Chapter 17 Satin and Lace
She woke up the next morning still out of sorts, the mortification of the night before, while eased by the conversation with William, still not forgotten.
Angel did nothing the help the situation. “So, have you got a new dress for the reception on Saturday?”
She looked up from her bagel in surprise. “What reception?”
“Masters’ Harvest reception. Since we aren’t going on our trip, we’ll be expected to be there.”
“It would have been nice if you’d told me before now!” she scolded.
“What’s to tell? He has it the weekend before Halloween every year. Honestly, Buffy, you’d think by now you’d remember these things.”
She threw her knife down on the table and stormed out of the room.
She wasn’t going to stay in the house moping all day, obsessing about her inconsiderate husband and her surprisingly shaky marriage. She dressed quickly in slacks and a linen blouse and bunched her hair up in a sloppy ponytail. Grabbing up her largest handbag, she stuffed it with her wallet, cell phone and makeup clutch. She wasn’t coming back beforehand, so she slipped William’s box out of the bottom drawer of her dresser and added that to the bag as well.
She heard the front door open and shut. Angel was gone to work. So much for her dramatic exit. She sank down onto the bed with a sigh. She didn’t really know where she was going to go, anyway. She didn’t want to spend the day alone, but William needed to be in the office today, so they couldn’t get together until later.
She thought for a moment, then fished her cell phone out of the bag and dialed it. “Hey, Willow? It’s Buffy. I’m in serious need of some shopping therapy and wondered if you were interested . . .”
“What do you think of this one?”
Willow stepped out of the dressing room to show off the purple paisley go-go dress she had tried on. The skirt was about as short as it could be and still be decent, and the neck and back both scooped low but still within the margins of good taste.
“Oh, Will! That’s the best one yet!” Buffy gushed. “The color highlights your skin perfectly, and the cut shows off, well, everything!”
“Do you really think so?” Willow tugged a bit at the short skirt.
“Absolutely. It’s the yummiest thing you’ve had on all day.”
“I really like it . . .”
“So buy it!” She laughed. “Honestly, Will, I don’t know how you buy anything when I’m not around!”
Willow stepped back into the changing room. “That’s why I always make sure to invite you along when I need something special!”
Buffy smiled and settled back on the little wicker love seat. Inviting Willow along today had been a stroke of genius. It was impossible to stay unhappy around her perky, upbeat friend.
It hadn’t all been easy. Buffy wanted so much to talk to Willow about what was going on in her life, about Angel and their problems, and about William. But where she felt comfortable talking about these things with Cordelia, Willow was her best friend, and ironically the last person she felt she could talk to about this. Willow’s marriage was so happy, she was so content with her life. Buffy didn’t want her friend to see her as a failure. Or worse. So they had chatted about all manner of other things, staying as far away from discussions of relationships as Buffy could manage.
And they had shopped like fiends. Buffy had even satisfied her husband’s requirements and purchased a new gown for his boss’s party that weekend. These events were always black tie, so she had been pleased to find the simple but elegant evening gown in one of the hip Soho shops they were patronizing. It was blood red peau de soie with raised black velvet floral patterns scattered across the surface. Black velvet spaghetti straps held the top in place, crossing over the low cut back. The bodice was snug, but flared softly over the hips to fall in a full almost-train at the floor that swung gracefully when she moved.
So now they were looking for a dress for Willow for one of the trendy parties she often had to attend as the wife of a music rep. It wasn’t really her natural style, which consisted of a lot of cotton and neutral colors, but she blossomed when Buffy helped her with the fancier choices. Which made Buffy feel good as well.
Her cell phone cheeped its tiny three ring tone. She dug it out and punched the button. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
Her pulse jumped at the sound of his voice. “I’m down in Soho, shopping with a friend.” She stepped slightly away from the dressing room and Willow.
“Where. Are. You.” He ground out again.
“I’m in Florentine’s. On Spring Street.”
He disconnected.
“Okay . . .” She hit end and dropped the phone back in her purse. “That was strange.”
Willow came out of the changing room, dress in hand. “Is Angel keeping tabs on you again?”
“Something like that.”
They finished browsing and paid for their selections. They had just turned onto the sidewalk when Buffy collided with a solid male body. Strong hands grabbed her arms to keep her from falling on her ass, but her purse and packages all hit the pavement.
