Bake Me a Bloody Cake (2/3)
“What’s it like, Buffy, when you touch yourself?”
He pulled his hand out from under her skirt and Buffy grunted in protest, but a finger placed over her lips, smelling of herself and slick with her juices, silenced the complaint. Spike traced the line of her lips tenderly, then walked his fingers down her neck, past her shoulder and along the pebbled flesh of her arm. Wrapping his hand around hers, he deftly pried loose her grip on the counter and brought both their hands, his firmly atop hers, beneath her skirt.
“Is it better, when it’s your hot li’l hand?” Spike wondered, extending two of her fingers beneath the same two of his, flicking her slick, swollen clit with the borrowed digits. “Or do you crave that bit of cold reminder of what it is you really want?”
Still stirring the batter, Spike moved Buffy’s fingers beneath his, guiding her in stroking her own flesh. “Do you do it like this? Fingers slick with your arousal, movin’ over this needy little nubbin? No toys for you, not with those capable hands.”
Oh my God! She had thought it spectacular with Spike’s fingers and his words teasing and stroking her into trembling pleasure, but the addition of her own fingers, firmly anchored beneath Spike’s guiding hand, added to it an entirely new level of sensation. Once again, she thought she just might perish from this alone, but oh, what a way to go.
Perhaps sensing her favourable response to this latest trick, Spike rumbled in approval and nipped again at her ear. “Does it make you hot, Buffy, rememberin’ me bringin’ you off in front of your Watcher’s blind eyes?”
“Oh . . . God . . .” Buffy moaned, thrusting against their joint hands while Spike thrust just as eagerly into her backside.
“Could hear you in there,” he purred. “Every sound, every panting breath. Whispering my name.”
Buffy’s head fell back, meeting his shoulder. “Spike . . .”
Spike nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply, drawing her scent into his body. “Breathless and needy,” he murmured, abandoning the stirring of the batter to wrap his arm around her. He pinched her already rock-hard nipples through the thin linen of her blouse. “You know it’s me you crave,” he continued, as she sighed and arched into his touch. “I’m in your system now, pet, an’ you know it. Some part of you revels in it.”
Buffy couldn’t deny his words, for every cell in her body screamed with the wanting of him. She didn’t know what it meant, and if she thought on it too long the implications were frightening, but at the moment the sheer pleasure he was bringing to her drowned out her concerns. Her breath came in rapid pants, each exhalation punctuated by a gratified moan.
Spike moaned in response. “So wet for me, Buffy,” he whispered, slipping out of the provocative cadence of his earlier words, voice taking on an almost reverent tone. “You’re as hungry for me as I am for you. Feel how much I want you.”
With the evidence of that still pressing eagerly against her, Buffy answered breathlessly, “I can feel it.”
Spike dipped their conjoined fingers into her wetness for a second before returning to her clit. “Feel how much you want me.”
“Want you,” she repeated. “Oh, God . . . Spike . . .”
“So close,” he purred, quickening his pace. “So bloody gorgeous.”
Thrusting at her backside while still guiding her fingers, Spike panted into her ear in time with the erratic rising and falling of her own chest. “Want you to come for me, love,” he murmured. “Want it to be my name you taste on your tongue when you scream.”
Eyes shut tight, free hand abandoning the spoon in favour of holding the countertop in a death grip, Buffy bit into her lip and groaned as the pleasure built to near cataclysmic proportions. Only Spike’s presence behind her kept her upright. She could feel the end coming, her whole body buzzing, pulsating, screaming for release. Spike’s lips moved over her neck, murmuring into her skin as he guided her hand, ever quicker, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Something thick and sweet touched her lips - a finger, Spike’s finger coated in cake batter. Her tongue darted out, seeking the sweet sample, licking it from his skin, sucking the digit into her mouth. Behind her, Spike moaned in pleasure, pushing his erection harder against her.
“Shouldn’t want this,” he grunted between his own barely controlled breaths. “‘S against our natures, innit, pet? But you know you wanna taste it.”
Approaching the cusp, Buffy bit into the finger still teasing at her lips. Her slayer senses flared suddenly as she felt the prick of fangs piercing her neck. The brief flicker of stinging pain was short lived as a rush of feverish heat spread through her. Spike took one, long draught of blood, and she exploded, erupted, feeling the pull at her neck all the way down to her already energized clit. Wildfire engulfed her, flooding her veins with tremendous, consuming heat. Wave after wave of immense ecstasy crashed over her, convulsing her body with its blinding intensity. Buffy’s eyes flew open, but she could see nothing but bright, piercing light. She couldn’t breathe, could only gasp and mouth Spike’s name under the onslaught of this overwhelming pleasure. It was too much, too intense. Overcome with vertigo, Buffy’s head swam and her knees buckled, gave out. Strong arms circled around her, preventing her tumble even as she fell into enraptured blackness.
When she came back to herself, slowly rousing from what felt like hours of blissful, euphoric sleep, Buffy was limp in Spike’s arms. His tongue lapped tenderly at the neat punctures on her neck, shooting little aftershocks through her.
