He hitched one shoulder negligently, his eyes fairly glowing with confidence. "Play coy if you like, ducks, but we both know you heard me the first time."
The outrage was easy to call up. Hot, fast-burning anger to mask the sudden dampness between her thighs. Shit, she thought, fighting off a surge of panic as his smile slowly widened. He can smell me.
"You’re disgusting," she spat. "I am so out of here."
She whirled around, fully intending to stalk out the door to the crypt. She had to set some boundaries with him fast, or she was going to lose what little connection to her self she had managed to recover.
Damn it! She couldn’t make her feet move. Couldn’t summon the confident stride that would carry her to safety, into the open air and home to her friends, her family.
"It’s a simple thing," he called, and she shuddered at the sudden intrusion of his voice into her rising terror.
"No," she replied, her voice hoarse with that intoxicating blend of fear and desire she would have given anything not to show him. "No, it’s not."
"Buffy." She closed her eyes, willing him to stop, willing him to just this once do nothing so she could figure out how to make her body obey her again.
"Turn around, Slayer." A hard edge had crept into his voice; an edge of command. It threw her for a moment. She knew some vampires could compel obedience with their voices. Dracula had been able to do it. Drusilla had done it with her eyes.
But Spike – Spike had never done anything to indicate he possessed that sort of ability. And yet, she was doing what he asked; turning her back on freedom to listen to his sick demands.
"Much better." He was still smiling that devastatingly confident, "I’m going to fuck you" smile, looking at her as though she was a piece of candy.
The thought brought with it a surge of hope, a possible way out. "How ‘bout if you…?" she began. Her voice trailed off at the slow, sexy shake of his head.
"One way tonight," he told her. His hand slid lower, stroking his leather-clad, groin, cupping himself. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight, and hated herself for being so obvious, so easy. He knows you’re going to do it, she thought.
"I can’t," she whispered, meeting his eyes again. "I can’t do it."
He cocked his head to one side, sensing in that annoying way of his the truth behind her words. Surprisingly, he didn’t offer comforts or platitudes. He didn’t take her in his arms, tell her he loved her, it was okay, they would do something else…
"Yes, Slayer," he told her. "You can."
Even if she hadn’t already had "The Talk", living as a teenager through the Clinton years had thoroughly familiarized Buffy and all her friends with the many ways men and women could have sex. She had been a freshman, caught up in Riley, the first time she had taken a man’s cock into her mouth.
Riley had convinced her that it would be okay, that it was easy, and eager to please him she had tried. His size, and her gag reflex had quickly shown her that it was anything but. She had kept on, wanting to show Riley that she was willing to give him anything he wanted, and after a seeming eternity in which she was certain she was going to choke to death on him, he had come in her mouth.
The first touch of his semen against her tongue had convinced her that there was no way she was swallowing. She had managed to hold it in her mouth long enough for him to finish, then she had scrambled off him and spit the entire load in the sink.
It had taken her a week to get the taste out of her mouth.
Riley had never asked again. Even though he was cool about it, and assured her that she had done fine, she knew that he sensed her real feelings about the experience. She wasn’t that good of an actress.
And now Spike…
"Grown girl like you should know how to suck a man off proper," he said, his accent growing thicker as he guided her to the bed. "Bleedin’ shame it is."
She reached for sarcasm; got a toe-hold. "It’s not exactly part of a Liberal Arts education." She watched as he stripped off his t-shirt, his hands going immediately to his belt. He was unzipping his pants when it occurred to her that she probably needed to get undressed as well.
He shook his head slowly when she started to unbutton her blouse. "Clothes on."
Her quick intake of breath betrayed her. "On?" she asked, confused. Normally he couldn’t wait to get her naked.
"This isn’t about you," he told her. "I want you clothed while I’m fucking that mouth of yours." He smiled again, and there was a hint of the predator in it. "Give you a reason not to spill a drop." He trailed one hand lightly across the fabric covering her breasts, and she shivered under his touch. "Remind you that you came crawling to me for this."