She dropped down to her knees and began sweeping the contents back into her handbag when a warm, familiar voice said, “Let me help you with that.”
She looked up in surprise into devilish marine blue eyes.
“Why, Miss Summers, imagine running into you here.”
She shook her head in amused disbelief. “What a coincidence.”
He handed her back half of her bags as they stood up. Before she could demand the rest, he nodded behind her. “Won’t you introduce me?”
“Oh!” She had forgotten all about Willow. She gestured with her hand to her friend. “Will . . .” He shook his head slightly and she caught herself, moving her hand to indicate him instead. “Willow, I’d like you to meet Spike Fitzwilliam.” The name felt odd on her tongue, wrong somehow, but he nodded. “Spike is a co-worker of Angel’s. And a friend.” His face darkened at the name, and she shrugged apologetically. “Spike, this is my good friend Willow Osbourne.”
William held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Willow took it eagerly. “How do you do?”
“It looks as though you ladies have had a productive day,” he said, eyeing the array of bags they carried. “Can I invite you out for coffee to celebrate the successful hunt?”
Buffy looked to Willow, but the redhead shook her head. “I wish I could, but I have to get home before Devon gets home from school. And then we have a pre-release party tonight, so I need time to try to make myself look tragically hip. But you guys go. That way I don’t have to feel guilty for abandoning Buffy.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Buffy said, trying not to look eager.
They walked down to Broadway to hail Willow a taxi. William spent most of the time chatting with Willow, learning about Oz’s work and Willow’s own boutique software design business. By the time he handed her into the cab, Willow was totally smitten.
“I would almost think you were trying to make me jealous,” Buffy said as the cab pulled away.
“Did it work?”
She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“Good to know.” He put his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head as they turned back into the shopping district. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“Mostly. Just need something to wear under my dress for Saturday, but I can get those later.”
“What, and deprive me of the chance to see you parade around in pretty knickers? I think not!” He grinned at her wickedly. “Come on, I know just the place.”
They walked together comfortably, their arms around each other’s waist, talking casually. Without discussing it, they seemed to agree that last night was off limits.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Buffy teased him. “You were going to see me in two hours. You couldn’t wait?”
“No, I couldn’t. I’d been away from you long enough. So when I heard Darla gossiping to Harmony about where you were, I had to come track you down. I was close. Only a couple of blocks away.”
“So I have something to thank Darla for. There’s a surprise.”
“That girl’s really got it in for you.”
“Feeling’s mutual. I can’t stand her. She’s been Angel’s secretary since we moved here, and we’ve never gotten along.”
“She’s just jealous because she’s totally outclassed.”
“Damn straight!”
He laughed and hugged her close.
Two blocks later they stopped in front of a tastefully designed lingerie shop. “How do you know about this place?” Buffy asked.
“I have an interesting range of friends.”
“And one of them owns this?”
“No, one of them shops here for work.” He guided her in the front door as she looked at him in surprise, trying to list the kinds of jobs that would require specialized underwear.
They were met almost instantly by an attractive, professionally dressed young woman who’s name badge proclaimed her to be Heidi. “Good afternoon,” she said, friendly without being perky. “How can I help you?”
William took the rest of Buffy’s bags and elbowed her forward. “The lady’s looking for a new wardrobe.”
“No!” Buffy was embarrassed. “No, I just need something to go with a new dress.” She turned to reach into one of the bags to catch him shaking his head at the clerk. “William!”
“You need to be measured and molded, pet. Let Heidi do her job.”
Heidi seemed experienced with these kinds of debates. She took Buffy’s arm and led her back towards the fitting rooms. “Let me take your measurements and we can talk about what you are looking for.”
Buffy took the bag with her dress for the reception from William, sticking her tongue out at him. He kissed her quickly and let her go.
The fitting rooms were in an alcove in the back of the store. Instead of the usual cold cubicles with horrible fluorescents, these rooms were comfortably wallpapered and carpeted, with upholstered chairs and gilt frames on the mirrors. Instead of doors, each cubby was covered with sensual heavy silk drapes in gold and red. If they had taken it any further, it would have looked like a seventeenth century French brothel, but instead it looked elegant and surprisingly comforting.
Heidi showed her into one of the rear rooms. “If you’ll get undressed, I’ll take your sizes. You can leave your underthings on.” She smiled as she dropped the curtain.
