Down And dirty

(The Characters are Joss', not mine)

Wesley held a glass of wine in one hand, and a brochure describing the history and 'must see' locations of the mansion. They had an hour an hour to socialize before the lecture began in the ballroom of the house. He'd already looked at the vast collection of nineteenth century paintings in the gallery, and was now headed toward the library when he came face to face with the woman who seemed to rule his dreams lately.

Dressed in a slinky black cocktail dress, Willow made her way through the reception looking for Wesley. She was looking forward to seeing him in a social setting now that they'd gotten moved on from their clandestine encounters she hoped there wouldn't be any awkwardness between them and they could just get back to being friends.

"Hey!" she waved and flashed a perky smile, taking a few extra breaths to temper her excitement as she approached him. "Wow, you clean up nice..." she grinned and smoothed over the lapel of his tuxedo jacket.

"Clean up nice," he gave her a wry smile. "That could qualify as either a compliment or be terribly insulting."

“Oh! That was a compliment. Definitely a compliment,” Willow clarified, afraid she was already starting off on the wrong foot. “I mean… it’s just that… I haven’t seen you all gussied up since Sunnydale and… and… you look nice,” she pursed her lips shut, suddenly feeling terribly awkward.

"Now that I've wrung a compliment out of you, may I say you look fantastic... as always," he said, thinking of the various facets of Willow he'd seen of late. Naked under a trenchcoat, dressed like a student or a slut, and now... to the nines and looking quite the socialite.

Trying to banish some of the images from his mind, he blinked... and failed miserably. "I was... I was about to tour the Victorian gardens. Would you be interested?"

Soothed by Wesley’s composure, Willow relaxed and snagged a glass of complimentary champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. “Yeah, fresh air sounds good.” Her pulse quickened and she was absolutely aware of every breath she took. “It’s a little stuffy in here.”

She fell silent as Wesley guided her through the big glass paned double doors to exit the ballroom reception area. As the numbers of guests around them thinned, the quiet became uncomfortable, so Willow eased her own self-consciousness with small talk. “So, what have you been up to lately? Any exciting new projects?”

"It's been remarkably quiet on the work front," he feigned great interest in a rose and sniffed it. In truth, he was thinking of her bathing in steaming hot water. "The scent of rosewater would suit you," he said, before he realized he was giving voice to his imagined desires. Nonetheless, he met her gaze, needing to know if she'd run... if the fact that she'd accepted someone else's offer to make her fantasy come true meant she was closing the door on him forever.

Willow sniffed the air self-consciously. “Now that could qualify as either a compliment or terribly insulting,” she echoed his earlier joke with a deliberately exaggerated British accent. “You implying I stink?” she grinned and tipped back her glass of champagne.

"Not at all. I like how you smell." He gave her a heated look and watched her throat convulse as she swallowed. "But then, you know that."

Willow’s eyes went wide and she stared like a deer caught in headlights. She wasn’t one of those girls that got hit on all the time, but even she recognized the look in Wesley’s eyes. It was clear that he wanted her. Her . Not some anonymous stranger ready to fulfill a preconceived fantasy… He .wanted her.

Having spent days conditioning herself to ‘just be friends’, Willow wasn’t at all sure how to react to his obvious overture, so she broke eye contact to empty the champagne flute. “S-so you think this place is really haunted?”

He took her empty glass and set it down on a mosaic topped table. "I don't know, but there are quite a few people who claim it is. The garden shed is one of the places that the ghost has been seen. “On the other hand," he chuckled lightly. "I suppose it's also a good way to lure a beautiful young woman to a private spot in order to have your way with her." He really ought not continue in this vein, or he'd scare her. Clearly, it was one thing to be on the other side of a computer and to bare your darkest deepest desires, and quite another to face them in the light of day. Why was he forcing the issue? Was it because he hadn't been able to rest since the moment he'd seen her accept another man to play out her fantasy... a fantasy that seemed written for him alone?

The unmistakable seduction in his tone unleashed a thrill of excitement that struck her core with an intensity that left her breathless. Cheeks stained in a heated flush, Willow blinking up at Wesley, swallowing in nervous anticipation. “And just what way would you have… if you could have your way with her,” she asked, barely finding her voice behind a wavering whisper.

"Idle curiosity, or do you really want to know?" he asked, never looking away as his mind answered her question for him, teasing him with images that had him wanting to press her up against a wall as he whispered his desires.

