Chapter 12    Surprise

“What to wear, what to wear . . .”

Buffy stood in her underwear in the middle of her walk-in closet, eagerly trying to decide how to dress for William.  They were meeting at his place at lunchtime, and she could already feel her skin buzzing at the thought of his touch.  But what exactly did one wear to a sex date?  If she dressed too casually, he might think she wasn’t taking this seriously, but if she wore something too couture, he might hesitate to rip it off her.  She groaned softly at the thought, remembering the strength in his hands when he had ripped open the shirt she wore the last time they were together.  She definitely wanted to experience that again.  Maybe she should bring a spare change of clothes, just in case . . .

The phone rang just then.  She threw on her robe as she went to answer it.  “Hello?”

“Hey, babe, it’s me,” Angel’s voice came over the line.  “Can you run into my study for me?  I think I left some files on my desk that I need today.”

“Yeah, sure, just a second.”  She left the bedroom to go down the hall to the large room at the back of the house that served as Angel’s home away from home.  The room was done up in masculine old world paneling and heavy drapes, so that even in the bright morning light it was still gloomy.  Buffy almost never ventured in here.

The top of the antique desk was clear except for the docking station for his laptop, a few law books and a brown expandable file stuffed with folders and labeled “Technovironments LLP”.  “There’s only one thing here, for Technovironments.”

“That’s it.  Damn.”  He was quiet for a minute.  “Buffy, I hate to ask you this, but I need those files for a meeting this afternoon.  Could you possibly bring them down to the office?”

“Sure.”  She mentally sighed.  So much for primping time.  “How soon do you need them?”

“An hour ago.”

“Oh.  Okay then, let me throw on some clothes and I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, honey, you’re a peach.  I may be in a meeting, so if I’m not there, just leave them with Darla, okay?”

“No problem.”  Big problem.  She hated Angel’s secretary, and she knew the feeling was mutual.  Four more hours to William.  Four more hours to William.

“You’re the best.”  And he hung up the phone.

She threw on a loose challis skirt and open necked peasant top, zipping on her favorite boots (she shivered as she remembered William doing the same thing for her only days before) before grabbing her coat, purse and the files and dashing out the door.

There were no cabs to be had on Eighty-Ninth Street, so she walked over to the Natural Science Museum to catch one there.  The air was crisp and fresh, and she was able to enjoy kicking through the fallen leaves as she walked toward the museum.  She loved New York in autumn.  It was so different from California.  There you could only tell the seasons were changing by the change in fashions.  But here, everything smelled different, felt different.  There was a sense of dread, of the sure knowledge of the challenges of winter coming, but also a feeling of anticipation for the coming celebrations of children, of family.  Fall was life ending, but leaving behind the seeds of new beginnings.

Maybe it was appropriate that she had started this affair in the fall.

The cab worked its way down Fifth Avenue to Forty-Sixth Street and then turned east.  The New York offices of Wolfram and Hart stood on the northeast corner of Forty-Sixth and Second, one of the imposing copper and steel edifices constructed during the Art Deco building boom of the twenties and thirties.

The driver left her off on Forty-Sixth Street.  She paid the fare and got a receipt, knowing Angel would want to expense her trip.  In the building lobby, she made small talk with the receptionist as she signed in, then waved to the security guard as she made her way to the elevators.  The elevator music struck her as cheerful rather than insipid for a change, and by the time the doors opened on the seventeenth floor, she was happily humming “The Girl from Ipanema” with a soft smile on her face.

Because the Wolfram and Hart Building was older, it didn’t have the open floor design so familiar to members of the Dilbert generation.  Instead, the floor was ringed with large rooms framed in by paneling and frosted glass.  Each room was its own office unit, with one or two private offices for the manager and desks in the outer part for their team.  Usually a large conference table sat in the middle of the space to allow the team to work together as needed without having to reserve one of the formal conference rooms, although those were also available for client meetings and the like.  The building had been renovated ten years ago, but while the senior partners had agreed to a total retrofit of the wiring and communications systems, they had drawn the line at updating the antique layout of the offices.  “Nostalgia breeds trust,” they had insisted.

On the seventeenth floor, Intellectual Property took up five of these office clusters, and two thirds of the filing space.  Angel’s office was in the northeast corner of the building, with views of the East River on two sides.  He was of a high enough status in the firm to have rated a low half wall to divide his reception space from the rest of the office.  It always made Buffy feel like she was going to court to pass through the swinging door to get to his office.

Darla sat at her desk, busily typing from a stack of hand written notes, her manicured fingers moving across the keyboard in a crimson blur.  She didn’t look up, but Buffy could tell by the change in her posture that the blonde was fully well aware of Buffy’s presence.  Buffy just stood there, curious to see how far the woman would push it.

After about three minutes, she looked up with a phony start of surprise.  “Oh!  Mrs. Stevens.  I didn’t notice you.”  She smiled a flat, plastic smile that showed Buffy her true feelings.

“Well, I understand.  It must be hard trying to remember how to spell all those hard legal words.  And, in, the . . .”

“Yes, the technical language can be a challenge.  It’s the burden I bear for actually having the skills needed to hold down a job.”

“I can see how that would be an improvement over not having to work at all.  Having nothing to do all day but get your hair done and shop and visit with friends . . .”

Darla smiled again, that false smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  “Do you have something for me, Mrs. Stevens?”

“No, I have something for my husband.  Is he in there?”

“No, I’m sorry, Angel’s in a meeting with Finance up on twenty-three.  But I can take that for him.”

Giving the files over felt like conceding.  But it was what Angel had asked her to do, so she grudgingly placed the file in Darla’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stevens,” Darla smirked.  “Angel will be really pleased to get these.”

Buffy dropped the cab receipt on the desk.  “You can add that to his expense voucher for the month.”

“Of course.”

“Darla, pet, Angel said you could set me up with the patent development histories for Mayweather . . .”

The familiar British lilt made her heart stop, and she felt all the blood drain out of her face.  Please.  It couldn’t be.

But it was.  She turned to see William pushing through the gate, eyes focused on the document he was flipping through.  He was dressed totally corporate, charcoal three-piece suit, pale grey dress shirt with a blood red tie knotted at his throat.  His silver hair was slicked severely to restrain any hint of its usual wave.  And incongruously perched on the end of his nose were a pair of delicate looking wire rimmed spectacles.

“Oh, no,” she whimpered.

His head snapped up at her voice and he stopped dead in his tracks.  He snatched off the glasses as his eyes widened in panic, but then they narrowed again, as though he’d decided on a course of action.  “Miss Summers,” he nodded to her.

“I . . .”

