*Oh God, why does this guy keep showing up here? Can he even read?* The peroxide blond with a lot of leather and just too much attitude was getting on her last nerve. OK, so maybe he could read, otherwise why ask her for poetry books all the time? Oh, right, to make her existence miserable!
He’d shown up daily for the past month she’d been working in the library and leered at her as soon as he stepped through the heavy wooden double doors. On his way to her desk he’d always find some reason to open his duster and run his hands down the length of his torso, more often than not ending their journey with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops and his fingers framing the ever-present bulge in his pants. *And I ALWAYS look! GAH!* The thought occurred to her even as her eyes slid down the front of his well defined body, following the movement of those hands.
“See somethin’ you like?” That voice, that annoying velvety voice was too close for comfort. How did the man always manage to sneak up on her when her eyes would refuse to land on anything but him as soon as he entered her field of vision?
“Has this line worked for you the first million times? Because if it did I certainly didn’t notice!” Buffy herself was amazed at how disinterested her voice sounded. Truth be told she really was disinterested, her body just hadn’t gotten the memo. She’d given up on men since her last ‘eternal love’ was proven to be spoonful deep, and gave romance – and sex – no thought since. No man, no matter how hot he might be, was worth the trouble it took to mend a broken heart.
Besides, even if she hadn’t given up on men, he’d never have been her type. She just didn’t go for bad boys. Buffy wanted her men to be intellectual, preferably holding a masters – or why not, even a doctorate – degree, and certainly not to dye their hair. *No matter how hot peroxide looks on them… Ah, shut up!*
“But it does work, pet. Makes you want me more each day…”
He leaned over her desk, his beautiful *not beautiful, those cheekbones are too sharp, the lower lip jutting a bit too much, like he’s pouting, and his eyebrow is scarred* face dangerously close to hers. A mental image of her tongue extending to a couple of feet in length and licking each and every one of those features she tried hard to not think as beautiful flashed in her mind and she remembered that show, Allie McBeal. *Oh God, I can’t be thinking about licking people I don’t even like. I’m losing it!*
“I do not want you. You’re not even a blip on my radar, so tell me what it’ll be today and then you can start on your quest to not let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
“Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice—and some
chance obstacle made futile.”
His voice caressed her ears and found its way to the nape of her neck, to roll like waves of electricity down her spine, making her shiver.
“Huh?” was all she had breath enough to utter.
“Constantine Cavafy, luv. Thought you’d know him, what with bein’ among all the great ones so many hours per day.”
“I know him, of course I know him.” She let out a nervous laughter, all the time trying to shake off the need she felt to prove herself worthy to him. “A major Greek poet who worked as a journalist and civil servant. He has been called a skeptic and a neo-pagan-”
“Don’ have to quote the entire Wikipedia article, kitten. You know ‘f him, I’m convinced.”
This was by far the longest conversation the two of them had ever had. Things usually progressed one of two ways after he approached her desk and asked for a poetry book. A) He’d make some vile comment about how she could have his ‘hot, tight li’l bod’, or B) he’d make some vile comment about what he could do to her ‘hot, tight li’l bod’ in a tone that didn’t bear any doubt.
Then she’d tell him in which aisle he could find the book and advise him to fuck himself on the way there.
And now he was quoting Cavafy? *Oh, for fuck’s sake!*
“So Greek is the flavor of the day?”
“Why, pet, are you Greek?”
“No, I’m Californian born and bred, I meant Greek po-”
“I know just what you meant, li’l librarian, an’ I’m only interested in your flavor.”
Yup, now was as good a ‘fuck you’ time as any. “Fuck you!”
“Spike.”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t know what level of indignance his response asked for, so she went for full force.
“Fuck you… ” the blond pointed at himself, “Spike!”
“Well, fuck you. Spike.” Her look of triumph was squashed under his next few words.
“Well, thought you’d never ask, goldilocks!”
Buffy hung her head in equal parts embarrassment and defeat, and stretched her right arm to vaguely indicate some place behind her.
“Greek poets are the second aisle from your left. I think you’ll find Cavafy near the back. They’re catalogued alph-”
“Alphabetically starting from the back wall, I know luv. Ta.”
Buffy kept staring at her hands while his heavy footsteps, *Doc Martins in a library… I think this is sacrilege!* became more distant. When she was sure he was no longer in sight, she raised her head and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
How did he always manage to do that to her? She was an intelligent, independent woman yet she never seemed to be able to finish a sentence when he was around. “I hate him,” she mumbled to nobody in particular. “I seriously hate him!”
“Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder,
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate,
I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful,
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.”
If possible, Buffy forgot she was seated when she heard the words of ‘To One Hated’ whispered almost against her ear and turned around with such force that she nearly toppled over.
Spike barely managed to hold her chair from spilling the blonde over. All he could say when she’d regained her balance and those brilliant green eyes were throwing daggers his way was “Lucy Montgomery. Maud.”
“What. Are. You. Doing?” she hissed in his face, the proximity of those *asymmetrical* lips to hers making her more furious by the second.
