Chapter 1 Strangers in a
Cafe
(Pepper's original story)
“So, Buffy, what are you guys going to do for your anniversary?” Willow eagerly asked between bites of her hamburger.
Buffy shrugged. “You know Angel, likes to surprise me.”
“Didn’t he take you to Hawaii last year?” Anya asked.
“No, last year it was the Swiss Alps.”
Willow sighed and dejectedly stabbed a french fry with her fork. “It must be great being married to someone who can show you the world.”
“It’s a riot,” Buffy said dryly. She didn’t feel like trying to explain to her friends that being married to Angel was not that wonderful. They were only interested in the trips to exotic places, and the new wardrobe every season, and the beautiful jewels he gave out like candy. They wouldn’t understand her discontent when she had all they ever wanted, and she didn’t have the energy to discuss it with them.
Buffy idly glanced around the café while Anya and Willow chattered on about what Buffy should pack, the latest gossip, and how horribly difficult it was to keep their children under control. Buffy mostly ignored them, unbelievably bored.
It was while they were gossiping about that awful Chase woman that Buffy noticed him. He was sitting two tables away, the Wall Street Journal laid out before him. He was only pretending to read it, though. His eyes were trained on her. She quickly looked away, disquieted by his unabashed stare.
Despite herself, her eyes kept flickering in his direction. Blonde hair, slicked back. Smoldering, blue eyes, strong cheekbones, and full lips. Everything about him was intense, and his eyes never left her.
“We should be leaving now,” Willow announced, pulling Buffy’s attention away from the stranger.
“What? Why?”
She indicated their empty plates. “We have other errands to run…”
“Shopping for shoes is not an errand. We have plenty of time. I’d like some dessert.”
“Oh, this place has that cake that’s just to die for!” Anya exclaimed. “It’s better than sex.”
The other women laughed at Anya’s comment, and Willow announced that she wouldn’t mind a piece of cake. Buffy flagged down the waiter and ordered three chocolate cakes. All the time her attention was on the good looking man who was still studying her every move.
The cake came relatively quickly, the younger waiter eager to please. He knew their type—if he worked as quickly as possible, they would tip handsomely. Buffy smiled sweetly at him, and made it a point to look at the man while she did.
She ate the sweet chocolate cake slowly, savoring each decadent bite. She put a show on for her admirer, licking frosting off of her fingers, drawing attention to her mouth as often as possible, wrapping her red lips around the spoon and pulling it out slowly. In response, the man lifted his eyebrow, and even from that distance Buffy could see his blue eyes twinkling.
Buffy should have felt foolish, going on like that, but she didn’t. Watching him watch her made her very hot, and she could already feel the heat in her groin. He seemed more than just a little interested in her, and that turned her on even more.
It wouldn’t have gone beyond mild flirting and lewd gestures with the spoon if he hadn’t winked. Buffy was convinced of that. Until he winked, he was interesting and sexy, but only mildly so. But the wink…the wink changed everything. It hit her in the gut and made her eyes widened. He smirked in response, and her cheeks flushed.
“I have to go to the restroom,” Buffy excused herself with a tight smile. Her companions nodded without even looking at her, focused on their conversation and desserts.
She walked slowly to the restroom. Single stall. She locked the door without thinking, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was horrified by what she saw. Her eyes were far too bright, her face far too red. How could some man cause her to react that way just by looking at her? Her thighs were wet with her desire, her panties already soaked through. Just by looking at her.
Buffy splashed some cold water on her face and took several deep breaths to calm herself. She couldn’t go out there looking like some sort of bitch in heat. There was a soft knock on the door. She didn’t have to ask who was there. She knew. With a shaky hand, she unlocked the door.
The stranger threw it open, and then slammed it shut behind him. She didn’t move, too shocked to say or do anything. Too excited to try to run. He pushed her back against the door, and plundered her mouth. She responded passionately, and wrapped her arms and legs around him.
This wasn’t something that Buffy did. She had never been unfaithful to her husband. She had never even kissed another man in her life, but somehow, none of that mattered. There wasn’t anything in the world except this man’s lips and tongue, his hands roaming over her body, his cock pressing against her.
She thought about asking his name, but decided she didn’t want to know. It was more exciting to just let him take her and then walk away. And she would let him take her. Already she was wiggling against him for friction, squirming to get out of her restricting clothes.
He leaned forward and bit her nipple through her shirt, and she gasped in pleasure. Her hands fumbled to unzip his pants and push her own panties out of the way, but she couldn’t concentrate—his mouth was far too distracting. He bit her other nipple, then nibbled her neck, her ear, licked her jaw, and finally returned to her mouth.
It took both of them with hurried yet clumsy attempts to remove the cloth barriers between them. Small, pleading whimpers escaping her throat turned to satisfied moans of pleasure as he finally entered her wet pussy.
He pounded her into the wall, and all she could do was hold onto him, tightly wrapped around his body. Murmured, impassioned words fell from his lips. “So beautiful, so beautiful, feel so good luv, you feel so good. Oh yes.”
He’s British. God, what a voice. Any coherent thought became brief and fleeting as he increased the tempo. Her bones and teeth rattled from the force, but all she could do was plead for more. Faster, harder, he hit the center of her over and over and over until she was spiraling out of control. He placed one hand over her mouth to cover her screams, as he braced her against the wall.
She screamed into his palm, unable to stop the sounds tearing through her throat as mind-numbing pleasure ripped through her body. The first orgasm built and built until her toes curled and her nails were digging into his back. As her muscles contracted and the orgasm finally overtook her, her grip loosened and she collapsed against him. He staggered slightly under her weight, but he didn’t stop or slow his rhythm at all.
“Come again for me, luv,” he encouraged. “Do it again.”
His voice, his cock, the entire situation, the knowledge that her friends were only feet away…everything sent another sharp shock through her and her muscles tightened around him.
“That’s it,” he panted. “That’s my girl.”
“Not your…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, though, because he applied pressure to her clit, and suddenly words weren’t important. She could not believe that anything could feel this good, and she closed her eyes and reveled in the cascade of bliss that poured down her body.
She was coming down from her third orgasm when he finally shot his load and shuddered against her. She could feel his legs shake, and he sat her down on the edge of the sink and held her until she was steady herself. With shaking hands, she straightened her clothes.
There could have been words, and there were words that should have passed between them, but neither spoke. He tucked himself back into his pants, and took a few moments to smooth his hair. She stepped back from the door to allow him to step out. He placed his hand on the knob, then paused and turned.
“Ta, love. It was fun.”
Buffy didn’t have time to respond before he was gone. “Yeah,” she agreed softly, “It was.”
