Chapter Twenty

Right, Willow thought to herself, feeling a strange urge to giggle. She’d gone from sex in the back of an Econoline van with a boy she loved to sex with Spike in a vampire version of a Hyatt Hotel. It was beyond disturbing. Hysterical giggling was all the moment required.

He sat down on the side of the bed and set to work removing his boots while weirdly inappropriate thoughts like ‘vampires, socks, foot odor?’ ghosted through her head. She knew exactly what Oz’s feet smelled like, a not unpleasantly musty scent tangled up with cedar from his closet. She remembered Xander’s puberty foot odor, a smell so strongly associated with parmesan cheese that she couldn’t smell parmesan without thinking feet.

She was not going to watch him get undressed. She fled to the bathroom, quashing the impulse to ask for his permission, which had become something of a habit over the last two weeks. Once she was safely shut into the bathroom she turned on the hot water tap to give herself something to do, and started her little pre-bedtime rituals. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and ran a brush through her hair, taking a little more time over these things than usual because there was nothing usual about any of this. She half expected Spike to interrupt her, but she heard nothing from the other room.

When she ran out of things to do in the bathroom, she came out. Spike was sitting against the headboard, smoking a cigarette, barefooted and bare-chested. He had left his jeans on, and she said a silent thank you for that in her head.

He watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Red?” he patted the space beside him on the bed. “Come over here,” he ordered.

He was betting she didn’t have the nerve to go through with this, which suited him. If she couldn’t keep up her end of their deal, then he didn’t have to keep up his. He smiled at the thought. Either way he won.

She didn’t miss the smile, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what was behind it. She made herself walk over to the bed, belatedly realizing that she should have approached it from the unoccupied side. To get to the spot he had indicated she was going to have to climb over him, or walk around the bed. She started to go back as he crushed out the cigarette, but he caught her wrist.

“This is good,” he said, reeling her in. Feeling the slight tension of resistance in her as she hung back, he paused, eyebrows lifting in inquiry. “Change your mind?”

He looked smug. There was a small amount of glee in his tone. Every instinct told her that this was wrong, dangerous, and unbelievably stupid of her. He could not be trusted. He had always managed to be one step faster, one step ahead of her.

“N-no,” she stammered. “I was just going to go around to the other side,” she let him pull her closer.

He rested his other hand on her hip. “Don’t bother,” he said, his thumb making little circles on her stomach through the t-shirt. He pinched the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it out of the loose fitting waist of her pants. His thumb slid under the t-shirt, moving over her skin. The coolness of the pad of his thumb against her skin was noticeable.

The hand on her waist tightened, silently urging her closer. Her right leg was already pressed against the side of the bed. The hand holding her right wrist pulled. She understood that he wanted her to join him on the bed, and summoned the resolve to put her left knee on the bed, realizing that she was going to have to crawl over his lounging body. When she swung her right knee over his hips, his hand left her wrist, resting on her waist, keeping her there, straddling his body, urging her down. Through the rough cotton pants she was wearing she could feel his denim covered erection press against her. For a moment she sat there, resisting the impulse to fling herself off him. He sat up a little, adjusting his position, the small movements of his hips creating a fleeting impression of friction against the tender flesh between her legs.

The clothes had been delivered without underwear. The seam of the pants she was wearing was pressed against her, and it made her want to find a more comfortable position. It was odd how naked she felt fully dressed, without underwear. His hands moved down, over her hips, briefly cupping her ass before grasping her ankles, on either side of him. His cool hands moved over the soles of her feet before returning to her waist. He grasped the hem of her t-shirt, watching her with a small smile, anticipating a protest or a demur. Her arms moved, an involuntarily defensive reaction that she checked before it was completed.

He gave her a second to reconsider, and then tugged the t-shirt over her head. She had to lift her arms for him to remove it, and when they came down, she crossed her arms over her bare chest, her gaze directed away from him to a spot to the right of his left shoulder. Splotchy color painted her cheeks.

His hands cupped her elbows, squeezing lightly to get her attention. “The novelty of your not-so-virginal modesty is wearing off, Red. I’d like to see what I’m foregoing the pleasure of killing your pals for, if you don’t mind.”

The only reason he wasn’t calling her on her apparent resistance was that he thought the modesty was exactly that. She was shy about her body, and straddling him half naked was a bit of a stretch for her. She lowered her arms, chewing on her lower lip, looking ridiculously self-conscious as his hands moved down her arms to her small hands. He held them lightly, his gaze moving over her. Objectively, he had to concede that there wasn’t anything about her that would drive anyone over the edge with lust. She was wholesomely pretty, all pale skin and freckles, and a little too thin for his tastes. Despoiling innocents had been Angelus’ game. He had always preferred his partners to be a little more knowing, aware, and eager. Her small breasts sat high on her chest, nipples puckering with cold or dread. He knew she wasn’t aroused. She was too nervous and frightened for it.

Still, his hands itched to touch her. The memory of her skin under his hands was fresh. There was a hint of baby fat, a slight but noticeable cushion under her skin, and it was soft and warm in a way that was pleasantly exotic. Her face was a mask of tension and apprehension. She knew he was looking at her and she didn’t know how to react to it, so she was trying to ignore it without much success. His gaze drifted back down, lingering on the pulse point in her throat that was throbbing in an attractive way. Moving over the fine collar bones and her breasts, where her skin was pebbled with gooseflesh, down the midline of her abdomen to the belly button, half hidden by the waistband of her pants, the black cotton standing stark against her skin.

His hands loosely held her wrists, and he picked them up, watching her eyes fix on him skittishly as he carried her wrists to his shoulders, forcing her to lean forward a bit.

“If I wanted an audience, I would have stayed in the other room. I expect participation,” he warned her.

Consternation flashed in her eyes. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders for a moment, and then she forced herself to do something with them, tentatively sliding her hands over his skin with an uncertain look on her face. To Spike, it felt like she was petting a dangerous animal on a dare. He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Stung by the implied criticism, Willow frowned. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done this before. She had. With Oz. With Xander. She could pretend it was Oz. Or Xander. She heaved an inward sigh. She should probably stick with Oz. There was no point in further confusing the issue with Xander musings while she was trading smoochies with the undead. She closed her eyes. Oz. If this was Oz, and she was sitting half naked on him, what would she do? She took a deep breath, willing herself to concentrate, to ignore how un-Oz-like Spike was. She flattened her hands on his shoulders, feeling the unyielding muscles under her hands and the coolness of his skin.

