William “Spike” Pratt sat back in his luxurious lean back chair, head back and hands gripping the armrests of the chair.
“Arghhh!” he roared for his audience of one and jerked, once, twice, three times before his whole body fell lax.
“Blondie bear,” his audience scolded, crawling out from under his desk and wiping her mouth. “Everyone’s gonna know what you were doing if you keep screaming like that.” Harmony Kendall stood and smirked at him saucily as she adjusted her skirt. “Such a bear you are when you scream like that.”
“Harm? Did you clean me off the way I like?” Spike asked, ignoring her complaints. He had to get back to work now and didn’t care to hear her concerns. He owned the damn company and if he wanted to get a blow job in the middle of the day by his receptionist, he would. They could all screw for all he cared, his needs came first. If they wanted a happy boss, then it was best he got his rocks off when he could.
Rolling her brown eyes, Harmony tossed her honey blond hair over her shoulder and held it like a pony tail in one hand while she set to work sucking up the remnants of cum on his shiny cock. Spike moaned in blissful delight and had flashes of a certain other honey blond doing the same kind of service for him – though he had a hard time picturing that one doing this sort of thing. She was much too sweet, much too kind, and much too innocent for that sort of thing. Before long, Spike was hard again and Harmony hunkered down on him, trying to quickly get him off, most likely fearing another roar.
This time, Spike had to bite his lip from screaming the name of the girl he’d been thinking of, and when Harmony had done her job, and well this time, he quickly stood and tucked himself back in his pants, thinking it was a good thing no one could see inside his office.
“Thanks, babe,” Spike said, bustling the girl to the door before she started cooing and doting on him the way she always did after a tryst.
“Blondie bear, stop!” Harmony yanked herself free from his grip so she could face him. Placing her hands on his chest, she pouted up at him. “Are you coming to my house tomorrow?”
“Harm--”
“Say you will, Spikey, please? It’s Christmas tomorrow and you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not going to be alone, luv. Making the rounds tomorrow, you know that. Got lots of people to see.”
Harmony’s pout deepened. “You mean all your other girlfriends?”
Spike grinned rakishly. “Come now, luv; don’t be a bad sport. You know I need you.”
“Yeah, you need me to suck you off in the middle of the day.”
“Now, that’s not true!” he exclaimed with a mock gasp. “Sometimes I need that delectable pussy of yours too.”
Harmony glared at him. “You’re impossible. Just say you’ll come, Spikey. Just come for a little while. I want you to meet my parents…please?”
Inwardly, Spike cringed though he tried hard to keep his expression from showing the aversion to that request. “Sure, pet. I’ll come by. Round two, okay?”
Squealing and clapping her hands together in delight, Harmony jumped up and down and peppered his face with kisses.
“All right then, luv. Off you go, back to work,” and he swatted her behind to get her going.
“We’re closing early today right?”
“Yes, just another hour to go.”
Smiling happily, Harmony bounded off and Spike sagged in relief. Now he just had to come up with a good excuse for why he couldn’t meet the Kendall clan the following day.
He was ready to return some calls so he and his staff could call it a day, when the object of his fantasy while receiving his blow for the day, came bustling in the door. She wore a pencil straight black, mid-calf length skirt and a white button down with a black cardigan over it. Spike itched to learn what was underneath all the prim and properness. Her hair, the hair he’d imagined brushing his thighs earlier, was pulled back in a ponytail and he had the urge to pull it out.
“Buffy Summers, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he greeted her, a little too enthusiastically judging by the look she gave him.
She smiled, “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Pratt--”
“William,” he corrected, his blue eyes twinkling at her.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. William--” she stopped talking off his chuckle.
Grabbing her hand, noting the softness of her skin, like silk, he led her to the sofa’s on the far end of his office, the sofa’s that had a spectacular view of Boston Common and all its Christmas glory. He frowned when she pulled from his grasp abruptly and he continued on, trying not to call attention to it.
“Call me just William, Buffy,” he told her and gestured for to sit. “How many times have I asked you to call me that?”
She sat, notepad in hand, stiff as a board, peering up at him with hesitant green eyes. “I think I’d like to stick with Mr. Pratt.”
“Give me a Christmas present, and call me William. What can I do for you, Goldilocks?”
She frowned slightly at that and looked down. The look did not go unnoticed by Spike and he frowned in response.
“Goldilocks?” she asked, blinking.
“Your hair reminds me of spun gold. What’s wrong? Not used to receiving compliments? Doesn’t your boyfriend pay you compliments?”