It only took a moment for the implications of this to sink in. Spike had bitten her. He had sunk his fangs into her neck and drank. Panic gripped her and she tensed in his arms, realizing that whatever it was that made him unable to bite, that which she had taken for granted, must have somehow malfunctioned. She was in the arms of a brutal killer, had let him feed from her, and she struggled against him. The vampire held firm - not a threatening hold, but strong enough to prevent her flight.
“Did it hurt, Buffy?” he asked gently.
And that’s when the second realization hit her. It hadn’t hurt. All it had done was propel her into the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. The quiet knowing in Spike’s voice made it immediately and undeniably clear that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, that he’d intended only what had actually happened. Maybe that was how this vampire shock-collar worked - no pain, and perhaps more importantly, no intention to cause pain, so no headache for Spike.
Buffy relaxed in his arms, returning easily to the post-orgasmic bliss she’d been about to enjoy. Spike’s hold loosened but he kept her firmly against him. He had ceased the licking of her wounds and was nuzzling her neck tenderly. Feeling his chest moving with heavy breaths, and the firmness still pressing against her, Buffy realized that while she had gotten hers, Spike must be aching by now with as great a need as she had felt.
“Spike?” she whispered, tentatively.
“Hmmm?”
“I . . . think I can stand now,” she answered, hoping he’d infer her unspoken meaning. She really wasn’t sure, even after all that had just happened, that she could actually say, I’m ready to have sex with you.
Ever intuitive, Spike didn’t disappoint. He brought her hand between them and moulded it around the firm bulge straining his jeans, then set her down on slightly shaking legs.
“You get to pouring that cake into those pans,” he ordered, swatting her backside and gesturing to the bowl of very well-mixed batter. “An’ I’ll see about gettin’ rid of some excess things.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Spike slid down her body, hands travelling over her, trailing down her belly and back, until he knelt behind her on the floor. Reaching up under her skirt, Spike gripped the top of her panties and pulled them slowly down her legs, fingers brushing along her skin as he did so. She stepped out of them and noted with amusement that Spike tucked the scrap of black lace into his back pocket. Buffy grinned as she poured the chocolaty batter into the two round pans, and Spike, still crouched on the floor, reached up with an exploratory hand to pass a teasing flick over her still-sensitized clit. He chuckled when she grunted and nearly dropped the mixing bowl. As Buffy reached for the spatula to capture the dregs of batter, Spike slipped two fingers into her more-than-ready opening, thrusting gently and touching that place inside her she hadn’t known existed before Spike had shown it to her.
He played for a few minutes while Buffy leaned against the counter, enjoying the attention. She protested when he slid his fingers out and moved to stand, but he silenced her with another aromatic finger placed over her lips.
“Oven,” he reminded her, tossing his head toward the waiting pans.
Grabbing them from the counter and flashing a half-annoyed, half-amused scowl at the grinning vampire, Buffy turned and brought the soon-to-be cake to the pre-warmed oven. When she bent to place the pans inside, Spike’s hands slid over her now bare bottom, settling at her hips. Straightening, she felt something smooth and hard nudging at her entrance, realizing immediately that this time, it wasn’t his fingers. Those he dug lightly into her flesh and pulled her to him, sliding deep inside her with one sure, smooth stroke.
They both gasped. Buffy braced herself against the handle of the oven door, listening to the quiet sounds of Spike whispering under his breath with reverent awe the words tight and warm, while her body stretched to accommodate the sudden intrusion of his cock. One hand sliding over bare skin to rest on her belly, Spike spun them around, still intimately connected, to face once again the apartment proper through the cut-out in the kitchen wall. Buffy gripped the edge of the counter, groaning with pleasure as Spike withdrew slowly from her body.
He began moving within her with more tenderness, more gentleness than she would have thought possible in a vampire. The position was new for her and she found immediately that she liked it, the way he felt as he slowly thrust in and withdrew, touching even more hidden places deep inside her. After a few moments of revelling in the sensation, Buffy began to move with him, intuitively falling into his rhythm.
“That’s it,” he encouraged with the first tentative motion of her hips. “Never done this, have you?”
“N-no,” she answered, biting her lip as the sensations washed over her. She had certainly never had sex from behind, and definitely not while standing and almost fully clothed. Somehow, she knew she was going to be having a great many firsts tonight.
“But you’ve been with a vampire before,” Spike added, and Buffy wondered why the hell Spike, of all people, was bringing up Angel now. She offered no response, uncertain if he wanted one, and he soon continued. “An’ you’ve been with a man.”
Still, she remained quiet, aside from the sounds falling from her lips in response to the sensations of their slow, steady movements. Spike chuckled softly in her ear and whispered, “Now it’s back to vamps . . . lie to me and tell me this isn’t what you really want - what you really need.”
“I-I-” she stammered, unable to admit how the truth of those words settled deeply in her chest.