“Darla, can you get those reports for me?  I need to go through them before I leave for my appointment.”  His eyes, still locked on Buffy, darkened at the reminder of what his appointment was.  Her.  ”If you will excuse us, I need to have a word alone with Miss Summers.”  He took her by the elbow and led her out of the office.

“Um, yeah, sure, okay . . .”  Darla’s confused words followed them out.

Buffy went with him automatically as the situation sunk into her brain.  They were halfway down the hall before she struggled out of his grasp.  “What are you doing here?” she asked, furious.

“I could ask you the same thing, pet.  But not here.”  He took her arm again and pushed her into a small conference room, pausing to lock the door behind him.  She spun to face him angrily.  “What is this?”

“I work here, pet.  I’m supposed to be here.  You stalking me now?”

“So not!  I was bringing some papers down for my husband.  Who works here.”  Her eyes got bigger as she went on.  “And you were asking his secretary for something.  Oh my god, you work with him.”

“You’re Angel Stevens’ wife.”  It was not a question.

“Why didn’t you tell me you worked with him?  Here?”

“And you expected me to know you were married to him how?  It’s not like he has pictures of you in his office, luv.  And with you flying under false colors . . .”

“They aren’t false!  I mean I’m not!  Oh, for pete’s . . .”  She fumbled through her purse, finding her wallet and flipping it open to her driver’s license.  “There.  Buffy Summers.  See?”

He leaned back against the table.  “Cute picture, pet,” he smirked.

She threw the wallet at him.

“Hey now!”  He bobbled it before catching it and putting it down on the table.

“Stop changing the subject!  You work with my husband!  This whole thing just became an all new kind of bad!”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he said calmly, but his voice had dropped in pitch.

Her skin quivered at his husky words, but she stayed firm.  “Of course it does!  How can we . . .”

“Buffy, stop arguing with me.”  He pushed himself off the table to take a step towards her.

“Why should I?”  She backed up a step at his approach.

"Because, luv, it's turning me on."  Her breath stopped as he reached out to toy with her hair, his hooded eyes locked with hers.  “Your skin all flushed, your eyes bright, your mouth . . . god, I love your mouth.”

She gaped at him silently, her heart suddenly pounding in her ears. 

He smirked.  "The gasping fish look isn’t any good either, sweet.”  He rubbed his thumb over her lips.  “It just tempts me to find something to put in that perfect circle of a mouth . . .”

“William.”  She closed her eyes, her head falling back.

He accepted her surrender, moving into her to force her back against the wall.  Their fingers intertwined and he lifted her arms to pin them to the wall over her head before dropping down to caress his lips along the curve of her throat and shoulder.  She arched against his hips and with a soft growl, he pushed back, grinding her into the wall.  He released her hands as his mouth finally found hers and she whimpered into the kiss desperately, dropping her hands to tangle in his hair.  His hands skimmed down her body, coasting over breasts and arms and belly to settle on her thighs.  She gasped as she felt his fingers start slowly clawing at the fabric of her skirt, drawing it up to bunch around her waist.  Her eyes heavy with desire, she leaned back from their kiss to study him.  His look was as intense, as wanting, as it had been their first time together.  She had that power over him.

She dropped a hand to unbuckle his pants.

“Buffy,” he groaned in her ear as she freed him into the warmth of her hand.  She then pushed her own panties down, sending them to her ankles with an eager little hip shimmy.  He growled again at the sensation.  His thumbs still holding up her skirt, he palmed her ass to lift her enough to slip his hard cock into her velvety softness.  They just held each other for a moment, gasping in each other’s breath.  Finally she locked her legs around his and he began to move, slowly at first but quickly accelerating to meet their needs.

“It doesn’t.  Have.  To change.  A thing,” he insisted, emphasizing his words with his hips.  “We were careful before.  We still will be.”  She took the initiative, riding him hard as he rumbled his words in her ear.  “It’ll be easier now.  One of us will always know where he is.  Christ, Buffy, you feel so tight, so good around me . . .”  His words pushed her on, reached something deep inside her.  “Nothing’s changed, Buffy.  Say it.  I need to hear you say it.  I’m not ready to let you go so soon.”

“Oh, William,” she keened.

“Say it!”  He slammed into her deep.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his ear down to her mouth.  “I’m not ready for you to not be here.”

His whole body jumped at her words.  “Buffy!  Oh god . . . “  He buried his face in her neck and thrust helplessly against her.  She thought she felt something warm and wet on her shoulder, but forgot all about it as she came, barely refraining from screaming out as she convulsed around him.  He jerked spasmically and she could feel him shooting deep into her.  She just held him, stroking his hair and crooning as he came down.

He pulled out of her with a soft groan and set her unsteadily on her feet.  Then he looked down at himself.  “The problem with going commando is that there’s nothing between you and your good slacks after sex.”

She laughed.  “God, crude much?”  She picked up her purse and fished out a couple of tissues for him.  ”Some of us appreciate the benefits of commando and are willing to be prepared for the consequences.”

He grinned wickedly as he cleaned himself up and closed up his pants.  “Oh yeah?  Well, some of the rest of us would like to reap those benefits as well.”  He scooped up her silk undies from the floor.  “So I think I’ll keep these.”

“William!”  She grabbed for them, but he held them out of reach.

“No, no, pet.  The thought of you walking the streets of New York with no knickers on should keep me hard for the rest of the week.

She put her hands on her hips.  “So it’s in my own best interest to let you keep them.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“William, are you collecting my lingerie?”

He grinned.  “Something to keep me company when I’m old and alone.”

“You won’t be alone.  You’ll charm all the little old grannies in the home into giving you regular hand jobs.”

“Buffy Summers!” he exclaimed in mock horror, gathering her close.  “Listen to the mouth on you!”

She smirked.  “I had a good teacher.”

“But you’re wrong, you know.  You’ve ruined me for other women.  I will die alone and heartbroken, surrounded by your skivvies.”  He bussed her lightly on the lips.

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“Starting to think so.”  He looked her in the eye, suddenly serious.  “Are we okay?”

She met his gaze and nodded confidently.  “Nothing has changed.  Which means,” she pushed out of his warm embrace, “that you have work to finish if you’re going to keep your appointment this afternoon.”

“Definitely don’t want to miss that.  What about you?”

“I’m going back home to finally decide what exactly one wears to a secret rendezvous . . .”

“Absolutely nothing,” he interrupted, reaching for her.

“Stop that!”  She slapped his hands away.  “And to grab an extra set of clothes in case you’re too hard on what I do wear.”

He succeeded in catching her up in his arms.  “Bring several.  You can leave them there in case of emergencies.”

Her heart raced at the easy intimacy of the suggestion, but she said only, “And I have to get the box.”