Swaying forward as if pulled by some magnetic force, her mind and body waged a war of between uncertainty and desire. “Idly wanting to know…” she answered vaguely, tilting her head so her eyes slid sideways to maintain his gaze.

He was silent for a long moment, trying to work out whether her answer held the invitation he thought, or whether it was wishful thinking. Deciding it was the former, he gave her a serious nod.

"I'd have her the way she wanted. You see, she spoke of virgin sacrifices and pentegrams, and I saw myself as the high priest, standing over her." His gaze briefly dropped down to her lips, then returned to her eyes. "I haven't been able to concentrate ever since. I wonder how it turned out for her and for..." his hands clenched. "I wonder if it would be the same with me, or if I'll ever sleep again with that unanswered question." There. If she wanted a reason to run, he'd given it to her now.

Willow’s breath hitched as she stared, completely mesmerized by his voice and hypnotic gaze. He was like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous. She knew she shouldn’t taste it, but she wanted it so badly her entire body hummed with the throbbing pulse of desire.

“It didn’t turn out at all…” she backed up a step, drawing him with her into the shadows of the garden. “She didn’t go through with it… she couldn’t,” another step back. The sharp point of a thorny bush snagged her thigh high stockings, so she took another step until her back was flat against a cool stone surface. “You see… she’s been spoiled…” Her voice grew stronger, finding confidence speaking about herself and her desires in the third person. “…you spoiled her so she doesn’t want anybody else.”

His heart kicked against his chest as he followed. It wasn't clear to him whether he was the moth being drawn to the flame, or the predator stalking his prey. It was all the same.... he had her where he wanted.

His palms were flat against the cold stone, one above her shoulder, the other below on her other side. He was close enough to feel the heat of her body, to draw in her scent with every breath... and yet, except for the brush of his tuxedo jacket against her, he didn't touch her.

"Is that right?" he asked close to her ear. "Because it bothered me that she chose someone else... it shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I desperately wanted to be that man. I wanted to be the one who made her heart go wild... who enflamed her imagination, as she had mine. I wanted her to know how she affected me. If I touched her now, she would know."

“You did?” Green eyes looked up at him with wonder and a wild innocence that was uniquely Willow . “Sh-she would?” her questions slowly caught up with the heated words that seared across her cheek and caused her body to quiver, aching for the promise of his touch.

"She couldn't miss it... miss this," he said, leaning in slightly and brushing his arousal against her. God how he wanted to press up against her, just to ease the building pressure in his loins.

He drew a shaky breath. "I'd ask her to allow me to handle the details... I know just the place. In the woods... in a courtyard ... ruins really. A place where no one could hear us. She would arrive wearing a long white shift?" It was a question, it was her fantasy after all.

Willow sucked in a sharp breath and bit her lower lip. Green eyes locked on his blue/grey and she slowly nodded, as if giving voice to her submission would somehow diffuse the euphoric anticipation that charged through her. The mere suggestion of playing out her fantasy caused her mind to spin wildly out of control.

"It would be just us, but we would pretend there were others... men in robes... black robes. I would be at the stone alter... I'd motion for them to bring her forward. She would be in a semi-trance, unable to resist the order to come to me."

As he spoke, as he stared into her trusting eyes, suddenly... it was as if it were all real...

* * * * * * * *

The priest gave the virgin an appreciative look, particularly when she tripped and exposed herself from ankle to thigh. His breath hitched at the thought of being between her thighs, of impaling her innocent flesh.

He gripped the edge of the slab she would lay on, reminding himself that he wasn't to enjoy this. This wasn't for him... this was to be a sacrifice which would empower his brethern. And yet, he liked her looks... he wished they'd saved her for him, and that some other woman was being brought to him now.

Shiny red hair fell in a soft curtain around her face, obscuring delicate features and vacant eyes. More than a dozen men in hooded black robes formed a circle around the high platform. The virgin felt them looking at her, but her gaze remained trained on the ground, her mind focused on the rhythmic patter of her bare feet as she climbed the stone steps of the altar.

Once she reached the altar platform, the she felt the weight of the High Priest’s stare as her gossamer shift brushed the stone slab. She dared not look up at him, but she knew she was expected to present herself for the ceremonial disrobing. Her body trembled as she kneeled before him, her head still bowed in deference.