Buffy shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. As she undid her blouse, she heard soft voices murmuring in the waiting area. She knew William was chatting up the clerk, trying to get his way. But she felt ridiculous. She was no supermodel to be wearing these things. It just wasn’t her. Maybe she could talk him out of it.
She finished undressing and drew on the light silk robe hanging on a hook waiting for her. But when she pushed back the curtain, he was gone. Heidi was still there, a tape measure around her neck, the velvet dress hanging by one of the mirrors. The rest of her bags were sitting beside a small loveseat in the middle of the fitting area. William was nowhere to be seen.
Heidi greeted her with a warm smile. “You found a beautiful dress,” she said, stepping forward to begin measuring her. “Have you picked out a pair of shoes? Lift your arms, please.”
“Um, yes, I have a pair at home.” She complied.
“Are they sandals or closed?” Heidi slipped the measure around Buffy’s breasts and noted a number, then around her ribs and noted another number. She stopped to write them down.
“Closed. They’re black velvet cut away pumps.”
Heidi smiled. “Sounds perfect. We’ve got a couple of different kinds of hose you might like.” The measure went around Buffy’s waist, then hips, then fanny. “A red silk keyholed stocking might be nice if you wanted a contrast to the shoes.”
As the girl spoke, Buffy noticed in the kaleidoscope of mirrors a white blond head moving about in the store, pausing here and there as he went. She let Heidi continue with her measurements, thigh, leg length, torso, as she watched him, trying to figure out what he was up to.
When the girl had finished noting everything down, she smiled again at Buffy. “Let me go pick out a few things you might like. I’ll be right back.”
She was barely gone a moment before William slipped in. “Having fun yet, luv?”
“No, I feel silly.” She pulled the robe tighter around herself.
“You just aren’t used to being pampered.” He rested his hands on her waist. “Just relax and let us spoil you for a bit.”
“I’d rather just go home.”
He nuzzled into her hair. “Indulge me. I just wanna play dress up with my favorite pretty dolly.”
She started to get it. This wasn’t just about getting her these things for her to have. He wanted to see her in them, enjoy her body with his eyes. The lingerie was just a frame for that, the different frames bringing different nuances to the canvas. Her.
“Well, if you really want to . . .”
“Tell you what,” he leaned down to press butterfly soft kisses along her neck, “do this for me, let me play dress up with you for a little while, and I’ll dress up for you later.”
Well, that settled that. “Alright,” she said, drawing a fortifying breath, “let’s do this.”
He grinned like a boy at Christmas and she had to laugh.
Heidi returned then, and Buffy slipped out of William’s arms to see what she had brought.
“I thought you might prefer something simple,” Heidi explained, holding up a pretty red silk bra and panty set, “and I also grabbed a matching garter so you could try those keyhole stockings we talked about. But, if you were feeling a little more daring, you might want to try this.” She pulled out a red satin and lace bustier. “It will go beautifully with your gown. It’s low enough in the back that it won’t show, and will give you a much cleaner line than the separate pieces would.”
She glanced over at William, whose eyes had darkened on seeing the elegant piece. Steeling herself, she reached for it. “Let me try this first.”
She dropped the curtain and slid the robe off her shoulders to hang it on its hook, followed by her practical white silk underthings. She heard soft voices from the sitting area for a moment, but then all was quiet.
She started with the stockings, figuring that would be easier than trying to bend over in the restrictive foundation garment. “Keyholed” she found meant that they had a chain of half inch oval openings running up the back of each stocking like an old fashioned seam. She pulled them on, careful not to catch her toes in the holes, then turned her back to the mirror to make sure they fell straight. The dark red of the silk became translucent crimson on her legs, sheer and alluring. Next, she slipped on the red bikini panties, settling the lace bands in place over her hips. Finally, she slid the bustier over her head and down to settle around her waist, the satin cool against her skin. She lifted her breasts to settle them in the cups, then tightened the cinch at her waist.
The outfit was confining like she knew it would be. What she hadn’t expected was the rush of sensuality it also brought. The silk and satin felt like warm skin on her body, touching and arousing all her intimate places. She wondered what William would think of it. That thought aroused her even more, and she quickly hooked up the garters and went to find out.
When she drew back the curtain, he was there, quietly discussing a small pile of intimates with Heidi. He turned to see her and stopped, allowing the rest of his body to follow his head. “What do you think?” she asked breathlessly.
