Chapter Text
Every cell in his body hums as he explores Buffy’s body, memorizing the sounds she makes when he finds a particularly sensitive and pleasurable area. Her skin is soft as a freshly opened flower petal, and her scent carries hints of amber and vanilla, with her musky arousal mixed in. A needy whimper escapes her throat when he drags his tongue from her inner thigh to her core, slick with desire and waiting for him. Teasingly glancing up at her, he slowly positions her legs over his shoulders, a grin forming on his lips when she makes eye contact with him.
Her hands drop to his head, fingers twisting in his hair, holding him in place, not that he’d ever leave this little corner of heaven before him. With the tip of his tongue, he licks her from her opening to her bundle of nerves, lazily circling it, causing her back to arch as she moans his name.
“Ripper!”
**
Giles’ eyes pop open, his chest heaving as if he just ran a marathon. “Oh, oh dear lord,” he gasps in the darkness of his loft, realizing his dreams about Buffy have taken a turn toward the insanely erotic and his body is responding to it, and not just his breathing or the sheen of sweat that covers him, but his painfully hard cock which is leaking all over his pajama bottoms, creating quite the mess.
He sits up, bringing his hand to his mouth, wiping at his chin, expecting to find her juices dribbling down onto his neck, but all he finds is sweaty stubble, although her scent lingers in the air, and her taste settles in his throat. A pounding headache forces him to lie down again, where he slips back into his dream state.
**
“Ohhh,” Buffy moans. “Please, I need you inside of me,” she begs as Ripper sucks her clit into his mouth.
He ignores her pleas until she moans his name again, coming hard on his face. “Good girl,” he whispers, blowing gently across her core, allowing her to ride the aftershocks of her pleasure without becoming overstimulated. “Good girl.”
Suddenly, she uses her Slayer strength to pull him up and flip him over so she’s lying on top of him, staring into his eyes. She kisses him hard and fast, nearly banging their teeth together, and just when it seems he’ll black out from lack of air, she breaks the kiss and gazes at him through dark and heavy eyes. “I need you inside of me. Now.”
**
Giles groans loudly in his sleep, waking up to the sensation of his cock sliding into her wetness, inch by glorious inch. Her tightness envelopes him, caressing him in a way he’s never felt before, a euphoric feeling that renders him barely capable of speech. “Oh, ah, wh-what’s, ahhhhhh.”
Fighting it is pointless – he feels possessed, visions of Buffy riding him flashing before his eyes as his hips move to counter her rhythm. He grips the bedding around him until his knuckles turn white, the sheets threatening to tear in his grasp, then a pain shoots through his temple and he releases them, his entire body going limp, sending him back to his dream.
**
She doesn’t know when it happened – dawn has arrived, her bedroom drenched in bright sunlight shining through the curtains. But this isn’t just any day, unfortunately. This is the day Ripper goes home, and that realization makes her heart hurt, although she vows to hide that from him. Their final hours together should be happy ones so the memories he has of her will forever put a smile on his face, because she knows the truth: Ripper isn’t her Giles, which means she will never see him again.
“How many times was that?” she murmurs, tightening her grip across his chest and snuggling even further against him.
“Dunno. Are we keeping track?” he asks cheekily, knowing his skills between the sheets have left quite an impression on her.
“No, I guess not,” she sighs happily. “But that was at least three times.”
He tightens his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close enough to press his lips to her forehead, caressing her arm across his chest with his free hand. “What’s on your mind, love?”
“I’m thinking about how amazing last night was, how amazing you are. This is my post-coital Buffy-bask.”
Ripper smiles against the top of her head, prompting her to hum her approval.
She moves her head to give him a tiny peck on the lips. “Anything on your mind?” she asks.
“I was thinking…”
His tone indicates this is a deep thought, not some off-the-cuff remark that’ll either have her laughing with joy, or miffed that he ruined the moment. “Uh-oh.”