Her eyes hardened under the rush of sudden outrage, but before she could tell him off, hit him – do something – he had stepped forward and grabbed her between her legs. She moaned as he crushed the sodden fabric of her slacks and panties into her crotch, utterly undone. Again…
"You want it," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "I’m not in the mood for your lies tonight. Nor am I in the mood to hear you natter on endlessly about how much you despise me. Your body doesn’t lie. Not like your mouth does."
She nearly came all over his hand just hearing him say the words she couldn’t. She did want this. She wanted him in control, wanted him to fuck her in the mouth, wanted to be able to suck him until he drowned her with his seed…
He released her then, sliding his pants off and freeing his cock. He was already hard, and Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off it. I can’t do it, she thought, feeling the surge of panic threatening to overwhelm her entirely this time. He’s bigger than Riley – I know he’s bigger than Riley. I’ll choke…I’ll throw up…
He lay back on the bed, all grace and deadly power, and motioned for her to join him.
"Straddle me this way, love," he told her as she climbed up beside him. Using his hands, he positioned her so that she was kneeling astride his chest, facing away from him. "This way I can touch you if I want."
She writhed against him at that, imagining his hands on her, penetrating her, fucking her. His hands gripped her hips, holding her still against him. "None of that." His chuckle, the little burst of sarcastic amusement that seemed to be all he ever allowed himself, washed over her.
"Now lean forward," he continued, his voice like raw silk rubbing over her skin, urging her on. "Use your tongue first. Slow, hot, and wet."
Struggling to keep her breathing steady, regular, she leaned forward. No matter how many times he had fucked her, she always tried to keep from looking too closely at his cock. It was too much, too real.
Now it was the only thing she could see -- the center of her universe.
Extending her tongue, she ran the tip carefully up the length of his shaft. It was warm; he had fed. She marveled at the feel of him. The skin that shifted beneath her touch was satin covering an unyielding shaft of iron.
"That's it," he purred as she continued on, trailing wetness and heat as she traced the length of him. "That's the ticket." Emboldened by the unexpected encouragement, she moved on to the head, tonguing the under ridge and licking her way up to the tip. She paused then, realizing that a quivering drop of moisture had already welled in the small opening.
"Taste it, love." How had he known? His vision was blocked by the curve of her back as she arched over him -- how had he known what had stopped her?
"Taste it." Closing her eyes, Buffy dipped her tongue into the opening, scooping up the clear liquid.
A small sound of surprise in the back of her throat betrayed her confusion. It didn't taste at all like she remembered. Visions of an earlier time filled her head -- the same bed, propped up on a pile of pillows. Legs spread, her fingers tracing the folds of skin beneath her legs, slipping inside her…in and out…
He had been there too, sprawled so confident and sexy in a nearby chair. He had been clothed then, she naked, but the same predatory look had been in his eyes, his smile. "Taste it, love," he had encouraged her then too, and half crazed by the feel of fucking herself she had brought her hand to her mouth.
She had played for him then, making a big show of licking her fingers clean. The taste of her own arousal had been enough to send her over the edge into a warm, golden, gasping orgasm.
"Put your mouth over it now," he told her. His voice had taken on that roughened warmth that meant he was enjoying himself. "Lips and tongue only. No teeth. Wrap your fingers 'round the base to hold it steady."
I can do this, Buffy thought, staring hypnotized at his cock. Sliding her fingers around the base, she squeezed slowly, gently, until she was rewarded with a rumble of pleasure from deep inside him. "That's it, pet," he murmured. "Hold me firm."
Squeezing her eyes shut again, Buffy opened her mouth as wide as she could. Leaning forward as far as she could, she used a combination of hands and balance to guide his shaft between her lips.
"Slowly," he cautioned her, his voice soft, careful. "Don't choke yourself on it."
Inch by inexorable inch, she slid his cock into her mouth, curling her tongue around it as it slipped into her. The farther she went, the more she could feel the panic receding. The position Spike had chosen gave her control, let her decide how much of him she could swallow. There was no feel of hands gripping her head, urging her on past where she could physically cope.
