Disclaimer: As ever, I don’t own the copyright, Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy do. This is just fanfic, no infringement intended.
Warning: NC-17 Spike/Willow Read at your own risk.
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It was a kiss that restructured her world, a kiss that forced her to abandon everything she thought she knew about Spike and redefine him. Deadly Enemy and Implacable Evil could simply not be reconciled with this kiss. Her memories tried to convince her that she was in the arms of mortal danger. But the kiss was far more convincing than memory.
Willow could say, with absolute certainty, that she had never been kissed like this in her life. Oz's kisses were first-rate, teen-passion, whole-hearted lip-locks that always left her wanting more. Even when he was being gentle and tender and laid back, which was pretty much most of the time.
But this was different. Spike was kissing her as if he had nothing else on his agenda for the next week but the exploration and conquest of Willow Rosenberg's mouth.
First came the unexpectedly soft texture of his cool lips pressed against her own, then came the heat, as he gradually increased the pressure, making her tilt her head back so that she could return the kiss, making her arms move slowly up to circle his neck. Alarm bells weren't just going off in the small part of Willow's brain that still had some claim to sanity; the entire Civil Defense Emergency Early Warning System was in full shriek-and-clamor mode. But Spike's kiss was overriding it, convincing her against all logic, all memory, all instinct for self-preservation, that she should ignore the bells and whistles and sirens, and just listen to the slowly mounting tempo of her own heartbeat.
Sanity fled. Willow did not call it back. Instead, she moved in closer as Spike took his hand from her cheek to wrap both arms around her. Along about now, Willow would have expected him to open his mouth and make her open hers, so that their tongues could get as close as their lips were, but he didn't rush to do that, either. Instead, he just took his time, standing there, his lips moving over hers with a kind of ruthless tenderness. She moaned against his mouth.
Spike savored the feel of her mouth against his own. Generally, despoiling virgins wasn't his scene. He preferred his partners wanton, willing, and wise in fleshly matters. But he remembered how, in another reality, the demon that Willow had become had been one of the most sensuous creatures he'd ever met; a match for Dru, eclipsed only by Buffy. He was willing to bet this Willow, human child though she was, had the same potential. And for some reason, tonight, it just seemed like such a waste not to realize all that potential.
Spike intensified the kiss, nibbling on her lower lip, then running his tongue lightly over her still-closed mouth. With another moan, Willow parted her lips for him, and his tongue took immediate advantage of the concession, entering the hot, wet cavern, tracing over her teeth, into the hollows of her cheek, and then wrapping around her own tongue like a serpent seducing its mate. Which pretty much summed things up.
Willow couldn't believe how good Spike tasted, how good what he was doing to her felt. And she simply couldn't reconcile the tender, considerate lover he was proving himself to be with her former image of him as a monstrous killer. He had helped Buffy save the world, after all. Maybe he wasn't quite as evil as he liked to pretend. She pressed herself closer to his chest, tightening her arms about his neck, pulling him even more deeply into the kiss.
She was so pliant, so sweet. He could feel her body trembling, no longer in fear, or at least, not completely in fear, and he exerted subtle pressure, moving her gently, slowly, relentlessly backward, but so gradually she didn't realize his intent until the bed hit the back of her knees and she tumbled onto it. Not breaking the kiss, Spike followed her down to the mattress.
The Civil Defense System had another go at restoring sanity. Spike's hands moved in a caress against her back and short-circuited the attempt. He pressed her into the yielding surface of the bed, and Willow found herself utterly enthralled by the weight of his body upon her own. His mouth was still working its wicked, distracting magic on hers, and she was so absorbed in the taste and texture and feel of him that she almost didn't realize what else he was doing.
Not until he broke the kiss, raised himself to smile down at her, and cool air hit her naked breasts.
"Ohmigosh!" she gasped. "Oh. No. This...we shouldn't be doing this."
"Are you sure?" Spike asked pleasantly, his scarred, left eyebrow quirking up. Then he dipped his head to take one tender nipple in his mouth. Willow surged off the bed. Not to get away but to arch closer. "Ohmigosh!" she gasped again.
He continued ravishing her with his mouth, subjecting her to sensations of breathtaking wonder. Spike suckled her breast until the nipple was a hard, tight bud, then turned his attention to the other breast and did the same thing. He went back to kissing her mouth briefly, then trailed heated, wet kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and back to her breasts. He tormented them anew, then kissed his way down her rib cage to her belly, where for the moment, he seemed content to stop.