He stalked her slowly, taking in every inch of her. Finally he stopped, laying his hands on the narrower curve of her waist from behind, and turned her to face one of the main mirrors. “See for yourself,” he said huskily.
She watched in the mirror as his hand came up to untangle the band holding her hair in its ponytail, allowing it to tumble loosely down around her shoulders.
She looked with his eyes, and was amazed at what she saw. She was voluptuous. The red brought out the best of her color, the bodice adding shape to her natural curves, the stockings highlighting every muscle in her legs. She looked like a creature made for sex.
She felt his fingers slide down over the bare skin of her hip and around the swell of her ass to the strap supporting her stockings, leaving an electric trail everywhere he touched her. “Just one minor problem,” he said silkily. Deftly he unhooked the strap from the back and slid it around to the side to re-hook it there just as easily. He repeated the action on her left leg. “There, all better.”
She sagged against him.
“Tush, pet, we’re just getting started.” But she could see from his eyes in the mirror that he wanted her as badly. He finally tore himself away to hand her several more items. “Try these.”
She tried on everything he offered her. He brought her every color, every style, in all manner of combinations until she felt like he was having her try the whole store. Plaids and solids, stripes, florals, polka dots. Bras and panties, teddies, camisoles, garters, corsets, stockings. She was most surprised by the lace panties. She had expected them to be scratchy and uncomfortable, but they were actually very soft and so loaded with elastic that they hugged her every curve. William seemed to like them as well, for he kept pairing them with other top pieces for her to try.
The first time she tried on a thong, she almost dismissed them out of hand as too constrictive. Until William stepped up behind her and, hidden from view, ran his hands warmly over her bare ass.
She added six to the keep pile.
The latex and PVC pieces they both laughed at outright and quickly shunted to the no pile.
One softly ruffled bra and matching skirted panties in soft pink made her laugh until she saw the intensity of his look. She put them on the keep pile as well.
Heidi was a discreet third in their play, hovering on the edges to help but not be in the way. Maybe she had dealt with erotic couples shopping together before, because she was very smooth about it. She would help Buffy with fit, or offer suggestions to William, give them her opinion if they asked for it, but otherwise stay back out of their way. And for the most part they were able to forget she was there.
Buffy watched him as carefully as he watched her, and she could tell he was nearing his breaking point. His eyes were almost black, his breathing shallow, his skin flushed and warm. His nostrils flared every time she walked into the room.
She felt a rush of power, a sense of pure femaleness, and let it take her over. She flirted and vamped, pushing him, prodding him, stroking him without ever touching him.
It was the corset that finally made him snap. It was ivory brocade, and fit tightly around her waist. The top shaped and supported her breasts without covering them, the waist tapering in a curved vee to draw his eye down to the delicate lace thong covering her curls. The garters were attached to matching ivory stockings topped in delicate lace, highlighting the tan of her thighs.
She simply stood before him, knees slightly apart, head tipped to the side in challenge, and watched him. Something flared in his eyes, something deeply male, almost animal. He rose slowly off the love seat and prowled closer to her. “Thank you, Heidi, I think we’ve seen enough for today. Why don’t you start ringing up these things while I help Miss Summers out of that.”
“Of course.” If she suspected what was about to happen, she didn’t let it show on her face. She gathered up the yes pile and slipped quietly out of the dressing area.
He was on her in an instant, his mouth devouring hers, one hand fisted in her hair, the other coasting hungrily over her bare breasts. She moaned at the contact, and with a matching groan of his own, he pushed her back through the curtain to the changing room.