A little more than half way down, she stopped; unwilling to push her luck any farther. His voice was right there, hands tightening on her hips to let her know that she was having an effect on him. "Very nice, pet. Very nice. Now -- pull back. Slowly now, no need to rush…" The chuckle again, tightening things pleasurably inside her gut, and pulling a quiet moan of response from her throat. The sound must have pleased him; she fancied she could feel him smiling at her as he said, "We've got all night."
Slowly up the length of him, sliding her lips around the ridge, over the curve, to meet in a kiss at the very tip. That wasn't so bad, she thought, lips parting to draw him in again.
"Keep it slow," he murmured, shifting slightly beneath her. "That's my girl. Slow and hot." Listening to his voice, feeling him start to move beneath her, she didn't even notice how long it took to reach the end of her downward stroke.
Up again, feeling a surge of confidence. Maybe I can do this! she thought, reaching the top and starting down again. Up and down, keeping it slow, controlled. A steady rumble of pleasure had started building in Spike's chest, making it vibrate against her pussy where she pressed against him. Another moan escaped her, and she felt the last of the tension flow out of her.
She was warm, reality taking on a softer edge, allowing her to believe that the events of the past few weeks had never happened at all. This was why she came back to him over and over -- not love, not even the hint of desire. It was the warmth, the feeling of finally being alive again that kept dragging her back to his embrace. He was the only one who saw that need in her, and the only one who was willing to fill it.
"Quicker now, pet." His voice had taken on a breathy quality that told her better than anything he could have said in words that she was doing it right. She drew up more quickly, starting immediately back down. "Pretend I'm in your cunny, and you want to bring me off proper…" He broke off, whatever he was going to say dying in a groan.
She did as he told her, gradually continuing to increase the pace, feeling warmer with each stroke, feeling the dampness between her thighs as every movement they made ground her more tightly against him. Is he doing that? she wondered, realizing that Spike's grip on her hips was as strong as ever.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore except the climax building between them. Up and down she went, determined to see it through, prove to herself that she could please a man this way. And she was pleasing him -- she could tell. If her body didn't lie, then neither did his, and Spike's body was enjoying itself very, very much.
A sudden inspiration caused her to collapse her cheeks on the next upward stroke, actively sucking against him, adding a subtle pressure to the friction.
His reaction was instantaneous. "Oh God, Buffy!" His hands lost their iron grip on her for just a moment, and flush with triumph, she stroked downward again. On the next upward stroke, she repeated the suction, harder this time.
So intent was she on the reactions she was causing, that she missed the sudden tension that flared through him. As a result, it caught her totally by surprise when an upward stroke, accompanied by a squeezing of her fingers around the base of his shaft, released a flood of semen into her mouth. The groan that filled her ears was as near to an outright scream as she had ever heard from him.
But none of it registered as his fluids filled her mouth. She hadn't been ready, and as the first taste hit the back of her throat, she panicked. Suddenly she was eighteen and scared. Scared that she would choke, scared that she would be sick.
And the flood just kept coming.
Paralyzed with fear, she choked. Even as she struggled to hold it all in her mouth, not to spill it everywhere, her body decided with great, lurching convulsions, that under no circumstances would she swallow that.
She wasn't even aware of him sliding free, only of the come dripping past her lips, splashing on her arms, the sheets.
Then his hands were grabbing her shoulders, throwing her to the bed. A hand was slapped roughly over her mouth, and she looked up to see Spike looming over her, staring down at her with eyes gone hard and cold.
Too startled to do anything else, and half-believing in that moment that he would allow her to suffocate if she didn't, her throat muscles began to contract at last.
Seeing this, his expression softened slightly. "Good. Drink it all down, pet. Remember the taste of it."
She wanted to look away -- didn't want to know he was watching her do this, watching her drink his come just like he'd said she would. God, the taste! It was nothing like she had expected. Not pleasant, but certainly not…
"Good," he repeated, his voice intruding on her thoughts. "Tastes a damn sight better than the air in your coffin, don't it?" He sat back on his heels, finally taking his hand away from her mouth.
"That was awful," she gasped as the last of his sperm slid down her throat.
He chuckled. "It's an acquired taste. Rest a bit, and we'll have another go."