He managed to distract her again, so that she was almost unaware that he was continuing to disrobe her, that her skirt and stockings and panties and shoes were all being stripped from her gently, relentlessly.
Almost.
When he sat up to strip off his own clothing, the CDS rallied for an extravagant cacophony. This time it was moderately successful. Oz, she thought suddenly. Xander. Her first time was supposed to be either with the boy who loved her or the boy she loved, if he wasn't the same person. It was definitely not supposed to be with someone who wasn't a person at all. Willow regained enough sanity to sit up, and pull her quilt over her nakedness.
"We can't do this," she said tremulously. "We so cannot do this."
"What, precisely?" Spike asked mildly, as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor where he had dropped Willow's clothing, his red shirt, and even his leather coat.
"What do you mean, 'what'?" Willow wailed. God, he looked good without a shirt. He had the sleek, combat-honed musculature of someone for whom "marital art" wasn't merely exercise, but survival skill. What would it feel like to have his naked chest pressed against her skin? Sanity made another appearance, making her discard that train of thought, and continue what she'd been saying. "What we're doing! We can't. Do. What we're doing." She took a deep breath. "We can't do it."
"Now, do you mean we can't do what we've been doing, or we can't do, what I think you call, 'it'?" Spike inquired, his tone still mild, but lights of pure devilment dancing in his eyes. He began to undo the buckle of his belt. He was taking his time over the mater, but he wasn't stopping.
"There's a difference?" Willow asked, her eyes staring in fascination at his hands as they moved slowly over the buckle.
Spike laughed. "Lord, you are naïve! Yeah, baby. There's a difference. What we're doing doesn't have to go, ah, 'all the way.'" Which was perfectly true. They didn't have to go all the way. Immediately. But, ultimately, he sure as hell intended to.
"I don't understand," Willow said, tearing her gaze away from his hands and focusing again on his face. The smile he gave her was pure predator. And pure sin.
"I know you don’t. And that, little girl, is what makes you so damnably tempting."
Willow's breath caught. She had never in her life been called "tempting" and "damnably tempting" at that. She retained just enough presence of mind to ask, "What do you mean?" Spike's smile widened. He chose his words carefully.
"I mean, love, that there are quite a number of delightful things I can do with my naked body to your naked body that would give you a great deal of pleasure and still leave the nun's-cap I imagine you possess completely intact." He did not add that when he was through doing them, keeping herself intact wouldn't be terribly high on her list of priorities.
"Nun's-- Oh!" Willow blushed furiously as she figured out what a nun's-cap, in relation to her body, had to be. Then the sense of the rest of his statement came to her. "There are?" she said doubtfully.
"Quite a few," Spike assured her, and stood to slip his pants down his lean hips. "And I think, little girl, that I should teach you all of them." He didn't wear shorts, Willow realized, catching her breath again at the sight of his rampant male flesh. She had never seen a man naked before. And she doubted many of them were as beautiful as the demon who seemed intent on becoming her lover. Willow ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. If they weren't actually going to do "it", maybe she should see just what they could do. Maybe this was a way of cracking the secret code her friends shared, without actually taking any irretrievable steps.
The CDS was having none of it. Xander! it shrieked, Oz! Willow took a deep breath to tell Spike that maybe she wasn't really ready to find out what their naked bodies could do together, but before she could get out a word, he had moved back to the bed, leaned over her and kissed her with the same ruthless tenderness he had shown before. The CDS system went into permanent meltdown. Willow found herself reaching up to Spike once more, drawing him down to her kiss and letting him push her back against the mattress.
Spike drew the quilt away, and settled himself over her. Willow moaned, but her legs were clamped together, denying him the access he craved. Spike smiled against her mouth. He had plenty of time to teach her the error of her ways. He began by simply moving his pelvis in a slow rotation against her, letting her feel the entire thick length of his masculinity against the outer reaches of her womanhood. The nerve endings there were sensitive enough to send fevered messages back to her brain. Willow moaned again and lifted her hips to follow where his led.