Tucked in the shadows of the Trevillion Manor gardens Willow lost herself to the fantasy, kneeling before Wesley, her body trembled restlessly in anticipation of his touch. Around them, guests filtered back inside to attend the featured lecture, but the Evolution of Paranormal Human Behavior couldn’t have been farther from her mind.

The chanting stopped abruptly. The priest stepped forward and dipped his finger into a chalice of scented oil. "I prepare this maiden for our master. She shall be his body and soul. Her gift... our gift... her maidenhead."

He set the chalice down, then pulled her hair to one side, exposing the flawless milky white skin of her throat. He dabbed a bit of oil behind her ears, then drew a line down her throat. His palms brushed the fleshy part of her high breasts, just barely peeping above the cut of her robe. “Child, are you pure?” His cock stirred at the thought of being her first. No. His master would be her first, the high priest firmly reminded himself.

As the others started a low chant, his hand shook. He wanted to see beneath her robe, wanted to rip it asunder. Praying he would find a way to keep his unseemly lust in check, he met her gaze again. So sweet... so innocently delicious. Wicked thoughts careened and crashed in his mind.

Much like the priest in the fantasy they were verbally weaving, Wesley was having difficulties controlling his desires and actions. The images in his head... a powerful priest about to take an innocent girl... inflamed his lust in the way that forbidden scenarios always did. But the true torture was that she was here with him, she was real... and only inches separated them.

Gazing into her eyes, he could see she felt the same... that her body was crying out for more... more than this ... Steeling himself, he ran his hand gently, lightly over her curves, his thumb barely grazing her nipple.

When the anticipated touch finally came in the form of a chaste caress, Willow felt a surge of excitement course through her in a way she could never have imagined possible. The fusion of innocence and power were a potent aphrodisiac, it seemed, and Willow felt herself slipping deeper under Wesley’s control and into the virginal mind of a young woman.

The virgin recoiled at the unexpected brush of his flesh against hers. Slowly, she lifted her chin until she was eye level to the priest’s waist, still not daring to meet his eyes. Tilting her head to the side, she licked dry lips before giving the prescribed answer. “Yes Father, I am pure,” her voice quivered, loud enough to be heard only by the Priest’s ears. “I offer my maidenhood to thine master so that he may rise again.” Feeling lightheaded, she wavered forward until her face was only a hairsbreadth from his midsection. She felt something stirring beneath his robe and she wondered if it concealed the beast she knew would be part of the ritual.

Swallowing her fear and accepting her fate, she tilted her head back and her eyes continue upward until she met his. Hair spilled down her back as she looked at him with a look of awe and wonder.

Her cheek brushed lightly against his manhood, making him go instantaneously hard. The priest gripped her shoulder, trying to steady himself, trying not to drown in the depths of her velvety eyes.

He chanted a few more words, his gaze dropping down to her now lightly heaving chest. "Are you here of your own free will," he asked, knowing that most could not resist the power of suggestion after ingesting the sacrificial potion.

Like a timid mouse trapped by a predator, her body quaked under the weight of his commanding gaze. She wanted to say no, but she felt herself nodding a whispered, “Yes.”

It was subtle, but he felt her breath move his robe. Damnation. He wanted this woman for himself, and had a quarter of an hour to get himself under control. The ritual would not be successful unless he took her in his master's name. A small voice in the back of his head queried how he would accomplish it when all he wanted was to order she take him in her mouth right now, that she suck until he told her to...

Forcing out a breath, he continued the ritual. "Then you shall be his bride."

He pushed her shift down, watching the material fold over as it slipped off her slender shoulders. Her heart was beating so rapidly that the pulse at her throat was visibly fluttering. How he wanted to put his mouth over it, how he wanted to show her what a well placed tongue could do.

Steeling his jaw, he gave a sharp tug on her shift, and let it fall to the ground. Her breasts, now tantalizingly free, cried out for the touch of a lover.

Willow gasped as the cool night air caressed her flesh, bringing her nipples to rigid peaks. Her satin cocktail dress pooled around her knees, exposing the sensual curves of shoulders, breasts, and hips to her lover. Welsey’s methodical, ritualistic movements were driving her crazy with desire, but he held her in place with only his gaze.

