Summary: He wanted her the second he laid eyes on her and now it was finally time for him to make his presence known to her--the only way he knew how.
Author's Notes: Written for Spuffy Fantasy’s 2007 Art-to-Fic, All Human Challenge. Story inspired by banner #4 created by peroxide_dreams.
Warnings: This story will deal with eroticism, bloodplay, hints of dom/sub and biting.
Rating: NC-17
He watched her parade through the crowded, smoke-filled bar, her slender hips sashaying in time to the beat of the music, her long, golden hair shimmering beneath the dim, amber lights. Teasing him. Tempting him. Begging him to touch it. To slide his fingers through the wavy strands and draw her body in close, allowing her to feel the erection that pulsed within his jeans.
He didn’t know why the girl struck him as she did. There were far more beautiful women in the club and even more beautiful ones in his past. But not one of them held an ounce of her vibrancy, not one could touch that beacon of hazel light that danced inside her eyes.
Perhaps that was why he followed her night after night. Watching over her. Waiting for the chance to gain her notice. Spark her desire.
And he would, he knew.
Soon.
All it would take was a heated look, a well-timed smirk and then, she’d be his, falling into his arms as if she were always meant to find them.
Maybe it was arrogant on his part. To think of himself as so irresistible. But he hadn’t lived this long by doubting his favor with the opposite sex.
Girls like her, they liked blokes like
him. The hint of danger got them off. And he’d made danger his art form
because of it. Oh, it wasn’t true danger, of course; he wasn’t as
stupid as that. Not anymore, at least. But just the hint of it, the
right amount of fantasy and sin…
Lots of birds flocked to that. Ate it up, they did.
This one would be no different.
Girl was ripe for it. Begging for it, if truth were told. Those mystifying eyes wanted more than these boring, college blokes could give her. They wanted excitement, adventure... passion.
Her taut, little body was primed for new instruction, new sensation.
He would give it to her. All of it. Everything she didn’t realize that she asked for. And then, when he was done with the lessons, he’d teach her a bit more. Broaden her horizons the way no small city bloke would ever dare to do.
Whether he walked away or not after that would be up to her.
* * *
Buffy Summers shivered as the man’s eyes began tracking her movements again, his purposeful gaze raking her body from his chosen spot on the other side of the room—the same way he’d done nearly every night she had gone out these last few weeks. It made her feel so naked, as if he were undressing her with every slow, aching pass his blue eyes made.
She wanted to think it creepy. To believe he was nothing more than just another gorgeous, sexed-up pervert. But one succinct glance into his cerulean eyes had told her a different story. There had been intelligence lurking there, a mystery just beckoning her to come closer and solve it.
She wouldn’t, of course. She didn’t know him; none of her friends did. And she wasn’t about to risk her life by going home with some wannabe bad boy. No matter how much her body craved the wicked promise of his—no doubt very skilled—touch.
And how did she know those agile fingers were skilled anyway? Just because he looked at her with sin in his eyes was no reason for her to believe he’d be anything more than just another guy wanting to get into a girl’s—her—pants.
She trembled at thought of those hands moving across her skin and casually snuck another glance at him out of the corner of her eye; yep, he was still looking at her, all but drowning her in the heat of his gaze.
She frowned, realizing she needed to do something about this.
Soon.
Motioning to her friends that she was going to get another drink at the bar, easily sidestepping the oversexed football jock that had tried rubbing up against her for the last five minutes, she cast another quick, cursory look at her admirer, meeting his eyes for a split second before dropping her gaze and going to tend to her parched throat.
Buffy wasn’t really surprised when he approached her at the bar. Nor was she completely shocked by the confident hand that sensuously trailed down her arm. His consistent perusal of her body had already proved that he was brazen. Or rather, that he could be brazen if he chose.
No, what amazed her were the words that he hoarsely spoke into her ear.
Words of enticement. Seduction. Words meant to push her over the edge and into his arms.
As if.
Buffy pulled back, her hand still poised on her untouched drink, and glared. “I don’t think so, Romeo.”
Smirking, completely unfazed by her show of annoyance, he leaned in, softly murmuring against the corner of her lips. “Come on, baby. You know you wanna dance.”
She shuddered as his fingers skirted across the small slits at the side of her dress, barely grazing her sensitized skin with his warmth as he raised himself up to look at her again, blue eyes darkening with untold lust.
She swallowed hard, moving forward far enough that she didn’t feel that thick, hard bulge pulsing against her backside. “You really don’t like being told no, do you?”
“I don’ have a problem with it, usually,” he said smiling, tilting his head to the side, still not moving his hand from where it rested along her hip. “But the thing is, love, you didn’ exactly tell me no. Not yet, at least.”
“And if I did?” she asked narrowing her eyes on him. “Would you back off?”