“Oh yes, the box.  We’ll definitely want the box.”  He kissed her bare neck.

“Do you think there will ever come a time when we’re together that it doesn’t end in sex?”

“God, I hope not,” he said fervently.

She laughed and stepped back.

“Go.  Work.  Don’t be late.”

“You’ll be waiting when I get there?”

“With bells on.”

“Oh, that I’d like to see!”

“You are absolutely hopeless!  Go!”

“Yes, mistress.”  He snuck under her guard and kissed her one last time before turning to leave.

“Oh, and William?”

He paused at the door.  “Yeah, pet?”

She cocked her hip in an enticing manner.  “Bring the glasses.  They’re really hot . ."

Chapter 13 Open Book Test

“This one doesn’t make any sense.”

Buffy lay naked on her stomach across the rumpled bed, her bare feet kicking back and forth in the air.  From her ears hung a cheap pair of Christmas earrings decorated with tiny clappered bells, fulfilling her promise to appear with bells on.  She looked for all the world like a teenager sprawled there, except that instead of having a teen magazine open in front of her, she was flipping through The Joy of Sex.

Spike lay on his side next to her, relaxed and content from their first rounds together.  His eyes followed the drifting pattern of his hand as it coasted lightly over the warm, soft skin of her ass and back, the soft curve of her waist, the strength of her thighs.  His touch wasn’t intended to be arousing, simply self-indulgent.  He loved the feel of her against his palms, on his fingertips.  He could spend days doing nothing but touching her.

“Mmm?” he murmured distractedly.  “Which one?”

“This one.”  She gestured at the page.  “It looks more like . . . gymnastics.”

“Can’t see it from here.”  He dropped a kiss on the small of her back.  “Tell me about it.”

“Oh!  Um . . .”  He felt her skin heat up under his touch as she blushed.  He smiled and was about to move up and relieve her embarrassment when she went on.  “Well, they’re kind of . . . end to end.  And . . . together.”

He chuckled and moved up to lean on her shoulder.  “You’re precious when you’re embarrassed.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at your poor, naïve lover.”  Her use of the word caught at his heart, but before he could examine it,she was going on.  “But look at this.  It just looks so . . . impersonal.”

He looked at the drawing, what the text called the X position.  The lovers lay with their heads away from each other between each other’s spread legs to allow for penetration.  He looked over at the text.  “Says it’s for prolonged slow intercourse.  Might be nice when you’re starting to get tired but want to keep going.”  He kissed the edge of her jaw.

“But you can’t see each other, can’t touch each other.  It just seems like a lonely way to have sex.” 

He held her close and nuzzled into her hair.  “You’re a romantic, aren’t you?”

“And no apologies.  I just think sex is about more than just interlocking bodies.  It’s about connecting on some level.”

“Is that what you think we’re doing?”

She looked back over her shoulder at him.  “You think we haven’t?  Even that first time?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just kissed her softly.  He had felt it, but didn’t know she had.

She turned back to the book, flipping forward through the pages.  “And this one.”  The image showed the woman lying on her stomach and elbows with the man standing on the floor behind her, her legs wrapped around his waist.  “Why would you want to do it that way?”

He ran his finger lightly down her spine.  “Because it feels good.  Why else?  Although I grant you, that’s a little acrobatic for my tastes.  I prefer,” he reached around her to flip ahead several pages, stopping on an image of the same couple, her on her hands and knees with him kneeling behind to enter her, “that.” 

“You like that?”

He nodded, dropping feather-light kisses on the back of her neck.

“I mean, I know you said on the phone yesterday . . .”

“It may look a little primitive, but trust me, pet, it feels a treat.  I can get deeper into you, and I’m still able to touch all your sensitive places.  Best of both worlds.”

“Deeper?” He felt her body tremble.

He just smiled and nodded against her throat.

She dropped her forehead down to the book, and he could hear her erratic breathing.  After a moment, she lifted her head again to page back through the book.  “What about this?” she asked weakly.  “Why is she bent backwards off the end of the bed like that?”

He purred against her ear, slipping his tongue out to tease at the lobes, setting the little bells to jingling.  “Sends all the blood to her head.  Makes her lightheaded and hypersensitive for when she comes.”

He was getting hard for her again.  Her curiosity was as arousing as the actual subject matter they were discussing.  She was so open to all these new ideas.  That she was thinking about this, wanted to learn about it and trusted him to guide her was intoxicating.

She closed the book and dropped it on the floor, rolling over in his arms to look at him with wide eyes.  “Can I ask you another question?”

“Of course, love.”  He slid a hand over her ribs.

She drew a breath, as much to brace herself as it was a response to his touch.  He met her eyes comfortingly, silently encouraging her to go on.  “In those other books, there are a lot of stories about people being tied up for sex.  I don’t understand why that would be exciting.  I would think that would just be scary.”

“That’s part of the appeal.”  He drifted his fingers lightly over her collarbone.  “Bondage is about taking control and giving up control.  The person who is tied up loses all control, but also loses all responsibility.  They can simply enjoy whatever the other person chooses to do.”  He followed his fingers with warm kisses as his hand started coasting down the slope of her breast.  “That may be why it doesn’t sound sexy to you.  You’ve never really had any control in bed, so you can’t imagine what it would feel like to have it and give it up.”

“Have you ever been tied up?”

“A few times.”

“Did you like it?”  Her breath was ragged now.

He looked into her eyes, the green of them almost gone in the black of her arousal.  God, what she did to him!  “Depended on the situation.  But most of the time, yeah, I did.  It’s a powerful thing to trust someone that much.”

“Would you let me do it?”

“Christ, Buffy!”  He couldn’t help but roll his hips against her, his rock hard erection grinding into the hollow of her pelvis.  “Of course I would.  Anything you want.”

“Now?” 

He backed off, trying to read her expression.  What he saw was arousal, and curiosity, and a touch of apprehension.  This was a huge step for her, asking for something she wanted, taking control.  There was no way he was going to deny her this.

He leaned across her and reached down over the edge of the bed to the pile of clothes he had left on the floor, coming up with the red silk necktie to offer her.  “Do you think you’ll need more than one?”

With an excited grin, she grabbed the tie and pushed him over onto his back, straddling his waist.  “Wrists, please,” she asked politely, holding out the middle of the tie.

He laughed and put his hands willingly into the silk.  As she carefully twisted the tie around and knotted it, he spoke again.  “I do trust you, Buffy, and I want you to feel safe doing anything you want to here.  But if something goes wrong, if it hurts too much or is too intense or dangerous, I’m going to say ‘Prince Albert’ and you need to stop right away, alright?” 