Spike seemed unbothered by her lack of coherency, and continued speaking quietly to her while he thrust in and out of her body. “That’s not what bothers you, though, is it?” he asked. “It’s what your li’l mates, your mum, your Watcher would say if they knew.”
Wasn’t it, though, she mused, cringing over imagined reactions to the discovery of her actions where Spike was concerned. Didn’t it bother her more, thinking about the disapproval of her loved ones, than mulling over the feelings Spike was awakening within her?
“How would they react, if they found out?” he asked, as rhetorically as his other questions. “Slayer’s dirty little secret . . . it’s vampires that do it for her, not mortal men.”
“Uh . . . I-oohh . . .”
Buffy felt him smile against her neck at her attempt at a reply. “Need a little monster in your man, you do,” Spike continued, and when she managed to nod, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his approving growl in response sent shivers down her spine.
“But that’s not the real secret, is it, Buffy?” Spike queried. “They all know about you and Angel. Might not like it, but not a one of ‘em’d be surprised to find you hot for another vamp.
“No, secret’s not the monster in them . . . it’s the monster in you.”
What?
Buffy tried to stop moving, but despite the apparent insult to her nature, it simply felt far too good to quit. Scowling, she retorted, “I’m not a monster.”
Spike sighed. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, and something about the tone of his voice told her he was being sincere. “Warrior for the light, you are . . . but where do you think you get your power? That which makes you strong, helps you destroy the evils hidden in the dark?”
Okay, now she was confused. “Why . . . huh?”
“I know slayers, love,” he explained, the hand on her belly sliding down, one finger brushing lightly over her still-swollen clit. “I’d wager I know ‘em a little better even than you. Faced more in my day than just the two I’ve killed. Studied up, I did. Know thy enemy and all that rot.”
“Um . . . mmhmm?”
“You’re good, Summers,” he whispered with pride, fingers playing her clit now in earnest. “Best I’ve seen, an’ you know why? Lotsa reasons . . . but you’re closer than most to getting it.
“Not like the others, you aren’t. You got friends, family. Still follow too closely to what the wankers teach, but you’re learnin’, starting to see those shades of grey those others’d never accept. Figured out it’s not men you want - you don’t wanna know it, but you do . . . now you just need to see why,” Spike elaborated. “It’s in you love, that bit ‘o darkness, to balance out that white light. Keepin’ you strong against the real monsters, the real darkness. It’s simmerin’ there, under the surface. ‘S not wrong, ‘s not somethin’ to be hidden. Embrace it, Buffy, let it out . . . sooner you do, sooner your life, your calling, your desires ‘re gonna come clear.”
“You mean, sooner I’m going to let you in?” she asked, knowing even as the words left her mouth how very much a part of her he already was.
“Already in, love,” he answered, words mirroring her thoughts. “In here-” he touched her temple “-as much as here.”
He thrust in deeply, firmly into her, and they both groaned with the pleasure of it.
“Been wanting to do this all week,” he murmured into her neck. “Thinkin’ ‘bout bein’ buried balls deep inside you, feelin’ you clench around me.”
“But you . . . you hate me.”
Spike scoffed vehemently at that and Buffy couldn’t help but smile. “Don’ hate you, love. Never did,” he stated. “Well . . . maybe a little after that pipe organ. But no, love, tryin’ to kill you, that was all business. Slayer, vampire. Now, all I can think about is makin’ you scream while I pound into you.”
“Mmm, pounding good,” Buffy agreed, as he thrust hard into her again.
“Tell me you haven’t been wondering what I’d feel like inside you,” he challenged, and when she didn’t deny it, he added, “Tell me, Buffy . . . how do I feel?”
A great many answers bombarded Buffy’s brain, but none of it, she decided, she could say aloud to Spike. There was simply no way she was going to tell him that he made her feel full, more than just the physical filling he was doing, fuller than she had ever felt before. She certainly wasn’t about to say that it felt as though she had found the other half of herself, and that she never wanted anyone else to touch her ever again. She summarily banished the words you’re everything I ever wanted from crossing her lips, along with the Jerry-McGuire-you-complete-me confession that begged to follow it. How could she say, to a vampire, to this vampire, that this was so much more to her than just sex and she didn’t even know why?
She sighed and answered, “Like . . . every single cliché I can think of.”
His lips placed a gentle kiss on her neck, over the still raw marks from his earlier bite. “You feel like . . . touching sunshine. Like I’m tasting the forbidden . . . an’ I’ll never get enough of it.”
His frank honesty surprised her, as well as the clear affection in his voice as he more or less admitted to feeling the same as she. What that was, however, she did not know. “What does this mean, Spike?”
“Hell if I know, love,” he admitted. “I suspect that’s somethin’ we can figure out later. Bit busy right at present. Got a lady needs seein’ to.”
“You don’t wanna keep your lady waiting.”
If he noticed her slip-her your lady-he didn’t show it. Instead, he chuckled softly and replied, “No, love, that I don’t.”
(To Be Concluded in Part III)