“Steadyin’ you, kitten, wha’s it look like?”
“It looks like you’re crowding me.” She raised her voice just a bit, but the way she pushed him backwards drew annoyed looks their way nevertheless.
Spike didn’t lose his balance, and took a step back bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Jus’ wanted to tell you I can’ find Cavafy. Someone must have misplaced him.”
The way he said ‘someone’ both reminded her of a small child and felt like he was placing blame on her. “That’s impossible.”
“Is not. I’m tellin’ you, he’s not there!”
The blonde stood up with a resigned sigh and took her time to straighten her knee-length pencil skirt and make sure the lapels of her frilly white button down shirt were perfectly folded. Truth be told, she didn’t care at all how she looked at the moment but she needed those valuable seconds to gather herself and calm her rapid breathing.
“I’ll show you it’s there,” she said in her most snobbish tone before leading the way to where she was sure what he sought was filed.
Her fake nonchalance meant she missed the self-satisfied smirk that adorned his chiseled face as his eyes followed the swishing motion of her hips and he went after her around the bookshelves and into what he knew to be the most deserted aisle of the entire library.
She didn’t even spare a glance to make sure he was behind her as she made a beeline to where she knew the poetry book he was looking for would be. “HA! I knew it was here!” Still refusing to look at him she stood on the tips of her high heels and reached up. *Fuck, fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!* The book stood proudly out of her grasp on the third to top shelf. There went her fantasy of victoriously slamming the tome against his irksome head. *Guess he’ll have to get it himself*. “Well, there it is-” she pointed to the elusive book, her back still to him “-like I knew.” Her words, as well as her turning to face him, were stilled by a hard body pressed against her.
She was trapped between Spike’s body and the bookcase, caged between his arms as he held on to the shelf at the height of her waist in the least visited part of a rather sizeable library and yet she wasn’t scared.
As a matter of fact, when his lips grazed the shell of her ear and his gruff voice whispered the next stanza of the poem with which he’d greeted her minutes before…
“Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires—how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.”
…what she felt was her entire body, her existence, being drawn to him. All she could do was sigh and hold on to the nearest shelf in fear that if he backed away, her own legs wouldn’t be able to hold her up.
True to her stubbornness she tried to resist the pull of his touch, when – reassured she wouldn’t try to get away – he bent his knees slightly and moved his hands to the front of her body to caress down the length of her skirt and up again, dragging the light material so that the hem of it tickled her skin.
“No. No, Spike, stop…” She might have convinced him to stop if her voice hadn’t come out so breathy… so needy.
“Make me.”
His breath was hot against her ear and she knew in that moment she couldn’t make him do anything, that she would let him do anything, *everything*, to her. She shook her head once from side to side, slowly, her eyes squeezed shut, and she didn’t know what she was saying ‘no’ to with that gesture.
Spike did. She was saying ‘no, I won’t make you stop’, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He pulled back just a little, leaving a couple of inches of air between their bodies, though he could still feel the heat. He could sense her insecurity in the way her body tensed at the loss of contact and she turned to look at him over her shoulder with such longing and confusion that he had no reservations over what he was about to do.
“What-” was all she had time to utter before his hands were on her again, this time turning her towards him and crushing his lips against hers.
His kiss was like no other kiss she’d ever tasted. His mouth was soft and yet unyielding as it covered hers, his breath carrying hints of tobacco and alcohol that made his taste even more intoxicating when she parted her lips in invitation. What threw her the most, however, was the combination of urgency and unhurriedness. She’d been with men consumed by passion and they never took the time to map every inch of her mouth like Spike did. He seemed to want to be lost in the kiss, seemed to exude emotions that had no rhyme or reason to be there.
Soon, she was too breathless to analyze it anymore, so she just let go; lost herself in the storm of sensations spreading throughout her body by a set of lips and two hands that did no more wandering but instead, just held her anchored to his firm body.
He drew back first to lock his gaze to hers and trace the smudged lipstick below her lower lip with his thumb. “I want you.”
Buffy nodded, and even that small movement made her feel light headed.
“Here, now, I’m goin’ to take you…” He looked at her expectantly but saw confusion try to clear the lusty haze in her eyes. “Wha’s your name, luv?”
“Buffy.” The word was no more than a sigh. She couldn’t remember why she’d never told him her name before when he’d asked for it. She couldn’t even remember how much the pet names he came up with after her tenth refusal to tell him enraged her. All she could think of was, *Spike lips. Lips of Spike* but when she raised her face to recapture those luscious lips he cupped her face gently and held her back.
“I’m goin’ to take you, Buffy, and there will be no turnin’ back. After this you’ll be mine.”
“Yours?”
“Mine.” He leaned in and she thought he’d kiss her again but instead, he pulled out the clips that held her golden hair in a tight bun and loosened her tresses so they’d frame her face before he closed the distance between their mouths.
His hands didn’t stay still this time, but travelled up and down her back and then all the way to her thighs, bunching her skirt up until his fingers touched the top of her stockings. The look of shocked awe at the discovery might have made Buffy giggle if he hadn’t then roughly pulled her skirt the rest of the way up to her waist, grabbed each of her buttocks in one of his palms to raise her – pinned to him – and walked them towards the far wall.