“Nothing bad. I was thinking…why can’t I stay here?”
Buffy draws in a deep breath, preparing a convincing answer, not just for him, but herself, too. “What about your friend Ehtan? How do you know he won’t figure out a way to get you back? Then you’ll be torn away from here.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“And your family? Your mom and dad?”
He inhales sharply, holding his breath deep in his lungs, Buffy keenly aware of how the idea of never seeing them again makes him uncomfortable. Despite their differences, it’s obvious he isn’t ready to let go of them completely, not yet.
“And then there’s the fact you don’t belong in this time. We don’t know the consequences of your staying here,” she explains, finding it’s easier to come up with all these reasons than she thought it would be. “You have an entire life to live before 1999. Something tells me your best is yet to come.” And she knows that for a fact.
Ripper gives her a long kiss, and she wonders if it’s because he agrees with her or wants her to be quiet because she’s making too much sense. “You’re right,” he sighs, giving her another kiss. “Maybe you can come back to 1975 with me.”
Why didn’t I see that coming? The first morning he was here, she told him if they were both in 1975, they’d be good friends. He’s probably been considering it ever since, and now that she’s waltzed right into that suggestion, she’ll have to list all the compelling reasons that it can’t happen, if she can think of any.
“I’m the Slayer, and we don’t know what’ll happen when your time suddenly has two Slayers.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” he answers quickly, confirming to her he has thought about this long enough to prepare answers for her questions. “Don’t you see, love? It’s your opportunity to do something besides be the Slayer.”
“Like what?”
“Go to university and not worry about patrolling. Get a job somewhere and have a different career. And…”
She waits for him to finish, but he seems content to pepper soft kisses around her face, like he’s already thinking about how to respond when she shoots this next suggestion down. “And…what?”
“I thought…,” Ripper glances down at her, his eyes so soft she wants to melt, “you could be my girl.”
This is a temptation she didn’t expect. Not only to have a life outside of Slaying, but to have a boyfriend who genuinely cares about her, one she knows will mature into a responsible man who will offer her unconditional love and support. AND he isn’t a vampire. If anything can make her forget about her calling and her past with Angel, it’s having a healthy, normal life with Ripper, or as normal a life one can have when traveling back in time. But there are reasons it can’t happen, very obvious and important reasons. “My mom, my friends – I can’t leave them. I know you understand that,” she explains, and he nods his head.
“And him. You won’t leave your Watcher, either,” he states in a flat tone, resigned to the fact he will always come in second place next to him. “Buffy, I think we have something, and after last night, I was hoping you felt the same way.”
“I do! I wish I could explain, I really do. But…,” she lets out a forceful sigh-groan, fighting the urge to tell him everything, ultimately deciding against it. The afterglow from a sensational night together fades from her face, replaced with a sad and conflicted expression.
Ripper uses his thumb and index finger to lift her chin so he can look in her eyes and convey his sincerity. “Didn’t mean to get you down. I understand your reasons, and I’m not upset.”
There you go being all supportive-guy again. “I want our last moments together to be good ones. Think we can make that happen?” she asks with a hopeful expression, still conflicted but able to convincingly hide it from him.
“Anything for you, my love. Anything at all.”
**
Giles awakens in a pain-induced daze, his eyes barely able to open. His bed is torn apart, with the fitted sheet wrenched loose from the corners and bunched up near the middle of the mattress, his comforter in a pile on the floor, and the flat sheet strangely stuck to his midsection. He feels, and looks, like utter hell.
But he’s determined to get out of bed, go downstairs to use the loo, and find a bite to eat that he can wash down with a strong pot of coffee. Then it’ll be back to research, trying to figure out what Buffy hasn’t told him and why he cannot be present for the spell. That is, assuming he can open his eyes and wrestle this clingy sheet off him.
