it into the ground over and over until there was nothing left of it.

“Stop, Spike, stop it!” a voice screamed.

I ripped off the top of the armoire and flung it across the room. A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

“Don’t do this,” Willow said earnestly.

“Get away from me,” I growled at her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You need to stop this,” she said vehemently. “You’re hurting yourself. You’re bleeding everywhere.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I told her. “Nothing matters anymore.” I turned my back on her and smashed my fists into the armoire. Shards of pine flew up, filling the air like snow.

“I’m sorry,” said Willow. “I don’t want to have to do this.”

I turned around. She held a large rifle, pointed at my chest. I felt a pinprick and looked down. There was a red fuzzy tuft, centered in the middle of my chest.

“You shot me through the heart,” I told her, as I fell to the floor.

****

I came to, looking at a blinding white ceiling. Back in the lab, at the Initiative. “You need to drink some blood,” a voice said.

“I can’t drink it,” I replied. “It’s drugged.”

“You need to drink,” the voice repeated.

“You’ll do experiments on me,” I said. “You’ll neuter me.”

“We love you, we’d never hurt you.” I turned my head. It was Dawn, holding out a mug of blood.

“Dawn? What’s going on?” I tried to shake my head free of the thick haze that filled it, that made everything dim and confusing.

“You got really upset,” she said. “We had to shoot you with the tranquilizer gun and chain you up in the bathtub.”

I blinked, trying to remember. “Did something happen to the Slayer? Or Joyce? Your mum is sickly. Is she alright?” She looked confused and left the room. I leaned over to reach the mug that she had set on the floor. My chains jingled and clanked as I tried to scoot myself over the side of the tub. I lost my balance and fell. I felt the mug shatter beneath my chest, the warm blood seeping into my shirt. My head hit the floor with a loud crack.

I lay there, stunned. A pair of feet came in and stood in front of my face. Black boots encased tiny feet. I rolled onto my back. “Are you okay?” asked Buffy. She leaned over and helped me up. I stood there, my ankles and wrists chained. I began to wobble, my head thick. She grabbed the chains and kept me from falling.

“I feel really strange,” I told her. I looked in her face. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

“I had it cut weeks ago,” she said, confused. “And Dawn said you asked about Mom?” She looked at me, her face worried.

“Where’s Joyce?” I asked her. “Has something happened to her?”

“My mother passed away, Spike,” she said. “Last year.”

The second that she said it, I knew it was true. It hurt to remember it. “You died as well,” I said. “Willow brought you back.” I remembered her falling from the tower. “I missed you so much,” I told her. “It was horrible when you were gone.”

She reached out and caressed my face. “I’m back now,” she said. She bent her mouth to mine and kissed me. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, touch her, but all I could move was my head. She slipped her tongue inside my mouth and held me tightly, her body pressing up against mine. Her taste was so familiar.

I pulled away. “Take off the chains,” I told her breathlessly. She unlocked my shackles and set me free. I pulled her into my arms, running my hands over her. She moved her mouth to mine, and we kissed passionately.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she said as she broke away. She pulled off my shirt, buttons flying across the room. “I’ve missed this.” She ran her hands over my chest and sucked on my nipple. I gripped her shoulders, lost in the feeling of her touch. She pulled on the waistband of my pants. “You have to be quiet,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to hear you. I don’t want them to know.”

I pulled away from her, memories returning with a swift and brutal speed. “We’ve done this before,” I said. “Over and over again. And you lied to your friends. You dumped me flat. You broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaken.

*I’m sorry, William.*

“Tara,” I whispered.

“It’s okay, Spike,” Buffy said. “I’m here.” I brushed past her and ran down the hall. “Spike! Stop!” yelled Buffy.

I ran down the stairs. Xander and Willow ran into the foyer. Willow stood in front of the door, the tranquilizer gun in her hands. “Let me past,” I told her. “I have to talk to her.”

“It’s daylight,” she said. “You can’t go.”

“The hell I can’t,” I said, as I advanced on her.

“She’s gone, Spike,” she said. “She left.” She looked at me, her eyes wide and sad.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” I told her. “You don’t understand. It’s all a misunderstanding. She thinks what we have isn’t real. But it is. I just have to see her, to show her.”

