Can't Get Enough, Part 2

A familiar touch. Not heavy and warm, but gentle and cool. Loofah in hand, Buffy traced the gentle swells of her breasts, slick with soap and water. She opened her eyes for just a moment, the loofah settling in between her breasts. She looked out into the tiny bathroom. White and more white, a glaring white, the harshness relieved only by the brilliant blue bathrug, cerulean towels resting on the opposite wall, and a steam-covered mirror, trimmed with aquamarine blue wood. The white/tan bisected chest rose up as Buffy took in a deep breath, the strong sent of vanilla and sandalwood filling her nostrils. Her blonde head, the hair darkened by steam and water and sweat, lolled against the edge of the bathtub as two sad blue eyes closed again. Taking the loofah in her other hand, Buffy slid it down to the darker silken curls at the apex of her thighs.

Before the loofah reached its intended destination, a large, oddly cool hand stopped the smaller hand's descent with a firm grip. In shock, Buffy's entire body froze for a millisecond, then attempted to use Slayer strength to buck the hand and attached arm off of her body. Two pale breasts surged out of the bubble covered water to present themselves to their attacker. Buffy couldn't budge the arm; it pressed down on her torso and both arms with a strength that seemed familiar, yet not. Something cool and heavy closed over the blonde's still-closed eyes, and the smell of leather overpowered the gentler smell of the bubbles. Now truly panicked, Buffy struggled, twisting her torso and thrashing with her legs, causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub. Her ears picked up the slap of the water against the tub's edge. In a heartbeat, a presence, without warmth, hovered by her face.

A face…a face was breathing in her scent, hard. Buffy could feel something, probably a nose, press against the edge of jaw, slipping around to nuzzle behind her left ear. This being seemed to be trying to inhale the total of Buffy's being, all that she was and could be, her smell, her taste, everything, simply by breathing. At the suddenness of this action, Buffy relaxed her hands without thinking. The man, if it was a man, took advantage and grasped Buffy's arms, lifting her out of the tub. Sheets of water and bubbles slid off of her body, over her tiny, now hard nipples, and through her lower curls to slip down her inner thighs.

Buffy felt a plush texture against her wet and goosebumped back as the presence laid her still-warm body against the large blue bathrug. Before the tiny blonde had time to get her brain back on-line, the hands had left her arms and returned with a large soft towel. The towel rubbed the tiny droplets of water off of first the arched neck, then the swell of the breasts. Two hands took either edge of the towel and made circling sweeps around the slightly rounded belly, in addition to brisk swipes of the slayer's sides. As the towel, and the hands in control, swept down over the honey-brown curls onto the strong, muscled thighs, Buffy's mind drifted. A paradoxical safety appeared in this attack. At the same time that Buffy felt a violation, she also felt protected under the strong, sure sweeps of this towel and these hands. A smaller and smaller part of her mind screamed that something was wrong, something was not right with this picture, with this reality. But all of those slight protests crumpled under the sweetness of being wanted.

The slayer's slim, sure hands relaxed against her sides as her legs were dried. Still caught in the drift of thoughts, the straddling of her legs by jean-covered thighs surprised Buffy, but not nearly as much as the earlier appearance of the cool hands. Rough denim scraped the outside of Buffy's thighs, and the hands, like steel bands, circled her wrists, bringing them up above her head. Something about the dominant quality of this position brought Buffy's hips into involuntary contact with a denim covered bulge. That slight undulation brushed her clit against the fly of the creature's jeans. Buffy gasped…the sensual contact slammed into her brain and she realized that she was wet. This person, this being, whoever or whatever he was, had turned her on with the slightest of sexual touches.

Cool lips met warm, and Buffy sighed into this mouth, meeting the thrust of his tongue with eagerness as she abandoned herself to the feelings surging through her body. Her muscled thighs raised as he brought her legs up and around the man's body to rest on his hips. Two tongues dueled for dominance as denim clad hardness thrust down against the slayer's naked sex, grinding into the soft folds of her womanhood. The kiss broke, and Buffy gasped, dragging gulps of air into her lungs. Her neck arched, and a soft mouth nibbled and licked down her soft, vulnerable throat. A slight, barely noticeable pressure of teeth on Buffy's jugular made the slight body shiver and shake. Lost in the eroticism of the bite, the slayer barely noticed, and barely cared about, the two fangs piercing her throat and drinking her powerfully warm blood…

Buffy woke screaming in orgasm and horror.

Part 3

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