Chapter Two

Lilah slowly returned to consciousness, her wary nature carefully taking the time to remember her location and situation before she made any movement. 

Her own bed.  Her own body—not always a given, in her world—a bit sore and slightly bruised here and there, but overall generating a sensory memory of intense satisfaction.  Another body, next to hers.  Too still to be alive.  Too warm to be dead.

She turned carefully to look at Spike.  He seemed almost transcendently beautiful in sleep, like the carved statue over the sarcophagus of some medieval saint.  His skin was impossibly pale and almost translucent; the sweep of the lashes masking those amazing blue eyes, highlighting the perfection of his exquisite cheekbones.  A devil in the guise of an angel.

Slowly and carefully, Lilah eased herself out of the bed and dropped her feet to the floor.  She crept to the bathroom with the caution of a prisoner fleeing her cell.

Carefully closing the door behind her with a minimum of noise, Lilah turned to meet her own startled gaze in the mirror.  Her eyes were huge with the memory of the previous night, and her lips were bruised witnesses to the passion she had experienced.  Her hand rose to her throat of its own accord, stroking with fearful greed the glorious sapphire necklace that rested there.

When Spike had dropped it in her lap alongside a golden casket of Godiva chocolates, Lilah had protested that she would not be able to wear the necklace anywhere.  There was bound to be a hue and cry after it already, since he had doubtless used some unsubtle method of thievery, like shying a brick through the store window. 

“No problem, love,” he had answered her.  “I don’t want you wearing it in public.  I want you to wear it just for me.  In fact,” he went on, his eyes blazing as blue as the gems, “I want you to wear only that.  And, oh yeah, these.”  And he had held up the red shoes she had purchased early in that very eventful evening.

“I love a man who notices what a woman wears,” thought Lilah, her fingers gently caressing the necklace as she removed it and laid it on the vanity.  The shoes had come off eventually, but the sapphires had gleamed against her throat all night.

“Something worthy for my princess to wear,” Spike had whispered in her ear as he drove her relentlessly to greater heights of passion.

She was a princess in his eyes.  A princess worthy of priceless necklaces and Dom Perignon. The champagne, along with a bag of expensive and randomly chosen delicacies and the sapphire necklace, had been presented to her with careless gallantry upon his return from dumping George’s body.  In between bouts of lovemaking, he had fed her the oddly-assorted gourmet fare, snacking on some of it himself and helping her to drink the champagne.  At one point, he had deliberately spilled some of the Dom Perignon across her naked belly and lapped it up from her bare skin.  The sensation of his tongue licking her flesh, tasting her, had sent yet more primal messages to her brain.  He feeds off me.  Not as he does from his prey, because he doesn’t consume me.  He recreates me through his imagination, through—his love?  She had shuddered uncontrollably at this notion.  If this is really love he feels, what will it do to me?

Lilah stepped into the shower, letting the dagger-like droplets of water attack her flesh, setting off sensory memories of the night before.  Spike had proven once again just how much her pleasure became his own.  He was the best lover she had ever had, and not just because his stamina exceeded that of any living man.  My own personal vampire.  So far, he’s given me roses, champagne, pâté, chocolate, priceless jewelry, the brutally mutilated body of my enemy, and so many orgasms I’ve lost count.  And this was only our second date.

        Lilah was a creature of great common sense.  And logic told her that if she decided to get rid of Spike, it would not be an easy proposition.  She had looked into his background after their first encounter and found his history riddled with contradictions and impossibilities, probably due to his own lies and prevarications about his past.  But it was certain that he was more than a century old, and therefore better at self-preservation than his careless demeanor would suggest.  He also had an astonishing record of faithfulness with his previous lover.  He might be capricious about other matters, but he was no idiot either.  He was also Angel’s enemy, which could present problems for her, given her employer’s interest in that other very unusual vampire.

        The hot water had run out, and she began to shiver under the cold, relentless stream from the shower massage.  She reached out to shut off the water and fumbled for a towel.

Lilah had no doubt that Spike was as stubborn in his affections as he was in his hatreds.  Now that his fancy had settled on her, he would doubtless continue to turn up at her side at unexpected moments, dragging along extravagant and unlikely gifts, like a stray puppy anxious to please a prospective new mistress.  A very dangerous puppy, but an endearing one nonetheless.