“She left town to get away from you, Spike,” Xander said. “She said that she can’t think clearly when she’s with you, and she couldn’t keep away from you if she stayed.”

“But she doesn’t have to stay away,” I argued. “I’ll give her space, I’ll let her alone.”

“It’s too late,” he said gently. “She left early this morning. Anya drove her to the bus station. She wouldn’t tell us where she was going or when she would be back.”

*You’re beneath me.*

*You taste like ashes.*

*It’s over.*

*I can’t believe in us.*

Frozen. I felt the numbness spread through my veins, sweep through my heart. “Let me through the door, Willow,” I said.

“I can’t do that,” she said. “I won’t let you go.”

I turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Dawn stood by the door, holding a stun gun. I walked past her into the living room. I began to run, picking up speed. “What are you doing?” called out Buffy. I leapt over the coffee table and vaulted off the couch, crashing through the picture window and falling out onto the lawn. I ran as fast as I could. I felt the sun flame on my skin as a needle exploded into my back and I fell to the ground. I struggled to get up, but was overwhelmed by pain and drugs. I gave up, and sank my face into the grass.

****

“You’re so damn stubborn.” Something dug into my hand. I tried to flinch away, but couldn’t. “That hurts you? Good.” I opened my eyes to see Willow sitting next to me. We were in her room, on her bed. She had strapped down my hand into a metal cradle, immobilizing it while she dug around with a pair of tweezers.

“Ow, that fucking hurts,” I said.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were red. “You deserve to suffer, you moron.”

“Why are you mad at me?” She narrowed her eyes at me and slapped me in the face, hard. “Christ! What did you do that for?”

“You tried to kill yourself,” she said angrily. “You made me shoot you with the tranq gun again. You were knocked out so long I thought I’d killed you myself.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I told her. “I just wanted to get away from you lot.”

She looked up at me, surprised. “So you threw yourself out the window?”

“Well, you have no idea how annoying you can all be.” She looked at me and laughed, and I laughed too.

She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek. “Please don’t do anything like that again,” she said. “I was afraid that I was going to lose you.”

“Nice to know that someone would give a damn if I was gone,” I said. I paused, and thought a moment. “Buffy would probably miss me. Just because she’d have to find another guy to fuck, dump and stalk.”

She looked at me, shocked. “You and Buffy?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were wide and round, like Little Orphan Annie. “And ever since I got together with Tara, she’s been sniffing around, trying to get another go round.”

“But you were so in love with her,” she said, bewildered. “She just used you for sex and then broke up with you?”

“Yep.”

She looked horrified. “But that’s so mean!” She looked truly miffed. “And she was trying to break up you and Tara?”

“She was trying to spare Tara the pain of being used for sex,” I said dryly.

“I can’t believe Buffy would act that way,” she said.

“Well, she’s been a right pain in the ass, and I’m not taking it any more.”

“You shouldn’t,” Willow said vehemently. “If she can’t respect the way you feel, she should just leave you alone.”

“Right,” I said. “Just like I should leave Tara alone.” I sat glumly, thinking about her.

Willow looked at me, worried. “She’ll come back,” she said softly.

“Like she came back to you?” I said. She looked away, hurt. “I’m sorry, Willow. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, fiddling with a bottle of antiseptic. “She never did come back to me.” Her face was so sad, and I knew that she was thinking of Tara, of what they had shared.

I reached out to hold her, and jerked my hand on the cradle. “Can you take this thing off, sweetheart?” She gently extricated my hand from the frame and I held her close, cradling her against my chest. She began crying, her face pressed against my bare chest. Her tears rolled down, leaving tracks on my skin. I rubbed her back, letting her have a good cry.

“Love sucks,” she hiccupped finally, pulling away and wiping her sleeve across her face.

“Indeed it does,” I replied. I lay down on the pillow, and she lay down next to me, spooning into my body. I wrapped my hands around her waist, and inhaled the fruity scent of her hair.

“Except when it’s wonderful,” she said.

“And then, it’s better than anything,“ I replied. I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

****

I woke a little while later. Willow was curled around me, her hand pressed over my stomach. I slid out of the bed, careful not to wake her. I found my bag in the corner of her room and slipped on my clothes. Buffy sat at the kitchen table. She sipped at a glass of soda, her hair pulled back in two pigtails. She was so beautiful to look at, but as distant and unattainable as a goddess on a pedestal.