She held on to his shoulders but it felt awkward, so she wrapped her legs around him – and could have sworn she did it so she wouldn’t be hanging like a rag doll. As soon as her wet core touched the hardness his tight jeans always accentuated, however, she couldn’t help rubbing herself against him, and her hands flew to tangle in his hair as if on their own volition while she devoured his mouth with a fervor she’d never exhibited with any of her past lovers. It was as if her body had been taken over by someone else, someone in touch with her wants and needs, who wasn’t afraid to just take what she craved.
One of her hands left the now unruly mess of curls that was previously held back with copious amounts of gel, to sneak between their bodies and pop his jeans’ buttons the moment her body felt the solidness of the wall behind her. They were breathing hard into each other’s mouth while Spike shifted them just a bit so that she was cornered between the wall and the last stack of bookshelves. He pulled her hand away from where it was trying to free his erection and moved it to close her palm around the edge of one of the shelves instead.
She held on to it, gasping for breath, trying hard not to collapse when two of his fingers moved the crotch of her panties aside and softly pushed inside her.
Spike couldn’t believe he had the presence of mind to make sure she was ready for him when all he wanted was to sheathe his entire length in her moist heat. The way she felt around his digits made him lose any lingering traces of self control, though, and he readjusted their combined weight, bending his legs a bit to both improve his balance and get the right angle to enter her.
They both held their breath when the tip of his cock brushed her entrance, as if they expected something magical to happen.
And it was magic. The way he glided inside her to the hilt in one long, smooth stroke, fitting her perfectly could not have been described as anything but.
“Fuck, Buffy, I want you. Even when I’m inside you I want you.” Spike could have stayed there, unmoving, forever, but her high heels digging into his buttocks urged him on as she used her thighs to rise and fall on him once. Eyes trained on his face she bit on her lower lip and swayed her hips.
He honest to God growled, one hand fisting in her hair and pulling her to him for a savage kiss, the other grinding the flesh of her ass as he held her still to start plunging inside her, hard and fast. His legs were quivering with the strain but he’d rather collapse and continue this with Buffy riding him than try to find a more comfortable position.
Buffy couldn’t believe this was happening to her. The man she’d tried so hard to ignore for so long was nestled between her thighs, thrusting inside her furiously while she scratched her nails down his back, asking for more. And she loved it!
Waves of rapture caught her unawares and bowed her spine, presenting Spike with the tantalizing sight of her right nipple through the stretched and sweat soaked fabric of her shirt. He couldn’t resist closing his teeth around it and barely had time enough to untangle his hand from her hair to cover her mouth, stifling her orgasmic cry of his name.
The way her muscles clamped around him, body spasming in his arms, the thudding of her heart reverberating through his own chest left him no option but to follow her and find his release, bringing her over the edge once more. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and tried not to be heard throughout the entire building when he said, “Fuck, Buffy, you’re MINE”.
~~~~~*~~~~~
She didn’t know for how long she’d blacked out, but when she started blinking the haziness from her heavy eyelids, Spike was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, cradling her and running his fingers through her hair.
She was shocked when she realized they were still where they’d fucked. That they’d fucked. There. In her place of business. She could lose her job over such behavior. She tried to break free from his embrace, a hand flying to the back of her skirt, worried she was uncovered.
“Bit late to be worried ‘bout modesty, luv,” he said with a chuckle, pulling her head against his chest and placing a soft kiss on the crown of her hair.
“Oh my God!” She struggled against him, trying to stand up but he held her fast.
“Gimme a kiss and your number an’ I’ll let you go.” He nuzzled her cheek, his hand against the back of her head not allowing her to move an inch.
“My number?” *Guys ask for that before they screw you*. “Why do you want my number?” Suspicion was oozing from her voice.
He slowly stood up, never letting go of her as he awkwardly got them both to an upright position. Satisfied their legs would hold them, he cupped her chin and tilted her face upwards. “To call you, kitten, why else?”
“Don’t—If you don’t plan on calling, don’t take it. It’s ok, it was good. Just… don’t.” Her lip trembled as she avoided his cerulean blue eyes, showing it would be anything but ok.
“I want your number so I can call you an’ we can go out. I want to feed you an’ ply you with alcohol an’ dance with you, an’ pamper you and then take you back to my place and shag you till the wee mornin’ hours.” He twirled a golden lock of her hair around his index finger. “An’ I plan on doin’ that soon an’ often, so may I please have your number, Goldilocks?”
She grinned and it was like she lit up. “And a kiss?”
“An’ a kiss.”
~~~~~*~~~~~
Spike left the library with lipstick all around his lips, a bounce in his step and her number in his pocket.
Buffy was left to face the smirks and glares of the mixed library crowd and even refrain from smacking a college kid who asked if what she did in the dead-poets’ section was one of the golden-membership perks. Spike would so pay for that next time she saw him.
Yup, he’d pay for it in about two hours when he’d come to pick her up from work.
The End
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!