The priest dipped his finger in the oil and drew patterns over her chest. “In the name of the master.” The first time his palm brushed her delicate nipple, it was accidental. The second time, it was anything but accidental. The urge to squeeze her breast, to push her down on the slab and take her was growing in intensity.

The virgin sucked in a sharp breath as the shock of cool air struck her like a bolt of lightening. In contrast, the priest’s touch burned across her breast as if he was searing the mystical symbols into her flesh. She flinched in response to the unexpected sensation that jolted through her when he brushed her nipple, but when he did it again, she arched her back reflexively.

Now that he could feel the heat of her naked flesh so close... so fucking close...Wesley was driven to the edge. His imagination was on overdrive, his voice low and gutteral, as he explained to her how the 'high priest' was feeling at that moment, his tormented fight to resist the virgin.

“His cock is hard, harder than it has ever been... and the material of his robe rubs against it... taunting him to take her ... to claim her... to fuck her until the torturous ache is gone." Wesley pressed his arousal against her, hardly breathing as he struggled not to move against her.

Putting his hands under her arms, the high priest pulled her up, surreptitiously thrusting his hips forward. Just one touch, then he'd relinquish her as he should.

The virgin felt something firm pressing against her abdomen and she cast a downward glance, confused as to what it could be. Some sort of tool to be used during the ritual? Curious, she pressed back to try and discern its shape as she stepped out of her shift. She would swear an oath that whatever it was moved of its own volition, pulsing against her. A snake? The very thought of a serpent slithering over her body sent a shiver down her spine.

Waves of lust struck him. He wanted to push her hand over his tumescent arousal... wanted to tell her to stroke him long and hard.

Doing his best to look impassive, the priest drew the oil down her belly, the stared up at her as he got on his knees. Holy Father... his breath caressed her womanhood as he carefully marked her inner thighs, lingering... touching her in the way that was reserved for the master after he rose.

He knew the others couldn't see, that his head blocked their view. He shouldn't... but he did, he drew his finger back and forth over her opening. Would the virgin faint if he repeated the motion with his tongue?

An incoherent mewl escaped her lips as the kneeling priest prepared her for sacrifice. Each touch induced such blasphemous thoughts that the virgin assumed he must be excising her sins, cleansing her before the ritual. But when he stroked her most sacred spot, she bit her lip and swayed, praying that her body not divulge her secret arousal. Dizzy with the euphoric sensation, she steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. When she looked down and saw his lips so close to her parted thighs, she sucked in a breath, caught between the intensity of fear and anticipation.

One more stroke, this time he penetrated her slightly, closing his eyes as he found her both wet and tight. Desperate now, to get on with that part of the ritual, he got up. "Lay down," he commanded.

Red hair splashed against the white marble slab, a face so sweet and innocent, so wracked with fear trepidation, he wanted it... her... he wanted this to be for him. Thou shalt not covet thy master's treasures.

And yet, the priest raked her with his heated looks, lingering over the peaks of her breasts, her belly, her long legs closed tightly together, protecting what was no longer hers. "Open. Your legs," he clarified.

Wild green eyes filled with trepidation locked onto the priest’s. Trembling, she swallowed hard and tried to block out the monotone chants and torches that circled them. Her flesh turned pink with a heated flush, and her thighs clamped even tighter together in silent protest.

"Open, child," if only she were, then he wouldn't be sinning against his master by lusting after her.

While he coaxed her obedience, the others began to put candles on each corner of the pentagram that was drawn around them. "One leg must point there, and the other there," he said, pointing at the two corners. He locked gazes with her. "Obey."

Unable to deny the power he held over her, the virgin reluctantly submitted to the priest’s command. Slowly, her legs parted, slender thighs pulling taut as she moved into alignment with the symbol. Shadows from the torchlight danced across her flesh and veiled her quaking form.

The garden’s grass felt cool as the imaginary stone beneath Willow ’s now naked body. She bit her lip as Wesley forcibly moved her into the ritual position, his eyes dark with strangled lust. She was wet and ready for him and she looked up at him through green pools of desire.

She was magnificent. How he wanted to bring her to completion in a hundred different ways. How he wanted to see her squirm under him, beg for him, take him inside, let him be the first and the last. If only he'd seen her before, if only she weren't for his master.

An illogical rage washed over him. No... it was jealousy, and he had to contain it. He had to master himself.