That wasn’t working. Buffy had never mentioned how different the undead felt. The details she had shared with Willow were more about great kissing and sparkage, not the weirdness that was a twenty degree temperature difference or a body that was lean, hard, and . . . unnervingly perfect. When your boyfriend is a vampire, chances were that he didn’t ask you to pop a zit on his back.

“Earth to Red?” Spike interrupted her internal monologue.

“I’m thinking,” she stalled. “I can’t help it. It's what I do. I think.”

“For the love of hell,” he muttered, his hands moving to her head, fingers threading through her hair. Her eyes opened as he unwittingly pulled her hair and a startled, “Ow!” emerged from her lips. “No more hair pulling!”

He pulled her closer, “Right. No more hair pulling,” he agreed. “Any more conditions you want to work out before we move on?”

She flashed back to him fingering the riding crop. “Uh . . . well, there is, I mean . . . there’s the no hitting thing? You hit me, I hit back,” she quoted. “Coming from me, not big on the threat factor, so can we go with I don’t hit you and you don’t hit me?”

He paused to consider that. Threats of violence tended to keep her in line, and he wasn’t willing to give them up that easily.

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” he conceded, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “You try to keep from provoking me, and I think I can manage not to beat you.”

It wasn’t a unilateral agreement, but she figured it was as close to one as she was going to get.

“Okay,” she nodded.

He grinned at her. “You’re a piece of work, pet,” he drawled, leaning in, cocking his head to one side, his gaze lingering on her lips. “Now?”

She swallowed hard. “Um . . . I could kiss you? Do you want me to kiss you?” she asked.

He bit back a choice remark, feeling her pat his shoulders again. This had to be one of his worst ideas ever, he thought. A night of rolling around with a tediously shy, inhibited girl wasn’t his idea of entertainment. Then again, he had seen her when she wasn’t inhibited, and if he could have that girl, it might be worth it.

“Yeah,” he pinched her earlobe between his forefinger and thumb, tugging on it lightly. “Kiss me, Red.”

Sitting on him made her nearly eye level with him. Willow leaned forward, darting a nervous glance at him. Something about the way he was watching her made her feel a fit of nervous laughter bubbling up. Except that her nervous laughter tended to come out as babble. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder and then she relaxed her grip. Just do it, she urged herself. Her lips brushed his lightly as his hand settled on her waist. She felt it there, fingers splayed, his fingertips just under her breast. She paused, looking down as his other hand moved, his fingertips skimming over her neck, her chest, and the upper swell of her breast, chipped, black fingernail polish standing out stark against her skin, reminding her again of Oz.

She froze. Guilt and pain filled her eyes. He knew she was thinking about her wolf. It was perversely erotic, knowing that she was thinking about the boy. It was the loyalty, he supposed. He hadn’t been bullshitting when he told her that he liked her, even if he had played with the idea to make it less stomach churning. He liked her pragmatism as well as her loyalty, even now when they were in direct conflict. He figured the game was up. She really couldn’t make herself do this.

Then she gave a spare shake of her head, shaking it off, a determined look firming up her chin. The hands on his shoulders shifted to slip over his shoulders as she returned to his mouth. Her eyelids drifted downward and he felt her lips brush his again, and then fasten on his lower lip.

His lip tasted of whisky and tobacco. Instead of reminding her of Oz, she was reminded of the other night in the club, when he had kissed her so thoroughly while Georgia’s hands and mouth had explored her. That alone should have frightened or disgusted her, but instead, it made her want to make him feel as helpless and overwhelmed as she had felt. It was startling, the burst of anger, the weird desire to force him to feel something that made the kiss more aggressive. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head back as her tongue entered his mouth.

So bloody much for no more hair pulling Spike thought, as her fingers tightened in his hair. Participation in the kiss was turning into a battle. His instinct was to take control of it, but when he tried to, she changed her focus, from his tongue, to his upper lip, and then, her small, warm, wet tongue drilled into the corner of his mouth. With an inward shrug, he let her have at it. Control was overrated. She bit his lower lip, sucking on it like it was a piece of candy.

He was too experienced to mistake it for passion or enthusiasm. It was anger. He could work with that. His hands moved over her skin. It was as soft as he remembered, with that oh-so-tender cushion of lingering baby fat. His hands spanned her ribcage, feeling it expand and contract under his hands even as he tasted the humid breath that panted from her parted lips. His hands moved over her back. She felt small and delicate. At the same time, he absorbed an impression of lean muscle lying under the softness, over the delicate bone structure, and it conformed to his understanding of her. She was a little tougher than she looked. He felt her shiver as his hands moved over her back, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck, the other tracing the column of her spine.

He had become almost passive under her lips. She could feel his fingers on her neck, under her hair, the coolness of his hand like a compress, shocking her into awareness. His fingers traced her spine, making her arch her back. Her nipples grazed his chest. She mashed her lips against his, cutting her lower lip on her own teeth. The sudden, sharp pain and the taste of blood in her mouth made her pull back, and she raised a shaking hand to her lips. His eyes dropped to her mouth, a small smile turning up the corners.

Her lips were swollen and damp from kissing him, and a drop of blood welled and was smeared under her fingers.

Hysterical weeping seemed imminent. “Going all grrr on me, Red?” he asked. “You’re full of surprises, pet.”

She looked confused for a moment, and then she just looked sad and lost. He kissed the back of her hand and the fingers pressed to her lips, bending his knees to support her back. His fingers kneaded the back of her head. He wanted to rip her fingers away from her bruised, bleeding lip. He settled for nibbling on her fingertips and working his tongue under her fingers, pulling two of them into his mouth to stroke with his tongue, keeping his eyes on her face. He let her fingers slide out of his mouth, feeling them on his lips, resting there briefly before she snatched her hand back. Her eyelashes fanned delicately against the thin, nearly translucent skin under her eyes, above her flushed cheeks. She was breathing unevenly.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, imitating her own kiss. Her eyes opened when she realized it, solemn and wary, a tiny frown appearing. “I liked that,” he admitted. “What made you think of it?”

He didn’t think she would answer. She looked like she didn’t want to, but she also looked less close to crying.

“I’ve done this before,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how preposterous it sounded.

Spike grinned. “Have you now?” he teased. “Really, I’m shocked, Red.” His hand made lazy circles on her back. He kissed her jaw, following the shape of it with his lips. He took her earlobe between his lips, sucking on it lightly.