She nodded, finishing the knot.  “Is that comfortable?”

He tested it.  Snug, but not too tight.  He could get out of it if he wanted to.  He nodded.  “It’s fine.  But traditionally, it’s tied to something.”

“Well, your headboard is solid, so there’s nothing to tie it to.”  She pressed his arms up over his head, her bare breasts swinging just out of range of his mouth.  “But if I ask you to, you won’t move, will you?”

The sultriness, the surety of her question made his mouth go dry.  “No,” was all he managed to choke out.

“Good.”  She leaned down to kiss him languidly, her mouth soft and mobile against his.  When she pulled away, she seemed to have changed somehow.  Become more confident.  “Ready?”

“Whatever you want, love.”

“Actually, it’s not what I want.  This is something that you’ve been wanting.”

“Funny, I don’t remember sharing any bondage fantasies.”

“No, that part is for me.  To satisfy my curiosity.”  She readjusted herself, sitting upright, settling her weight on his lower stomach, the curve of her ass bare inches from the tip of his cock.  “No, this is something you really want.  You’ve asked me for it more than once.”

He tried to remember, but his brain was misfiring as she pulled her hair back off her neck to bare her breasts and shoulders.

“Now, how did you say to start?  Oh yes, with my hands on my stomach.”  She crossed her arms lightly in front of her, her hands splayed over the roundness of her belly.  And he suddenly realized that she was going to do exactly what he had wanted.  He had just imagined that he would have to coax her through it.  It certainly had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t be allowed to participate.  She circled her hands slowly around each other, then slid them down the tops of her thighs and back up along the outside, then back down to caress up her inner thighs, her knuckles barely grazing the skin along his ribs.

He couldn’t help the jump that the electricity of that contact sent through his body.  She glared at him, and he was amazed at how genuinely cowed he felt at her look.  He was suddenly fully aware of her power and how vulnerable he was to it.  And it only excited him more.  “I’m sorry.  I won’t . . . Please don’t stop.”

Her hands caressed up between her breasts to flutter along her throat.  “I won’t.”  She watched him, her hands never stopping.  “Unless you do that again.”

He nodded his understanding, his chest heaving, his blood pounding in his ears and his groin.  Her hands moved down to cup her breasts and she looked down to watch as she shaped them, molded them, fingered lightly along the sensitive flesh at her ribs, making herself gasp in pleasure.  He could feel the dampness of her arousal on the muscles of his stomach as she moved almost imperceptibly.  He longed to inch himself down and bury his face in her quim, licking up every succulent drop as she pleasured herself, but he kept a tight rein on himself.  He could end this, roll her over and fuck her mercilessly as he desperately wanted to.  But she wanted this, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.  So he would lay still and watch until she told him otherwise, even if it killed him.  Which, at the moment, seemed likely. 

She thumbed over her hard nipples, rolling and tugging at them, humming softly at the sensations.  Her right hand moved back down over her stomach to float lightly over her inner thighs before skating over the fine hair of her mound.  She gasped at the contact and rose up fully on her knees, taking her weight off his ribs.  Her fingers disappeared between her legs, and she cried out softly and bucked into her own touch.  Her face was closed, intense and focused, and he wondered what image she was using to drive her along.  Her left hand lost its direction, wandering all over her torso as she focused on the actions of her right.  He could see her juices clinging to her fine curls, glistening on her fingers as she delved in and around her center.  Her soft cries quickly became animal whimpering as she thrust her hips eagerly against her hand.  He wanted to encourage her, but didn’t know if he was allowed to speak.  And from her expression, his presence at the moment was inconsequential.

Her head snapped back with an open mouthed cry as her hips convulsed against her hand.  In a moment, the orgasm released her and she fell forward, barely catching herself with her left hand before collapsing on him entirely.  Her lungs bellowed as she slowly came down and opened her sultry, jewel-dark eyes to look down on him.  His breath was coming as hard and erratic as hers, and he knew his eyes looked wild.  She must have read his need in his face, for her mouth curved in a smug, satisfied smile as she brought her right hand up to his mouth.

He sucked her fingers in instantly, their eyes never wavering.  She tasted of the comfort he found enfolded in her body, salty and sweet, arousing and easing at once.  He carefully circled his tongue around each slender digit, pausing to nibble gently at the sensitive pad, which she allowed.  Using the broad flat of his tongue, he carefully cleaned her palm, caressing her wrist with his lips before moving up to engulf her thumb, sliding his head up and down along its length.  When he finished, she brought her lips down to his, kissing him oh so sweetly as she explored the taste of herself on his tongue.  She ended the kiss, resting her forehead against his for a moment, her eyes closed.  Then she reached up, letting her breasts fall against his face, and untied the knot holding him, guiding his hands down to her waist.

He was on her like lightning, flipping her tops over tails so she ended up on her back with her head at the foot of the bed.  He pinned her there, forcing his way between her legs.  “Did you have fun playing, kitten?” he purred in her ear.  “Cuz I have to say, it looked damn good on you.  You had me at your feet there.  And you felt it too, didn’t you?”

She clutched at his shoulders as she nodded, her eyes and legs wide.

“Good.  You’ve had a taste of it now.  You’ll want more.”  He stroked his hard length along her crease, still slippery wet and sensitive.  “But I think there was one more part to my wish, wasn’t there?  Do you remember?”

“You . . . you wanted to remind me that touching myself would only ever be second best.”  Her voice was soft but eager.

“That’s right.  And do you know how I’m going to do that?”

She shook her head.

He leaned close, his voice dropping to a sensual mutter.  “I am going to fuck you so hard your head explodes.”  And he slammed his cock home.

They both roared at the power of the connection, and her legs wrapped around him to hold him in place.  But he was having none of it.  Once he was seated in her, he pulled almost out and drove in again, pushing so hard he moved her back along the bed a few inches.  He continued pushing, moving her further, then pulled back and drove in again, pushing her still further until after half a dozen thrusts her head and shoulders were hanging off the bed.  He gathered up her hips and rose up on his knees, sliding her head even closer to the floor until she was in the same position she had asked about earlier.  “Let’s see what it feels like first hand, shall we?”

“William!” she snarled, barely able to move from the position he had her in.  “God please, please fuck me!  Do it please!”

He did.  He pounded into her relentlessly, pouring himself body and soul into her with each thrust.  He held her ass so tightly that he knew he was leaving bruises, but he didn’t care.  His focus narrowed to the joining of cock and cunt, his desire made all the more heady by the knowledge that she didn’t have to take this if she didn’t want to.  She wanted this, and he wanted to give it to her.  He wanted to sink into her and never surface, lost in her depths for eternity.