Spike kept kissing her, now moving his hands to brush gently along the remembered, yet different, curves of her body. No, this wasn't the Willow who had been a vampire in his Hell, but he had absolutely no cause for complaint. She was still curvaceous, her skin was still smooth as silk and soft as butter. If she didn't taste like spice, but seemed sugar-sweet, it was no disadvantage. And she was no longer cold perfection but living heat, which was even more enticing to him, now. Spike deepened the kiss further, and slipped a hand between their bodies.
Nerve endings Willow had only read about in health class textbooks came dazzlingly alive, shocking her with their immediacy, their urgency. Willow felt the juncture between her thighs grow floodingly wet. She remembered from health class what that meant. Not that she was willing to act on the information. At least not totally. But she was more than willing to move into the rhythm Spike's fingers played upon her, letting him teach her what felt good, and what felt even better.
Spike liked the way Willow felt, the tiny bit of flesh he caressed stiffening against his fingers, her femininity damp against his thigh. Oh, yes, he hadn't been mistaken about her. He continued arousing her, stroking her for a while longer, then gently parted her outer lips, lifted his hips, and replaced his fingers with his cock, allowing his own male flesh to stroke against her vulnerable clit.
Another shockingly sweet sensation. But Willow was afraid he was getting too close to where she hadn't agreed he should be. She pulled her mouth from his.
"Spike," she gasped, as he dropped kisses on her temple and cheek instead. "You can't..."
"Shhh, little girl," he soothed, pretty sure he understood the cause of her distress. "I'm not inside you. I won't be inside you unless you want me there, unless you tell me it's okay." And if I can't make you want me inside you as badly as I want to be inside you, I might as well go out and wait for sunrise, he thought. Willow relaxed again, and he continued his intimate caress. She sought out his mouth with hers, and he gladly took the offering. Her arms wrapped about his shoulders, pulling him close. He sent his own hands in caressing strokes along her ribs and hips, while his tongue mated with hers in the same rhythm he set with his hips.
Willow was beyond thought. Every nerve in her body was vibrantly alive, vibrantly responsive to the tender magic being wrought by her demon lover. Something began to build, centering on the tiny bit of flesh he was stroking with his manhood. She found herself desperate to find out where this feeling would lead. She was no longer content to follow the pace he set, but began to lift her hips more rapidly, more firmly, grinding in to him. She began to moan against his mouth. He seemed to understand her need, because he responded by slipping his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her closer, tighter, and he stroked against her harder than before. Willow found that she had to break the kiss, had to gasp in breath.
In that moment, when she felt the pressure building in her, getting closer to some unimaginable completion, Spike buried his face in her neck, kissing the beating pulse of her jugular. And Willow understood, absolutely, that if he now chose to take her life, she wouldn't fight him, but press him closer and offer herself utterly.
"Spike," she found herself whispering. And then, as he continued the exquisite friction of his manhood against her femininity, as he continued to kiss the pulse at her throat, the pressure within her reached critical mass. Every nerve in Willow's body exploded with sensation, and she surged against him, sobbing out his name, caught in a maelstrom of pleasure that, though she had known it existed, was far beyond what she could ever have imagined.
Spike ground into her relentlessly, fighting back the urge to vamp out and claim her absolutely as his own, fighting back the urge to force her thighs apart and bury himself in her virgin depths, will she, nil she. Soon, he promised himself, soon, she would welcome him inside her body and it would be infinitely more satisfying for her yielding. Meanwhile he simply stroked against her clit while she gave him the sweetness of what he was certain was her very first orgasm. When she surged against him, he lifted his head from her neck and looked down into her face, wanting to watch her achieve her first pleasure.
She took his breath away. Not that breathing was anything more than a reflexive habit, but he forgot to fill his lungs when he looked into the incomparable beauty of her face. Willow, in ecstasy, was Willow without her self-consciousness, without the insecurities that seemed to shadow her every waking moment. Her face was beautifully flushed, her kiss-swollen lips parted, her doe-eyes huge. Those eyes caught his own in a gaze of such intense wonderment, such intense vulnerability, and gratitude and need, that Spike suddenly felt all his protective instincts, heretofore aroused only by Dru, surge to the fore.
She trusted him not to force her beyond what she could conscionably allow, and Spike realized that he would not abuse that trust, after all. He kissed her again, tenderly, as her pleasure crested, as he kept her suspended within it as long as possible, and as it ebbed away. He stilled the movement of his hips, ruthlessly pushing back his own needs. He broke their kiss, but only to drop a series of feather-light kisses against her temple and brow. Spike shifted on to his side, pulling her with him, and into his arms. He reached over her to draw an edge of the quilt over her perspiring body, lest she become chilled.
