Heaven's Sinners

“That what this is fuckin’ about? That I never fuckin’ kissed you?”

“It’s about so much more, but you can’t fix what you did now. It’s done.”

“Can’t fix that, can fix this.”

He leans down, and his lips are on mine before I can protest. My mouth opens as a strangled gasp leaves it. I flinch, and a flood of warmth travels through my veins, making my entire body feel like it’s on fire. I shudder as he presses his mouth harder against mine. His lips are soft and full, his body large and firm as he presses himself against me. My hands are limp beside me. I can’t move, I’m like a rag doll in his arms. His tongue finds mine and fireworks explode in my head; I’m almost sure I see stars. Then suddenly, my hands come to life, and I thrust them into his hair, tugging him closer. My mouth is devouring his, my tongue dancing with his in hungry, angry strokes. He growls and presses a hand to my lower back, pressing my body up against his hard erection. I untangle one of my hands from his hair, and run it down his firm back. I slip it under his shirt and feel his hot, hard skin. It’s taut, and his muscles bunch as I slide my fingers up, feeling every inch of his muscled flesh.

Then his mouth is off mine, and I’m stumbling backwards. He’s reeling backwards just as quickly, his eyes confused. He’s panting so heavily I can see his chest is rapidly rising and falling. His eyes are wild, like he’s just made a huge mistake.

I press my fingers to my swollen lips. Did that just happen? Did Spike just...kiss me? I’ve never been kissed like that in my entire life, not once. That kiss, it was a kiss of passion. It was real, beautiful, gut wrenching, soul shattering...but mostly, it was mind fucking. What did it mean? Spike’s fists are clenched, and his eyes are a mix of anger and lust.

“Now we’re even. Get on the bike,” he rasps.

He just kissed me to make it even? My heart falls. Everything in my world stops as pain washes through my chest.

“I don’t want to go with you,” I whisper.

“Get on the fuckin’ bike, so help me god, I’ll fuckin’ put my hand to your ass, Ciara.”

His voice is like ice. Swallowing, I struggle to step forward, but all I manage is a wince of pain. Growling, Spike steps closer and I expect him to hurl me forward and hurt me even further, but instead he scoops me into his arms...gently. He carries me up to his bike and puts me on the back.

I stare down at my clothes: I’m covered in dirt. Spike thrusts a helmet at me, and, with shaky hands, I put it on. He walks over to my car, closing and locking it, before climbing onto the bike in front of me. I wrap my arms around him, not wanting anymore arguing, and we speed off into the night, both of us no doubt as confused as the other.

We pull up out front of my house, and I quickly climb off the bike. I’m limping quite heavily right now, but all I can think about is the pain in my heart.

I’m surprised when Spike gets off the bike too. He has no reason to be here with me, and I don’t understand why he feels the need to continue to pretend like he does. He doesn’t want to be here, I know that as well as he does. I don’t want his pity just because my sister would want him taking care of me. I’m no-one’s charity case, especially not someone that is being forced to look out for me because of guilt.

“You need to let me look at that foot.”

I stop hobbling towards my door and turn, staring at him.

“Why?”

He crosses his arms, and throws his leg over the bike before striding towards me. “’Cause it’s my fault you ran outta gas in the first place, so I’m goin’ to make sure you’re okay before I leave. Don’t bother fuckin’ arguin’ with me, Ciara. It won’t change my mind.”

I open my mouth to argue, but quickly close it again. The look on his face is that of threat. He’s not going to back down. With a deep, defeated sigh, I turn and continue hobbling towards the door.

I unlock it and step inside. Spike follows close behind me. I head into the kitchen, desperate for a hot drink and some painkillers. I hear Spike stop walking, and turn to see him staring at a picture of Cheyenne and I after they were married. I think it was one of their anniversary parties. It was, without a doubt, the hardest day of my life. Seeing the man who stole my heart, celebrating his love with another woman is something I could never live through again. But I did it, for her.

“Remember that day...” he says, his voice gruff.

“Yeah,” I say in a small, weak voice. “Me too.”

Our eyes meet for a moment, before I quickly turn back to the boiling water.

“You need to sit so I can look at your foot.”

“I’m fine, it’s...”

“Sit the fuck down,” he barks.

I turn, giving him a glare. He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes and challenging me, just daring me to argue.

“I need to shower and...”

“Sit. Now.”

Growling, I hobble over to the lounge and sit down. Spike kneels in front of me and grips my foot, slipping off my shoe. He raises it and inspects it. I can see it’s swollen and purple. Great. Just what I need right now. Something else to stop me from working.

“Lookin’ like it could be fracture, or at the least, badly bruised. You need to keep this up for a few days.”

“You can’t be serious,” I cry. “I have a job I need to go to!”

“Well, you ain’t goin’ to it.”

I start to cry. It’s pathetic, but I can’t help it. Big fat tears stream down my cheeks. Dammit. Why does this keep happening?