She started keening, a long, slow, high pitched exclamation of his given name that brought him to the edge even as her upper body started writhing in release.  He hitched her closer to him and pistoned into her, feeling her walls start to contract around him.  That was all it took to trigger his own climax, and he held her tight as his whole body jerked with each spurt of his cock.  He slumped slightly as the overwhelming relief washed through him, but then he felt her starting to slide away from him.  Holding her with one hand, he reached out with the other.  “Grab hold, pet,” he said huskily, drawing her attention to the offered hand.

She took it, and he levered her up, gathering her close to him as he moved them back to lay on the pillows.  She wrapped around him, entangling their legs in casual intimacy as he brushed soft kisses against her hair.  “Thank you for trusting me that much,” she murmured sleepily.

“No, love, thank you.”  He rested his cheek on the crown of her head.  As they drifted into sated slumber, he realized that this was how he wanted every day to begin and end. 

And he had no idea how to make that happen.

Chapter 14 Art for Art's Sake

“So, tell me again why we’re here?”  Buffy asked the next morning as they mounted the steps to the main entrance to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“Because, pet, “ he said, settling his arm around her waist, “you cut me to the quick yesterday with your comment about all our encounters ending in sex.  So I wanted to show you a pleasant few hours without threat of intimate relations.  This seemed like the safest place.”

“William, we had sex in a public bathroom the first time we ever laid eyes on each other.”

He smirked.  “We can pretend to be proper for a few hours, can’t we?”

She shook her head, laughing.  “I have absolutely no idea.”

They stopped at the admission desk.  As he paid a generous donation for each of them in exchange for the little metal admission badge, she asked, “Doesn’t this kind of go against the whole idea behind our arrangement?”

“No.”  He carefully attached the badge to the throat of her blouse.  “It’s all part and parcel of showing you how you deserve to be treated.  You want something, you shall have it.  QED.”  He opened the map.  “So, where should we start?”

“Well, do you have a preference for any particular medium or period?”

He shrugged.  “Not really.  Whatever appeals to you.”

“Then do you mind if we do the painting galleries?  I’d like to see what they’ve added since the last time I was here.”

“Lead on.”  He draped his arm casually around her shoulder, making her smile.  “Do you come here often?”

“Not really.  It’s been a while.  But we used to come a lot in art school.  We’d travel up her to the Met and the MOMA at least twice a year.”

“You went to art school?”  He seemed genuinely surprised.  “Where?”

“Philadelphia.”

“PAFA or University of the Arts?”

“PAFA.”  It was her turn to be surprised.  “How do you know about Philadelphia art schools?”

He shrugged.  “I have a friend in the trade.  She’s always talking about looking for new artists, so I pick it up.”

“Oh.”  So this trade friend was a woman.  That didn’t bother her.  He probably had lots of women friends.  The thought tied her stomach in knots.

“Relax, pet,” he murmured in her ear.  “I’m not her type.”

“No?”  She sounded disbelieving and she knew it.

“No,” he replied emphatically.  Then he leaned closer to whisper in her ear.  “She has an unreasoning fear of penises.”

“Oh.”  A moment later her eyes popped and her face flushed as she understood his meaning.  “Oh!”

He laughed.  “She has a gallery down in Tribeca.  Maybe I can take you sometime.”

“I . . . I think I’d like that.”

He took her hand as they entered the main gallery.  “So, where should we start?”

“It’s out of order, but can we start with Nineteenth Century?  I have a soft spot for the Romantics.”

“Lead the way.”

They spent the next several hours slowly wandering the galleries.  It was too early in the year for school field trips and too early in the day for the working class, so they only had to compete for space with the tourists, and those didn’t stay long, rushing through the galleries so they could see everything in the museum.

William asked questions about the works they passed, encouraging her to dust off her art history knowledge, long gone dormant.  She would talk about the artist and period when she knew it, about brush strokes and light use when she didn’t.  He listened with interest and pressed her for more, filling her with an unexpected sense of pride that he found value in this part of her.

The whole time, they were very physical, in a mostly appropriate way.  They held hands like teenagers, or he’d put his arm around her.  Occasionally when they would stop to study one of the bigger canvasses, he would sit back on the wooden viewing bench and sit her between his thighs, her back resting against his chest as he wrapped her up in his arms.  The he would listen attentively as she talked about the painting, nuzzling her hair and softly asking questions.  It made her feel so comfortable, so pampered, that it was hard for her to get up and move on.  A few times, she found herself getting lost in one of the works, only to come back to herself to find him looking at her in much the same way she had been looking at the painting.

At one point, as they passed between galleries, he drew her into a short service hall and backed her against the wall.  He pressed his body softly into hers and cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her slowly.  With a hum, she coasted her fingers into his hair, opening her mouth to his soft, languid exploration.  It was all about their mouths, their bodies quiet in their gentle contact.  There was nothing demanding, just the simple pleasure of a lover’s kiss.

She wanted it to go on forever.

“Ahem.”

They broke apart slowly to see the young security guard standing at the corner watching them.

“I’m sorry, folks, but I’m going to have to ask you to move along.”

She blushed and took William’s hand, leading him back to the public area.

“Thanks a lot, mate,” William said wryly as they passed the guard.

“Just doin’ my job, sir.”  He touched the brim of his hat.  “You folks have a nice day.”

She laughed in happy embarrassment.

Around twelve thirty, they called it a day and went to the museum’s restaurant for lunch.  While they waited for their meals, he asked, “What made you decide on art school?”

“My mom owns a gallery out in California.  I’ve been around art and artists my whole life.  I guess I never really had an interest in anything else.”

“I take it you are a painter?”

“Yeah.  I made one miserable foray into sculpture and went screaming back to my paintbrushes.”

He grinned at the image.  “So how do you describe your work?”

“Well, one reviewer for my senior show said it looked like a cross between Roy Lichtenstein and Maxfield Parrish.”  She took a sip from her water glass.  “I’m not sure if he meant it as a compliment.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“I haven’t done anything new in a while.  I only seem to manage to get down to my studio a couple of times a year now.”

“That’s a shame.  It sounds like you really love it.”

“I do.  I haven’t had a lot of inspiration lately.”  She felt a twinge of disloyalty.  It wasn’t Angel’s fault.  But . . . No.  She stopped that train of thought before it could derail a very pleasant day.  Fortunately, the server arrived with their food to distract her.  They ate in silence for a few minutes before she put down her fork and leaned on the table.  “I feel like I’ve been talking about myself all day.  Time to delve into some of your deep dark secrets.”

He smiled.  “My life’s an open book.  I’ve got no secrets from you.”  She thought she saw something flicker across his features briefly.  Pain?  Fear?  But it was gone before she could register it, replaced with his usual cocky leer.  “Want the rundown on all the birds I’ve bedded?”

