Chapter 24
Author's Notes: My current plan is to wrap this story up in three more chapters. Thank
you guys so much for not giving up on me—particularly thanks to ![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
ghostgirl13 who wouldn’t let me give up on myself. For this chapter, thanks to dusty273, spikeslovebite, and ghostgirl13 for looking over it for me. You guys are the best!
Dawn crept over Manderley like a villain, stealing the night for the
glaring, unforgiving light of morning. Buffy awoke with slow leisure,
finding her head pillowed on William’s chest and a pleasant ache
lingering between her thighs. Flashes of their passion played across
her mind in the manner of a flicker show and sent a warm blush across
her skin, one which could not help to counter the giddy tightening of
her chest or the smile on her lips.
It was the first time
she’d awoken completely in his embrace. There had been a few mornings
when he’d draped an arm over her waist or rested a hand at her hip, but
never had she been fully entangled in him. Never with his naked flesh
beneath hers, her right leg woven around his. Never before had she felt
closer to him, and it was a sensation she never wanted to forfeit.
The
night had given her so much. For the revelations he’d made, the promise
of love he’d given her, she’d half-expected to awake in the
prison-world to which she was most accustomed. Not the world William
had shown her the night before. It seemed unreal that only a day had
passed since she found herself alone in their room. Since she’d been so
certain that William was forever beyond her reach. Since the panicked
phone-call to Wesley, in which he’d begged her to remain calm until he
could drop by and speak with her.
William was beside her, nude,
and sleeping. She had no idea what time it was, nor did she
particularly care. The routine phone call Mrs. Hart rang to the Morning
Room was unimportant. She was with William, and she didn’t want to
leave his side.
The line between their former bedroom life and
what she had experienced the night before absolutely rocked her
foundation. Making love with William had always been a revelation, but
what he’d done to her last night transcended any conception she had of
physical intimacy. He’d touched her like he’d only then opened his
eyes. As though his hands had never before caressed her skin. As though
they had never shared anything before last night; before they had truly
stepped into each other’s worlds.
He’d devoured her with his
mouth, worshipped her with his hands and loved her with his body. And
though she desperately wanted to know him as he now knew her, a part of
her remained trapped within the lingering trepidation that refused to
leave her entirely. The need to explore him gnawed at her; while she
knew there was nothing to fear by bearing her own vulnerability, her
fears were much older than her hope, and fear always had a way of
prevailing.
Her body tingled with the love he’d shown her. Buffy wanted to give that love back to him.
However,
when William’s eyes were on her, courage was in short supply. He unmade
her with a gaze, peeling layers away and leaving her just as she was
without a blanket with which to wrap herself. No matter how much he
loved her—no matter how secure she was in something of which she’d
previously been so uncertain—the prospect of being so brazen involved
putting her healing heart on the line. It terrified her, but she wanted
it nonetheless.
Perhaps if she touched him while he slept, her
thirst would be satisfied without risking her heart. Buffy swallowed
hard and shifted upward, drinking him in. Only once or twice had she
studied him as he slept, and never without Drusilla’s ghost in the
room. Now Buffy and William were thoroughly alone—they had cast the
demon out last night, leaving them at last to themselves.
His
chestnut hair was ruffled in the aftermath of their lovemaking and
slightly wild with sleep, his head inclining slightly toward her. The
steady rise and fall of his chest was gentle, much like the rest of
him. His stomach was flat but toned, his nipples a dark, dusty brown.
Soft wisps of hair formed under his belly, trailing beneath the
blankets and leading to his penis.
Buffy inhaled sharply, her
eyes darting back to William’s face. Then her fingers were around the
blankets, slowly drawing the fabric southward to bare him to her hungry
eyes. She was continuously amazed that she could be so unlearned in
physical pleasure yet still no novice to it. Her hands itched to touch
him all over—though where to begin was a different matter. Nowhere and
everywhere seemed the best bet. She desperately wanted to feel his
length against her hand, but felt it wiser to work up to holding him
intimately.
Her fingers landed, as by their own volition, at
his right breast. For as fervently as he’d suckled at her nipples the
night before, she wondered if his own were as sensitive. What would he
do if she licked him as he licked her? If she teased him with her
mouth—flicked him with her tongue and nipped with affection that shook
him with bouts of pleasure-laced-pain? Never had she thought any form
of pain could be pleasurable; William had dissuaded that as well as
many other misconceptions. He’d freed himself of his own shackles and
unleashed a firestorm of passion beyond her imagining.
This
morning was about the future, not the past. Buffy would never again be
disturbed by what had once been. She had to become her own woman beyond
the shadows that had haunted her. William loved her for her innocence
and her light, and while she was adamant on maintaining both, for both
their sakes, the future was laid open for growth.