He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling it run over the rough skin of his hand like foam. “I like this spot too,” he whispered, kissing her neck, below her ear, his tongue stroking her skin.

“You shouldn’t put too much stock in all of this,” he said, feeling her shiver and then tense as she fought her reaction. He paused to look at her, kissing her mouth when she tried to avoid his gaze. “It’s nothing but nerve endings and hormones.” He shrugged. “It feels good? But like you said . . .” he frowned, pretending to think about it. “What was it? Some bratty Americanism?” He grinned. “Oh, yeah, the so eloquent, ‘duh’.”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t be nice to me,” her voice was tight with resentment.

His eyebrows lifted. “I’m not,” he denied. The demon inside of him was howling over this pansy-assed seduction. The emotional torment of an eighteen year old girl bargaining with her body to save her pals just wasn’t what it used to be. “What was the duh for if not that?”

She knew. The color in her cheeks had intensified, and was spreading over her chest. Curious, he laid his fingers on her cheek to see if it was warmer. He thought back to what they had been talking about, and then nodded to himself. “Ah. We’ll have sex, and you’ll enjoy it?” he remembered.

“Yeah, and here we are. You maneuvered me back into your clutches.” Her eyes flew to his, her expression indignant, but he forestalled comment by running his thumb over her abused lips. “And I have done this before,” the hand resting on her lower back held her while he shifted his hips against the weight of her body, bringing his erection into unmistakable contact with the center of her.

She would have bit her lip, but his thumb was in the way, sliding into her mouth. His pale blue eyes were relentless. “Don’t take it so hard, pet,” he said, sounding almost sympathetic. “No one will ever know, except me, and I’m not going to think worse of you for it.”

His thumb left her mouth and his hand moved down to her breast, cupping it lightly. The same thumb, wet from her mouth, circled her nipple. He bent his head to it, kissing the upper curve of her breast, near her breastbone. He rolled her over on her back, settling his weight over the juncture of her thighs, his tongue working the skin on the margins of her breast while his thumb abraded her nipple. He moved against her sinuously, his abdomen rubbing against her as he tasted her skin, avoiding her nipples for the time being. He was in no particular hurry.

Willow concentrated on the ceiling, determined not to close her eyes. It would be too easy to get lost in the sensations he was creating behind closed eyelids. It was hard enough just realizing that she wanted to press up against the weight centered between her legs. The more she resisted it, the more aware she was of the growing sensation centered there. The cotton pants were starting to stick to her dampening folds.

Spike etched a damp circle around her neglected nipple, feeling her trying so hard to hold herself still. He smiled to himself. That wouldn’t last forever. He took the nipple between his lips, alternating between sucking lightly on her skin and flicking his tongue over it. Like most women with small breasts, her nipples were acutely sensitive. When he tugged on her nipple he heard the soft, involuntary sound trapped in her throat and he felt the muscles in her abdomen ripple in response. He followed the center line of her abdomen, shifting his weight away from her, his hands moving down to her legs to pull her knees up and apart. Through her pants, he nuzzled the juncture of her thighs, smelling her arousal. His blunt teeth scraped over her through the pants and her hips bucked. His fingers worked the button fly while he nibbled on her through her pants, sucking on the fabric that was becoming saturated with his saliva and her musky juices.

He skimmed the pants over her hips. As soon as they cleared the soft nest of cinnamon curls between her legs, he parted her labia with his tongue, stealing a taste of her that had her arching off the bed when she felt his tongue on her clit.

He yanked the pants down, freeing one leg completely, and the other down to her knee. She started to sit up, pushing herself up on her elbows. He took advantage of the position, sliding one hand under her ass to lift her. His tongue swept over her from anus to clit, lingering there to take the tender bud between his lips. Her legs jerked. Her heart was racing, shallow breaths coming fast and hard. Giving the flesh his mouth was working a though, lingering lick, he raised his head to look at her, taking the route up her body to her wide and frightened eyes.

“It's okay,” he reassured with a half smile, feeling like he was in the odd position of soothing a startled fawn. He cocked his head to one side, easily imagining her amid fallen leaves, like some woodland creature taken down by a predator. “I’m feeling magnanimous,” he told her with a smirk. “Give me an excuse to restrain you, pet, and I won’t claim it as a forfeit. Rather like the idea of you tied up,” he admitted, kneeling between her legs, his hands stroking the inside of her thighs.

Willow couldn’t look away. A muscle trembled in her cheek, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek to distract herself from it. She had never felt more naked in her life. His hands moved in slow strokes on the insides of her legs, exerting just enough pressure to keep them apart. His hands were starting to pick up some of her warmth, but they remained cool enough to add an extra dimension to the caress. She couldn’t look down. She knew that she would see what she felt, her legs spread wide enough that she had no secrets. His lips glistened wetly. Wet from her. While she kept her eyes on his face, he licked his upper lip, and she felt something loosen inside of her in a rush of liquid heat that seeped from her.

His eyes narrowed fractionally, coolly clinical in his assessment. “Do you want me to tie you up?” he asked, eyebrows raising. “Will that help you pretend that you don’t want me to have you?”

The sheer arrogance of him gave her a much-needed burst of irritation. “Amazingly, I don’t really care about what you want,” she retorted bravely.

His thumbs came to rest, bracketing her cunt, moving in circles that sent a subtle variety of sensations through her as the slight shifting of his thumbs parted her dampening flesh.

“No? You don’t care what I want?” his gaze shifted, wandering back down her body. “What do you want, Willow? My mouth on you? My fingers fucking you? My cock, filling you? Last night, when I was inside you, I could feel you, wanting me to come.”

“I wanted to go to sleep,” she told him, on the terra firma of her recollection of the tepid sex that he had forced on her.

He smiled at that. “You aren’t sleepy, now, are you, Red?” His fingertips moved over her, gliding over her clit, the sleek wet folds of her sex, the weeping opening of her body.

Her jaw clenched. The muscles in her legs flexed as she fought the moan tightening her throat and instinct that demanded that she respond or take flight. She felt his fingers tracing the inner folds of her cunt, finding her wet, carrying that moisture until the only thing that distinguished his touch was the sensations that her nerve endings flooded her with, something more intense than a tickle or an itch, and infinitely more pleasant. His thumb brushed over her clit, slowly circling, applying pressure, then releasing it, coming back to make another pass. Her legs trembled with the effort of not arching into his caress.