She snorted, but felt that jealous twist of her heart again.  “Not hardly.  Let’s start with something simple.  Why Spike?”

“Relic of a misspent youth.  I was always the one to smuggle liquor into any social event.  Couple of my form mates went with me to university, and the name came with them.”

“That the source of your scar, too?” she asked, pointing at his eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes.  “That is from driving my motorbike into a street sign at 56 kph when I was nineteen.  But if anyone asks, I got it in a knife fight in Shanghai.”

“You’re joking!”

“Hey, I have to maintain my reputation somehow.  Gives me an air of ruthlessness, keeps people guessing what I might do next.”

“So how does a London pseudo-street tough know a Manhattan art dealer?”

“By going to law school at Columbia.  Didn’t like the other blokes in my class and the MBA hangers-on, so I fell in with the art and theatre crowd.  Made a couple of good friends there.”

“Columbia, huh?  Which is how you were so familiar with Central Park.”

“Guilty.  Used to escape there a lot.  Made a nice change from the law stacks.”

She fidgeted with her fork, poking it through her salad.  “I . . . I’m almost scared to ask this.”

He put his fork down to look at her intently.  “ ‘S alright.  Ask me anything.”

She looked up at him, her head still slightly bowed.  “Is there . . . are you married?”

Now he did look pained.  “No.  Not anymore.”

She couldn’t help but feel relieved.  “I’m sorry, you must think I’m a terrible hypocrite.  I guess, well, I think adultery is harder on women than on men.  Sex is more than just physical for us, so we feel the betrayal more, you know?  The thought that I might be keeping you from someone . . .”

When she looked up, William had gone ash white and his hands were trembling.  “My god, William!”  She rushed to his side.  “Are you alright?  What is it?”

He clutched at her hand, trying to comfort her, but his ice cold skin only worried her more.  “Are you sick?  Should I get help?”

“No, pet.  I’m . . . I’ll be fine.”  His voice was thick and slow when he spoke.  “Really.  I just . . . Could you bring me a whiskey, please?” he said to the server, who had come over to see if they needed help.  She nodded and went to fetch it.  He turned back to Buffy.  “Don’t fret.  Just a bit of a shock.”

“What?  Was it something I said?”

“Buffy, I . . . I’m sorry, I’m not keeping secrets, really.  I caught my wife with another man.  ‘S why we’re divorced now.  Just over a year and a half.  It’s still just too painful . . . “

“Oh god, I am so sorry!”  She felt sick at what she had done.  And angry at what the horrible ex-wife had done back then that made him react this way.  “I didn’t know.  I would never belittle what you . . .”

“No shame, pet.  You had no way of knowing.  I just can’t really talk about it yet.”  He squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes.  “But this time with you has helped.  Reminded me that there is still happiness to be found in the world.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes.  She leaned forward to kiss him softly before they could slip free.

“Tonight’s going to be hell for me, knowing he’s going to be touching you when I want it to be me.”

She pulled back, confused.  “Tonight?”

“Tuesday night.”

And suddenly she understood everything.  She had to go back to her marriage bed tonight.  And he didn’t want to send her there tasting of him, smelling of him, the feel of him echoing in her most tender areas, her body too tired and sated to perform for her husband.  So William had arranged this platonic date, so they could still enjoy each other’s company without the pressure or fear or guilt.  He had thought of her first.  And she had inadvertently hurt him.

“William . . .”

“Shh, don’t.”  He rested his forehead against hers.  “We knew when we started this would happen.  Had to happen.  It’ll be alright.  Really.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m betraying you?”

“Because you are a kind hearted woman.”  He kissed her softly.  “Come on,” he helped her to her feet.  “Let’s get you home.  I still have to put in an appearance at the office.  They think I’m doing research at the alma mater.”

He paid the bill and walked her out, hailing her a cab on Fifth Avenue.  He put her in the cab, then leaned down to look her intently in the eyes.  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She nodded.  “I’ll tell him I’m going out with a friend.  Then I can stay as late as we want.”

He leaned in and kissed her hard.  “This friend know about it?” he asked when he finally pulled back.

She nodded.  “Fully briefed and prepared for any contingency.”

He smiled.  “I think I like her already.”

She stroked his face softly.  “Until tomorrow night.”

“Don’t be late or I’ll come looking for you.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

As the cab pulled away, she didn’t look back.  Instead she hunched down in the seat her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying not to feel like she was going off to cheat on her lover with her own husband.

Chapter 15    Quality Time

Buffy sat curled up on the couch in the den, remote in hand.  Must See TV was proving to be a not so must, it was pledge time again for PBS, and the movie channels, in a quirk of synchronistic programming, all seemed to be showing films from the eighties that had not improved with age.  Finally, she gave up altogether and turned the television off.

Angel sat in a nearby armchair, several slim files near at hand, his after dinner scotch half drunk near his elbow.  He was focused on the documents he was reviewing and didn’t seem to notice the TV going off.

She stretched ostentatiously, yawning delicately.  When he didn’t look up, she rose to stand beside him, leaned forward to kiss his cheek just forward of his ear.  “I’m going to go up.  Will you be long?”

He made a notation on the page.  “I just have to finish this and I’ll be up.”

“Don’t be long, or I might fall asleep on you,” she teased.

He looked up at that.  “Then I’d have to wake you up, wouldn’t I?”

She smiled at him with a wink and, with a flirt of her hip, turned to go upstairs.

Her heart was pounding, more with fear than with anticipation.  What if she did something wrong?  Or something he didn’t like?  What if he didn’t like any of it?  Stop that, she berated herself.  He loves you.  He’ll love anything you do.  Just relax and enjoy yourself.

In their room, she lit a few candles on her bedside table and turned down the bed.  Then she went into his closet to grab her negligee for the evening, taking it into the connecting bathroom to change.

She was just brushing out her hair when she heard him come into the bedroom.  “Buffy?”

He was just hanging his tie neatly in the closet and had started unbuttoning his shirt when she stepped back into the bedroom.  He stopped when he saw her.  “Is that one of my shirts?” he asked in confusion.

“Mmm hmm.”  She knew the crisp white cotton stood in stark contrast to her warm tan.  The collar was open enough to show cleavage and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.  She crossed the room slowly, giving him time to take her in.  She stopped in front of him and let her hands drift up to undo his buttons for him.

“Buffy, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”  She pushed the shirt down off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor.  “I just thought maybe we’d be a little different tonight.”

He put his hands at her waist as she began undoing his trousers.  “Have you been hanging out with Anya Harris again?”