She shook her head, “I do not have a boyfriend, and that’s not important. Mr.—William,” she shook her head, as if clearing it and Spike had to bite back a chuckle. God, she was adorable. “Mr. Wood called about his book. He wants to redo chapter four. Again.”
“How is it that you don’t have a boyfriend?”
She blinked up at him. “Honestly, Mr. Pratt, if I knew the answer to that, I would have one, now wouldn’t I? Now please, let’s focus on this so we can go home --”
He grinned. “You’ve got some sass, I like it. Call me William.”
She sighed and he could see she was getting frustrated. The idea of being on the receiving end of Buffy Summers’ anger turned him on for some wild reason. “Fine. William. Have you had a chance to look over the edits? I think you should talk to him about redoing the chapter, we don’t want it to disrupt the entire flow of the book--”
“Because you are a beautiful woman, Buffy. How old are you?” he continued on, ignoring her talk of business.
He wasn’t worried about damn Robin Wood and his sodding memoirs about being a principal. If the man hadn’t changed every week what chapter he wanted to redo, Spike and his publishing company, “Pratt & Co.”, could have proceeded with the publishing already. Wood could wait. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was today, perhaps the fact that it was Christmas and he was going to spend it alone in his apartment – his choice, however --or, if it was that he’d just been thinking of her while Harmony went down on him, but he was unwilling to deter himself from the task of flirting with Buffy.
“I’m thirty,” she stated quietly, looking down.
Only five years younger than I am, he thought. Kneeling before her, Spike tilted her head up, making her look at him. “What’s wrong, luv?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, of course,” he said softly, getting lost in her beauty. He had to resist the urge to sweep a finger down her funny shaped nose, just to feel it.
“I don’t think you should be talking to me about this sort of thing. It’s . . . unprofessional,” she said firmly, looking up at him.
“Now, Buffy. You’ve been working for me for how long?”
“A year.”
“Right, a year. And I’d like to think we’re friends. Aren’t we friends? We talk everyday.”
“We’re…co-workers,” she replied softly, refusing to meet his eyes, “I’m your secretary, we have to talk.”
He recoiled slightly. “I like to think we’re friends.”
“Impossible.”
“How is that impossible?” he demanded, getting angry.
“Because I won’t have sex with you,” she blurted out, and then immediately, her eyes widened and her hand clamped over her mouth.
Spike, for the first time in his life, was completely rendered speechless. All he could do was stare at her in complete shock.
“Y-you d-don’t h-have to have sex with me to b-be my friend!” he sputtered, frustrated that it took him that long to get that sentence out. God, it was a throwback to his nerd of Potsie-like proportions days.
“I think I should go,” Buffy muttered, looking completely horrified and stood.
“Wait!” Spike called to her, still kneeling.
Buffy stopped abruptly, her back to him, her small form trembling.
“Look at me, please.”
She turned slowly at the same time he stood and they faced one another. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Can you have a seat, Buffy?” he asked quietly, gesturing to the chair that was reserved for clients.
She nodded, gulping and sat with her head down.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly.
She looked up at him as he came nearer and the expression on his face tore at his heart strings. She was positively fearful of him, no doubt afraid she was about to get the axe before Christmas. Like he’d do that to the best secretary and best up and coming editor he’d met in a real long time.
“Buffy, you don’t have to sleep with me to be my friend and I’m not sure where that idea came from in the--”
“Harmony talks,” she interrupted.
“What?” Spike whispered. Shit, did he now need to worry about a sexual harassment suit? That chit really needed to keep her trap shut.
“Harmony talks,” she said again. “And…sometimes it’s not that hard to figure out what you do in here with her. And Darla, and Anya and--”
“Yeah, I got it, Buffy, thanks,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Darla and Anya don’t even work here!”
“No, but they visit often. Darla every Monday and Wednesday, and Anya every Tuesday and Thursday. The schedule you have is actually quite impressive. Especially with Harmony’s break at noon--”
“Buffy.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Then why did you tell me to shut up?”
“’Cause I don’t want to hear it!”
“But it’s the truth!” she yelled back at him.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with us not being able to be friends, Buffy.”
“No, but…William, I’m…I can’t be your friend.”
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Your job is on the fucking line if you don’t!” he growled, ignoring the voice that warned him he was treading on thin ice – and not just harassment-wise, but sending Buffy recoiling from him further-wise.
She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Because you break my heart,” she whispered and stood, fleeing the room.