He turned her in his arms to face the mirror, still toying with her breasts as his other hand moved down to squeeze and stroke her behind, his agile fingers freeing his cock to slide eagerly between her thighs. “Look at yourself,” he commanded, and she couldn’t refuse him. She was amazed to see the sensual, smoky, erotic creature looking back at her, dressed like a virgin but acting quite the opposite. She tightened her thighs along his length, making him growl. She felt him take himself in hand, one finger reaching out to slide the band of the thong she wore aside as he probed for her opening. He place his free hand between her shoulders and pushed her forward to lean on the glass, and she watched in wonder her face’s reactions as he pushed into her fiercely.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured against her ear as they thrust together. She felt his hands coasting along her thighs, felt the elastic of the garters release. “You make everything you wear beautiful. But they are just illusions on your body.” His strong hands spanned her waist and squeezed, releasing the hooks down her belly. The brocade and boning fell open, and he pulled it from between them, dropping it on the floor. “That’s your true beauty,” his hands skimmed over the newly revealed skin as he moved faster inside her. “Your body and your power. You are a goddess when you wield your power. I tremble at your feet. The clothes are just a tease, an enticement. ‘Take me off and find the treasures underneath,’ they say.” He slid a hand over her stomach and beneath the waistband of her panties to find her hard, sensitive clitoris. Her head snapped back, driving him deeper into her, and she braced her hands on the mirror to push back against him harder, faster. He acknowledged her demands with his hand and cock, fucking her ferociously as she watched. Her eyes drifted up to his and she found him watching her intently in the glass. He was still fully dressed, tie still neatly knotted, his trousers still up, the open fly hidden by her body. The eroticism of the image of her nakedness against his clothed body overwhelmed her. She couldn’t look away from his demanding, pleading, hungry eyes as her body began to tremble, a cry of release growing in her throat.
He slapped a hand over her mouth, twisting her head back and to the side, burying his head in her throat. “God Buffy never seen anything as beautiful as you when you come.” He lifted her heels off the floor with each thrust. She allowed her orgasm free rein, screaming into his hand as all the muscles in her body clenched and released around him. He didn’t stop fingering her clit, slamming into her, and she felt a second release building as he got closer and closer. “Love fucking you, love being the one to make you look like that. Love . . .” and he exploded into her, lifting her clear off the floor as he buried his roar of release into her neck. She shattered just as suddenly, bucking madly against him as he spent.
He staggered backwards and collapsed into the chair, pulling out of her but keeping her close as they sat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder as he quietly stroked her bare back. He kissed her gently along the side of her face until their mouths met, a gentle, grateful kiss.
She was the one to bring them back to reality. “Heidi’s going to be looking for us.”
“Fuck Heidi,” he growled.
She giggled. “Don’t you dare!” Regretfully she slid off his lap and closed up his slacks for him. “Go on. Make Heidi’s commission for the month. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He pushed himself to his feet, then leaned forward to kiss her softly. He paused for a moment as though he wanted to say something, then he kissed her again and, catching up the corset, slipped out of the room.
She sat back down to remove the stockings and fold them back into their package. The panties she took off and stuffed in her coat pocket. She hoped they were part of the corset set, because no matter how brazen she was feeling, she wasn’t about to go out there and hand Heidi a pair of sodden panties to ring up.
She looked at her own underwear in distaste. The white silk was comfortable and practical, but after what she’d been wearing the last hour, it just seemed so unappealing. So she added them to her coat pocket and selected from the maybe pile a translucent nude demi bra and matching bikinis, each delicately embroidered with vines and small wildflowers. She tore off the tags and dressed quickly, gathering up her things as she went to join William at the register.
“Make sure you add an extra hundred on there for yourself, pet,” he was saying to Heidi, handing over his charge card. “You were the best.”
Buffy handed the girl the package of stockings and the two tags. “Could you add those as well, please?” Then she turned to William and said softly, “I thought I was the best.”
He bent close to her ear. “No, love, you are bloody amazing is what you are.”
She looked up, blushing, and caught Heidi’s eye, saw a hint of jealously there.
She couldn’t help but smile smugly.
Chapter 18 Something Brave from your Lips
Her shopping bags were lined up neatly on the couch. Their coats were hung up in the closet, their shoes neatly lined up underneath.
They stood in the bedroom doorway, simply enjoying the pleasures of each other’s mouth, slow, soft, wet kisses that seemed to go on for hours.
They took turns unbuttoning each other’s shirts, one button at a time from the top down, gently exploring newly bared skin as though it were something never before seen.
He reached the bottom first, and pushed the creamy linen off her shoulders to fall on the floor. He pulled back slightly to look at her, smiling at the new bra she wore. She used the opportunity to unfasten his last two buttons to slide her hands warmly over the cut muscles of his chest and belly. He reached up to cup one breast. “’M glad you got these. Like the way they look on you.” His thumb followed the green tracery over the swell of her breast.
“I look like I’m not wearing anything but flowers,” she said breathlessly.
“Yeah.” He grinned wickedly and captured her mouth again, indulging in its warmth. When he finally pulled back, he asked huskily, “Suppose it’s too much to hope you got the panties to go with that?”