Chapter 2 Obligations
When did love become obligation?
When Buffy first met Angel, she thought only of the romance. She was in the last year of her Bachelor of Fine Arts at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia. He was finishing up an MBA at Wharton while putting his Stanford law degree to work at the local offices of Wolfram and Hart. They met at the Beaux Arts Ball, the gala of the Philadelphia social season. He was a guest, she was the help. But from the moment he laid eyes on her, he monopolized her time, finding out everything he could about her, nearly getting her fired. He had apologized and made nice with the staff coordinator, sparing her unemployment. His date, understandably miffed, had insisted on being taken home early. Buffy had assumed that was the end to it.
He tracked her down at school the next day and asked her out to dinner. She accepted.
She had in no way been prepared for what he classified as a quiet dinner.
Deux Cheminees was second only to Le Bec Fin as the elite of Philadelphia eateries. As a poor student, she never even bothered to notice such places, they were so far beyond her circle. But Angel had ushered her in, held her chair for her and introduced her to the true experience of fine dining. The interior of the place was comfortably masculine and domestic, and she felt very much like he’d brought her to his own home. He ordered for her, a fact for which she was grateful, and poured out glass after glass of wonderfully heady wine. He asked about her life, her art, her plans, sharing stories of all the places he had lived, traveling with his father in the State Department. And when he left her at the door to her apartment, more than a little tipsy, his single kiss was tender and thoughtful.
In less than a month, they were seeing each other exclusively. By New Year’s, they were engaged, and they married soon after she graduated.
She had planned on continuing on to earn her MFA, had in fact already enrolled. But the firm that had invested so much in his education was now seeing the return on that investment, and asked him to relocate to the Intellectual Property division of the New York office. He couldn’t turn down the opportunity.
So she gave up on the degree for the time being. When they got to New York, he bought her a small studio outright as a belated wedding gift.
But she rarely saw the inside of it.
Instead she was busy playing the attorney’s wife, accompanying him to parties and fundraisers, hosting dinners, making friends with the other attorney wives. And suddenly five years had gone by, time in which she had never picked up a paintbrush, not even to redo the bathroom. And all the attention Angel had lavished on her in the early days of their marriage was redirected into work, the feeble attempts at quality time emphasizing rather than making up for his absence.
And now she lay under him, naked, sweating, and wondering when sex with him had stopped being about love and started being about obligation.
She gripped his shoulders as he undulated over her, keeping him elevated so as not to suffocate her. He was a big man, broad shouldered and barrel chested, overwhelming her much smaller form. She knew he was attractive, and she had always enjoyed his attentions before. But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, she had something to compare him to.
She closed her eyes and looked into cobalt blue eyes, dark with desire. The tip of his tongue flicked out, briefly caught between perfect, white teeth, and he winked at her, that slow, suggestive wink that made so many promises and demands. Her whole body tightened in response.
Angel moaned softly.
In her mind, she felt strong, slender hands grab her, slam her back against the door, felt his tight lean body press into hers, his erection prodding the soft flesh of her belly. He fit her like he was made for her. She remembered the feel of his hair in her fingers, the eager hunger of his mouth. The satin of his bare skin, indistinguishable from the warm silk of her shirt.
But mostly she remembered the intense desire he had, and that he generated in her.
She mewled, her legs coming up to wrap high around Angel’s waist. He growled and hitched himself closer, driving deeper into her, faster, harder.
His voice came back to her, honey thick and erotic. “Come again for me,” he had demanded, insisting on her pleasure. “Do it again.” And she had. “My girl,” he had called her, and in that moment she had wanted it to be true.
The memory of the moment and the natural responses of her body finally overwhelmed her, and she came hard, arching against her husband with a shattering cry.
“Baby!” Angel grunted, slamming once, twice into her fluttering channel before exploding himself.
Her mystery lover had held her afterwards, easing her back down to earth with soothing incoherencies and gentle touches. Angel kissed her lightly and rolled over to sleep.
When did she start to resent her obligations?
Chapter 3 A Gala Affair
Buffy dressed carefully for the gala. Angel liked her to look her best for these events.
It was two days since the encounter in the restaurant.
Not that she was counting.
She sighed, examining her makeup carefully. She hated these events. They were strictly see and be seen opportunities with little hope of any meaningful conversation. Tonight was in honor of the end of the city-wide United Way campaign, celebrating all the nickels and dimes they had squeezed out of the hourly wage slaves and a chance to pimp their bosses another five hundred a plate for the privilege of eating bland food with complete strangers. She just hoped the band was decent.
She carefully outlined her mouth in red umber, then used a small brush to fill in with the lush red lip cream she had selected. She blotted gently and sat back to evaluate the results. Her California blonde hair was swept up and rolled into a tight French twist at the back of her head, pinned in place by two rhinestone studded hair sticks, every hair smoothly in place. Her makeup was minimal, accenting the natural gold tan of her skin. When she had moved east from Sunnydale, she had worked hard to retain her tan. Her mother had taken pity on her when she was a poverty stricken student in Philadelphia and paid for her weekly visits to a tanning salon. She still went at least once a week, twice in the winter. It was worth it to be able to avoid layers of foundation and blending. Instead, all she needed was a touch of bronzer to accent her cheek bones and then she could focus on her better features. Here eyes were outlined in soft charcoal, her lashes filled out with a light touch of mascara to draw out the brilliance of her green eyes. The glossy red of her mouth was dramatic without being gaudy. Everything was smooth and flawless. Absolutely perfect.
She rose and crossed to the bed, taking off her robe as she went. The dress she had selected allowed very little in the way of lingerie, so she wore only soft black lace high cuts and charcoal silk thigh-high stockings. She picked up the dress off the bed, holding it by the collar to step in through the back. The soft black crepe flowed over her skin to pool at her waist and the small of her back. She hooked the silver chain that supported the top of the dress behind her neck, allowing the length ending in a teardrop crystal to fall down the center of her back. The neckline cowled at her breast, barely showing any cleavage. The bare back and arms were the revealing part of the dress, the only thing actually holding the top closed being the cut of the fabric and the delicate chain around her neck.
“Buffy!” Angel called from the living room. “Aren’t you ready yet?”
“Almost,” she called back, stepping into the black and rhinestone shoes she had found to wear with the slinky dress. Back at the mirror, she wove delicate silver and diamond ear threads through her piercings, positioning them to hang just above her shoulders, and then gave herself one final check. Flawless.
She grabbed the beaded clutch and silk pashmina and went to present herself for inspection.
He shrugged into his tux jacket when she came into the room, barely glancing at her. “You look great, you ready?”