“What the…?” he grumbles under his breath as he realizes the sheet is wet, as are his pajama bottoms. As he peels the sheet away, the smell of ejaculate fills the air. “It’s as if I’m thirteen years old again.” That thought concerns him, so he brings his hands up to his face, feeling his rough stubble, and then smooths one hand down his chest, noting the hair present. “Not thirteen,” he sighs in relief, satisfied that Ethan’s spell isn’t the type to make him a teenager again because that would be a whole new level of cruelty. Add to his relief that Buffy didn’t spend the entire night with him, because how would he ever face her again after such an embarrassing mess?
His brain starts working to put the pieces of this puzzle together, recalling the dreams he had about her overnight. Erotic times ten, along with visions, sounds, scents, and incredible sensations of having sex with her all night long – thus the mess in his drawers. Except that wasn’t sex, he’s almost afraid to admit although he knows it’s true. He was making love to her, fiery, passionate love, and he can still feel the stranglehold it has on his soul. “Dear lord,” he murmurs, jumping out of bed and wadding up the sheets into a ball, ignoring his pounding headache as he jogs down the steps and around the corner, making his way toward the laundry room in the hallway.
After stripping off his pajamas and tossing them in the washer with the sheets, he heads to the bathroom to wash his sinful pleasures away. Thoughts of her naked, her hands exploring his entire his body, her lips and tongue following, are filling his head, along with his cock suddenly standing at attention again.
**
Buffy manages to catch her breath enough to speak. “You’re shaking,” she whispers, caressing Ripper’s cheek as he hovers over her, pupils blown, sweat dripping from his hairline down to his jaw, then onto his neck.
“That was…,” he gasps, trying to find the words and some semblance of composure.
“Yeah, it was,” she agrees.
He gazes down at her, a quick smile appearing on his face before it disappears and he has to draw in another breath, and she swears some of those beads of sweat on his cheeks are actually tears. “Buffy…I…I…,” he stammers, looking at her with such intensity, she can sense what he’s about to say, “I’ve never been this way…I mean this open, vulnerable you might say, with any girl before. And I’m certain I know why. Buffy, I lo-”
She presses her finger against his lips, preventing him from finishing what is sure to be a declaration that she can’t deal with right now. “Shhhh. Don’t. Please don’t.”
“But-”
“You can’t. We shouldn’t say these things. You’re leaving today, and if you say what I think you’re going to say, then these aren’t good moments anymore. Then it all becomes tragic and depressing, filled with regret. Those aren’t the memories I want. Those aren’t the memories we deserve. So please don’t. Please don’t say it.”
**
Giles falls to his knees in the shower, the water raining down onto his exhausted body. His headache is the least of his concern now. A lightning bolt of grief has just shattered his heart, and he sobs uncontrollably, crawling to the end of the bathtub, knees pulled to his chest, both hands covering his eyes as his body shakes with gut-wrenching sorrow he hasn’t felt this intensely since losing Jenny. Except that was a rage-filled sorrow, deep with regret, whereas this sorrow’s origins are a mystery to him and, strangely enough, filled with joy at the same time.
All he can think about is Buffy. Has something happened to her? He’ll never forgive himself, or Ethan for that matter, if this spell that has rendered him unable to perform his Watcher duties has somehow led to her demise. But he doesn’t feel her absence, instead quite the opposite, as if she’s right in front of him, except he cannot reach her and hold her close like he yearns to do.
Is this it for him? Is that what’s happening? Willow’s magic has failed to break the spell, and he truly is going to die? Because something has changed, drastically, and he feels like he’s being torn in two.
**
Ever since she stopped him from saying what was on his mind, Ripper’s been unusually quiet. Buffy can feel his intense gaze on her when she dresses after showering. It’s not the kind of lustful stare she would expect after the most incredible night and morning of her life. It’s the kind that is studious, memorizing everything about her so he doesn’t forget even the most minor detail, like the little birthmark near her left hipbone, and how she combs out her wet hair, starting with the right side first. These memories are the only things he will carry back with him to 1975.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worried that his silence may mean something more.
