Chapter Four
The Slayer pushed her blond tresses aside to expose the luscious milk-white tenderness of her throat. "How did I ever think I could beat you?" she asked in a voice tinged with defeat and longing.
Spike took her firmly by the shoulders and pulled her closer. He studied the fine curve of her throat and watched as the carotid artery pulsed rhythmically beneath the alabaster flesh. "How indeed," he said, baring his fangs in a malicious smile.
Buffy looked demurely up into his feral gaze. "I've been kidding myself," she said. "After the first time we fought - I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to give myself to you."
He leaned closer, his mouth drawing nearer to hers as he savoured the smell of her fear - no, the smell of her desire. "It's nice to see that you've finally come around," he purred, licking the skin above the throbbing artery at her throat.
"Take me, Spike," the Slayer whispered, tightening her grip upon him.
"With pleasure," he responded in a hungry growl.
He opened his mouth wider, about to bite into the delicious fruit, to suck upon its sweet nectar, when he heard a scraping sound, as if some beast was scrabbling long claws across a hardwood floor.