She deflated, wrapping the shawl tight around her. “Yes, I’m ready.”
The drive to Westchester was silent.
At least on her part. Angel took several phone calls during the half hour drive from midtown to the Briarwood Country Club. He was able to command, cajole, wheedle or threaten his way to successful conclusions to each, so that by the time they reached the site of the gala, he was in an excellent mood.
Buffy, however, was bored before she even got out of the car.
He took her wrap and his overcoat and checked them, then wrapped his arm proprietarily around her waist and made their entrance.
Buffy understood what this was about. Intellectual property law was a bit different from criminal law, especially in New York City. It was as much about influence and intimidation as it was about cease and desist notices and lawsuits. And Angel was very good at it. He took every opportunity to network, making connections he could draw on later, even if only to be able to name drop during a negotiation. And if that didn’t work, there was something in his presence that, when he exerted it, made most of his opponents want to roll over and bare their throats to him.
But that wasn’t what tonight was about. Tonight was about making connections, and being seen doing so. And if he had his beautiful wife on his arm, so much the better.
Buffy scanned the room as Angel greeted people he knew. The space was actually three connected rooms, all with hardwood floors and antique oak paneling, tapestry curtains and antique room dressings giving the rooms an old world feel. The rooms all had glass fronted French doors that opened onto a long partially canopied patio which was softly lit and set up for mingling and dancing. The gardens lay beyond, blocking the view of the golf course beyond.
“Buffy,” Angel interrupted her inspection to draw her attention to the middle aged couple he was speaking with. “This is Mr. Walter Jamison and his wife, Elizabeth. You’ll remember, I’ve been working with Walter on his infringement suit?”
“Of course,” Buffy fell easily into the lie, as usual. Angel never talked about work, but it made the clients feel good to think he brought their cases home with him. She smiled her warm, bright, attorney’s-wife smile and took Mr. Jamison’s hand. “Angel’s told me so much about you. How is the case proceeding?”
Jamison beamed. “Couldn’t be more pleased! Your husband is a miracle worker, Mrs. Stevens!”
She winced. When they’d married, Angel had encouraged her to keep her maiden name to maintain the small recognition she had started to develop within the art community while at school. But he never corrected people when they got it wrong.
“I’m so glad he was able to help, Mr. Jamison.
The couple finished their pleasantries and moved on.
He steered her out to the patio to mingle there.
“Buffy!”
She turned to see Cordelia Chase approaching her from the bar. Despite her friends’ conversations to the contrary, Buffy usually liked Cordelia. She was a single young woman of large fortune, living off daddy’s money and be damned to anyone who didn’t approve of her behavior. Buffy thought she worked in the fashion industry somewhere.
Cordelia kissed her on both cheeks, careful not to smudge either of their makeup jobs. “I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you?” She glanced to Buffy’s left. “Oh, hello, Angel.”
“Cordelia,” his tone was decidedly cool. He leaned down to Buffy’s ear. “I’m going to go mingle.” She nodded, and he disappeared into the crowd.
“Can’t believe you haven’t left that gargoyle yet,” Cordelia sniped, watching him go.
“Why do you dislike him so much?”
“I don’t know,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Vibes. But never mind that! Brave dress. I’d be surprised if Angel lets you dance with anyone else, dressed like that!”
Buffy smiled. “That’s kind of the idea.”
“Where have you been hiding yourself? I haven’t seen you at Arden’s in forever!”
The chatted for a bit, catching up in what Buffy found to be a depressingly short amount of time.
Finally, Cordy was the one to beg off. “I have to go see some people. But we simply must get together for lunch one day next week. I’ll call you!”
“I look forward to it,” Buffy agreed, and she did. At least she could live vicariously through the social butterfly.
In looking for Angel, she found Willow and Oz instead. Daniel Osbourne was an entertainment rep with one of the major record labels in New York, and as such often served as liaison between the talent and the legal system. He had worked with Angel several times. While they weren’t friends, they had an easy camaraderie. Buffy liked his dry wit and quiet manner. He was soothing to be around. The fact that he was completely devoted to her best friend didn’t hurt, either.
Willow squeezed her hand in greeting, not wanting to disturb her friend’s appearance. “Wow! That is some dress! Now I see why you wanted the really strappy shoes!”
Oz smiled at his wife. “You look great, Buffy.”
“Thanks. Have you guys seen Angel?” She searched over the crowd. “We’re going to be eating soon, and I haven’t even found our table.”
“Well, that’s easy,” Willow said, “you’re sitting with us. I’m sure Angel will find you there.”
Oz offered both his arms. “Shall we, ladies?”
Buffy smiled and allowed herself to be escorted in to the table.
Dinner was as boring as she’d feared. Rubber shrimp, sticky pasta, and a complete lack of inspiring conversation. Angel spent the bulk of the meal chatting up the other three couples at the table, leaving her only Willow and Oz for company.
During a lull, Oz said, “So, man, when are you headed to the Caribbean?”
“We aren’t,” Angel replied, forking a bite of bloody prime rib into his mouth. “Not for a couple months, anyway.”
“What?” Buffy was astounded.
“I can’t,” he continued eating. “I’ve got this international contracts project I’m working on that’s kicking me up one side and down the other. I’m stuck working with this little shit from the London office, and he’s insisting on going over everything with a fine tooth comb.”
Buffy pushed her plat away, no longer hungry. “When were you planning on telling me?”
He looked at her, confused by her anger. “It just hadn’t come up.”
“Angel, we were supposed to leave next week!”
“And now we aren’t.” He was starting to get mad. “Don’t’ make a big deal about it, we’re still going to go. Just not right now.”
It took all of her restraint not to storm away from the table.
The music started soon after, for which Buffy was grateful. Angel danced the first with her, but neither of them spoke a word. Then he disappeared into the cigar room to talk business, leaving her alone.
Oz danced with her a few times. So did several of Angel’s gentlemen clients, including the kind Mr. Jamison, who spent the whole dance telling her how wonderful her husband was. She really didn’t want to hear it, but she put on her plastic smile and thanked him for his compliments and for the dance. Then she went to hide.
She ordered a cosmopolitan from the bar and drank it down quickly, then slowly wandered to the far end of the patio, away from the band and the dancers and the noise to just stand quietly, gazing out into the peace of the moonlit gardens.
She sensed his presence, felt the cool drift of his strong, slender fingers down her spine and settle at the bare small of her back, before he ever announced himself.
“Now, who would go and leave you all alone in a dress like that, pet?”
Chapter 4 Down the Garden Path
She froze, her body going absolutely rigid.