After hoarsely whispering the words that were expected of him, the words that were a testament to his promise to breach her only in the name of the master, he lowered himself over her. Fully clothed, he lodged his thick fullness up against her womanhood, groaning lightly as he fought the urge to buck against her. This was to prepare him as much as her... and yet he'd been ready from almost the moment she walked into the pentagram and circle.

The chanting increased and grew louder. "The eyes to her soul belong to the master. Her mouth, her pulse, her life to the master. Her heart, her breasts, her body to the master."

Wesley kissed her eyes, then her mouth, forcing his tongue inside and stroking hers. The chanting would continue until he touched every part of her and felt she was ready.

Confused by the flood of foreign sensations that crashed through her body all at once, the virgin gasped and reflexively struggled against the kiss, parting her lips to him only when he forced her mouth open. When he moved his lips to her neck to suckle the pulse that fluttered wildly, she tried to shove him off, but with surprising force, the priest pinned her arms outward, aligning them again with the angle of the pentagram. She writhed beneath him as he kissed each of her breasts in turn, symbolically marking her heart as belonging to the master. All the while, she felt that curious bulge pressing mercilessly against her slick core and to her shame, her hips bucked in response to a primal need she didn’t understand.

Her resistance inflamed him, drove him to master her. But when she arched up against him and rubbed against his arousal, he lifted his head. "No. This is for him, not us. Lay still, don't take pleasure.”

It was at that moment that Willow realized that even in this position of vulnerability, she was as much in a position of power as he was. Wesley wanted her for himself, but in their role play, the priest was supposed to take her in the name of the Master. She held the power to make him take her for himself. She could control him… and she would.

Awash with the crimson flush of shame, the virgin tried to lay still, but as his breaths came quicker, so did hers.

It was an easier order to give, than to follow. He tried to be as mechanical as possible, to try to think of anything but how good it felt to delve his tongue in her mouth... how good she tasted, how she squirmed under him, how much more she'd squirm if he weren't holding her in place as he was... "Sweet... don't please... please don't move," he begged, as a force greater than his will swamped him with desire.

The priest continued to bump up against bundles of nerves that caused the virgin to cry out in a desperate plea. Her body seemed to act on its own volition, angling in such a way that she could find the relief she needed each time he crashed against her aching core. “Please – please,” she begged in a strangled whisper, locking her eyes on his.

Willow arched her back, enticing him, urging him to take her. Wearing only black thigh high stockings and spiked heels, her arms and legs positioned along the angles of the imaginary pentagram she whispered huskily, “Wesley… I want you.”

He was momentarily pulled out of the fantasy and saw her, Willow ... wanting him, flexing those long beautiful legs he was kneeling between. He ran his hand up her thigh, felt her buttocks tighten, heard her breath hitch when he bore down harder against her softness. Resisting her was as difficult in reality, as it was in the fantasy. And yet... he'd jealously wanted that fantasy... to be the one who played it out with her. And by God... he would give her the fantasy she'd wanted.

"Don't speak so," he said rather harshly, not only for her benefit, but also for his... for the others who now surrounded them... who would bear witness to the taking. "Don't move so," he added, lifting himself up to remove the robe. Someone took it away. He also removed the loose pants he'd worn under, trying to hold her gaze even as her eyes shifted to that part of him that jutted out toward her. Perhaps if she feared him a little, she wouldn't encourage him, and this would be over quickly and in the manner it ought to be done.

But his gaze dropped to her milky breasts, as he lowered himself over her again, he felt the madness grip him again. He fought... chanting as he rubbed himself against her slick opening... chanting as he tried to ignore the pleasures of his flesh in favor of a higher cause.

Wesley undid his dress pants, and freed himself. He rubbed against Willow , found her wet and ready for him... pushed slightly inside her and groaned at the way she closed around his tip, pulled at him.

Hips jerked involuntarily and the virgin’s eyes widened to green discs rippled with flecks of gold. She sucked in sharp breath at the unexpected feel of something rigid sliding over the sensitive bundle of nerves. It was the extension of the priest, she knew now, having seen it protruding like a staff from his loins. It felt thick and hot and pulsed as if alive. Terrified by the prospect that he planned to use it to claim her maidenhood, her arms came up in a feeble attempt to push him away, only to be shoved roughly back into their place along the pentagram. All she could do to in protest of his actions was buck her hips and try to squeeze her legs closed. “Please father… I’m afraid it will hurt,” she whimpered, locking eyes with him, imploring him to be gentler.