She smirked and stepped back, unbuttoning her trousers and dropping them to the floor in a shimmy of hips that moved her whole body.
“Absolutely brilliant.” He stepped forward and dropped his head, tracing the vines on her breast slowly with his tongue, taking time to attend lovingly to each flower he came across. Her fingers locked in his hair as he worked, allowing his hand to copy the actions of his tongue on the front of her panties. Finally she couldn’t stand his teasing anymore, and she reached behind to unclasp the hooks holding the bra in place, slipping her arms out of the straps and allowing it to drop to the floor as she brought his head back down. “Do it now.”
He did, his tongue following a tangle of imaginary lines across the round surface of each breast. She gasped as he curlicued over each nipple, pausing to bring them up to hard peaks with his eager lips and tongue. His fingers followed a line of embroidery between her thighs, making her whimper in need.
“Buffy,” he said softly against her skin, “are you feeling brave, love?”
“After what we did today, you have to ask me that?” Her head lolled over his, her hands busily pushing his shirt down his arms to run over the warm velvet of his back.
“No, pet, you’re feeling strong, powerful.” He lifted his head to stroke his lips along her pulse. “But do you feel brave enough to give that up?”
She pulled back from him, confused. What was he asking of her?
“Give it up to me,” he breathed. “Let me have your power for a little while.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She knew what he wanted from her. Submission. Complete surrender.
She nodded slowly.
He kissed her gently, lingeringly as he swept her up into his arms, holding her close as he carried her across the room to the side of the bed. Almost reluctantly he set her down in the middle of the spread, piling pillows behind her so that she was half sitting. And then, his mouth still gently devouring hers, he stretched her right arm up over her head to the corner of the bed and, catching up the silk tie already in place there, tied her wrist to the corner of the bed.
Never breaking the connection of their mouths, he slipped across her and repeated the actions on her left wrist. It was snug, and she felt the muscles and tendons in her arms and shoulders flex, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and she felt a small thrill as she tugged at the bonds.
Finally he broke their kiss to move his lips and hands down her body, teasing all her sensitive places without making contact. By the time he reached her feet, she was whimpering. He knelt between her knees and curled his fingers around the elastic at her hips, drawing the delicate underwear down over her thighs and calves, his eyes caressing her naked flesh. He drew them off and cast them aside, his eyes moving up to meet hers. “All right?” he asked gently, his voice full of emotion.
She could only nod quickly.
“Do you remember our safe word?” He ran his hand lovingly down her leg, catching her ankle to draw it to the corner of the bed.
She nodded again.
“You need to say it, Buffy.” He drew another silk tie up from the frame of the bed to tie around her slender ankle.
“Pri . . . Prince Albert.” She giggled uncontrollably.
“Exactly.” He stroked her other leg between his warm hands, stretching her wide. “I promise you won’t need it, but I want you to have it. I want you to feel safe.” He tugged her leg slightly, sliding her a few inches over the sheets. “Just not too safe.” He quickly knotted the last tie around her ankle and stood back to admire his handiwork.
She had never felt so vulnerable before. Every part of her was exposed to his rampant gaze. She couldn’t hide from him, couldn’t stop him. He just watched her, his hand stroking the bare flesh of his stomach. Finally he turned and left the room.
He was back in a moment with several throw pillows from the couch and the red box. He propped the pillows under her knees, bending them slightly as he did. A third pillow he slid under her behind, lifting her hips and opening her center more.
He stood back to evaluate his work critically before shifting his hooded gaze to meet her enormous eyes again. He smirked at her in that way he had that liquefied her spine, and very slowly he dropped his hands to the waist of his trousers and stripped down before her.
His body was magnificent, the subdued light of the room adding depth to the contours of his muscles. His cock was hard and erect, and he stroked it lightly as he watched her. She whimpered again. “Want something, luv?” His voice rumbled as he spoke.
“I want you,” she said without hesitation, a desperate edge to her words. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Oh, pet, you know how I love it when you talk dirty. But I’m afraid I’ve got other plans for you first.” He moved to the bedside table, his back to her so she couldn’t see. She saw him set aside the top of the silk box, heard pages turning. A few moments later, he turned back, a book and something shiny in his hand.