It couldn’t be. It simply wasn’t possible.
Slowly she turned her head, needing to confirm with her eyes what every cell in her body was screaming at her.
She looked into glinting cobalt blue eyes.
“Oh my god.”
It was him. The man from the restaurant. The single most liberating, guilt-inspiring experience of her entire life. His white blond hair was loosely slicked back, leaving a bit of wave to draw the eye. Instead of a traditional tux, he wore a collarless shirt buttoned with simple black studs undisguised by a tie. His jacket was square cut, the fronts cut away and rounded to spare it the phony western look that was so popular. The silk trousers tapered gently along his leg to the matte black of his square toed boots. He looked incredible.
She said the only thing she could think of. “What are you doing here?”
He smirked gently. “Same thing as you, I’d expect. A little dining, a little dancing, a little . . . hob knobbing.” His voice dropped, giving the simple word a sense of innuendo that made her shiver.
“You should go.”
“I don’t think so,” he eyed her up and down. “I leave you alone in that dress, some big bad wolf is gonna come along and try to eat you all up.”
“And what are you?”
He leaned close to murmur in her ear. “I’m Prince Charming.”
She managed to cock an eyebrow at him.
He smiled. “So you’ve found me out. I am the big bad wolf. But I don’t bite.” He moved close enough for his lips to brush her ear. “Hard.”
She closed her eyes with a soft gasp, felt surrender flood over her, absorb her. She leaned into him. . .
And stopped herself, realizing what she was doing. Her eyes, still dilated with arousal, went wide in horror and she tried to back away. “I have to go! My hu . . .”
He didn’t let her go. “Dance with me.”
“What? No!”
He tipped his head to meet her eyes. “Dance with me,” he repeated.
“I can’t,” she pleaded. “If anyone saw, they’d think . . .”
“What? That we had torrid, amazing, earth shattering sex in a public restroom two days ago?” He drew her back close. “They wouldn’t be wrong.”
“Please . . .”
“But no one’s even going to notice. Not among this crowd. And if they do, they won’t think anything of it. I’ve watched you dancing with different men all evening, and I doubt you’ve slept with any of them.” He cocked his head, looking at her appraisingly. “At least I hope not. Your little red haired friend might be upset if you’ve had a go at her significant other.”
“No,” her voice faltered.” “No, I haven’t.”
He took her left hand in his right, drawing her close to him as he began moving her through the dance. “I know.”
They fit together as well for dancing as they had for sex. He held her comfortably with a soothing strength, supporting her, guiding her through the steps of the dance. Soft strains of Cole Porter filtered through the noise of the dancers, but he seemed to hear it clearly, for his steps were sure and confident. He moved smoothly, gracefully, and somehow that carried through to her, making her feel more coordinated, encouraging her to give herself over to his lead more and more. She relaxed a bit, the hand on his shoulder no longer holding him at bay.
The music changed, became faster, but they ignored it and continued to slowly waltz along the isolated end of the patio.
She relaxed, enjoying the rhythm and the movement and the comfort of his arms. She forgot herself, forgot that she didn’t know this man, that they hadn’t spent their whole lives together, and rested her temple against his cheek.
He drew her closer still, pressing into her along the length of her body. She could feel his strength, his tightly controlled energy. And she could feel his arousal prodding into her soft belly through black silk and crepe.
“I’ve spent the last two days thinking of nothing but holding you against me again,” his voice came, throaty and wanting. “I’ve hardly been able to sleep for thinking about you.”
“Please, don’t,” she begged, but she didn’t move away.
“You were the most incredible creature I’d ever seen, let alone hoped to touch.” He stroked his hand lightly up her back. She trembled, undulating away from his touch, which only drove her body deeper into his. “God, you can’t even help it, can you? You’re all sexuality and desire.”
She shook her head in denial. “No, no I’m not.”
What she felt like more than anything was a bitch in heat. What she wanted to do above all other things was to rub her body up against his and beg him to take her again. She would never know where she found the strength of will to simply keep dancing.
He turned with her slowly, guiding and directing her. “Oh, but you are. You’re enough to drive all rational thought from a man’s head. I can’t close my eyes at work, because the moment I do, you’re there, your head thrown back, mouth open, panting, face flushed, eyes rolled back in your head. And I know I did that to you.” He brought his head back down to her ear. “And I want to do that to you again . . .”
She whimpered, nearly falling to her knees. But he supported her with his arms and body as he lowered his mouth to the column of her neck, exploring the sensitive skin there with lips and tongue. “You feel it too, don’t you? You know there’s a connection between us.”
“Oh god, please . . .”
This time his mouth rested directly on the sensitive flesh of her ear. “You want me to stop, pet?”
She pulled back, her eyes enormous with fear and confusion and heady desire. She met his sultry gaze, cool blue eyes turned sea storm wild with his own need.
And she knew.
“God, no.”
Their mouths came together in a frenzy of lips and tongues. She gave in to the demands of her body and arched eagerly against him, reveling in the friction they generated. He released her hand to leave both of his free to explore all the opportunities promised by that temptation of a dress. His rough palms skimmed up and over the angles of her shoulder bones, down again to slide under the spill of fabric to caress the roundness of her lace-covered ass and the firmness of her bare upper thighs.
“Someone will see us,” she moaned, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, anxiously trying to unbutton his shirt. The elegant looking studs turned out to be snaps, and she jerked them apart with a feral growl, revealing the bare skin of his sculpted chest and stomach to her gaze for the first time.
“We’re safe from prying eyes here, love.” She looked around and realized they had moved deeper into the gardens. He cupped her chin, drawing her mouth back up to his. “We can take it a little slower this time.” He dropped the jacket on the ground beside them, tossing the shirt off a little ways. “I want to see how beautiful you are.”
He reached up and took hold of the two hair sticks and pulled them out, freeing her hair to tumble around her shoulders. He leaned in and kissed her languidly, the only contact between them their lips and his gentle fingers on the back of her neck. She realized what he was doing just as the clasp on the chain opened and he allowed the dress to slither to the ground. He took her hand to help her step out of the pile of fabric, leaving it and her shoes behind.
He stepped back and just looked at her, and she couldn’t interpret the expression in his eyes. She became self-conscious, standing in front of him in nothing but lace panties and garterless stockings, and she started to raise her arms to cover herself. “No,” his hoarse voice broke the silence. He took her hands, extended them out as though to admire a new outfit. “You should only wear moonlight,” he finally said roughly. “Nothing else suits you so well.”
She flushed, but stepped closer to him. “I’d rather be wearing you.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed again as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss again.