Willow drowsed contentedly in his arms. But her mind was as active as ever. She was still alive, and still, technically anyway, a virgin. Spike had brought her breathtaking rapture, without achieving his own release, and now held her as if she were something to be cherished. No one who was pure evil could do that, she was convinced. Therefore, Spike could not be the evil she had thought him. Willow was aware that her reasoning was flawed, knew that there were a thousand logical reasons and explanations for a demon to show her only tenderness. But something within her that was stronger than logic knew that the side of himself Spike showed her now was his true nature, and the other the mask.
"That was pretty amazing," she said shyly, peeking up at him through her lashes when she recovered enough to speak. He smiled a bit ruefully.
"It was intended to be," he said honestly. Of course, he had intended her to be so amazed that she would want to find out how good things could be if she let him take her properly...or improperly, as it were. That no longer mattered.
Or so he thought.
"But it isn't over," she surprised him by saying. "I mean you haven't...you didn't...you know."
"Yes, little girl, I know," he chuckled, touched by her virginal reluctance to put what they were doing into words. "And in the ordinary course of things, I most certainly would. But that might not be such a good idea, after all."
"I don't understand," she told him. "I thought you meant that we would both...you know. Earlier, when you talked about what our naked bodies could do together."
Hoist by my own petard, he thought. The irony got to him, as it always did, and he chuckled again. "Oh, I had every intention of coming with you," he said bluntly. Then he tossed back the quilt, rolled her beneath him again, his expression grave. "But you're a little too sweet, baby, a little too tender. I was holding back because I wanted to wait until you let me inside you. I thought I could make you want that. And when I felt you begin to reach your pleasure, I was damned close to driving myself inside you even without your permission. I was pretty sure I could make you want that, too."
Remembering the moment when she had felt his lips against her vulnerable throat, remembering that she would have allowed him to take more than her body, Willow nodded. She felt foolish, and hurt. She had trusted him. How insane was that? She knew what he was. And yet thinking back on his words, she realized that he had never lied to her. He wouldn't have taken her unless she told him he could. He had just expected he could make her tell him he could in very short order. And he had been right.
"You did," she told him simply, not able to conceal her pain. "What stopped you?" He owed her that much honesty, at least. But the answer her gave stunned her.
"You stopped me," he told her gently. "When you were so vulnerable, and I looked into your eyes, I knew I couldn't hurt you for the world." He leant down to kiss her again. Willow closed her eyes and gave herself up to that kiss, realized that she was once again willing to give much more. Her arms came up to embrace him. And now, slowly, shyly, Willow moved her legs apart, allowing Spike to settle between her thighs, feeling his manhood press against her most intimate center.
He broke the kiss, and looked down at her. She looked back at him, and he understood the offer she silently made. And knew he couldn't take it. But, oh! He wanted to.
With a groan, Spike sank back against her body. "You do make it hard on a man, little girl," he told her wryly.
"Isn't that the point?" she said with a tiny smile. He laughed again. "Usually," he agreed. And then he kissed her again, slowly, languidly, before pulling away and trailing kisses down her jaw, to her throat, her breasts, her ribs and belly. Willow sighed softly, closing her eyes to better savor the feel of his cool lips on her heated flesh. He continued his path downward, moving lower on the bed, until his shoulders were between her thighs, and he could use his hands to part her outer lips, baring her femininity, leaving it vulnerable to his mouth.
He kissed her most intimate center, and her eyes flew open, as she felt a caress more sensuous, more sweet, more pleasurable even than the astounding pleasure he had given her moments earlier.
"Spike?" she asked tremulously, "What are you--oh!" her breath escaped on a sigh, as his tongue found her and began to lave her womanhood. "Oh!" she breathed again, then added, "Please." She couldn't have expressed exactly what she meant, but he seemed to understand without words. Spike deepened his caress of her clit, then slowly, gently, slid one finger inside her virgin passage, which tightened instinctively around the intrusive digit. Willow cried out, lifting her hips toward his mouth, beginning to take up the rhythm so newly learned.