A small smile appears on his lips, just enough to provide her with some comfort, before he leaves the bed and walks to her, placing both of his hands on her upper arms. “Yeah. I get why you don’t want me to say it, but I can at least spend the rest of our time together showing you how I feel.”
“I’d like that,” she replies, convincing herself that the rest of the day will go smoothly.
After he showers and puts on the clothes he arrived in, he finds a book of poetry on the shelf in the living room. Guiding her to the couch, he pulls her feet up onto his lap so he can massage them while reading aloud each romantic verse he can find.
When she first woke up, she was worried they would watch the clock all morning, counting down the minutes until Willow arrived to do the spell, a sense of dread creeping up on them as each second ticked away. But that hasn’t happened. She’s mesmerized by his attentiveness, from the sensual foot massage to the tone of his voice as he reads poetry, and the real surprise – when he fetches the guitar and sings an original song he was working on before being transported to the future. This time instead of singing about a dark-haired, gorgeous London gal, he sings of a blonde-haired beauty from Southern California, a woman who has completely taken his breath away and changed him as a man.
So many words threaten to spill out of her mouth as he sets the guitar aside and pulls her into his arms. Feelings she never thought she’d experience again after her relationship with Angel are percolating inside her heart, but it would hardly be fair for her to utter the word she didn’t want him to say this morning. Or is it less fair to stay quiet, bottle everything up, and let him go home without a hint of what he truly means to her, and what his future holds?
As she opens her mouth to tell him, he captures her lips with his, preventing her from speaking, as if he knows she’s going to break her rule of not saying certain things. She allows herself one final snog, for the clock over his shoulder indicates Willow will be here any minute.
**
His fingers glide gently across his mouth, the taste of Buffy’s strawberry lip gloss present on his lips. Giles closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the books laid out in front of him. He feels he’s close to solving this mystery, just like he feels Buffy is closer to him than ever, although he cannot explain that latter part…yet.
A song plays repeatedly in his mind, like one of those damn ear worms that sets up shop in your head and drives you nuts for a day, only this isn’t a popular song. It’s one he wrote many years ago, a song he hoped would make him a rock star, a rather silly notion now that he looks back on it. The lyrics have changed, though. Originally written about a young, dark-haired woman he used to see in the crowd at one of the bars he played at in downtown London during his Ripper days, they are now about a lovely blonde from California. Buffy?
**
Nobody answers the door, so Willow lets herself in, carrying a large bag of items she will need for the spell. She immediately turns toward the living room, since they will need floor space large enough to create a magical circle which will open a time portal for Ripper to step through.
“Ohh, hey, guys?” she says, stumbling upon Buffy and Ripper tangled in each other’s arms. “I’m here.”
They break their kiss, searching each other’s eyes for a long moment, Ripper dragging his finger down the side of Buffy’s face while they both try to hide how reluctant they are for this to be over.
“Do you want me to come back later?” Willow asks, sensing the tension in the room.
Buffy sits mute, unable to tear her eyes away from him, unwilling to tell Willow to set up the spell because she knows the minute Ripper is gone, a part of her heart will go with him, and lord knows she can’t handle any more pieces of her heart being torn away. Tears begin to well in her eyes, so she grits her teeth a few times, swallowing hard and forcing them away.
“Be brave, my love,” Ripper whispers, giving her a peck on the nose before turning his attention to Willow. “Time for me to go home.”
**
“Good show, Giles. You’re still alive,” he murmurs against the pages of a book, having fallen face down into his copy of ‘Ancient Spells and Afflictions: An Encyclopedia for Watchers’.
“This is rather pointless,” he complains, turning his head to the side to let the page cool his cheek. It’s the third time he’s looked through this volume to no avail. There’s nothing left in his bookcase to look through, and nothing on that dread computer he fired up yesterday, either.