“I’m sorry I broke the window,” I said. I handed her a small stack of bills. She looked up at me in surprise as she took the money.

“Xander already came back with a piece of glass,” she replied. “He said it was easy to fix it.” She paused, and took a slow sip of her drink. “I’m sorry for the way I acted,” she said. She looked up at me, her face wary.

“Which time?” I asked her.

She gave me an angry look. “If you’re going to be a jerk, I won’t bother.”

“Who’s being a jerk?” I asked angrily. “Tara breaks up with me, and you kiss me because I’m all doped up and confused?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she admitted.

“No, you shouldn’t have. Just like you should have believed me when I told you that I didn’t want you back.”

“But things are different now,” she said. “You’re not with her anymore, and I want to be with you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “All we could ever have is sex. My relationship with Tara never even got that far, and it meant so much more to me.”

“But you loved me,” she said. “You told me so.”

“Tara loved me back, Buffy,” I replied. “That’s the difference. I’d forgotten how good it feels, to be loved.”

“If she loved you so much, then why did she leave you?” Her tone was mocking.

I smiled bitterly. “That’s what I’d like to know.” I went down the hallway and grabbed my blanket, walking unimpeded out into the sunlight.

****

I walked into my house from the garage. As soon as I stepped inside, I was surrounded by the scent of Tara, by the feel of her. I paused midstep, bowled over by how much I missed her. I put down my things and walked into the kitchen. I opened a bottle of brandy and took a healthy swig. The answering machine beeped insistently. I pushed the blinking button. “You have twelve messages,” intoned the electronic voice.

“Hi, Spike, it’s Anya,” said a cheery voice. “We’d like you to come to dinner tonight if you haven’t tried to kill yourself again.” There was a brief scuffling. “What?” she said, perturbed.

“Hi Spike, it’s Xander,” said an annoyed voice. “I’ll be at my apartment tonight, alone, if you’d like to come over and hang out.”

“Hi Spike, it’s Anya. I’ll be at my apartment tonight if you want to come over. I’m making brownies.”

“Hi Spike, it’s Xander. Anya and I will be over at my place tonight. We’ll order in some pizzas. Come on over.”

“Hi Spike, it’s Anya. Xander and I will be having make up sex, so don’t call and don’t come over.”

“Hi Spike, this is Xander. We’re here for you, buddy. Just disregard that last message.”

“Hi Spike, this is Anya. Seriously. Don’t come over.”

“Hi Spike, this is Xander. I’ll be at the Bronze by myself tonight after nine. Meet me there if you want to come.”

Hangup call.

“Hi Spike, this is Willow. If you feel like it, there’s a folksinger at the coffee house tonight at seven and I thought you might like to go. Call me and let me know if you want to.” She paused. “And call if you don’t, either, just so I know you’re okay.”

“This is Jerry Royce, the owner of Royce Furniture. It was a real pleasure meeting with you this afternoon. The armoire you selected will be delivered tomorrow by noon. Please call and let us know if we can be of any further service.”

“Hi,” Tara said. There was a long pause. “I can’t say any of the things that I’m thinking, because none of them are fair to you.” She paused again. “Just know that I believe in you, and I wish you well. I wish you every good thing.” There was a long pause, and then a dial tone.

I took my bottle to the couch and drank. I could drink until I passed out. That had worked for me in the past. I settled on that as a good plan and quickly ripped through that bottle. Torture, love spells, those hadn’t been very successful. I could find a vengeance demon. That would be helpful if I wanted to hurt her, make her suffer. But I didn’t want that. I just wanted her back. I was love’s bitch, once again. Maybe she’ll come back, I thought hopefully. Maybe she meant to. I opened the entertainment center and checked. All of her CD’s were gone.

I walked down the hallway and opened the door to her room. It was empty except for the furniture that I’d bought. All of her things were missing, her altar taken down, her clothes all gone. I walked into the bathroom. All her little potions and lotions, all the things that were hers, were gone. She was never coming back. I stopped off in the kitchen and picked up a second bottle of brandy, settling in on the sofa to work on that one.

I was halfway through when a knock sounded at the front door. I opened it up and there was Richard, backlit against the setting sun. He was breathing hard and sweating. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I came to bring you that desk for Tara,” he said.