She felt fey, unreal, as his mouth plundered its way down her throat and shoulder to begin devouring the curve of her breast. The sensation of his wet tongue on her sensitive flesh made her cry out, arching towards him to feel more. His hands locked on her shoulders, holding her still so he could enjoy her without interruption. His tongue spiraled eagerly around one soft mound, drawing closer and closer until it flicked over the tight nipple, drawing it across the length of his tongue like a candy, making her cry out again.
As he moved to repeat the process on her other breast, she felt an animal need grow inside her to make him respond as well. She reached down and slid her hand up the inside of his thigh until she was cupping his cock through the heavy silk of his trousers. The weight of it felt good in her hand, and his soft growl felt good against her breast, so she continued brazenly, sliding up the length of it, around the head and back down. On the second pass, she kept going up until her fingers found the button at his waist. She released it, lowered the zipper, and for the first time slid his throbbing cock into her hand.
His head snapped back with a roar but his hips never moved, his cock twitching and jumping as she eagerly explored him. His eyes locked on hers, read something there and responded to it as a challenge. His hand slid down her chest and over her belly to slip beneath the elastic lace of her panties and straight into her dripping center. His mouth slammed over hers to swallow the scream that erupted from her, his fingers circling and delving until she was nearly sobbing.
“I think that’s enough foreplay, don’t you?” His voice was primal, animalistic, and totally bypassed her brain to target somewhere deep in her root, making her hump against his hand.
He twitched his hips twice and the trousers fell around his ankles. He lowered her onto his jacket, kicking off trousers and boots as he did so, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties to drag them down and toss them aside.
“Stockings,” she murmured as he began to spread her thighs.
“Leave them,” he grumbled, sliding his and along the silk on one leg. “I like how they feel.”
He tried to enter her slowly, but she was too wet, too hungry for him. She arched hard against him, slamming him home.
They both cried out at the joining, froze in that instant of completion. She begged, “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He stroked her hair soothingly. “Won’t, pet, I promise. Just . . . need a second. You feel too good . . .”
“Feels good,” she agreed, moving uncontrollably beneath him.
His look was fierce. “Gonna feel better.” And his hips slid back as he began thrusting slowly and soul deep. “Gonna worship you the way a goddess like you deserves to be worshipped, with every . . . inch . . . of my body.”
His words piled up on her, pushing her, claiming her, and she came explosively, spasming against him as she keened her release. He slowed his strokes as she came down, but never stopped. “Feel better, pet?” he asked when she could open her eyes again. She nodded weakly, then groaned as he began to pick up speed again. “Good. Now hold on tight.” He gathered her hips in his hands and began hammering away at her. When he was seated as deeply in her as he could be, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled.
When they stopped, she was on top, sitting astride him, his cock still deep inside her. “I want to watch you,” he encouraged her, “watch you ride me. Just the way it’s supposed to be.”
She hesitated, flustered and confused. “I don’t know . . . I’ve never . . .”
“Never been on top?” Amazement showed on his face. “Hard to imagine any man not wanting to give you control. S’okay, you’re fine,” he soothed. “It’s simple. Just up and down. Use your legs . . . that’s it,” he confirmed with a groan as she hesitantly rose over him and sank back down. She gasped as she felt him go deeper, angle into her to hit some sensitive spot deep within her. “Do it again,” he encouraged, his hands settling at her waist to guide her. “Oh god yes . . . perfect . . . knew you’d be a bloody dream . . . pet . . . beautiful girl . . .”
“Buffy,” she insisted, her head thrown back, lost in their pleasure. “My name is Buffy.”
“God . . .”
“Say it.” She slammed hard onto him.
“Buffy. Buffy love, fuck me hard, please Buffy oh yes don’t stop Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy . . .”
The world disappeared.
She felt him erupt within her, felt her own body give up its restraint and expand in release. Felt his arms close around her as she collapsed. Heard him still reverently chanting her name.
She must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes, he was already mostly dressed. She sat up, holding close the suit coat he had apparently wrapped her in. He crouched down and trailed fingers along her jaw. “Okay?”
She nodded, still a bit dazed.
“Let’s get you dressed, then.” He helped her to her feet, then, when he was sure she was steady, reached down for the dress, sliding it unnecessarily over her head to save her having to stand on one foot for the moment. He combed his fingers through her hair, then gathered and twisted it slightly, sticking one rhinestone hair stick through the knot, leaving the rest of her hair to fall over one shoulder in a spill of curls. “You should wear your hair down,” he said, twisting one of the curls around his finger. “It makes you look so appealing.”
She studied him for a moment, then pulled the white linen handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket and reached out to wipe the brilliant red lipstick off his mouth and face. He smiled softly as she worked, then took the square of cloth and did the same for her. Then he took the handkerchief, wrapped her remaining hair stick in it, and tucked it back in the breast pocket of his jacket. He handed her her shoes.
“And my underwear?” she asked pointedly.
He held them up on one finger for her to see, then slid them in his trouser pocket. “Consider them an enticement. You want them back? Come to my apartment tomorrow night and get them.”
Her face clouded. “I can’t . . .”
“Shh sh sh,” he stopped her. “No can’ts, no shouldn’ts. If you want them, come. If not, I have another memento of this evening. I’m in suite twelve thirty-seven at the Plaza. Come after seven. If you want them back.”
Finally she nodded. “We’ll see.”
“All I ask.”
“But shouldn’t I know who I’m coming to see?”
He looked confused.
“Your name. Won’t you tell me your name?”
For a moment he seemed as though he’d forgotten he even had a name. Finally, he said, “William. I want you to call me William.”
“William.” It felt good on her tongue.
“Buffy.” And when he said it, it sounded like an invocation.
Finally, they could put it off no longer. “If you go back the way we came, I’ll go through and come back at the other end of the patio. No one should even notice.”
She nodded, handing him back his jacket. “Thank you.”
He leaned in for one final, soft kiss. “Until tomorrow, Buffy.”
“Good night, William.” And she watched him walk away.
Angel seemed conciliatory in the car on the way home. ”So, did you have a good time?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “It had its high points.”
“Weren’t you wearing your hair differently before?”
“It came down while I was dancing. I decided to change it.”
“Mmm. It suits you.”
Chapter 5 Plaza Suite
She had the cab drop her off three blocks from the hotel.
The lingering warmth of September had faded, the cool gusts of October whipping down the canyons of the city to chill its residents. She hunkered down in her cashmere coat as the last rays of sunshine disappeared behind the skyscrapers.
Why am I doing this?
It’s a twenty dollar pair of underwear. Let him keep them. The little perv.