Completely enveloped in her role, Willow trembled in anticipation as if it really was the first time she’d felt Wesley’s cock nudging against her opening seeking entrance. Lost to the fantasy, she wasn’t sure who was in control anymore as she moaned out his name, begging him to take her hard and fast, not caring who might hear her guttural pleas.

"Open," he snapped, not be because he wanted the ritual to proceed, but because he wanted... needed to be inside her. Somehow, this virgin had woven her own spell over him... something that had never happened before. Using his knee, he forced her legs to open wider, and lodged himself at her entrance.

Someone beat on a drum, an accompaniment to the chanting. The priest bucked against her entrance a few times, allowing her to get used to him, even as he pinned her wrists down. "Accept me... accept him," he corrected, slowly pushing inside her.

She was so tight around him, he was afraid to move... and afraid he could not help but to move. The urge to ignore her feelings, and take her with deep strokes, was growing. Fighting it, he started to move slowly, biting his lip as a means of tamping the pleasure he felt. The pleasure he ought not feel.

His breath grew harsher, heavier as he started to thrust. Every time her muscles tensed and squeezed around him, a sound of pleasure broke from him. He whispered a plea for help, and one of the brothers brought a whip down across his back. No pleasure... no pleasure...

The pressure grew more intense as he pressed inside her, stretching her core beyond its outer limits. Her breaths came hard and fast as she strained against him, her heart racing faster than a hummingbird in flight. When he finally pushed past her maidenhood, she cried out in pain, throwing her head back against the hard stone as she clamped around him in an involuntary response to the invasion.

Willow moaned and bucked hard against Wesley, angling her pelvis to draw him deeper inside and then using the muscles of her inner walls to force him back out, willing him to thrust so she could feel him sliding in and out of her heated core, giving her what she craved.

He might be controlling or leading in the fantasy, but he had no doubts about who was bending the other to their will here and now. She was easily working his body in ways he hadn't known possible, making him pulse and ache, driving him to the brink. In and out, he thrust, groaning as she tightened around him each time he pulled back. Keeping his strokes slow had never been so hard, keeping them shallow was impossible as he buried himself to the hilt.

He fought against thoughts of triumph, of claiming her maidenhead, or touching her where no other had before. He fought against the wild beat of his heart and the urge to fuck her like a beast, knowing no limits, considering no others... but finding his pleasure. And yet he held still until she relaxed around him, stared in to her eyes hoping to help her relax. But when she suddenly moved her hips up, instinctively drawing him deeper in her, and when the virgin's breaths started coming as quickly as his, he was lost.

"Stop that," he urged the virgin, gripping her hips as he thrust inside, harder and harder each time, "don't squeeze... unh..unh..." He was lifting her with every stroke, fucking her like she was his, like the master didn't matter. It angered him, he shouted and begged for her to stop it, he cried out when the stings of the whip across his back failed their mission... like the forces of nature, this had become uncontrollable.

Still joined with her, he got up on his knees and kept thrusting while she bowed back, her hair sweeping the marble slab each time they moved. He wanted to shout her name, but didn't know it.

Pain. Pleasure. She could no longer discern the difference as her voice and body cried out in a primal response. Awash with the bright hue of shame, the virgin’s arms flung over her head as he dragged her hips upward to impale her even deeper still. Fingers clutched the edge of the altar platform and legs tightened around his waist in a desperate attempt to gain purchase, but he overpowered her with fervent grunts, driving his shaft into her again and again.

Toes curled and abdomen clenched in response to the ever intensifying sensations that rolled over her like a thunder cloud. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly the cloud opened up and a clap of thunder crashed over her, shooting bolts of lightening into her very core. Eyes full of wonder popped wide and then slammed shut as euphoric waves crashed over her and all she could do was ride it out like a ship tossed helplessly through a stormy sea of rapture and untamed bliss.

The fantasy ended, but his need still rode him full force. "Oh God... Willow ," he whispered, trying to wedge his hands under her to cushion her body against being ground into the grass with every jarring thrust of his hips. How had they ended up on the ground? He had no idea and was incapable of complicated thought. All he knew was she was his, that she wanted him as bad as he'd wanted her... and that it went beyond the fantasy, whether she would acknowledge it or not.