She just smiled mysteriously, protecting her secret without lying.  She pushed the black slacks off his hips to drop on the floor next to the shirt, leaving him clad only in tasteful blue silk boxers.  She intertwined her fingers behind his neck and drew him down to kiss him.

His lips were thinner, tighter than she remembered.  She went to work on them, nibbling and licking, drawing out his tongue with her own.  She turned him slowly and backed him up step by step to the edge of the bed.  She pulled back from the kiss to see his eyes dark, his brow furrowed in curiosity.  She licked lightly at her bottom lip as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, sliding them down to free his velvet hard cock. 

She pushed him lightly to fall on his ass on the bed, then straddled his knees.  He leaned back on his hands, watching as she slowly undid the buttons on her shirt, then letting her lift his hands to her breasts to fondle and thumb over her nipples.  She lowered her head to lave and nip along his throat and shoulders as he squeezed and pulled at her soft flesh.  As her mouth moved lower, she pushed him again to lay down fully on the bed as she continued to explore the sensitivity of his chest and stomach.  Finally, with a last shudder of trepidation, she dropped to her knees in front of him.

Her first close view of him, in the dim light of the candles, brought unbidden, unwanted comparisons to her thoughts.  Angel was a bit thicker but not as long as William, the veins tangling around his shaft in a riot of pulsing blue veins as opposed to the almost symmetrical veins along William’s member.  Where William’s cock angled up in ideal position for penetration, Angel’s stood straight out, leading the way in conquest.  She ran the flat of her tongue experimentally up the shaft.  It jerked in her hand.  Pleased with the reaction, she continued, circling up and down and around, slowly working her way up to the head.

As she slid her mouth down over him, she glanced up to see him propped up on his elbows, watching her.  He looked curious and slightly amused, but his eyes closed in reaction as she took him deep into her mouth.  Her lips and tongue made wet, sloppy sounds as she devoured him, her noises the only sound in the room.  She cupped his balls, fingering them gently as she sucked away eagerly, until she felt the slight hitch she had come to identify as a signal of impending eruption.  She slowly drew off him, her hand following her mouth up and off with a long, gentle stroke.

She rose to her feet, dropping the shirt on the floor as she moved astride him, positioning him at her slick entrance.  With a gasp she took him in, allowing gravity to do the work as he filled her slowly, inch by inch, at her direction.

She looked down at him.  This was a new perspective for her.  For the first time ever she didn’t feel overwhelmed by him, stifled and trapped under the bulk of his body.  She felt free, liberated and in control.  She rose up on her knees and sank back down, savoring the sensation.  She looked at him with hooded, sultry eyes to see him looking amused.

He allowed her barely a dozen strokes before he gripped her around the waist and stood up, pivoting them to land among the pillows with him on top.  He began thrusting into her, pressing her down as he pounded his pleasure out of her.

Suddenly she understood something that William had said to her.  She never had had any power in bed with Angel, and he had no interest in giving her any.  With William, control flowed back and forth between the two of them like water, so she had forgotten that there was any other way.  But now she knew.  Knew the joy of leading another human being to that kind of pleasure, finding her own happiness there. 

Except Angel didn’t want that.

He drove harder, deeper, small animal noises pushing out of him with each thrust.  She knew the signs, knew he was close.

Knew she wasn’t anywhere near.

Something inside her broke.  She saw her marriage differently all of a sudden, with the eyes of new knowledge.  It made her want to weep.

She closed her eyes and thought of William.  She needed the comfort of his arms, the solace of his body now as her husband used her for his own pleasure.  She imagined herself miles away, wrapped in his arms, sharing the pleasures of the flesh with him, distancing herself from what was happening here in her bed.

Angel came with a hoarse shuddering moan and sagged down against her.  He lay there for a moment, crushing her, before finally rolling off to his own side of the bed.  “That was great, babe.  Really.  We’ll have to try it again sometime.”  And he rolled over, his breathing slowing into sleep almost immediately.

Buffy lay there in the dark for long hours, ashamed and lonely and confused.

Finally she gave up and crept from their bed going to sit in the dark, chilly sunroom.

Where she stared silently at the phone.

Chapter 16    Time in a Bottle

Work had been a total waste of effort.

He sat behind the faux wood desk in his temporary office in the cluster reserved for consultants and tried to concentrate on the convoluted web of contracts, agreements and incorporations that was the actual purpose for him being stateside.  But he couldn’t focus.  He felt trapped, caged, desperate to bite and claw his way out.

He paced the room manically, trying to concentrate, but the words kept smearing in his brain, illegible, incomprehensible.  He threw the pages in his hand on the desk and drilled his palms into his eyes.  He had to focus, had to stop thinking about her, had to stop thinking about thinking about her.  About tonight.  About memory.  And history.  About loss.  He had to focus, damn it!  He was too emotional, too connected.  He needed to get some detachment or it wouldn’t take much to set him off.

At four thirty, Angel stuck his head into the office.  “Don’t forget we’re meeting with the team from Robartsmaan for an update tomorrow at ten.  Have you got those source reallocations done?”

Spike didn’t look up.  “I’m finishing them now.  Have you finished the HR benefits assessment?”

“Mostly.  Darla’s wrapping it up.  I’m going home.”

“Have a nice night.”  He managed to keep his voice flat.

“Yeah, whatever.”  Angel turned and left with a brief word to Spike’s assistant.  Spike heard the perky blonde chirp, “Good night!”

He rose to stand in the doorway, watching the path his rival had taken.  Harmony looked at him funny.  “You okay, boss?”

“I’m fine,” he said thickly.  But he wasn’t.  He felt a rage welling up inside him, a desperate need to lash out and destroy.  With a jerk, he turned and snatched up his coat.  “I’m going home.”

“Already?” she asked incredulously.  “But you’ve only been here . . .”  She stopped at the fiery look he gave her.  “No problem!  You have a great night.”

“Just . . . finish those presentations for morning and you can go.”  He dismissed her with a wave as he stormed out of the office.

He walked the whole way back to the hotel, four blocks west and fourteen blocks north, seeking relief through force of muscle and the chill October air.  The city was enveloped in the halftones of twilight, the headlights and display windows garish in the disappearing daylight.  His feet pounded out the rhythm of his pulse on the pavement, hard and fast and unrelenting.  He didn’t look up, plowing through the mass of humanity rather than look at them, make contact with them.  Wasn’t that how this had all started?  Making contact?

He made it to the hotel somehow and went up to his room without stopping.  He opened his door and went straight to the bar, quickly finishing off the bottle of whiskey and the vodka, and had gotten a good start on the gin while waiting for room service to deliver two more bottles of whiskey.  It arrived, eventually, with a carafe of coffee as well.  He glared at the attendant, grabbed the bottles off the cart and shut the door in his face.