But she kept walking, up Sixth Avenue until it opened up into the great sweep of the entrance to Central Park. And, waiting there, the Plaza Hotel.
She slipped in through the Seventy-Ninth Street entrance. There were too many eyes at the front door, too many people watching. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. But people saw what they wanted to see and assumed the rest. She didn’t want to take that chance.
She had also been very careful that other assumptions weren’t made. She had spent hours getting dressed, trying again and again to make certain she wasn’t sending the wrong signals. She didn’t want him to think she was there for a repeat of their previous encounters. She had finally settled on a white sleeveless turtleneck sweater and tan slacks. Casual, professional and modest. She wore loafers and a simple gold chain, long enough to reach her navel, to accent the outfit. Her hair she left loose around her shoulders, the way she wore it every day. She did nothing to alter her morning make up aside from touching up her pale pink lipstick. Short of showing up bare faced and wearing an old housecoat, she didn’t think she could have made herself any less appealing. She hoped he got the message.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor lobby and caught the elevator there, away from prying eyes. As the lights counted up to twelve, she felt her heart speed up; her palms start to sweat. She had to force herself to step out of the elevator when the doors opened on the twelfth floor. The hallway seemed endless. Finally, she stood in front of his door. She knocked lightly.
The door opened, and he stood there. And she realized suddenly that it wasn’t his actions she most had to be afraid of. It was her own.
He, too, was dressed casually, in a black t-shirt and charcoal slacks, neither of which concealed his attributes. There were twists of silver around his throat and wrist, and the ubiquitous boots completed the outfit.
Her blood throbbed in her ears. She was overwhelmed with the desire to present for him, to lift her chin and tempt him with the length of her throat, to lick her lips in promise of what else might go there, to roll over and offer herself up for his pleasure. She wanted him again, so badly it almost made her weep.
Instead, she blurted out, “I shouldn’t have come.”
He smiled. “And yet here you are. Why don’t you come in?” He held the door wider for her.
She stepped in without hesitation. “I’m married.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, closing the door behind her.
“You know?”
She felt a jolt of electricity as he took her left hand in his, curling her fingers to display the engagement ring and wedding band on her third finger. “You never tried to hide this. And I heard you and your girlfriends talking about your anniversary, that first day . . .”
She tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t release her. “You knew, and you still . . .?”
“As I recall, neither of us were thinking much with out heads at the time, pet. You knew you were married, too.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, never taking his eyes from hers, and gently, softly kissed the knuckles on either side of her rings.
“Don’t,” she begged hoarsely.
He looked innocent. “Don’t what?” He turned her hand over.
“Please . . .”
Whatever he planned to do was interrupted by the phone ringing.
He cursed and dropped her hand with a gentle squeeze, crossing the room in two long strides to snatch up the phone. “This is Fitzwilliam . . . What? No, I can’t . . . because I have other plans tonight that don’t involve styrofoam food containers and piles of paperwork, paperwork, I might add, that I’ve been riding you for two weeks to get done . . . No, I will discuss it with you in the office tomorrow . . . I will see you tomorrow.” She could hear the irate voice on the other end of the line still trying to command his attention as he took the cordless handset away from his ear and jabbed the end button. A moment later he punched the operator key. “Yes, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam in 1237. Can you hold my calls for the rest of the evening? . . . No, no exceptions. And no visitors, either . . . Thank you. I’ll be down later to check my messages.” And he hung up the phone. “There,” he turned back to her, “now we shouldn’t be interrupt . . .what’s so funny?”
She was trying not to laugh, but the tension she felt made the amusing seem downright hysterical. “Your name is William Fitzwilliam?”
He smiled and snorted softly, looking away sheepishly in a manner that made him look almost young. The smile was still in his eyes when he looked back to her with a shrug. “Yeah, well, my parents weren’t strong on the creativity. ‘S why I usually go by my nickname.”
“Which is?”
“Spike.”
She swallowed most of the laugh, but her face gave her away. “Spike Fitzwilliam. Much better.”
“And what last name is on your driver’s license that makes Buffy so much more classy?” There was no malice in his words, only humor.
“Summers. Buffy Summers.”
He thought about that for a moment, obviously sounding it out in his head. He shrugged and nodded. “Pretty. Well, Buffy Summers, why don’t you take off your coat and sit for a minute.”
“I shouldn’t. I really should . . .”
“Would you like something to drink? I have . . .”
She thought of how quickly even mild alcohol trashed her system. “A world of no!”
“I have coffee,” he finished with a smirk. “Unless you want something harder.”
Don’t think about the innuendo, don’t don’t don’t. “I think I should just get what I came for, and get home.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“You know what it is.”
“I have a very poor memory. Why don’t you remind me?”
“You have my . . . my . . .” Her hands fluttered and her face flushed.
He laughed, a rich, sensual sound that rained fire through her brain. “This is precious! You can give your knickers to a complete stranger, but you can’t say the words to ask for them back? Adorable!”
“I didn’t give them to you!”
“No,” his voice dropped and he began moving toward her. “You let me take them off your delicious, inviting body with my own two hands.”
“Stop,” she said breathlessly, placing a hand in the middle of his chest to halt his progress.
“What I can’t understand,” he continued, his sultry voice taking on a hard edge, “is how a woman as beautiful, as sexy, as passionate as you has been left so inexperienced. Does he lock you away in your own virginal bed every night?”
“I haven’t been a virgin for a very long time. And we have sex once a week.”
“Once a . . .?” His eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “Once a week? Got you in his soddin’ day planner, does he?”
“No!” But she knew he might as well have.
“So what was Tuesday? A between times scratch?”
She felt like he’d hit her. And she must have looked it, too.
“Bloody hell. Date night.” He jerked away from her. He went to the bar and spilled dark amber liquid into a glass, picked it up and stood staring at it. Buffy slumped down onto the couch, dropping her head onto her hands.
“You deserve better.”
She looked up at him, but he hadn’t moved. “How do you know what I deserve? You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I know you love with your whole heart. You make love with your whole body. You are a passionate, sensual creature but you don’t even know it because that git of a husband of yours doesn’t even bother to show you what you’re capable of!”
“William, please . . .”
“No! You deserve to hear it, to know what you are, what you can be. I’ll be gone in a month, and there won’t be anyone left to tell you. I have to make sure you know.”
“Gone?” Her heart clenched.
He looked into her eyes again, and even from across the room she could see the intensity, the tinge of sorrow in them. “I’ve been here two months already, on a project for my firm. I’ve got one more to go until the project is done and I go back home.”
“To England.”
He nodded. “London. I have a townhouse there, in Clapham.”