Think, old man. Ethan cast a spell which had unintended consequences. Buffy and Willow say they can fix it, but if I’m there, the counter spell may not work. That makes no sense.
Buffy was attacked on her way home. Turns out she has a guest she never mentioned before, a male guest who patched her up. I tended to her wounds the next morning. Her hand was mostly healed. Her hand…
I experienced vivid dreams of her last night, erotic, intense. I cried for an hour in the bath this morning, wracked with grief of unknown origin.
I’m so tired…
**
Ripper moves some tables aside to clear enough space in the living room for Buffy and Willow to create the magical circle. “What’s next?” he asks, watching them unpack the items from Willow’s bag.
“Buffy and I will draw the circle and light the candles. All you have to do is stand over here until I tell you to enter the circle. Then you’ll be transported home,” Willow explains.
“Do you have everything? Your lighter and stuff?” Buffy asks.
“I’ll get them,” he answers, before leaving the living room and taking the stairs two at a time.
Buffy crawls on the floor to trace the circle while Willow follows behind, setting five candles along the edge equidistant from each other. “How long will this take?” she asks.
“Just a few minutes for the incantation, then the portal will open, and once Ripper steps inside, he’ll fade away.”
“So it’s not poof? It’s a fade?”
“Um, I guess,” Willow shrugs.
“Well, which is it? Shouldn’t you know these things? How will we know it worked?” Buffy barks out the questions.
“It’s a fade, and don’t worry, it’ll work. Buffy, are you okay? You seem rather stressed. And I thought you weren’t going to kiss him, but when I walked in, there was a ton of kissage happening.”
Buffy shifts her eyes to the steps, wondering why Ripper hasn’t returned. “Let’s just focus so you don’t screw this up.”
Willow narrows her eyes, a pout forming on her lip. “Yeah, good idea,” she grumbles, trying not to be offended.
Ripper bounds down the steps, shoving his stash in his back pocket, and immediately walking to Buffy who cannot look at him for fear of bawling her eyes out.
Be brave. Be brave. Be a brave Buffy. I’m trying to be brave.
Willow begins the incantation. “Norn Urd, I call upon thee…”
This is happening way too fast. I’m not ready. Buffy turns to Ripper, finally meeting his eyes. “This is happening too fast. This isn’t fair.”
Placing an arm around her shoulder, he attempts to comfort her, only to have her stand stiff by his side. “Be brave,” he whispers.
“I can’t! I’m trying so hard, but it’s not working!” she complains.
He pulls her into his arms, brushing kisses against the crown of her head.
Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t cry. Be brave.
Willow continues the incantation. “There’s a man who does not belong in this time. Take him from this future tense and guide him safely home to our past tense.”
“Almost time,” Ripper says, relaxing his grip, and taking a deep, nervous breath.
Buffy tilts her chin up so he can see her face. This isn’t fair. “I know who you are.”
“I know who you are, too,” he replies, a warm smile on his face which contrasts the despair in his eyes.
“No, you don’t understand!” she exclaims, stomping her foot on the floor. “I know you! Your name is Rupert Edmund Giles,” she blurts out, leaving him stunned.
“How do you-” he begins, only to be cut off.
“And the reason I know that is because…,” she eyes Willow who is watching the portal take shape, “is because you’re my Watcher!”
Ripper’s jaw hangs loose as he blinks several times, letting the words sink in.
“Please don’t be mad! Please don’t hate me!” Buffy begs. “I know who you are,” she repeats, her voice so weak and raw from fighting back tears that it’s barely recognizable. “You’re everything to me. Everything.”
He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes wide in disbelief as he comes to terms with all that has happened over the past week. Then the corners of his mouth quirk up, and he giggles quietly first, before raising his hand to cover his mouth, trying to keep from busting out into a full-blown belly laugh.
Buffy narrows her eyes, confused by his laughter, working out in her head how hurt she should be by his reaction. “Why is this funny to you?”
