She stares into the mirror.
She doesn't know the girl looking back at her.
The overwhelming urge to smash the mirror wells in her chest and she growls, spinning away and throwing the shower curtain aside.
She turns the water to boiling.
She wakes when the mattress dips behind her, a grin stretching across her face as cool lips brush against the nape of her neck.
She knew he wouldn't leave her for long.
"Hey." His voice is low and rough and sexy; her chest warms when she thinks about how she made it that way, about how he'd licked and sucked and licked and sucked and…how he'd held her close, pressed inside so gently, eyes ever fixed on her face as he moved, as he showed her a beauty she'd never known before.
She had no idea it would be this wonderful.
She peers through the sopping strands of her hair as she searches the room; she knows she saw him run this way.
She needs to face him. Has to look the monster in the eye. She can't run. She won't.
A giggle bubbles from her chest as his hands slide down her sides, cupping her cheeks and then tickling the inside of her thighs. She feels him crowding closer and she pushes back against his body, her curves lining up with the shape of his figure perfectly.
"Angel," she gasps as he shoves forward, breeching her with one thrust. Her walls protest at the rough handling, contracting as the pain shoots through her body. "W—wait."
Suddenly, he's there, the shirt she bought him last Christmas clinging, soaking wet, to his chest. She tries not to think how his skin felt beneath her fingers, beneath her cheek, how safe and loved she'd felt under his mass.
Instead, she remembers the feel of his lips on her neck, the grip of his hands on her hips; she hates him.
"Aww, come on, lover. Don't be a wuss." His words have a sing-song quality she's never heard before, and chills race down her spine as he begins to drive into her without pause, and it's too dry and it's too soon and she bites her lip as a whimper escapes from her chest.
"Angel, please. Give me a second."
He crushes into her, grinding his hips against her ass, his stiff hardness mashing her insides ruthlessly as he shoves and they flip over until she's on her stomach, his weight draped across her back. She shudders as he stills, his cock still buried inside. She's as eager as he is for a repeat performance of last night, but she never dreamed he'd be this insensitive.
"Geez, Buff. I've kinda got an issue, here," he complains, rotating his hips just slightly.
He smirks; she feels like a slut.
When she thinks of the things he did, the things she let him do...she wants to vomit on his eight-hundred-dollar shoes.
She doesn't want to think about it, but she can't help but wonder what he's told them, if he's bragged about her to his demon buddies, if every time she slays a fledgling she'll have to endure the mocking, the reminder of what she did.
Of what he did.
She pants into the pillow, trying to regain her composure while his fingers dig into her hips, little jabs of his dick grating against her cervix. Gritting her teeth, she forces her body to relax—he has a point, and she's heard that guys can be really uncomfortable when they need to get off—and draws her knees up underneath her body.
"Just...one more..." She sighs in relief as she feels him withdraw. "Thanks. Sorry, I just..."
"No problem, lover." She can hear the grin in his voice, but for some reason, she's not comforted. Her worries are confirmed when she feels his fingers, blunt and thick, pressing into her body, dipping in and rubbing at the moisture there.
He taunts her, waiting for her to lash out.
She doesn't disappoint.
"Hey, I've got an idea...," he trails off, slippery fingers withdrawing and sliding up to press between her cheeks.
"Angel. I don't think..." Shocked, she tries to pull away, but the arm around her waist holds her tightly. She's never even thought—okay, maybe thought, once or twice, no, just the once—but she certainly didn't intend to try this her second time around.
"Wow. I never knew you'd be such a prude." His finger circles the pucker; she clenches tightly against intrusion.
"I just...I'm not ready for that. Can we talk about it?" A strand of sweaty hair falls into her mouth and she spits it out. Surely this isn't that big of a deal.
"Let me think...No." She whimpers as he thrusts a finger deep into her rectum.
They trade blows; she kicks him in the face, he punches her jaw. As they grapple, her flesh crawls at every touch, every brush of their bodies.
When she throws an uppercut, he grabs her arm and twists her around, pinning her, face-first, against the wall.
"What—" balancing on one hand, she reaches behind to shove at his chest, "—is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" He continues his assault, pushing in another finger. "Don't you mean 'what's wrong with you'? I mean, come on. You say you love me, you throw yourself at me last night, and now, what? You're having second thoughts?"
"No—I mean, I—"
"You, you, you. Hate to break it to you, but it's not all about you. I have needs, too. And I gotta say, you're not going to keep a man long unless you agree to put out." He pulls his fingers from her ass and slaps the cheek. "Now, what do you say?"
"Angel..." Tears are streaking down her cheeks—is this what it's really like? She's never been in love, never been with a guy, but she's pretty sure it's not supposed to be like this. But she was so sure he loved her. She'd known. For sure.
"I—we can go back to the other way—"
"You know what? Never mind." She bites back a moan as he pulls away; she can feel the mattress rising as he steps off the bed. "Plenty of other fish in the sea, right?"
She yells, primal and furious, kicking and punching and struggling like a wild animal, her fists pummeling that charming face, that smug grin, knee slamming between his legs until his balls crawl into his body, begging for mercy.
"Knew you liked it." He grins.
Her stake finds a home in his chest.
The thought of Angel—her Angel—with another girl, touching her, kissing her, holding her tightly, looking deep into her eyes and baring his soul...
...she feels as if she's being ripped apart.
"No." She's a Slayer and she fights for what she wants. "Wait."
He pauses by the door; she admires the pale line of his back in the moonlight.
"I'll do it. Just—don't leave."
"Knew you'd see it my way." He turns and launches himself across the space, slamming her into the bed and trapping her against the mattress, frog-legged, ass up in the air. She bites the pillow when she feels his cock, hard and long, rub against her crack. "This is gonna be great," he mutters into her hair, then he drives inside.
They find her on the ground, sobbing.
Once again, she's taken a stand, has faced her monster and won. It wasn't the first time, but she prays it's the last.
After all, The Master only killed her body.
And she knows exactly how it feels to be ripped apart.
She scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, fingers vigorously rubbing between her legs, over her breasts, her neck, her sides, down the crack of her ass.
Anything to wipe the feeling of his hands from her body.
Her skin is blistered and raw in places.
She's used a whole bar of soap.
She can still feel him dripping down her thighs.