She felt numb. “Sounds nice.”
The silence between them was palpable, a third presence in the room, holding them hostage.
Finally, he burst. He slammed the glass down on the counter and went to her, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Give me this month. Let me show you everything. Give me a month, thirty days, and then I will be gone, and you can go back to your life a little wiser, a little more whole. Let me do that for you.”
“William, I . . .”
“Don’t say no, Buffy. I can’t spend the next month in this blasted city knowing you are somewhere in it and I can’t see you, talk to you, touch you. Say yes. Please.”
Chapter 6 Yes
She was overwhelmed by him. By his words, by his passion, by his presence. He seemed to fill the whole room, supporting her enfolding her. And she admitted to herself that she wanted this. Wanted to know what it felt like to be desired so totally that all else was unimportant. Wanted to know what it felt like to want someone else so completely.
She cupped his cheeks in her small hands as she leaned forward and kissed him.
It was a gentle, open mouthed, curious kiss. Her hands slid along his jaw to tangle into the soft hair at the base of his neck. His own hands came up to gently stroke the loose curls swinging against her shoulder. The kiss was like honey, slow and sweet, awakening all her senses. She could smell his sweat and cologne, but underneath it was a trace of leather and cigarette smoke. He tasted like sun warmed apples, sweet and tangy and wet. His heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she could also hear the small hungry sounds vibrating deep in his throat as the kiss became more passionate.
She pulled away gently, and she saw his face show vulnerability, uncertainty. She smiled softly at him, although she was certain her eyes were enormous, and reached down to unbutton her coat and slip it off her shoulders to fall on the couch behind her.
His eyes darkened as they slid over her. “Beautiful,” he breathed, lightly caressing her bare arm with his palm, making her shiver.
She flushed. “Not really.”
“Yes, really.” He frowned at her, reaching out to grip her waist and draw her to him until she sat astride his lap. She gasped as she felt his erection pressing into her sex through two pairs of slacks. “You have no idea the power you have over men, pet.” He began licking along her jaw line with the hard point of his tongue. “That first day in the restaurant, watching you suck off that bloody spoon, I was about ready to bend you over the table and fuck you there in front of all your friends. You make me forget there are rules in this world.” His mouth continued working the sensitive skin behind her ear as his hands pushed under the knit of her sweater to slide warmly along her back and stomach.
Her head lolled back and she arched against him, making him groan. The sound flooded her, made her feel powerful and she rose up, watching him as she slid back down on his hips.
His head snapped back and his mouth opened in a pant. He gripped her hips and made her do it again, watching her watching him. “You like that, pet? Like knowing what you can do to me?”
She rose over him again, eyes locked with his. “Yes.”
He growled and stood up, wrapping his arms around her back and buttocks as he devoured her mouth. She twisted her legs around his middle, clutching at his shoulders as he carried her through the living room to the adjoining bedroom.
He stopped at the foot of the king-sized bed, tugged at her gently to stand her on the floor. He broke their kiss for a moment to grip the hem of her sweater and pull it off over her head in one smooth motion, the gold chain caught in the folds of fabric as well. Her hands were busy working their way under the warm fabric of his shirt, pushing the cotton aside to trace the sculpture of his belly and chest. He pulled his shirt off as well, and she marveled again at the alabaster perfection of his skin. She nuzzled at his chest, mouthing each curve and line, relishing the feel of his hard muscle against her lips.
She gasped when his hands began working at the waistband of her pants, but her own hands dropped to follow suit. It only took a moment for them both to be stepping out of the matched pairs of slacks pooled on the floor, leaving their shoes behind as well. She slid her hand down over his hipbone and along the top of his thigh, surprised not to run into any hindrance from his underwear. She stepped closer, pressing against him and whimpered when she felt his bare cock, warm and velvety and hard against her stomach. His hands skated down her back, quickly releasing the catches on her bra and continuing down to push against the white silk of her panties. He slid them tenderly down her legs, catching her soft crew socks and slipping them off her feet as he removed the lingerie. He dropped open mouthed kisses along her legs on his way back up. She cried out as he licked at the crease of her hip.
Then he was kissing her again, their naked bodies rubbing eagerly against each other, hungry for more.
He bit her lip lightly, and it awoke something feral within her. She pivoted lightly around him and pushed him, surprising him enough to knock him over onto the bed. He crabbed back toward the headboard, grinning wickedly, encouragingly, his tongue caught temptingly between his teeth.
She barked a laugh when she saw he still had black socks covering his feet.
She grabbed one by the toe and yanked, tossing the sock over her shoulder as she admired his foot. He smirked at her as she repeated the process on the other foot, then groaned softly as she slid her warm hands over the soles and tops of each foot in turn.
She mounted the bed, his leg between her knees, and slowly cat crawled her way up towards him. She hesitated at his waist, pausing to watch his cock move in time to his breathing, his heartbeat, his response to her presence. Even in the soft light of the bedside lamps, this was something she had never looked at closely before. She had seen naked men before, of course, in her life drawing classes, but it wasn’t appropriate to study the hardware there. And Angel had never let her, never wanted her to explore him.
“Curious, pet?” he asked hoarsely.
She blushed, but nodded.
“’S okay. Check it all over, make sure it meets your approval.”
She already knew it did. It fit her like nothing she had ever felt before. But she was fascinated by the shape of it, the ridge around the head, the veining. She slid her fingers between it and his stomach, letting the weight of it rest in her hand, making him hiss in response. She closed her fingers around it lightly, slid the circle loosely down his shaft, feeling the tightness of the skin, the rigidness of the blood-filled vessels. “Does this feel good?” she asked, sliding her hand back up to the head.
“Mmm, yeah.” He arched into her motion. “Just hold it a little tighter.”
She closed her fingers tightly, squeezing him. “Like this?”
“Buffy,” he moaned in reply.
She smiled smugly and began stroking him, slowly, evenly, watching in fascination as a clear liquid gelled at the very tip.
Instinctively she bent over and licked the liquid away.
“Christ!” He bucked in surprise, jerking his cock in her hand.
“I’m sorry!” She started to move away.
“No, no,” he gasped. “Just surprised me is all. Wasn’t expecting it.”
“I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, pet, I wish you would. If you want to.”
“You . . . liked it?”
He met her eyes intently. “Luv, haven’t you ever gone down on a man before?”
She shook her head in embarrassment.
“I don’t think there’s a straight man alive who doesn’t like to have a woman’s mouth on him. But you don’t have to . . .”
She shut him up by running her tongue around the head of it in a hard, wet stroke. He gasped and arched up, but she moved back away from it, meeting his passion-soaked eyes seriously. “Help me,” she insisted.