She
swallowed the lump that had stubbornly climbed back into her throat
before bending forward, pressing her lips to his neck. The fingers
playing absently with his nipple began a gentle slide southward,
drawing mindless patterns across his skin. He was both soft and firm,
breathing warmth into her hand with every steady rise and fall of his
chest. At the same time, her mouth became more boisterous in its silent
demands, soft kisses graduating to harder, needier explorations. Her
teeth skimmed the column of his throat and wandered down the slope of
his shoulders before trailing over his chest.
There was
something addictive about courage. Though her heart pounded faster and
her pulse raced, she was drugged on pure nerve and found herself
wanting more with every stolen taste. When her mouth found his nipple,
she treated him with a soft, almost shy lick before savoring him
completely. At the same time, her fingers wove through the coarse hair
trailing to his penis before finally working up the bravado to take him
into her hand.
It was wondrously novel. The few times he’d
guided her hand to his length, he’d instructed her how he enjoyed being
stroked, though her memory was overshadowed with the ever-present fear
of performing improperly or displeasing him. He was always hard when
she touched him, but he wasn’t now.
Buffy worried a lip
between her teeth, her mouth abandoning his chest as her cheek found
rest against his stomach, absorbing the sight of her hand working up
and down his shaft. It wasn’t long before his flesh hardened and
expanded, growing to the size with which she was most accustomed. He
was thick and long, standing upright against her wandering fingers. She
explored every inch, curiosity and hunger ebbing her past the border
where she would have previously reined herself in, instead dragging her
deeper down the proverbial rabbit hole.
Her thumb brushed his
tip, and the sensation shot shivers through her body. She did it again,
then replaced her thumb with her whole palm, rubbing herself over his
erection’s head, enjoying the icy hot shards racking her insides.
“God…Buffy…”
Her
head whipped back. William’s eyes were wide, half-drugged with
pleasure. For several seconds they simply stared at each other, both
startled and caught in an odd stranglehold. Her hand must have halted
its exploration, for the next thing she knew, he’d seized her wrist.
“Don’t stop,” he begged softly. “God, please don’t stop.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Feels wonderful.” A half-smile tugged at his lips. “Please, just…God, yes.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Buffy concluded, her cheeks reddening. “I just wanted—”
“And
I suppose you think I’d want to sleep through this?” William countered,
the grin stretching into something broad and delicious. “Your
hand…Christ, love, please…more.”
She was in no position to deny him, especially when more was just what she wanted, as well. She resumed her exploration, palm
rubbing circles against his head before taking him into her hand again.
“Like this?” she asked, pumping him slowly. “I…I think this…”
“You’re wonderful.”
“William—”
He
chuckled warmly, though it died on a gasp as his body arched into her
touch. “Trust me, sweet,” he assured her, his voice strained and his
breaths coming harder now. “You can’t not do this right.”
“You’re certain?”
“Bloody right.”
Buffy
grinned and turned her eyes back to her hand. Then, remembering how his
tongue had prodded her sensitive flesh the night before, she wondered
how he would like her own mouth around him. For as much as he liked her
hand…
Emboldened, she swallowed the last of her fear and took a
long swipe of his velvety head with her tongue. Her name rushed the air
on a whimper, encouraging her to pursue him further by drawing him
completely between her lips. She hesitated, then drew him in as far she
could, her hand dropping to his testicles.
“Oh God,” William
hissed, bolting upward. He cupped her cheeks and drew her upward,
smashing her lips to his. And against her, he melted with a long moan,
feasting on her mouth, sucking at her tongue, coaxing her up his body.
“You drive me wild,” he murmured, nipping at her. “Absolutely wild.”
“Was that okay?” Buffy asked shyly. “I didn’t know—”
William
chuckled. She loved way his chest rumbled when he laughed. “You are
adorable,” he murmured, dropping kisses along her chin.
“Are you teasing me?”
“A little. Doesn’t make you any less adorable.” His gaze dropped to her legs. “Straddle me, love.”
She blinked. “What?”
“See?”
He kissed her nose. “Adorable. Throw your leg over…yeah, that’s it.”
William sighed, his eyes trailing down her body until focusing on her
center. “You’re so lovely. So lovely. And mine. All mine.”
“Will—”
“And that perfect mouth of yours anywhere on me is Heaven.” He smiled at her as he wrapped his hand around his
erection. “Here, though…I’ve thought about your mouth around my prick
more times than I should rightly confess.”
If her skin grew any
hotter, it would likely slide right off her bones. Never had she sat
over him like this—with her legs trapping him and her vaginal lips
caressing the underside of his erection. Her skin buzzed. Her pulse
raced. She was empowered and terrified and reassured all in the same
beat, trapped in his eyes and living on his words.
And yet, all she could manage to say was, “Oh.”
William’s eyes softened. “Come here,” he urged gently, capturing her lips when she knelt over him. “Lift your hips, kitten.”