He was trying for the fastest drunk on record, but inebriation only weakened his ability to suppress all the thoughts and images racing around in his brain.

Her words came back to slash at him from all directions, their sharp edges painful and hot.

He had wanted to lash out at her assertions, show her the suffering laid out on his soul by his wife’s betrayal.  But he couldn’t just tear open his shirt and show her the scars.  They were too deep, too secret to be seen or known by anyone.  The images that were so painfully brilliant to him were invisible to the rest of the world.

And of course thinking of the moment brought the image vividly to his eye.  Angel and Dru, locked in a dance of flesh, her porcelain skin made even more pale in contrast to his ruddy tones, his heft overwhelming her small body.  But as he watched, she changed.  The black drained out of her hair, leaving it straw gold and soft.  Her skin darkened to a honey tan and when she opened her passion-ripe eyes, they glittered green in the firelight.  And in his mind, Spike watched as the prick fucked the hell out of his own wife.  As he had every right to do.  As Spike had no right whatsoever.

He hurled the tumbler across the room to shatter in a shower of expensive crystal shards, destroying the image in his head.  A hysterical laugh welled up in his chest and escaped briefly before he worked himself up to his feet and staggered across the room to the bar to get another glass.

Prick.                                

Prick, prick, pricking, pricked.  By the pricking of my thumbs . . . Angel pricked Dru and Spike bled.  Spike pricked Buffy and Spike bled.  Wasn’t it someone else’s turn to bleed?

He downed another mouthful of whiskey.  Soon it would be Buffy’s turn to bleed.  When she found out her husband, the man that she had for better or for worsted was a philandering, manipulative whoreson.  She would feel that deeply.  Hadn’t she said so?  She was a woman, and women read more into sex than men, so she would read more into his affairs and it would kill her.  Take that fragile, naïve, trusting heart of hers and crumple it up like old wrapping paper.  He knew it would.  She felt everything so deeply.

He loved feeling her deeply.

Loved feeling her, loved fucking her, loved loving her.

Hated himself for destroying her.

He sobbed drunkenly and slid down the wall into a pile of limbs and bottles.  What was he doing that was so different from Angel?  He was using her, planning to hurt her in such a way that she would never recover.  For something she didn’t even know about.  And leaving her to suffer the consequences alone.  What would Angel do?  Would he leave her?  Would he beat her?  Bastard wouldn’t want used goods in his own house.

Son of a bitch.

The bottle in his hand was empty again.  He reached around, trying to find a full one but came up empty.  He slumped back against the wall, defeated.

He didn’t even know who he was anymore.  The young man he had been before Dru would have been too much of a gentleman to even consider using a lady in such a way.  But she had taken him, changed him, made him harder and more aggressive even before she had betrayed him.  He wanted to be everything for her, and so had allowed her to shape him, remake him in her image.  He had lost himself in her, completely and utterly.

He was finding himself again in Buffy.

In her clever innocence, she had shown him himself, made him remember what he could be, what he wanted to be.  Compassionate.  Creative.  Playful.  Romantic.  Hers.

Which he could never ever be.

Birds started chirping, and he looked to the curtained windows to see the pale light of dawn.

Except that he didn’t.  The night was still fully dark on the windows, and that damn bird just wouldn’t shut up.

It took a minute for his whiskey soaked brain to connect the chirping with the phone and stumble to his feet, looking for the handset.  He found it on the couch and kept moving toward the bedroom as he brought it to his ear.  “’Lo?” he mumbled into the mouthpiece.

“Hey.”

It was her.

He collapsed onto the bed, his brain swirling.  “Hey yourself,” he managed to put together. 

“I’m sorry to call so late.”

“’S okay.  Wasn’ sleep.”  He closed his eyes and let her gentle tones fill his head, replacing all the angry voices raging there.

“Because I’m sure you have better things to do at three a.m. than sleep.”

“Only you, pet.  Only you.”

She was silent.

He rolled on his side and half propped himself up.  “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she answered too brightly.

“Buffy.”

“Really.  I’m  . . . I’ll be fine.  It’s not really something I can talk about.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Not about . . . him.  Not this.”

The bastard had done something.  And she wouldn’t tell Spike out of loyalty.  He could wring the son of a bitch’s neck.

“I really just called to check up on you,” she hurried on.  “I was worried about you.”

“’M fine, luv.  Right as rain.”

“Have you been drinking?”

He rolled onto his back.  “Maybe just a little.”

“Oh, William.”

“’S not your fault, pet.  Just got thirsty.”

She was quiet for a moment.  “I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry your husband is a jackass,” he replied bluntly.

“William, please.”

“’M sorry, I’m sorry.”  He sighed.  “I’m not helping you any.  But I’m glad you called.”

“I’m just glad you answered the phone.”

“It was the only way to shut up that bloody bird.”

“Just how much have you had to drink?”  He thought he heard her smile.

“Dunno.”  He scrubbed his eyes.  “I’ll let you know when I count the empty bottles in the morning.”

She laughed wryly.  “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

“Buffy,” he pushed serious words over his booze swollen tongue.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No!  No, he didn’t hurt me.  Not physically.  Not intentionally.”  She hesitated.  “I just thought if I had more to give, then maybe . . . I can’t.  It just isn’t right to talk about this with you.”

Whoreson.  He’d make the bastard pay for hurting his girl.

“Maybe he was just having a bad night,” he offered more generously than he felt.  “Happens to the worst of us.”

“Good think you and I only have sex in the day, then.”

He barked a laugh.  “Miss Summers, the things that come out of your mouth.”

“Not as nice as some of the things I’ve put in my mouth.”

He growled.  “I’ll put something in your mouth.”

She moaned softly.  “I’d like that.”

“Christ, pet.  Are you tryin’ to kill me?”

“No,” her voice was low and husky.  “But it’s nice to know I can.”

“With just a word, love.  Just a word.”

They sat together quietly, just listening to each other breath.  Finally, she spoke.  “Well, you’d better start sleeping if you’re going to sleep this off.  You’ll be no good to me tomorrow all hung over.”

“Can’t have that.  Have to be able to service the girl.”

“Mmm.  I like the sound of that.”

He smiled.  “Anyone ever tell you you’re insatiable?”

“No,” she said flatly.  “Frankly, I think you are a corruptive influence.”

“’Bout time you noticed.”

“Good night, William.”

“Night, Buffy.”

He clicked off the phone and dropped it on the floor, dragging the bedspread up over him and burrowing into his pillows, the demons in his head quieted by her gentle voice.

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