“I’m not laughing at you,” he explains, pulling her into his arms. “I’m relieved, my love. This isn’t goodbye. It’s merely the beginning, because now I know for certain we’ll meet again.”
“Guys, I hate to break this up, but I don’t know how long this portal will stay open,” Willow warns, watching it wobble inside the circle.
Buffy stands on her tiptoes, giving Ripper a kiss he’ll never forget. “It’s time,” she breathes out the words, caressing his cheek before taking a step back.
Holding her gaze, he walks backwards until he’s at the edge of the circle, the adoration in his eyes tempting her to go with him. “I’ll see you soon, my love.” Before she can join him, he takes one final step, entering the circle and fading out of her sight, the portal dissolving shortly after.
**
Giles turns his head, laying his other cheek flat against the book, mumbling in his sleepy daze as he recalls his recent interactions with Buffy.
“Allow me tend to your wounds,” he says out loud, remembering the gash she had on her forehead and the wrap on her hand. He recalls turning her hand over, following the direction of the wrap until finding the safety pin tucked beneath it, the trick his father taught him when he was twelve years old.
He isn’t new, he’s…well…he’s from….”
“-your past?”
Giles furrows his brow against the book. Even during his dreams, his Watcher brain is constantly trying to make connections and solve problems.
Your name is Rupert Edmund Giles…you’re my Watcher!
He lifts his head from the book, then sits straight up in his chair as the final pieces fall into place. The headache which has plagued him for a week has vanished, and the debilitating weakness he has been experiencing has all but disappeared. He opens his eyes.
“Of course!” he exclaims, running to his bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.
**
Willow takes the last candle from Buffy, placing it carefully in her bag. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, concerned about her best friend. Buffy’s barely said two words since Ripper went away.
“I’ll be fine,” she lies, thinking if she repeats it enough times, it’ll be true. “I just need some alone time.”
“Alright,” Willow replies in a skeptical and suspicious tone. “You’re not gonna do anything bad, like leave again for a few months, are you?”
“No,” Buffy assures her. “My days as a runaway are over. I’ve grown since then.”
Willow lets out a sympathetic sigh. “Sucks to be an adult, doesn’t it?”
Does it ever. “Yeah, something like that.”
“If you change your mind, I’ll be at Oz’s place. Don’t be afraid to call.”
Buffy nods her head and shows her to the door, then watches her drive away. The sun is shining brightly, and birds are chirping in the trees, but all she wants to do is gather the laundry, wash the dishes, take the garbage out, anything to take her mind off Ripper’s absence. How she’s held it together this long without bawling like a baby is a mystery. Maybe she has matured after all, managing grief the adult way – burying it under mundane tasks where it can be kept at bay as she goes through the motions of life, until it finally fades away so she can almost forget about it.
She heads upstairs to gather her sheets, stopping long enough to toss some dirty towels from the bathroom into a laundry basket sitting in the hallway before she enters her room. A folded piece of paper with her name on it is propped up beside her mirror, written in Giles’ handwriting. Sitting in front of the paper to keep it from sliding down is Ripper’s silver cross earring that he was wearing the night she found him in the cemetery.
She reaches for the paper, careful not to disturb the earring, because she’s losing her battle with grief from just the sight of it. Upon unfolding the paper, she finds the words she forbid him to say this morning. Sneaky guy, writing them down so he wouldn’t violate their agreement. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but soon, a tear rolls down her cheek, followed by several more. Tossing the note aside, she runs to her bed, crashing face down on the pillow they shared. His scent still lingers on the pillowcase, and she dissolves into the weeping mess she was trying to avoid.
“Buffy?”
Giles’ voice makes her jump from the bed. She catches a glimpse of him before turning her back to hide her pain. “Yeah?” she manages to choke out. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better, thank you. I was hoping we could talk.”
“Now’s not a good time,” she explains, and that is the absolute truth. “I’ll stop by later.”