He sat down on the bed next to her, in the harbor made of her extended arm and leg and the curve of her waist. He didn’t touch her, just studied her, drinking in every inch of her, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. She squirmed restlessly under his gaze, trying to gain some friction to ease her need. But he had placed her too carefully, and she knew she would find no relief except at his pleasure. She sobbed silently.
His words, when they came, were not what she had expected to hear. “I believe,” he began, his voice low and sultry, “that I made you a promise earlier. Do you remember what it was?”
She shook her head quickly. She was lucky to remember her own name at the moment.
His voice never changed from its seductive cadence. “I promised you that if you would dress up for me, I would dress up for you. And there was one thing in particular you wanted to see, that you thought was hot, remember?”
Her eyes widened as he carefully, deliberately unfolded his glasses and slipped them on. He met her eyes, gauging her reaction. His look was intense, erotic, but the wire rims softened it, gave him a touch of vulnerability that made her want to protect him even as she was a little bit afraid of him.
He sat there, let her drink in his appearance. She could tell he was fully aware of the effect he was having on here, as his eyes narrowed over the curl of his lip. Finally he spoke. “Are you ready to begin?”
Begin? She felt almost ready to come now! She mewled softly.
He peered at her over the top of the spectacles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. Could you speak more clearly, please?” His tone was stern but not cruel.
She swallowed hard, struggling for control of her tongue. “Yes, please,” she said thickly. “I’m ready.”
“Excellent.” He smiled at her approvingly. Then he opened the book in his lap to the page he held marked and began to read.
“From inside the pocket of his worn leather jacket, he pulls out the invitation, casually handing it over for me to read. Even though I hold the card carefully, it shakes in my trembling grip. On the front of the invite is a closed door with golden light shining through a keyhole. Inside the card is written: ‘Check your inhibitions at the door.’ Aside from the time, the place, and the RSVP information, that’s all it says. No explanation of fashion criteria. No helpful hints on how to behave. Maybe the rest of the guests know what to do at festivities such as this, but I have no idea. I’ve never been to a sex party before. At least, not outside of daydreams.”
His voice oozed over her, low, even, soothing in spite of the frission of electricity it set coursing under her skin. The words were incredibly erotic, but no more so than the situation she found herself in, tied down, vulnerable, being read explicit stories by a god of a man in wire frames. Was that in his book anywhere?
“Whenever we’ve engaged in that confessing game, whispering to each other late at night under the covers about what fantasy most turns us on, this is what I tell him: ‘I want to be seen.’
‘Describe it.’
‘I want to make love to you while other people watch.’ A hesitation. A breath. ‘While other people join in.’
‘You’d share me?’
‘For a night—‘ I say. ‘One night only.’”
It was becoming too much for her. The imagery, the sensuality of his voice, the anticipation, the tension of her bonds, all worked together to make her absolutely desperate. She writhed against her restraints, begging, sobbing, but he just continued on.
She cried out as she felt one warm finger slide between her labia, drawing along the length as though evaluating her. She arched up into the touch, but he pulled back, keeping the stroke frustratingly gentle. When he needed to turn the page, he pulled away and licked the digit he had been caressing her with, then used it to turn the page.
“Please, William! Please!” she begged him.
He simply smiled and continued reading.
“’We stay,’ I tell my boyfriend. ‘Please, let’s stay.’
Hunter kisses me again, and then we create our own new positions on the chaise lounge. At my words, Mica is the one to smile and make the first move, to sink to her knees and part her full lips around Hunter’s cock. He is in instant ecstasy, sighing and running his hands through Mica’s long blonde hair, now down from its carefully constructed upsweep, but I feel slightly unsure of what to do. Should I just watch, becoming once again an audience member as I am in most of my dealings in life?”
His hand dipped back down and he fingered her again, two fingers sliding up and down and around in her slippery folds. She reveled in it, circling her hips with small jerks to bring his fingers in contact with her clit. He allowed this until it brought her too much relief, and then he would take his hand away again, making her scream in frustration.
“In the candlelight, the room takes on a hedonistic aura, as if our little trio has been transported back in time to Roman orgies, where decadence was not only encouraged but rewarded. But after a few minutes of being treated to such fabulous sucking, Hunter wants more action. He moves up on the sofa and, with a look divided evenly between me and Mica, he gets behind her. As he slips his cock between her thighs, he murmurs to her, ‘Go down on Dara while I fuck you. I want to watch her face change as you make her come.’”