As she ran the towel over her body, she took stock of her bruises.  They were all minor, and some of them, she remembered, incurred entirely because of her own enthusiasm.  She now doubted that Spike would seriously injure or kill her.  She was probably safe as long as he continued to enjoy her company.  He wouldn’t sire her either; he would refrain because he liked her the way she was and saw no reason to change her.  Which doesn't mean he's not a threat.  There are so many other ways he could be a danger to me.  Of course, he could be a great ally.  But trying to change him to suit my purposes would be a mistake.  He would only turn on me.   I must either make this—what? relationship?—work with him as he is, or find a way to rid myself of him permanently.

With shaking hands, she carefully dried her hair and put on her makeup.  Somehow, she had to prepare herself for the work day ahead.  Because that was what she lived for.  For her job, to be a success, to please the senior partners.  And just how does that make you any different from George? she thought for a chill moment.  She stared at the perfect mask of her face in the mirror, and began to wonder what would happen if she raised her ambitions to something Wolfram and Hart might not approve.  If she tried to use Spike as a tool to reach those ambitions—That would be a very, very dangerous option.  She gazed in the mirror again and saw that she was smiling, her eyes glowing, her expression suddenly speculative.

She was about to open the door to the bedroom when a whiff of smoke tingled her nostrils.  The acrid smell was a clear signal that Spike was awake.  She suddenly feared exposure to him—exposure of her thoughts, of the feelings revealed by her quickening pulse, of her naked flesh that still bore the marks of their lovemaking the night before.  With some idea of hiding herself from that penetrating azure gaze, she yanked a short red robe off the hook on the wall and pulled it on before opening the door.

        Spike was lying on her bed, the pillows propped up behind his head, a cigarette butt dangling between the fingers of his left hand.  The bed sheets were lying tangled across his legs and part of his torso, baring one hip.  His right hand was curved behind his head, and he was regarding the door to the bathroom with great attention.  Lilah stopped in the doorway, uncertain for a moment.  She realized she had been holding her breath and exhaled on a long sigh.  Damn, if he’s not the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, in or out of my bed.  Getting rid of him is really not the option I want to choose.

        Trying to look as if she were used to being watching by naked vampires while getting ready for work, Lilah crossed over to her dresser.  She carefully checked her makeup and hair again in the big mirror, noting with pleasure that the vulnerability she felt was well hidden behind the serene and commanding look she had practiced so often.  She began opening drawers to choose underthings, dropping bits of silk and lace on the polished wooden top of the dresser.  She bent to rummage around in a bottom drawer, stood up holding a pair of stockings in one hand, and froze, staring at her own reflection.

        The mirror told her she was alone.  She stood at the dresser, her robe slashing scarlet across her breast, her hand resting on the smooth surface in front of her.  The bed behind her was empty, the sheets thrown back and trailing over the floor.  Over the nightstand, a wisp of smoke curled up from a cigarette butt that had been tossed onto an abandoned plate of pâté.

        Her breathing was the only sound in the room.  There was no whisper of breath against her neck, no involuntary sigh of another occupant.  The silken stockings slid smoothly and silently from her fingers to huddle on the top of the dresser.

        But slowly, languorously, a strong hand was moving against her upper thigh, fingers trailing gently along her flesh.  She shivered as those fingers slipped under her robe and traced the curve of one hip.  She watched the glossy red fabric rustle slightly in the mirror as that unseen hand slid tantalizingly to her ass, cupping the smooth flesh in one palm before moving away.  Lilah gave a faint, involuntary murmur of distress at this desertion.  She stood as still as possible, feeling a thrill of anticipation as she waited to learn where those strong fingers would touch her next.

Suddenly, the length of a body was hard against her back, pressing into her, and she felt the prick of something sharp on the back of her neck.  Lilah gasped, staring in fascination as the folds of her robe stirred in the mirror.  Undulating waves of crimson flowed, apparently of their own accord, moving away from her body, revealing its curves and secret places to the reflective surface.  The belt snaked off to one side, defying gravity for a moment as it reached out, stretched itself away from her, and then fell to the floor.

        Still, Spike said nothing, and the prick of those sharp fangs against her neck warned her not to move or speak.  She tried to control even her breathing, but she was bringing in air in short gasps now.  She knew from the reflection of her parted lips and her wide, startled eyes that she was not hiding her excitement from her unseen companion.

        The robe had fallen completely open, revealing her breasts and belly.  The garment rustled again, lifting and falling as hands touched her, more forcefully and intimately this time.  If she looked down, she would see the fingers caressing her breast, teasing the nipple erect and fondling the soft flesh.  She would be able to watch his other hand slip over her flat stomach, down towards the soft mound of dark hair that was just below the limit of her vision in the mirror.  Instead, she closed her eyes for just a second, then stared back up to meet her own gaze.  It was too indescribably delicious not to know what he was going to do next, not to know the moment when he would stroke her clit, or be able to anticipate when he would release her suddenly, leaving her wanting, waiting, sure that he would touch her again, but not knowing how long she would have to wait or exactly where he would caress her next. 