It hurt just to hear her name. “Have you spoken to Buffy today?” I asked curiously.

“No,“ he asked, puzzled. “I’ll see her tonight. I’m taking her bowling.”

“You’re taking Buffy bowling?”

“She said that she’s never been. I thought it would be fun.” He wiped his brow. “So anyway, do you want the desk?”

He didn’t know. “Tara left me, Richard.”

His jaw gaped open. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He really seemed to mean it. “You want to come on in and have a beer?”

“Sure, sure man.” He thumped me on the shoulder and we walked into the kitchen. I handed him a beer and we sat down at the table. He looked at me searchingly. “I’m really sorry, dude.”

“I’ll get over it,” I said, swigging my beer.

“Was it because of what happened last night? The glowing eyes and all that?” He looked curious.

I’d underestimated him. “Apparently so. She didn’t actually explain her logic. She wrote me a letter-“

“She didn’t even do it in person?” He looked dismayed. “Oh, that’s harsh.”

“Thank for reiterating that, Richard. It’s less painful when you point it out.” I couldn’t restrain the sarcastic reply.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said hurriedly.

I took a sip of beer and took a moment. “You know, you’re a really nice guy, Richard. It’s kind of a shame.”

“Why is that?” he asked curiously.

“Well, after I say what I’m going to say next, you’re not going to like me very much.” He deserved to know what he was getting into.

He looked puzzled. “What do you need to tell me?”

Show time. “You’re being played, Richard. Buffy is playing you like a violin.”

He stood up. “What are you talking about?”

“She used to be with me, Richard. She broke up with me and then she got together with you.” Because she couldn’t love me.

He shrugged. “And you’re jealous? That’s okay, I understand.”

“She asked me to sleep with her, while she was dating you,” I told him. “And she kissed me today. If I’d wanted her, I could have had her.”

“Stand up,” he said seriously. I stood up.

“Take it back, Spike,” he said angrily. “You take it back or you’ll be sorry.”

“I can’t take it back,” I told him. “It’s the truth.”

I knew he would hit me, and I let him do it. He gave me a good hard punch in the jaw. “I thought that maybe we would be friends,” he said, overwhelmed. “I thought that you liked me.”

“I do like you, Richard,” I told him seriously. “That’s why I told you the truth.” He looked me in the face for a long moment and then walked away. I drank my beer and finished his off for good measure. No use wasting good beer. I went back out to the living room and started working my way through the brandy.

The door knocked. Must be Richard, back again. I opened it up and there stood Willow. She wore one of her ridiculous sweaters and a purple hat that was shaped like a bell, the wide brim flaring out around her chin. “You have the worst fashion sense of anyone I ever met,” I said, laughing at her outfit.

“Really?” She looked surprised. “I thought I was funky yet stylish.”

I let her in and we went and sat down on the couch. “So what are you doing here, Red?”

“I was just in the neighborhood?” she said tentatively.

I raised my eyebrows. “You just happened to wander down a dirt track past the cemetery?”

“I was afraid that you’d done something stupid and I was checking up on you,” she admitted.

“I can take care of myself, really,” I told her. “You don’t have to worry about me.” I picked up my bottle and resumed drinking.

“I knew you’d be getting drunk,” she said, exasperated. “You are the most predictable being in the universe.” She took off her boots and rested her feet on the ottoman.

“Bet you can’t guess who I just talked to,” I told her. I held out the brandy. “Want a sip?”

She sniffed at it and took a small sip. “Richard,” she guessed, handing it back.

“Hey you’re good,” I told her, truly impressed.

She rolled her eyes. “I saw him drive by,” she said.

“I told him about Buffy,” I told her. “That she’d been putting the moves on me.”

“How de he take it?” she asked.

I mimicked a punch. She leaned forward. “Did you get hurt?” she asked, concerned. “You’ve already been banged up pretty bad today.”

“He just punched me in the jaw,” I told her. “No harm done.”

She put her hand on my chin and moved my head around, assessing the damage. “You look okay,” she said, her brow furrowed. She ran her fingers across my cheekbone. “I think I missed a few splinters, though.” She prodded gently at my skin.

“I can’t feel anything,” I told her.

She picked up my hands. “How are the hands?” she asked, gently turning them in hers.

