It was warmer than she remembered, and more tender this time. His scent was rich and heady, masculine and clean, the smell of him made her skin tingle. It was his touch that was passion this time. Restrained and soft, tentative and exploratory….fingers brushing her cheek, trailing through her hair, brushing over her side…resting gently on the small of her back. She moaned softly into his mouth and his tongue found passage and caressed her from the inside.
He was astonished by the feelings tearing through him. He'd been so lost upon his return to England that he'd resigned emotion to the back of his mind, just to stay sane. Then he'd become so involved in the endeavor to keep Willow from destroying the world that he hadn't had time to feel. He'd forgotten what fire rushing through his veins felt like. He'd erased the memory of the silken warmth of her skin. He hadn't felt his groin tighten and pulse for what seemed like ages. He fought to remain in control, measured, gentle.
Anya felt his reluctance, his restraint and would have none of it. She knew Rupert was a passionate man. He was the portrait of reserve, but she had tasted his tongue, she had felt his hands knead her neck and his arms press her close to his body, she had felt his passion and wanted it at the surface again. She placed her hands in his hair and closed her fingers on the strands, pressing his mouth firmly against hers and opening herself up to his. Her tongue darted in, seeking his and then exploring his smooth inner cheek, and back to stroke his tongue. Her hands sought other refuge once he acquiesced to her mouth's demand. She stroked down his broad back to the rise of his buttocks and ran her hands over the firm muscle she found there.
Giles groaned into Anya's mouth and literally crushed her to him, pressing as much of her as he could into his body. He moved his hands to her waist and his thumbs found passage under her shirt, to her bare waist, caressing circles on her smooth skin. His hands slowly slid up her sides as their kiss became an entity of its own requiring neither thought nor direction.
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Wiping his soaked brow Xander looked upon his wooden depiction of the woman he loved. It was little more than kindling. Small, quiet shards and splinters. Lifeless, dull particles of pain.
He silently set the axe next to the workbench, walked to the light bulb in the center of the garage and pulled the string. He made it as far as the steps into the house before he collapsed and started to weep.
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Anya suddenly pulled back from the searing and sensual kiss. Wide-eyed with shock, she clutched Rupert's upper arms for support and whispered, "He's let me go. He's….he's let me go." She began to shake and tears started coursing down her face again.
Not knowing exactly what, but feeling that something profound had happened, Giles pulled Anya to him and gently cradled her in the ruins of the Magic Box.