        What do they call those demons that come to women in their sleep?  Incubi?  I always thought that would be kind of a kick, having sex with something you couldn't see.  But once someone showed me what an incubus would look like if the light refracted around it normally, and I wasn't exactly impressed.  This is much better.

        She had to fight to keep her gaze from wandering now.  His hands were too distracting, and those teasing but insistent attentions to her clit had made her almost wild with need.  It was all she could do to keep from turning around and grabbing him, shoving him back on the bed, and straddling him. 

        As if he realized she was reaching the limit of her endurance for this game, he moved back slightly, and she felt both hands come up to her shoulders.  The robe was yanked away entirely, leaving her completely exposed.  He shoved himself up against her once again, more harshly now, pushing her into the dresser, the length of his cock hard and insistent against her buttocks.  Her hands fell to the wooden surface before her, propping her up.  Still, she kept her eyes focused on the mirror, seeing only the incomplete reflection of what was happening.  Her hair was in disarray, and all practiced sophistication had deserted her.  Her throat was dry, and her tongue licked again a mouth already bare of the lipstick she had carefully applied in the bathroom.  A trickle of sweat rolled between her breasts, and she knew that the scent of her expensive perfume had been overwhelmed by something more primal and erotic.

Lilah opened her lips and forced them closed again.  Anything she said—even a demand that he fuck her now—would sound too much like begging.  Silently, she pressed back against him, trying to communicate her need.

Then he was deep inside her, his cock thrusting into her smoothly, his whole torso molded to her back.  The fangs were gone from her throat and insistent human lips were caressing the back of her neck and her shoulders.  After that first rough thrust, he began to move slowly within her, one arm around her waist to pull her closer to him with each stroke.  His other hand moved down to her clit again.

        Lilah moaned then for the first time, biting her own lip until it bled, wanting to reach back and touch him but knowing that wasn't in the rules. That wasn't part of their game, at least not today, not this moment.  This encounter was about the contrast between the nothingness in the mirror and the hard body pressed against hers, the long shaft of his cock sliding into her from behind, and the absolutely incredible sensation of being seduced by something completely invisible and impossible.  Unable to help herself, she wrapped her hands around the arm that held her, hugging him as if she could somehow pull him even closer.  In the mirror, her limbs seemed oddly suspended before her body.

         Perhaps it was her clinging fingers, or perhaps it was the scent of her blood that made him break his silence at last.  "My girl," he growled in her ear.  The sudden caress of his breath against her skin was more eerie than the words.  "All mine."

She stared at her own reflection in fascination, watching the droplet of blood on her mouth, the widening of her eyes each time he thrust deep inside her, the flushing of her skin as she moved closer to climax.  So this is what it looks and feels like to be truly possessed by a demon.

        Lilah was very late for work that morning.  But she strode into Wolfram and Hart as if she were ruler of the world, and when someone dared to look askance at her, she skewered him with a look.  No one challenged her lateness or questioned her absence from several important meetings.

That afternoon, she sat at a conference table, surrounded by junior partners who were murmuring in hushed tones about the shocking discovery of George's body.  "The rumor is that it was a vampire."  "Can't imagine how he came to allow that to happen!"  "He must have gotten careless."  This last comment was greeted by nods and knowing smiles from those who were sure that they would never be careless.  They would never suffer a similar fate.

Lilah felt nothing but contempt for the speakers.  They suddenly seemed small and impotent.  Although she could see their faces reflected in the highly polished surface of the table, she knew they were less substantial than her companion of the previous night.

Her coworkers thought they were powerful and evil because they had sold their souls, but that very act had provided them with carefully protected lives.  Their deaths would doubtless be particularly unpleasant, but until that time, bodyguards and spells stood between these pampered lawyers and the demons surrounding them.  Like George, they believed they had captured reality on their spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations, and they got through the day by pretending that they controlled the chaos, when it should have been obvious even to these babbling idiots that the chaos ruled them.

Although her life was even more frightening and less certain than it had been twenty-four hours ago, Lilah smirked as she contemplated her situation.  She wriggled a little in her chair, indulging in sensuous memories and a pleasing sense of superiority over her companions.  They might think they knew what it was to ride a tiger, but only Lilah knew what it was like to really feel the beast between her legs.

The End 

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This is all I've written of this pairing, but if you want more Spike/Lilah fic, check out this archive: Decadent.