“I can still feel splinters inside them,” I told her. She ran her fingers gently along my palms, looking for them. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll work themselves out.”

She put my hands down. “And your chest?” She rested her hands over my pectorals. She looked into my eyes, and I had a flash of sinking my fangs into her pretty white neck.

“What about my chest?” I asked. I shook my head and put down the brandy. It was definitely getting to me.

“Does it hurt?” she asked seriously. “From where I shot you?” She winced. “The punctures.”

I meant to lean away from her, but instead I found myself leaning in. “I feel just fine,” I murmured as I pulled off her hat with a flick of my wrist. I slipped my hands around her waist and buried my face in her shoulder.

“Spike?” she said uncertainly. I licked her neck, drawing my tongue slowly up and down, tracing the delicate blue of her vein.

“I want to bite you,” I said. I pulled her hair away from her neck and bit her gently with dull teeth.

She gasped and her fingers grappled at my shoulder. “I don’t really want you to do that, Spike,” she said in a strangled voice.

“You taste so sweet,” I told her. “You taste like mint.” I licked and nibbled along her neck, pulling her turtleneck aside so that I could reach more of her skin.

“Oh, God,” she said.

“Let me,” I said to her. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“This is wrong,” she said. “We can’t do this.” I moved over her, straddling her lap.

“Why can’t we?” I asked her, my fingertips playing up and down her neck. “Who are we hurting?”

“Me,” she said. “This is definitely going to hurt me.”

“I told you, it’ll feel good,” I said, as I ran my hand through her hair.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“I can make you want me,” I said softly. “If you want me, the chip won’t go off.”

She closed her eyes. “Will you kiss me first?” she asked.

“I’ll do anything you want, Red,” I told her. I nibbled at her throat and gently licked her jaw.

“Okay then,” she said, and she turned her lips to mine in an uncertain kiss. Her mouth tasted like mint as well, with a hint of brandy. I lightly teased her lips open with my tongue, claiming her in a deeper kiss that accelerated her heartbeat and left her soft and unyielding beneath me. I broke the kiss for a moment to roll us over and pulled the sweater over her head.

I looked down at her, enjoying the sight. Her beautiful red hair was fanned out over the cushion, her breasts heaving up and down, in time with her gasping breaths. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the pink lace of her bra. “Want me yet?” I asked her. I traced my fingers along the strap, giving her goosebumps.

She opened her eyes, and stared up into mine. “Yes,” she said distinctly.

I popped open the front clasp on her bra and morphed into my demon. Her breasts were beautiful, small and firm, with delicate pink nipples. I took one into my mouth and sank my fangs into her breast. She moaned loudly and clasped the back of my head. I pulled up her skirt and slipped my hand into the waistband of her panties, teasing her clit with my fingers. I drank her slowly, relishing an uninterrupted feeding from a warm, willing human woman.

She tugged at her skirt and I helped her slide it down over her legs, then pulled down her panties as well. She kicked them to the floor, then twisted and pulled at me until I was lying between her legs. I was so startled I released her breast. “Take me,” she said. “You feel so good and I’ve been so lonely. Please, please fuck me.”

She undid my jeans and pushed them down, freeing my cock. “Are you sure?” I asked her.

“We aren’t hurting anyone,” she said. “Please, I need you.” She spread her legs a little wider and guided me inside her. “Oh, Spike,” she gasped.

“Willow…” The sensation of her was almost enough to push me over the edge right then and there. She locked her ankles around the back of my thighs and moved with me as I stroked in and out of her. She was right; we weren’t hurting anyone at all. No one.

I moved my head to her neck and bit down again, savoring every drop of her warm blood, prolonging the moment for as long as I could. Her arms tightened around me convulsively and I pumped harder. "Spike...yes, just like that...yes...yes...oh god Spike, oh god!" She keened loudly, her voice breaking as she shattered into a thunderous orgasm. It was enough to send me over the edge and I spasmed inside her, shuddering and gasping.

I pulled my fangs from her neck and looked down at her. She was breathing shallowly, asleep or passed out. I picked her up and carried her to my room, staggering. I took off her bra and tucked the covers around her. I collapsed beside her, drunk on brandy and blood and sex, and fell asleep.



Continued in Chapter 9

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