Giles observes her shoulders shaking, noting a quiet sob which she tries to cover by shifting her feet. “Buffy, please look at me,” he gently requests.
She doesn’t answer, instead shaking her head.
He steps inside the doorway, glancing around the room until his eyes land on her CD collection. Thumbing over the titles, he pauses at the cover for “A Boy Named Goo”. After pulling it out and flipping it over, he silently reads the song titles before placing it back on the shelf. “It’s lonely where you are.”
She reaches for a tissue, drying her eyes and wiping her nose before turning around. Being the caring Watcher that he is, he’s gazing at her with compassion in his eyes, keeping his distance because her Giles would never encroach upon her personal space without permission when she’s this upset. “Why…why did you say that?”
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the bandage which he removed from her hand a day ago, letting it dangle from the safety pin pinched firmly between his thumb and index finger. “The pin keeps the bandage from working itself free. My father used this trick and passed it along to me when I entered the Watcher’s Academy. As far as I know, I’m the only person who uses it. That is, except for your mysterious house guest, of course.”
Buffy stands motionless, searching his eyes for some sort of proof that she had this all wrong. Was Ripper really her Giles after all, or could it be that weird theory Willow tried to explain, the one where our future shapes our past, or something else they didn’t think of?
Giles takes a small step closer, looking at her with the exact same adoration in his eyes that Ripper had when he took his final step into the portal. “I’ve been experiencing vivid dreams. At first, I thought they were fake visions Ethan was putting in my head. I’ve since come to realize they were not fabrications, but memories someone was sharing with me.”
Hope begins to bubble up inside of her, but she forces that feeling away, because when it comes to Buffy and hope, she always winds up devastated. “What kind of memories?” she sniffles as they both take a step toward each other.
“Deeply personal memories – of an emotional and… rather physical nature.”
They meet in the middle of her room, two souls looking for answers from one another, trying to make sense of the past. Giles reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear, then gliding his fingers along her jawline to lift her chin to him, before dropping his hand at his side.
Be brave. “And how did you feel about those deeply personal memories?”
“I was concerned at first, but then…”
“Then?” she asks, the hope in her heart breaking free, flickering in her now brightened eyes.
“Then I became intrigued, and open to the possibility.”
Smoothing her palms up his chest, she pauses at the opening to his shirt, her index finger brushing against the bit of chest hair peeking out. She never paid much attention before, never even looked his way twice, her youth blinding her to his physical attractiveness. Her hands continue up his chest, one sliding around the back of his head to fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck, soft and wavy, even after all these years. The fingers of her other hand brush against the worry line on his head before she settles her palm against his cheek, her thumb lightly stroking the corner of his mouth.
His breathing becomes heavy, the way a man breathes when he’s trying to remain calm in the hands of a woman he desires. She pulls him close enough so their foreheads touch, and after waiting for his breathing to even out, she moves her body closer, until she’s pressed firmly against him. “Tell me about the physical nature of your dreams,” she says in a soft voice. “Were they about me?”
“Indeed they were,” he replies, slipping an arm around her waist to hold her in place.
“And what were you doing in these dreams?”
“I was making love to you.”
She catches her breath, pulling her head back just far enough to shake it, giving him a coy look. “I was there. That’s not how I remember it.”
Leaning over so his mouth is close to her ear, his lips brush against her lobe when he corrects himself. “I was making love with you,” he whispers.
She nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin.
Giles hugs her tighter. “We need to talk about what happened.”
She nods her head in agreement. “We will. But right now, I want you to kiss me.”
He brushes his lips on that delicate area between her earlobe and her neck, then places gentle kisses along her jawline. “As I recall, you enjoy this.”
She hums her approval. “I do. But my personal favorite,” she says, moving her head to face him, “is right here,” she points at her mouth.
He tilts his chin, capturing her lips with his, creating a new memory they will never forget.