“You’re doing just fine.” He could barely get the words out.
She opened her hand to slide her tongue down the prominent vein along the underside, then up along the sides, wrapping around the curve of it as she guided it with her hand. She could feel him fighting to keep his hips still, his fingers locked in the bed linens. She continued to explore him with her tongue, covering every inch of the rigid flesh until the velvety hardness glistened in the lamplight.
“God, please, luv,” he begged her.
“What?” She was confused. She’d thought he was enjoying her attention.
“I need it in your mouth. Please.”
Oh! She looked at the size of it, intimidated. It would never all fit . . .
“Just what you can,” he seemed to read her mind. “Please.”
Her free hand stroked the side of his leg comfortingly as she dropped her head over him. Her tongue slid along the shaft as her lips closed around his head. She moved down slowly, curious as to just how much of him she could take.
“Mind the teeth,” he whimpered softly.
She opened her mouth a bit wider, keeping her lips soft as she continued her descent. His hands came up to rest on her head. “That’s perfect,” he encouraged. “Just bloody perfect.” He guided her to slide back up, then down again. He felt amazing in her mouth, like she could feel his life pulsing there. She quickly found a rhythm and bobbed her head eagerly along his length.
Finally his hand on her head slowed her. “Buffy, luv, you need to stop.”
She knew her look was petulant. “Why?”
“Because if you don’t, you’re gonna find out if you spit or swallow . . .”
She met his eyes, saw the intensity there.
And lowered her head right back to what she had been doing.
“Christ, woman!” he cursed, clutching at her head. “Just remember I . . . warned . . . you Aaagh!!!”
He came hard, thrusting up jerkily. She pulled her head back to keep him from choking her, but kept her lips tightly sealed around him, her mouth filling with his seed. It was hot and salty and bitter, but not. It made her feel powerful, like she’d given him something, taken something from him. Something primal, eternal.
As he calmed, she slid her mouth off the tip, sealing her lips. She looked at him, sexual aggression radiating from her. And deliberately, obviously, she swallowed.
He growled a primitive animal sound and threw her down on the bed. He kissed her hard, his tongue invading her mouth to delve out the remaining taste of himself in her mouth. His hand with no deliberation sunk deep into her dripping center, and he swallowed her scream of pleasure.
“You want to know what that feels like?” he ground out. ”Want to feel what you just did to me?”
Her heart was racing, her eyes huge with trepidation. But the only word that passed her lips was a breathy, desperate “Please!”
He didn’t answer, moving over her, down her, settling himself between her thighs, running his hands along the length of her legs. “No stockings this time,” he noted richly. “But still just as silky.” He leaned down to run his lips along the inside of her thigh. She cried out and bowed up, but his hands pushed down on her hips, trapping her. “None of that, now. I intend to enjoy this for a long, long time.”
She sobbed softly.
“And so will you.” And his mouth repeated its actions on the other side.
He drew soft, deliberate circles along the tender flesh of her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the soft blonde hair curling wetly between them. She whimpered and begged, her hips and ass trembling with anticipation. He met her desperate gaze with a ferocious look of his own. “Say it, Buffy. I want to hear it.”
“Please, William! Please oh god please!” She whimpered and twisted under him.
He ducked his head and slid the flat of his tongue the length of her slit.
She screamed.
“Now that’s the sound I want to hear, pet,” he said against her trembling pussy. “No need to be quiet here. I want to hear you, hear how much you love this. Because you do, don’t you?”
She bobbed her head eagerly as he began probing her, his tongue licking and digging and exploring all her soft folds and crevices. She moaned and cried out, writhing, clutching at him, lost in the liberation of the act. There was nothing for her to do but lie back and enjoy, no way to pleasure him in return but to respond, and she gave herself up to it. She felt the climax building swiftly in her gut, heard her own voice drop in pitch from screams to guttural, animal growls. He flicked his tongue over her clit and she howled, locking her legs around his head to keep him there. She felt him smile against her, then felt his lips latch onto the bundle of nerves and suck hard, his tongue flicking across it eagerly. Her hips slammed up and down, her eyes rolling back into her head and her whole world exploded, colors coming to her as sound, sound as taste, feeling as light, and she wailed and arched and exploded under him.
“William,” she moaned softly as she collapsed against the mattress.
He was over her in a thrice, his mouth taking hers in a soothing, exploring kiss even as his rigid cock probed for entrance below. She lifted her legs around him, drawing him into herself with a low cry.
“See what you do to me?” he asked, stroking slowly within her. “Do you see what you are capable of? Beautiful, beautiful girl.”
She pulled him back, kissing him languidly.
He buried his face in her neck as he continued moving, the feeling between them building. As the strength returned to her legs and she began to thrust more forcefully against her, he gripped her waist and once again rolled her over to be on top. She was too weak and tired to sit up, so she supported herself on her arms, rocking back and forth, the blond cloud of her hair enveloping them.
“This is what you were made for, Buffy,” he murmured against her lips as he moved with her, pressing deeper into her with each stroke. “You are full of passion, desire, energy just crying to be let out. Let it out, love. Let it all out!”
“God, William!” She began moving faster. “How do you do this? How do you make me respond to you like this?”
“’S not me, luv. It’s all . . . inside . . . you.”
“No. I never knew I could feel . . .like . . . this oh god it’s coming, William!”
“I feel it, love. I . . . feel . . . it too harder that’s it that’s my girl just . . . like . . . that . . .”
“William! So . . . good! Shouldn’t feel . . . this . . . good oh god!”
“Yes you should. You should feel like this every fucking day . . .”
“William!” She thrust down on him hard, and as though something flowed between them, as though they were one person, they came together, crying out each other’s name.
She collapsed onto him, and he held her close. After a few minutes, he slid her down beside him, still holding her, and maneuvered the bedspread over them. She moved to get up, but he held her still. “Shh, sh. Sleep for a bit, pet. I’ll wake you.”
She sighed and snuggled closer to his warmth and surrendered to the lethargy enfolding her.
It was eleven when he woke her. They rose and dressed, pausing occasionally for soft, undemanding kisses. Then he held her coat for her, buttoned her up, and walked her downstairs.
They went out the Fifty-Ninth Street entrance that she had come in almost four hours before. The street was still busy and bright with headlights as he flagged a cab for her. He held the door for her, but she stopped. “When will I see you again?”
He smiled. “Lunch tomorrow. I don’t think I can wait much longer than that. Meet me at Belvedere Castle? At 12:30?”
She nodded shyly, then kissed him one last time and disappeared into the cab. She watched him watch her as the cab turned