He felt her wince... saw the stone under her shoulder, and growled as he rolled them over, so that she was sprawled on top of him. Raising his hips, he kept thrusting, molding her to him as he did so. He had to get there... needed it so bad that their surroundings didn't matter, that the possibility of detection didn't matter. "Fuck... arghhh..." his back stiffened but he kept jerking up, intent on giving her as much pleasure as he could.

As the tidal wave crested, fantasy and reality merged and Willow came a thunderous force more powerful than anything she could have imagined. Gasping out primal mewls of pleasure she was lost and found a thousands times over before she even realized she was riding Wesley with grinding motions, hissing through clenched teeth as she drew him to peak with her.

Breathing heavily, eyes half lidded, he watched her and ran his hands up and down her thighs, still straddling him, and up her waist. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed beyond repair, her stocking torn where he'd clawed through it, and yet he couldn't think of a single thing that could make her more perfect than she was at this moment. "Perhaps I should warn you... the virgin... she later turned out to be a hellion who rode the high priest into the ground." A smile curved his lips as he took a deep breath, knowing he ought to get up.

Willow collapsed on top of him with giddy laughter, her bare chest heaving against his. His tuxedo shirt lay open and she saw that buttons were missing. “I hope the priest has a good tailor…” she flicked a stray button that caught him on the ear as she rolled off, slipping into a perfect fit nuzzled against his side.

"Mmm," he looked down, burying his nose in her hair and drawing a deep breath. He would never get tired of her scent... she was as fresh as the gardens around them. "Perhaps the virgin knows how to sew. If she makes it a habit to tear his clothes, it's only right that she put them back together."

He ran his hand down her back, hugging her close. "Lord... I don't want to get up..."

Behind the thicket of bushes, a man cleared his throat followed by a sharp shush and a female voice whispering, “Leave them be, Harold… you heard the tour guide. They’ve fallen victim to the manor’s spirit.”

Willow let out a startled eep and scrambled for her clothes, blushing furiously as she wiggled into back into her dress.

Wesley chuckled and got up more slowly, sliding behind her to help her with her dress. "I think we just solved the mystery... the nymphomaniac ghost provides an excellent excuse for couples, doesn't it?"

Stepping back, he tried to give some semblance of order to his clothes. "I think we'd best miss the lecture."

Fingering through her hair in an attempt to put it back up into its pin produced a mixture of grass clippings and twigs so Willow nodded in agreement. “We can catch the podcast,” she said with a wry smirk, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Together, they slipped out the back gate of the garden and Wesley walked her to her car. Her entire body still hummed with exhilaration, riding the high of their amorous adventure.

“That was so amazing…” Willow blurted impulsively “…you know, it’s going to be tough to beat that next time…” the words fell out before the reality of their unconventional relationship hit her. There was no guarantee there would be a next time. “I mean, not that we will… or have to… that was just—” she stumbled helplessly over her words, suddenly feeling awkward. Their previous encounters had all ended as anonymously as they’d started – but now here they were. Willow and Wesley. “—just, you know… I had fun. With you.” She cast her gaze to the pavement so he wouldn’t see the fear of rejection in her eyes.

He stared at her for a good long moment. She's said the very words he'd planned to, but she was nervous... understandably so. Lifting her chin up, he forced her to look at him. "I was about to suggest that I host a podcast party for two tomorrow evening. I've been told I'm not that atrocious of a cook, and if the reports are wrong, we can always order in."

Goddess help her, she was falling in love with a man who had no idea what a podcast was. Willow ’s smile lit up and her head bobbed. “Not atrocious. That’s quite a glowing review. How can I turn down that offer? I’ll bring the wine and the iPod,” she turned her face upward, inviting a kiss.

"The... right for the..." He'd best get on the computer and figure out exactly what hosting a podcast entailed, before he made a fool of himself. Knowing when silence was the best option, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her until neither one had any breath left.

Before he relinquished his hold, he spoke against her ear. "Tomorrow night... no fantasies. It will be just you and me. Warts, scars and all..."

Stepping back, he waited for her reaction. If she rejected his suggestion, he would do what she wanted. If fantasies were to be their only crossing grounds, he'd accept it.

Still breathless from the kiss, Willow bit her bottom lip as he managed to articulate what she’d been afraid to. “Not all witches have warts you know…” she answered with an impish smile.

(A/N: Sorry for the slowness. Please let us know if you are still reading/enjoying)