Spike growled low in his throat, her responsiveness arousing his appetites anew. Again, he felt the temptation to vamp out. How sweet it would be to sink his fangs into the vulnerable flesh beneath his lips, draw her blood into his mouth along with the lovely liquor of her arousal. Not to kill, just to weaken, until she was pliant and submissive and he could take her, break through that annoying membrane that sealed her as inviolate, take both of them to rapture. Oh, yes, it would be sweet. But he couldn't do that to her. He contented himself with sucking her entire clit into his mouth, and adding gentle nips to the play of his tongue and lips on her intimate flesh.
This time, when Willow found the voluptuous pressure building inside her again, she knew exactly what it was and where it could lead. She also knew that there was no way Spike could reach anything like it just from what they were doing. And it struck her as too selfish to let him do that without giving him anything in return.
Willow was innocent, not ignorant. She had paid attention in health class. And she had done some extracurricular reading on this as on every other subject. There had been a true ick factor in some of the things she had read about. But with Spike's mouth on her, and with every nerve alive to pleasure, Willow found the ick factor utterly irrelevant.
She moved quickly, surprising him so that he let her go before he understood exactly what she intended. One moment she was supine beneath his tenderly tormenting lips and teeth and tongue. The next she had pushed him off of her, and onto his back. As Spike looked up at her in surprise, she rose over him, kneeling above him, her knees just behind his left shoulder.
"Baby, is something wro--"
Willow stopped his mouth with a kiss, her own mouth open over his, her tongue licking her own essence off of his lips, then slipping into his mouth as if greedy for every last drop of herself that she could steal from him. Spike growled appreciatively and buried his hands in the thick mass of her red hair, pulling her more deeply into the kiss.
For a moment, she allowed it. And then she surprised him again, pulling away from the kiss, and moving her lips down his throat, over his chest. She stretched out over him, her right thigh brushing against his left ear. He realized her intent, and groaned again.
"Baby, are you sure you..." Her mouth found him, stopping his words once more. Any inexperience was more than compensated for by shocking avidity as she licked out to caress the tip of his cock with her tongue, then sucked his shaft deep into her mouth. Spike abandoned any attempt to bring her to her senses. But her femininity was temptingly close. He reached for her long, slender legs, drawing them over his head, and widely apart, then drove his tongue, not against her turgid clit, but deep into her virgin sheath.
Willow moaned, the vibrations tantalizing the nerves of his cock, enhancing his own pleasure. He returned the favor, growling against her clit. She responded by taking him deeper, until his entire shaft was inside the wet velvet of her mouth and throat. Her hands gently fondled his balls, driving him crazy with arousal. He thrust more deeply with his tongue, wrapping his arms around her hips to increase the force and pressure of his love-play.
Everything Willow did was without thought, guided by sheer instinct. Her instincts were unfailing. Spike was amazed by the suction and heat she offered him, by the uninhibited play of her tongue and teeth on his shaft. He began to thrust upward into her mouth, seeking the release he knew was swiftly approaching, trying to bring about her own release as well. Spike slipped a finger back inside her, moving it in tandem with the thrust of his hips and her answering suction. He was rewarded once more by her groan against his cock.
Spike pressed his free hand against the firm, plump globes of her buttocks, keeping her clit tight against his ravaging mouth, not letting her escape the unrelenting pressure of his tongue and lips and fingers. Then he caught the tender morsel between his teeth, exerting just enough force to increase her pleasure without doing any harm. Willow's legs went taut and stiff, every muscle in her body straining toward the completion he was creating for her. Spike redoubled the force and pressure he used against her, and was rewarded when her hips bucked forcefully against his mouth, her inner walls tightening and releasing on his finger, her sweet cleft flooding him with her completion, her moans increasing even while her ministrations upon his own intimate flesh became frenzied and mindless, forcing him over the same precipice to which he had just pushed her.
Spike's hips bucked against Willow's mouth as he found his own release, and he suckled her feminine core more savagely yet. He spent in her mouth and she into his and it was a more exquisite release than she had ever given him as a vampire, and he was profoundly grateful that, this time, he had not turned her into one.
He was greedy for the taste and feel of her against his mouth, the softness and warmth of her body against his own. Even after she had grown calm and still, after she had let his sated manhood slip from her mouth, resting her head against his groin, Spike continued to deliver slow, soothing kisses to her secret flesh.
"Spike..." Willow whispered.