He shrugged. “That depends on whether you actually mean it or not.” His hand shifted from her hip to the hand that rested on her glass, easily removing her fingers before twisting her around, guiding her body into his outstretched arms. “Somethin’ tells me that you wouldn’…” he paused, his eyes dropping to look at where her breasts pressed against his chest before once again lifting back to her face, “…mean it, that is.”
“You’re wrong,” she gasped, leaning back as far as she could against the bar, desperately trying to avoid the insane urge to feel his erection against her mound. “If I said it, I’d mean it.”
“Then why haven’ you said it yet, pet? Had plenty of time, you have. It’s just one li’l word. Not that hard to say it, if you really mean it.”
“I—”
“Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?” a gruff voice cut in from her other side, forcing her to look away from the man that boxed her in and toward her would be rescuer—great, it had to be the muscle bound jock, didn’t it? “I’d be happy to make him leave you alone,” said jock offered, oblivious to her inner turmoil as he switched his gaze back and forth between her and the bleach blond on her left. “Just say the word, honey, and… he’s gone.”
She felt more than heard the man in front of her scoff at the boast and barely caught the rolling of his eyes as she turned her attention back to him. “There’s no need for you to do anything,” she answered, keeping her gaze trained on his face while she spoke to the jock. “The… guy was just leaving.”
“’S that right, love? Was I just leavin’?”
“Yes,” she answered calmly, evenly, despite the ragged jar of her pulse at the sight of his knowing smirk. “You were.”
He met her eyes a moment longer, his promising something she couldn’t quite define—and wasn’t sure she’d want to know even if she could—and then he was gone, the stupid jock from the dance floor taking up residence in his place.
“How about I buy you a drink?” the brunette suggested, already leaning in as if he had the right. “Give us a chance to get to know each other better. Help you forget all about that idiot that left.”
Somehow, she really, really doubted that.
“No, thank you,” she murmured absently, turning her back on him and picking up her rum and coke off the counter. “I’ve already got a drink. I don’t need another one and if I did, I’m more than capable of buying it myself.”
The jock mumbled something under his breath as he backed away, something about her being an ‘ungrateful bitch’ but Buffy didn’t care what he thought. She was already scanning the crowd for the man that left before him.
Dammit.
She hadn’t even got his name.
After a full two minutes of searching the crowd, she conceited defeat, turning her attention back to the dance floor and the half dozen friends she left behind. Not one of them seemed overly concerned with her absence.
Figures.
If there was a hot guy shaking his ass in front of them, the disappearance of a friend always took a back seat. Least it seemed that way these days. More and more Buffy felt like an outsider in the group, always having to strain so hard to have fun whenever they all went out, which bore the question…
Why did she continue to go out with them? Most of them she couldn’t even stand to be around. They all, in some way or another, gave new meaning to the phrase ‘air-headed bimbo.’ None of them had a clue who she was or what she wanted. And they certainly didn’t understand why she always balked at flirting with the idiots they felt were ‘absolutely perfect’ for her.
Please. They wouldn’t know a perfect guy—a real guy, if he jumped up and—she swallowed hard, regret washing over her—touched them.
Setting her half-empty glass back on the bar, she turned to walk toward the entrance, surprised to catch a glimpse of platinum blond hair sneaking past the new arrivals, obviously planning to leave as she was.
She inwardly groaned at the discovery, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, actually considering letting him walk out without confronting him about his persistent interest. But just as his head cleared the threshold and his gaze momentarily, unerringly, found hers again, she stumbled, almost losing her footing on the three steps leading to the entrance.
He smirked at her again, whether at her having almost fallen because of him or the fact she was heading in his direction at all, she didn’t know. But couldn’t stop from rushing after him to find out.
By the time her heels hit the sidewalk outside, though, there was no sign of her hot, sinful admirer anywhere, which was disappointing but not completely surprising. She had a feeling the only time she’d see him was when he wanted her to find him and obviously, he didn’t want that any more tonight.
Crossing her arms over her midriff, she headed for the sorority house a few blocks away, determined to take a shower and head to bed before her ‘sisters’ got home and confronted her about having ditched them again.
It wasn’t until she turned onto the last street, the one leading up toward the dorm rooms, that she felt a presence behind her. But by then it was too late for her to do anything about it.
His gloved hand came out of nowhere, covering her mouth and pulling her back into the shadows of the alley just south of the eerily empty courtyard.
Her arms flew up, fingers clawing at the hand that covered her lips; it didn’t budge as her assailant pulled her in tight, his steel-like grip so hard along her abdomen it threatened to cut off her air supply.
She tried to yell for help. Struggled to break the hold on her body. But he was too strong for her to fight and in the end, as she finally drew a breath and inhaled the sharp, acidic scent of an unfamiliar chemical, her eyes rolled up in her head and her legs went slack beneath her.
“That’s it, love. Just relax into it, yeah? Nice and easy does it. Nice and easy…”
TBC...
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