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She had no tan lines.
He knew it, even though she was still fully dressed, little white button-up tied and tucked under to reveal the flat, tan plane of young girl tummy. The plaid skirt was far too short
(we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? Daddy’s going to have to punish his girl for tempting all the boys. you know that’s not nice.)
and when he bent her over a tombstone and flipped it upwards over her back, her ass was smooth and soft and tan all over, and her thong was wet just from the growl of his words.
“Angel—”
When his hand collided with her cheek, it jiggled appealingly, and she cried out for him, biting her lip, cheeks flushed. She corrected herself without being told.
“Daddy—” He felt his cock pulse at the moaned word, and again at the way her manicured fingers scrabbled against stone when his fingers plunged into her wet cunt. “I didn’t mean to—”
His hand tightened in her hair. “Sshhh, no talking.”
And there wasn’t, as he unzipped himself and drove himself home, fucking her hard, making her hips tilt up against his, pleading. Just soft cries and the sound of his name.
“Angel…Angel…Angel….…. Hello, Angel!”
“Zuh?” Angel jolted back to the present.
Buffy was staring at him, a half smile curving her lips, eyebrows lifted slightly. Face full of good humor. “Where were you? You were all, miles-away day-dreamy.”
A clear image flashed in his imagination, of headstones and schoolgirl skirts. “Uh….”
“One of these days I’m going to figure out what goes on in that head of yours.” When she wrapped her arms around his waist, he shifted her hug subtly to the side with a cough.
He felt himself flush. “It’s nothing.”
She gave him a considering look. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He gave his best impression of a meek smile. It wasn’t hard when he was so genuinely flustered. Normally he saved those thoughts for the early morning hours when he was alone. “I was just…thinking about how much I love you.”
It wasn’t a lie….
She hit him lightly and eased out of the embrace. “Smooth talker. You were just bored to death listening to me talk about these uniforms they’re thinking about introducing. Tell me that wouldn’t be a nightmare. Buffy in a tweed skirt and vest. It’s a serious tragedy waiting to happen.”
Heh.
“Wasn’t too long ago that uniforms were standards for the classroom, you know. They were supposed to remove distraction—”
She rolled her eyes irreverently. “Oh, please. All the mouth-breathing losers are hard enough to deal with now, without feeding all their twisted, helpless little Catholic school-girl fantasies.” He choked with guilt, but when she smiled at him and started to walk, hand tangling with his, he couldn’t help but follow. Her shoulder bumped him. “That’s why I have you, you’re not like that. You like this girl all take-charge and scrappy, right?”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I do.”
He repeated it to himself a few times for good measure. He did. He loved that she was stronger than him, in all senses of the word. From their first exchange of guarded banter, he knew that this girl would never want to bend for him. She was different. She was the one that made him want to bend for her. For maybe the first time in his life.
But he was all too aware of the hopeful note in her voice when she asked if he liked her as she was, and the way her body relaxed at his confirmation.
She was so young. And he, of all people, knew how soft a strong woman was willing to be for a man she loved.
He promised the both of them that he’d never make her cross that line.