He breathed in the scent rising from her body, admiring the view. Her cunt was like an open flower, glistening wetly in shades of pink and dusky purple, like some kind of exotic orchid. His middle finger explored the opening of her body, feeling the roughness created by the sphincter of muscles that had gripped him so tightly last night. He glanced at her face. Her eyes were closed, her face was set in a grim mask of resistance. Without any warning, his finger penetrated her, sinking in to the last knuckle in a hard stroke that made her lips part as a startled yelp escaped her.

His free hand moved over her hip, lingering briefly, before moving up her side, tracing the swell of her hip to the indentation of her waist, moving over her rib cage as it expanded in a shaky breath, to her breast. His hand cradled it, his thumb moving over her nipple in an echo of the way he was fondling her clit. His finger stroked her hot, slick channel, teasing the muscles to life. He bent his head to her abdomen, circling her bellybutton with his tongue, and she broke with an involuntary sound that made his cock jerk.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed against her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat. “Show me what you’re made of, Red,” he encouraged. “You’re so pretty,” his tongue laved her quivering abdomen. “You taste so sweet,” he pinched her hard nipple, tugging on it lightly.

Praise. The spirit craved it, and she was more susceptible that most to its lure. There was an awkward child locked in her head that was greedy for approval, and not choosy enough about where it came from.

He ignored the insistent demands of his body, and concentrated on hers, scattering open mouthed kisses over her abdomen, using his thumb to push her clit up to flick his tongue over it. Feeling her fall back on the mattress as her shaking elbows gave up their purchase and her hips rose under him.

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered, the flat of his tongue laving her clitoris. He added a second finger, feeling the way her cunt clutched at the intrusion. His free hand left her breast to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her lips until they parted for him, her warm breath bathing his thumb as she panted, moaning as his tongue rewarded her with a lavish caress.

Her hands fisted in the bedspread. He looked down at her, and thought that she was everything that he had told her she was. Sweet, and so pretty, with her hair fanned out around her creamy cameo face, contorted with lust and anguished guilt, her hips moving in an awkward, uncoordinated counterpoint to his fingers, slowly fucking her. He grasped her chin, wanting her to open her eyes, content for the moment when her lips parted. He slid his index finger inside her warm mouth and felt her tongue caress his finger as her lips clamped down on the digit.

His thumb worked back and forth over her clit in a light, deliberate rotation that kept her building up to an orgasm without letting her go over the edge. His fingers stroked the slick walls of her cunt, feeling her muscles loosen as her body adjusted, as well as the subtle play of movement within her as her abdominal muscles tightened and fluttered.

He pulled his finger out of her mouth, letting it slide over her lower lip. He used his freed hand to brace himself over her, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. She turned her head to him blindly, one of her hands sliding into his hair as her lips parted under his.

The feel of his hair under her hand brought Willow out of the haze. For endless moments, she had gotten lost in the overwhelming sensations that she was experiencing. In some ways it was a replay of what had happened in the club, only it was just Spike, touching her, tasting her. Breathing her. She had felt the light tickle of his completely unneeded breath against her thighs and stomach and heard the wet sounds of his fingers and mouth against her, the only sound other than her uneven breathing in the quiet bedroom. She could almost pretend that this wasn’t really happening to her.

His hair was unexpectedly soft, despite the peroxide abuse heaped on it. She had a quick mental picture of it, disordered from her hands, the neat furrows he habitually combed into it when he was just out of the shower, disturbed to reveal a tendency to curl. His tongue swept over her lower lip, soothing her torn lip before he sucked it into his mouth, biting down gently. Touching him at all was a concession of such magnitude that she felt like she had waived a white flag, and then she was kissing him back, her other hand finding the wrist of the hand between her legs, gripping it. She felt the play of muscles beneath her skin, and arched into his plunging fingers, her hand covering his, pressing down to urge him on as she tasted herself on his lips.

“More?” he asked, nipping her upper lip. “You want more, Red?”

She could say no. She didn’t have to claim any of this. It was more than he had any right to reasonably expect by the terms of their deal.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips.

His head lifted. He turned it to kiss the inside of her forearm, sucking her skin into his mouth, his tongue caressing the vein there.

“So polite,” he teased. “Hang on, pet,” he said, and it sounded like a warning and a promise as he unfastened his belt and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. Pushing the jeans down one handed as his fingers left her heated depths and cupped her, the heal of his hand rotating over her clit, held there by her smaller hand. He twisted his hand to twine his fingers with hers, using his longer, stronger fingers to press her fingers into her cunt, hearing her moan as she felt how wet she was. His fingers pressed over the opening of her body until he felt her fingers curling to reach the slick gulf.

One of his fingers and one of hers slid inside her, and she bucked against their joined hands, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He kicked his jeans off and used his superior strength to half pick her up, half roll her over, without breaking contact with her flowing cunt or hand. With his arm snaked over her hip, he pulled her back against him while she tried to get her arm beneath her to push herself off the mattress.

He paused for a moment to admire the picture she made. Her heart shaped ass was thrust up, her thighs parted, two fingers pumping into her cunt. He growled his approval, pulling her hand back as he guided the head of his cock to butt up against her. He nudged her thighs further apart, adjusting to the angle and depth. Lined up, the head of his cock slipping inside of her, he sank into her in one hard thrust.

She had given herself to him, and he would show her no mercy. All of his more peculiar fair fight ethics demanded it. He wasn’t going to have her thinking that he was something he was not. A boyish grin, and the minor effort to be charming, had lured more than one unsuspecting victim to their death. That was just feeding on the great herd that was humanity. To his enemies he showed his true face. It was a matter of respect, though he doubted that Red would get that.

When he drove into her, the breath left her body in a gasp and she felt a dull ache that she instinctively tried to escape. She switched from trying to get her arm under her to push herself off the mattress to throwing her arm out to claw at the edge of the bed to pull herself away from him. Spike’s hand clamped down on the back of her neck, pinning her to the mattress as he continued to slam into her body, moving her closer to edge of the bed with each hard thrust as he held her down.

“No, please, no,” she moaned. The position was humiliating, and she knew that what he was doing was wrong. She didn’t have that much experience, but the discomfort as he hit bottom in her, the stab of pain as his cock pounded against something inside of her that felt bruised, had to be wrong. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized the kind of danger she had put herself in.

