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Kind of Risky

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Kind of Risky

“Oh, come on, Buffy! You have to be kidding. Dancing around a pole? That’s what you do when you’re not slaying vampires?” Chow raised an eyebrow. 

Buffy glared at him — something he found to be quite titillating. For some reason, Chow reminded her of a punked-out version of Bruce Lee, and the black hair and black clothes were quite something — that is, if he wanted to, and could, pass for a gangster. “So what? At least I get to earn some big bucks! What would you do if you were a vampire Slayer — one guy in all the world?” 

Chow lowered his orange sunglasses and smirked at her over the top of the lenses. “I would probably do the same for you, mi amor.” 

Before she knew it, Chow then pinned her down and had her on top of him, and then wrapped his bare ankles around her waist, causing her to suck in her breath in surprise. 

“Uh, Chow-” she began, but was suddenly interrupted when he reached up and pulled her to him, and then cut her off with a deep kiss. For once, Buffy was unable to finish that train of thought, and also, for what seemed to be the longest time in months, did not really want to.