He stopped what he was doing with his mouth long enough to answer her, though his finger continued its gentle, rhythmic stroking, flirting against, but not intruding upon, that damnable barrier. "Yeah, baby?"
"Nothing," Willow sighed, "just...'Spike'" Spike smiled in male satisfaction. He shifted her back off his body, until she was supine again, then moved to cover her once more.
He braced his weight on his elbows and forearms, not wanting to crush her. She was such a slip of a thing, his little girl, delicate and fragile. She didn't have Dru's immortal strength, or Buffy's Slayer's steel. Willow was so very vulnerable. Why didn't that arouse his killing instincts? Why did he want to protect her, rather than devour her? Well, not devour her like that, anyway. Spike didn't really know. But looking down at her, her doe-eyes soft with satiation, her lips curved in a gentle smile, he thought her one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen.
"God, you're beautiful," he couldn't help saying. Willow's smile widened, then grew sad.
"You don't have to say that," she began. Spike found himself growing unaccountably enraged.
"I'm not bloody saying it because I have to," he growled. "I'm saying it because it's bloody true."
Willow was surprised at how angry he sounded. And what she had begun to think of as the puppy-dog look was back in his eyes, as if he was not only angry but hurt. She didn't understand. It had been borne in on her years and years ago, by the cruel teasing of her peers, and the continued disinterest of the boys in school, that she was not a pretty girl. Even Oz hadn't actually said that she was. He had said some other things, wonderful things, things that had melted her to her toes and had slowly, gradually, wooed her away from her desperate love of Xander.
But no one had ever called her beautiful. No one had ever said she was damnably tempting. Not until the demon in her arms had looked into her eyes and drawn her into a kiss that felt like dying had Willow Rosenberg ever felt remotely beautiful.
"I didn't mean to make you mad," she said softly.
"I'm not mad at you, little girl," he said just as softly, gazing at her with those puppy-dog eyes. "I'm furious with everyone who ever made you feel anything less than the glory you are." Willow was sufficiently stunned by that statement to be rendered speechless, which didn't matter, because Spike took her mouth in another one of those ruthlessly tender kisses that seemed to pull her soul out of her body and into his keeping, and she didn't need to speak for a good long while.
When she did speak again, long, long moments later, it was to plead softly. Spike had grown hard for her, was once again pressing his swollen manhood against her intimate flesh, stroking her clit in the sweet, arousing rhythms that he had taught her so very recently.
And that weren't enough now.
"There's more, isn't there?" she demanded. "There are other things you haven't taught me yet, aren't there?"
"Baby, I don't think it's a good idea--" Spike began.
"Oh, yes Spike," she countered "It's a very good idea. Everything you do to me feels so good. I want more."
She backed up her words with a counter thrust of her hips against his own, and by bending to fasten her mouth on one of his male nipples. She wanted to see if what had felt so exquisite when he had done it to her would feel good to him as well. His answering growl assured her that it did.
She suckled him fiercely for a moment, then broke the contact to whisper heatedly, "Tell me, Spike. Tell me about the things your naked body can do to mine." And then she bent back to the wet, heated caress she had offered before. She was so damned responsive, so damned sweet, so damned beautiful. He couldn't resist her throaty, heated demands. Lust exploded in Spike's brain, and he began to describe in graphic, hot, enticing detail some of the wicked, wanton things he could do to her that would leave her virginity technically intact.
"Yes," Willow found herself moaning. "I want to do every single one of them, Spike." She turned her face up to his, speaking between brief, heated kisses. "I want to do every...single...one...with you." And all the while she ground her sweet clit against his manhood, cradling his hips with hers, stroking his flesh intimately, arousingly, until he couldn't stand anymore and he knew he would have to meet her demands.
They spent hours exploring limits and possibilities. He taught her not merely the kinds of things that could be done --how he could bring her to pleasure with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his fingers, his manhood-- but also about degrees and gradations of pleasure. He taught her how a change in angle or position could enhance the experience. He taught her how his own fulfillment could increase hers. And he taught her how delaying rapture could increase it...though she struggled against that lesson at first.
And then he left up to her which of a dozen amusing possibilities they tried next. Willow thought about the things he had described, wishing the night had at least a dozen more hours so she could try everything. But one particular thing sounded very, very good to her. Shyly, she whispered into his ear.