His hand left the back of her neck, seeking and finding the arm stretched over her head. His fingers tightened on her wrist as he stretched out over her, his mouth moving over her shoulder until it was inches from her ear. The weight of his body forced her hips down, trapping both of their hands beneath her body. He made a rumbling sound deep in his throat that she connected to the sensation of fullness between her legs. The change in position had her squeezing the hard cock inside her, and her heart slammed in her chest as she imagined without effort how bad it was going to hurt when he roughly pounded into her again.

To her intense relief, he slowed. “You’re so bloody tight like this, love,” he crooned to her, pausing to nibble on her damp skin.

“Feel me,” he breathed. It was not a question. His hand, under their bodies, pressed hers into the hot, wet, juncture of her thighs until she felt his cock against her fingertips as he moved in and out of her, slower and harder, making her shudder when he hit that slightly uncomfortable spot inside her.

“Not stopping,” he told her. “I’m not your boyfriend. That isn’t the deal. I’m your lover,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “You can have anything you want. Pain. Pleasure,” he licked her neck up to her earlobe and bit it lightly. “Decide, pet,” he warned softly.

She pressed her forehead into the mattress, making a small sound full of distress and conflict. He was always forcing lousy choices on her. Pain. Her mind and body quailed from it, the small taste of it enough to convince her that she did not want to be hurt. Pleasure. She gritted her teeth, the memory of his tongue on her clit, the shocking, savage rush of sensations that had made her forget everything and just feel.

His clever fingers stroked her clit, and she opened her legs wider, pushing back against his body, meeting and matching his rhythm. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, nudging her head until she turned it to face him, reluctantly opening her eyes.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. “No one will ever know.”

His seductive voice burrowed into her brain.

She compromised. “Please don’t hurt me,” she managed, and she winced inside at how pathetic that sounded.

He looked amused. “Don’t hurt me,” he mocked. “So soft, so tender, so innocent. Such a short life in front of you, and so much time wasted on it as you chose neither this or that, trusting to . . . good intentions? Fate? Or a right bastard like me? To deliver what you leave unsaid.”

“You must be accustomed to disappointment, Red. You seem to have a knack for blundering into its clutches.”

Her unfocused eyes cleared, sharpening with chagrin and a flash of irritation, like sunlight glancing off deep water.

The emotions resolved in resentment. They were having a conversation, now? His coherency infuriated her. While she was reduced to bleating pathetic pleas and sounds that made her cringe inside, he was waxing philosophical about her shortcomings and ambiguous reactions. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her breathing.

“Are we having a conversation?” she demanded. “Because, my hand is getting squashed here,” she huffed.

He grinned at her sulky expression and complaining tone. Did she have any idea what pursing her kiss swollen, deliciously reddened lips did to him?

“Yeah? I went with this,” his fingers stroked her clit, “because you said you liked my hand better.” He made a slight adjustment to ease some of his weight off her smaller body, his hand leaving her clit to lift her up. He kept up the slow motion of his hips, watching her eyes widen as the position allowed some air to circulate under her, making her aware of the dampness that had wet her inner thighs.

The awareness of the extensive proof of her arousal didn’t shock her, frighten her, or turn her on. Her nose wrinkled. It took him a second to work it out. She was fastidious. The dampness on her thighs didn’t shock her, she just wanted to be rid of it. For some reason, he found that fascinating. Her eyes started to drift shut as he continued to slowly fuck her while stimulating her clitoris. He used the arm he had kept pinned down above her head, to control her upper body, making her turn more toward him, changing the angle of his penetration as her hip rose against his abdomen.

“I’m not a circus performer,” she muttered as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. The strain on her spine had increased and she felt each thrust in the small of her back.

Her protest made him chuckle. He sat up on his knees, releasing her wrist, letting his hands wander over her warm body as he withdrew from her. The relative coolness of the air on his cock, warmed from being nestled in her body, made him shudder pleasurably.

“On your back, then,” he ordered.

She rolled over, drawing her legs up to swing her hips around. Instinctively, she brought her thighs together, and he grasped her ankles, making it impossible for her to straighten her legs out.

He moved her ankles to either side of his hips, his arms slipping under her knees. He released her ankles and ran his hands down the back of her thighs to her ass, lifting her effortlessly as he moved between her legs, feeling her soft, warm skin against his flanks. Watching her face, he rocked his hips forward, the head of his cock sliding against her cunt. So far, he had just played with her, gauging her reactions, discovering her tolerances.

Willow felt his cock moving against her. She tensed, expecting him to thrust into her in the brutal manner that he had entered her from behind, but he . . . missed, and the head of his cock slid upward, pushing against her clit. He retreated, and tried again, more forcefully, just missing the target. She felt her heart beating harder. He had presented her with a choice that she had sidestepped, and she wasn’t sure if he meant to retaliate in some way for that. Each time his cock stabbed at her, and then slid more forcefully against the folds of her sex to her clit she held her breath and then released it as the velvety, slick hardness of his cock slid over her clit.

Willow knew that he couldn’t keep missing, and if he pushed into her with the force that he was applying, it would hurt. She pushed her hips down into his hands to avoid that, and the head of his cock rubbed over her clit. She pressed her lips together to hold back the moan she felt vibrating in her throat. His eyes narrowed dangerously, silently communicating his awareness of her small attempts to avoid his body and before she could stop herself, her hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around his cock to keep him from entering her.

A wickedly pleased smile turned up the corners of his mouth. His hips twisted as he thrust into her hand. For a moment, she froze in surprise that had as much to do with the fact that he appeared to enjoy her touching him as the shock of actually touching him. He was sticky from being inside her and hard, but the skin under her fingers was unexpectedly soft, the natural lubrication making him slide easily against the palm of her hand.

He threw his head back, with a low moan, twisting his head sharply. Vertebrae popped, and he gave an all over shiver, blue eyes moving over her body to meet her eyes, glowing with lust.

“Do it,” he urged.

She understood what he wanted. He wanted her to guide him into her, and she felt an unexpected sense of power. He was conceding this small amount of control to her. Almost experimentally, she guided the head of his cock to her, watching his face to see if he would take it back. With her hand on his cock he entered her shallowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening, his eyes darkening. She pushed her hips down into his hands and his cock slid out. He took a quick breath, lips tightening with disappointment, and she guided the head of his cock over her cunt to her clit, rubbing it over her clit.