“Mmm?”
“Lift your hips. Wanna be inside you.”
Never
had they made love in the light of morning. What happened behind their
bedroom door always took place after the sun had dipped below the
horizon. Now with soft rays of sunlight peppering the bedspread and
William looking at her like she’d fallen from the stars, some inner
door unlocked and led her from dreams into reality.
Buffy nodded hard, shifting upward so he was pressed against her entrance.
“You’ll guide me?” she whispered.
William smiled. “I’m right here.”
She
sank down with a long, pleasured sigh, leaning forward so her breasts
were against his chest, his arms around her. And as she began rolling
her hips against him, the windows of her mind aligned with further
conviction.
There was nothing more worth fighting for than this.
“I love you,” William whispered. “God help me, I love you so much.”
He
could tell her that every minute of every day for the rest of their
lives and she wouldn’t tire of it. For as long as she’d waited, for
every wound she nursed, she wanted those words with her always.
Buffy kept her eyes on his. He never looked away. Not once.
He was with her now. Completely. Wholly. He was hers.
There was no way in Heaven or Hell she was giving this up.
*~*~*
It
was well after the noon hour before Buffy emerged from the bedchambers,
pleasantly sore in the appropriate places. Like the night before, she
found the halls were brighter, the paintings friendlier, and the
whispers she’d once heard around every corner had completely
evaporated.
William had been called away to town, presumably
where theories of an inquest would solidify. While nerves remained on
high alert, Buffy refused to allow fear of the future damper the
newfound light in her heart.
Buffy wasn’t surprised to find
Mrs. Hart in the Morning Room, nor was she surprised that the cold
which seized her bones at facing the woman had yet to fade into
nothing. Drusilla’s ghost might have lost its power, but the
housekeeper had done everything in her power to keep her mistress
alive. Things which, upon having confessed these last few months to
William, had him red with fury and ready to shove the old woman out the
door.
They agreed, however, it would not be wise to anger Mrs.
Hart while a formal ruling on Drusilla’s death was still in the air.
There was no telling how much she knew or how much she would put
together. While it was almost certain she believed William had been as
infatuated with his late wife as everyone else in the country, there
was little sense banking on Mrs. Hart to validate William’s good
behavior. Not when she resented him so for marrying Buffy. Not when
she’d attempted to coerce Buffy into suicide.
When Buffy had
admitted what transpired seconds before the explosion at the bay, she
was almost certain Mrs. Hart would have found herself pushed through a
window herself for the rage in William’s eyes.
She and Mrs.
Hart had not spoken, had not crossed paths, since the old woman had
whispered how much better it would be if she jumped to her death. After
it came out that it was Drusilla’s body in the boat, Mrs. Hart had
staffed out her duties and vanished for the evening, presumably into
her dead mistress’s bedchamber. It was no great surprise, however, to
find her waiting in Morning Room. No matter what had happened, the
woman was bent on obligation and duty. She might try to sabotage Buffy,
but she would remain quietly civil. It was what made their encounters
so terrifying.
“Mrs. de Winter,” Mrs. Hart said, inclining her head. Her large, cold eyes were unreadable.
“Hello.”
“When
you did not answer the phone this morning, I thought I would leave
today’s menu on your desk.” Her voice tightened. “I take it that it was
to your liking?”
Buffy wondered if her cheeks were still flushed
from William’s lovemaking—or if it was in her eyes, how she’d spent her
night. Granted, this was not the first time she had crossed paths with
Mrs. Hart after a night of lovemaking with her husband, but she felt,
for all the world, as though she had been a virgin until last night. As
though she stood now newly deflowered. She remembered after their
wedding night feeling everyone who met her eyes would know she had been
plucked. Even as she grew accustomed to intimacy with William, she had
never relived the sensation of facing a day as an ex-virgin. Not until
now.
“I hadn’t had a chance, actually,” Buffy replied, refusing
to lower her eyes or bow her head. “But I would prefer baked chicken
and mushrooms.”
“I have a French dish on the menu today.”
“That’s
fine, but I would prefer baked chicken and mushrooms.” She smiled
politely, taking in Mrs. Hart’s blank face. “Please relay that to the
kitchen, and make sure it’s prepared by six. Mr. de Winter and I will
be dining early tonight.”
The long, heavy silence would have
lasted forever had Jasper not chosen that moment to bark happily and
bound into the room. He pawed at Buffy’s legs to seize her attention
and offered another joyous yap when she turned to face him.
“Hello, there,” she said fondly. “Want to go for a walk?”
Jasper
barked again and, as though understanding her, turned and trotted back
for the door, pausing only slightly to look over his shoulder to make
sure she was following.
“Make sure those changes are made, Mrs. Hart,” Buffy said. “And please call and invite Wesley to lunch.”
Her feet carried her after her enthusiastic dog without another moment’s pause.