It felt amazing. She adjusted her grip on him, feeling the head of his cock pushing against her palm as she rubbed him against her clitoris. His hands squeezed her ass, and that subtle direction made her arch against the pressure being applied to her clit. Her feet pushed against the mattress, and she felt muscles inside her tightening, heightening her awareness of the empty feeling between her legs, as well as her anticipation of having that feeling replaced.

She used the hard cock between her legs to stimulate herself, letting him slide into her, and then stopping him, rubbing his cock over her, working herself towards an orgasm. He had started panting, growling softly when she twisted out from under him, and she was well aware that this game could end whenever he chose. There was something about having control that made her forget that the only reason she had agreed to this was to save her friends' lives. It had become something else, something that she would probably regret, but for the moment, she was caught up in her impending release.

Spike felt like he could snap at any moment. She was working herself up to an orgasm, using his cock like it was her own personal fuck toy. Her hair was damp with sweat and falling around her face as she bucked and quivered. Her free hand had moved to her throat, fluttering over her chest, before she took the initiative to cup one of her firm breasts. She was rolling her nipple between her fingers, pinching it. He wondered if she was even aware of what she was doing. Her eyes had closed, and she was moaning as she rocked her hips to increase the movement against her clit. If just watching her wasn’t unexpectedly stirring, he would have yanked her hand off of his cock and shagged her until she was boneless. Restraint had gotten him to this, but it was on the verge of slipping, and if she didn’t move this along, he was going to.

She guided him back into her again, holding him there, shallowly inside her as her hips rose, and that was it for him. He pulled her hand off his cock, bringing it to his mouth to lick her wet fingers, and she made a mewling sound, hooking the leg he was no longer holding around his hips to pull him into her. He sank into her, feeling her cunt clutching around him.

“Oh . . . my . . . Goddess,” she whimpered as he thrust slow and hard, feeling her tighten around his cock as she started to come.

His arm slid up under her arching back, supporting her body, holding it as he bent over her to take her unattended nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking on the cockled tip.

The weight of his body pressing her down, between his arm and his chest, the demanding way he was moving inside of her, and his mouth on her breast, sent her over the edge, and she ground herself into him, crying out incoherently. He didn’t stop or slow down, and the feeling of his cock pushing against her spasming cunt made her feel like she was dying as her orgasm extended, or restarted. It just seemed to go on and on until she saw flashes of color behind her eyelids and felt the burning that seemed to extend down to the soles of her feet.

She panicked and brought her hands up to push him away from her, but he caught her wrists easily, holding them down over her head. His body moved with increasing urgency, nearing his own orgasm while his lips moved over her face.

“One more, I think,” he said hoarsely. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She shook her head, but she complied, and gasped as he drove into her harder, deeper, with no discomfort, just the pleasure of his cock sliding against the walls of her cunt while his public bone slammed against her clit. The bedsprings groaned and squeaked under them. She heard the harsh sound of her own strained breathing and a guttural groan rumbling in his chest.

The sound was her undoing. Using his body for leverage, she met his as he sped up, twisting her hips to increase the friction.




Spike ran his finger down her spine. “Nerve endings,” he reminded her, splaying his fingers to extend a feather light caress against the grain of the tiny hairs prodded to attention. Each touch spread sensation, in ever widening ripples of gooseflesh. From her back, to her shoulder, it spread. His fingertips, lightly tracing her ribs made her nipples harden. Every inch of disturbed flesh clamored for more contact.

She could hardly ignore him, but she was willing to try. When she could finally move again she had gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and cleaned up, taking a hot shower. She took the time to brush her hair dry and moisturize with the sample size bottle of moisturizer on the vanity while she tried not to look at herself in the mirror. Every time her tongue slipped across her lips, or her hands, slick with moisturizer, touched a sensitive place, she felt an unsettling jolt of feeling that she did not want to examine too closely.

Outside of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy bath towel, she went to the mini-bar, ignoring the packaged salad procured for her. She went after a frozen candy bar in the tiny freezer compartment and a small, ornate bottle of liquor. She meant to sit at the table, he insisted that she come back to the bed. She wanted to keep the towel she had wrapped herself in. He pulled it off her, but didn’t make a big deal out of it when she dove under the blankets and wrapped herself as much as she could in the sheet.

Instead, he smoked a cigarette, channel surfed, and got up to disappear into the bathroom for a few minutes, taking her damp towel with him. When he came back to the bed, he picked up the bottle from the mini-bar, examined the label, and looked at her with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Naked of course. He didn’t seem to be aware of his nakedness, while she tried hard not to stare.

Spike returned to the bed, lying back. She was gnawing on a frozen candy bar with the unselfconscious hunger of a fledge. Sex and her bath gel perfumed the room. Her warm skin felt amazing under his fingertips. He drew her back into the lee of his open legs. She grabbed for the sheet and hung onto her candy bar, eyes narrowing as if she was trying to work out whether or not she was going to fight for them. He arranged her to his internal specifications until her head was against his shoulder, her hair on his chest. He bent his leg at the knee, his foot resting between her knees while his opposite thigh and torso supported her in a half reclining position.

She looked suspicious, but forbore to comment, and resumed her gnawing on the candy bar. Sugary saliva pooled in the corner of her mouth and she swiped at it with her tongue. He rubbed his hardening cock against her shrouded hip. The Egyptian cotton sheets, smooth and soft, warm from contact with her body, felt good against his skin. He picked up the remote and resumed his channel surfing, playing with her hair and the curve of her shell-like ear.

Inevitably, he got bored. His channel surfing took him to a soft porn movie. One of the Emmanuelle movies, with a woman tied to a pole in the middle of a hut, her nude body gleaming with baby oil, water beading on her skin as a dark skinned man circled her, slapping her fleshy ass while he fingered her cunt from behind. The sound of his hand striking her and her breathy moans filled the room in stereo sound. He felt the girl in his arms tense, and smiled as he saw her close her eyes, grimacing. His hand worked its way under the sheet, resting on her stomach, his thumb making a lazy circuit around her navel, his fingertips resting in the soft curls between her legs.

The woman on the screen spread her legs wider, her ass lifting as she groaned, writhing against the pole and her lover’s hand. He lifted her up, his forearms under her knees as he grabbed the pole, lifting her high enough in his arms to lower her onto his cock.

Spike’s fingers brushed her clit and Willow sucked in a breath, thick with sugary saliva that made her cough. He took advantage of the distraction that breathing had become to explore her, finding the silky heat of her juices seeping from her.

He pretended to be more interested in the film as he touched her, rubbing her clit, sliding his finger into the warmth of her body, feeling her quiver as he played with her. He added a second finger, kissing the corner of her mouth as her head fell back, baring her lovely throat to him.

He kicked the sheet away, wanting to look at her, wanting her to see as well, her naked body, undulating gently as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of her cunt. She looked thoroughly debauched. It made him smile to see her responding to him. His lips stroked her throat.

He eased her more fully onto her back, against his chest, his legs holding hers apart as his fingers slid out of her, spreading the lips of her cunt apart, kissing the corner of her sticky lips. He felt her breath come uneven, fast and shallow.

“Fancy it, pet?” he cooed to her. “Would you like to be tied up like that? Blindfolded? Taken from behind? There are advantages to the position. A woman’s cunt always feels tighter when her arms are up, over her head like that,” he licked her swollen lower lip, his fingers stroking the sleek folds of her cunt, his other hand pressing down on her abdomen, his thumb teasing her navel. The man on the screen was holding the woman’s legs apart, his forearms hooked under her knees as he impaled her on his cock, grunting as his hips flexed.

“Such a pretty, tight, hot, wet cunt you have,” he crooned, his fingers slowly penetrating her. His thumb rotated over her clit.

She lifted her arms over her head, one hand tangling in his hair, the other, still clutching the candy bar in its wrapper. Her hips twisted, bearing down on his hand as she experienced the sensation he had described to her. Her legs quivered and jerked under the trap of his, and he opened his legs more to force hers further apart.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured. It wasn’t true. She wasn’t pretty. She was beautiful. Her slim body writhed in his arms, creamy, pink hued ivory against his paler flesh. He added a third finger, making her flinch as his fingers fought the narrowness of her. She moved in a confused way. The pressure of his fingers inside of her hurt, but his thumb moving over her clit was sending waves of pleasure through her.

The stereo sound of bodies slapping together, grunts and moans, heavy breathing, breathless sex words filled the room. He moved out from under her, letting her fall back on the bed, moving between her legs. He grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her hips, holding her legs apart with his hands.

“Tell me,” he drawled, watching her try to catch her breath. “Before Georgia, has anyone ever tongued you to an orgasm before?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

He bent his head to her, tasting her, sweet and fresh, slightly bitter, but delicious. He dragged his open mouth over her heated flesh. His tongue flicked back and forth over her clit until she arched her back, violently, pushing against his mouth.

He didn’t let her come. When she was close he backed off, kissing her flat stomach, stroking her inside of her legs. He talked to her about inconsequential things.

“You need clothes, don’t you?”

She blinked at him, dazed, confused. “What?”

“Clothing,” he repeated, his lips stroking her stomach, feeling the muscles beneath his lips quiver. “Would you like to go shopping? Get some clothes?”

Shopping was Buffy’s idea of fun, not hers. “I . . . uh . . . I guess so,” she said slowly.

His hands moved up to cup her breasts. He pinched her nipples, hard enough to make her gasp in surprise. He levered himself up her body to taste them, rolling one nipple in his fingers as his lips teased its mate.

Women, in his experience, loved shopping. “You don’t care?” he guessed.

“My mother usually buys my clothes,” she told him.

He lifted his head to look at her. His gaze moved from her eyes, down her body, and then back up again. “That explains a lot,” he said feelingly. “Your mother is a genius.”

Technically, he was correct on that point.

His fingers walked their way down her stomach and through the damp tangle of her pubic hair, making a short stop at her clitoris before he slid two fingers into her, making her bite down on her lower lip to keep from moaning. How was it that she was more aware of the moan that wasn’t released than she was of a sound she was actually making?

“Who would have ever seen beyond that crap you wear to this?” His fingers pumped in and out of her.

“I’m not like this,” she gritted out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted. “You are exactly like this. Mummy and Daddy’s drab little wren is a naughty little girl with a hot, wet, greedy cunt that wants to be filled with a stiff cock,” he purred, feeling her clench around his fingers. “Ummm. That’s it, kitten. I love feeling your cunt grab at me,” his thumb worked her clit until she was bucking against his hand, trying to drive his fingers deeper.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Hot and cold sensations rippling over her skin made her want his hands on her, everywhere. The urgent feeling centered between her legs made her moan, and that sound shamed and excited her. She could hear the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting inside of her and her mind was filled with images of their earlier coupling.

He wouldn’t shut up. “Oh, I like you, Red,” he crooned to her, watching as her arms drew in to protect herself from hurt. “All sorts of interesting bends and twists to you,” he went on as she pressed one hand to her heart as if the pressure could ease the hurt inside her.

Another part of his mind was busy cataloging her like a vampire buffet of delicious places to nibble and bite, something that he knew would have to be but off. He had no illusions about what he was. Biting hurt no matter how gentle the bite, the infamous erotic swoon associated with a vampire’s bite had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with blood loss. It didn’t suit his purposes for her to think of herself as a snack.

He nudged her clitoris into prominence with his thumb, his thumbnail scratching over the surface of it with just enough painful pressure to get her undivided attention. With her hips canted up, he could meet her eyes as his head descended. She was so stubborn, glaring at him, all outraged sensibility and annoyance at how presumptuous he was. It was a look that said, ‘you don’t know me’, and points to her for refusing to be defined by him.

The tip of his tongue barely touched her. There was a hint of a flinch around her eyes as she blinked, momentarily diverted as she processed the fleeting sensation. Not painful or even that pleasurable or ticklish. A hint of relief flashed in her eyes. She looked almost stoic, but her eyes gave her away, and he found himself fascinated by the expressiveness. Her driver’s license described her eyes as hazel, and he had been struck by how odd that was because her eyes were so green that it was hard to understand how hazel figured into it.

The deep, saturated color was only evident when she was upset. The green was a subtle fan around her pupil. Her iris was ringed in brown, muddying the color.

She shifted a little under him, not relaxing exactly, but trying to find a less uncomfortable position. He sat up a little, running his hands over her legs, making her bend her knees with her feet flat on the mattress. She started to bring her legs together and he grinned at her. “No, not until I’m what you are trying to trap between your thighs, kitten.”

His hands explored her hip bones, the three part expanse of her abdomen from hip to rib cage with the slight web of creases that marked her skin in vertical lines, probably undetectable to less acute vision. If she ever got fat, there was roadmap to where she would gain weight. There was little shadow of a scar on her chest, obscured by freckles. She was looking at him, only she was trying to be discreet about it, her eyes inevitably reaching his cock with a hint of puzzled curiosity and then skittering away.

He wrapped his fingers around it, slowly pumping himself in a fluid motion that seemed to answer another question for her. She had done this for her boyfriend, probably without having the first fucking clue what she was doing, and being the observant little student of behavior she was, she was getting the difference between how she had done it and how he was. He pushed the foreskin back and saw her eyes widen a bit as if she had figured something else out.

“Keep your eyes open Red, and I’ll send you home with all sort of useful information.”

The wrapper on the forgotten candy bar crinkled as her finger’s tightened on it, reminding her that it was in her hand. Irritation at being patronized made her grit her teeth. She knew stuff. She knew a lot of stuff. Changing Bodies, Changing Minds and a modem connecting her to the Internet with unmonitored access, yet everyone assumed that she was so innocent or unknowing. Conceding that she was loosing the staring contest, she brought the candy bar to her mouth and nibbled on it in what she instinctively understood was a passive ‘fuck you’.

His fingers stroked the lips of her cunt apart. She flexed her legs, lifting her ass a bare half-inch off the pillow he had pushed under her and used her pinky to scratch the end of her nose and noisily gnawed on the candy bar, sucking on it to soften it between nibbles.

The chocolate from the candy bar was melting on her lips and she licked it off with a small sigh of pleasure, wriggling a little. She wasn’t as blasé as she was pretending to be. He could feel the nervous tremor of tension in her smaller body. His fingers pressed against the opening of her body and the tension ratcheted up a notch. If she thought he was going to hurt her to retaliate, she was in for another think. His fingers sank into her like she was eiderdown, withdrawing to paint the sleek folds of her cunt with her own heat and moisture, his fingertips finding her clit and rubbing it without pressure as she grew wetter.

Her oral fixation on the candy bar could be made to work against her. The chocolate alone was full of chemicals that stimulated the pleasure center of her brain. She tilted her head back, swallowing thickly, licking her lips again, and he slid his fingers into her, kissing her stomach, finding her navel and licking it.

The porn movie on television had advanced to some quasi-philosophical discussion in badly accented English. Irritating because it was just enough sound to block out the wet sound of his fingers slowly fucking her. The candy wrapper crinkled as she pushed it back with her fingers. He lifted his head to watch her wrap her lips around it.

His fingers were still inside her when his mouth covered her again. His lips plucked her sensitive clit, sucking it into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue. When he used his lips to tug on it her hips rose with the pull on her clit, muscles tightening around his fingers.

“Like that, do you?” he breathed, after his mouth left her with a wet sound. “Oh, you like that,” he rubbed his lips against her. “Lick it, Red,” his tongue scraped over her. “Suck it,” he taunted, and she shoved her cunt in his face before his lips even finished moving.

That kind of enthusiasm had to be rewarded. He nibbled and sucked on her clit until she was twisting and arching up to meet him. He kept talking to her. “Such a sweet pussy,” he cooed, the sounds she was making were almost a gurgle from all of the sugary saliva coating her throat. He captured her wrist, shaking it until she gave up the candy bar, dragging it down to his mouth to lick her sticky fingers between back arching sweeps of his tongue over her cunt as his fingers fucked her relentlessly.

“Put your legs over my shoulders, pet,” he nuzzled her, sucking her index finger into his mouth, a rumble of approval vibrating in his throat as she complied, and then made a sound of protest as she realized that she had lost the leverage she had when her feet where on the mattress. Her finger left his mouth with a soft wet sound. “Touch yourself, baby. I want to watch you,” he licked the back of her index finger, catching it in his lips and moving her finger closer to where he wanted it, letting it slid from his mouth to fall on her clit, the impact just enough to make her moan.

The pretty French manicure that Georgia had given her was mostly intact, wet from his mouth and growing wetter from her cunt as she applied the pressure she had been craving to her clit while he worked his tongue around her fingertip, curling his tongue under her finger to grind her clit against the underlying bone. Her hands tangled in his hair as she ground herself against his tongue. She screamed when she came, a soft, undulating wail of astonished completion that she stopped by covering her mouth, and then moaning into her hand as his fingers fucked her through her orgasm, extending it in waves that made her shudder, her fingers alternately petting and pulling on his hair.

When she emerged from the orgasm-induced fog, he was kissing her thighs, murmuring to her. To her astonishment, he wasn’t taunting her about how he had made her come. He was muttering what sounded like endearments.

“Do you want to cuddle now?” she asked in blank astonishment.

The naivety of the question made him chuckle. “With a little practice, you’re going to fuck like the little slut nobody lets you be,” he guided his cock to her, watching her eyes as he sank into her. “Hands up, over your head,” he reminded her. “Do it, or I will tie you up,” he warned.

She obeyed him, lifting her arms to rest on the mattress above her head. A tiny frown drew her eyebrows together. “I’m not a slut,” she muttered resentfully.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he retorted. “Sold yourself, didn’t you?”

Her lips compressed. Apparently the lack of taunting was over. “Made a better deal than you did,” she shot back.

His eyes bored in on hers. His hands moved down her arms to her breasts. “Arch your back,” he instructed. The movement drove him deeper inside her. She started to move her legs.

“No,” he said curtly. “Keep them apart.” His hands shaped her breasts, his fingers stroking her nipples. He was kneeling between her legs, looking down at where their bodies were joined. He watched as his cock, glistening wetly from her, emerged from her body. He slammed into her, hard, making her cry out in a combination of fear and discomfort.

He wasn’t giving her a chance to adjust to him. He hooked one of her knees with his arm, forcing it higher until her thigh was pressed against his chest. She could feel his balls slapping her ass as he pounded into her, his other arm snaking around her hips to hold her in place. In a way, it was a relief. There was just enough discomfort in what he was doing that she knew it wouldn’t bring her to orgasm again. He seemed close to it, judging from the sounds he was making. She felt like she had gotten a little bit of control back, enough to turn her head and look away, concentrating on a bit of abstract art in a tastefully framed print that hung on the wall.

I’m going to have bruises tomorrow, she thought as his body jerked roughly with the force of his orgasm. She was tempted to watch him come, but made herself ignore it and him.