He kept going, torturing her with words and caresses. It seemed to just keep going on and on, and she had given up on finding relief when he finally reached the end of the story. He closed the book and set it aside. She was surprised that he didn’t do the same with his glasses. Instead, he rose and moved to the foot of the bed. He knelt between her legs, bent down to suck warm, wet kisses along her inner thighs.
She knew what he was going to do. “No!” she cried out, gasping. “Please, William, it’s too much! Please just fuck me! I need you so badly!”
He looked up at her, the lamplight glinting off the gold frames of his glasses. “Buffy, if you want me to stop, you know what to do. Say the magic words and I’ll stop. I’ll untie you, and kiss you sweetly and hold you, and we’ll be done for the night. But until you do, I get to decide what I will and won’t do to you. Do you understand?”
Panting hard, she nodded.
“So, do you have anything to say?”
It took her a moment to shake her head no.
“Good. Because I’m really very hungry.” And he bent his head to dig eagerly into her cunt.
His tongue was liquid fire against her, eager, brutal, hot against flesh desperate for contact. She screamed out as he slid around her center, sucking and licking all the moisture oozing out of her. He drew it up over her clit and down to circle around the tight pucker of her ass, making her jerk away in fear. He slid his arms under her legs and up over her hips to hold her in place as she bucked and rolled against his face. She jumped every time the cold metal of his glasses made contact with her superheated flesh. Glancing down, she saw his deceptively innocent young face buried between her legs, saw the satisfaction in his eyes as he pleasured her, a quirk of the wicked in his look. As his mouth worked her clit, he slipped one long finger into her channel, stroking lightly as it moved. It took her a moment to register that it was the wrong hand before he slipped back out of her and traced the line of liquid down between her cheeks.
“No!” This time fear motivated her demand. She didn’t want this. This was . . . wrong. “Prince . . . Prince . . .”But she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
He stilled, watching her, waiting for the words to come.
Her chest was heaving in panic, in desire. She didn’t want to stop, but she had never even considered going there. But he had promised her she’d be safe. And she trusted him. Slowly she let herself relax.
In response, he tongued eagerly at her clit, rewarding her for her bravery. She felt climax knotting itself in her gut, and she reached for it eagerly, just as his index finger slipped through the tight ring of muscles into her ass.
Her entire body clenched, eyes and mouth open in wordless, silent scream. It was a sensation she could only describe as intensity, one that contracted every muscle in her body, holding it locked as he gently moved in and out of her. “Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .” Her voice climbed the register as orgasm wrapped around her. Her muscles suddenly released as her whole being erupted and she convulsed against him, driving his hand perhaps further into her than he had meant to go. She screamed in surprise, in ecstasy, and he drove her on with mouth and tongue.
Finally, she collapsed, limp, panting, dripping in sweat. He slipped the finger out of her gently, soothingly licked at her sensitive skin before sitting back on his haunches to look at her.
“Fortune favors the brave,” he commented throatily.
She just nodded, her hands opening and closing spasmodically around the ties holding her in place.
“Still want me to fuck you, Buffy?”
Without opening her eyes, she nodded her head enthusiastically.
“Good. Because if I don’t get inside you soon . . .”
She arched her hips toward him. “Give it to me good, William. I need to feel you inside me.”
The velvet head of his cock probed for entrance like a familiar friend, and she welcomed it, guiding it home with a shift of her pelvis. He thrust into her with a shuddering groan and she cried out as the altered angle of her hips brought him in contact with her most sensitive places. He took her hips in his hands, lifting them higher to allow him to kneel over her as he pumped into her. He was too far gone already, and his usual patter of beautiful words was reduced to deep, guttural, animalistic noises that made her want to claw and bite at him. She felt each thrust in her throat as he lost himself in her, reveled in the pleasure of another person finding delight in her body. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him but she settled for grinding her pelvis against him, pulsing her walls around him as he sank into her time and time again.
It was only moments before she felt the tell tale tightening of his balls against her ass. “That’s it,” she encouraged. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel it so much. Want to feel how much you enjoy my body. Let it go, lover. Nothing better than feeling you . . .”
“Ungh!” He slammed into her hard and froze, panting two breaths before he jerked shallowly with another grunt, gasping and groaning with each eruption. He collapsed, his head resting against her breast. She wanted to touch him, sooth him, caress the sweat tangled curls on his head. She was able to bend her neck just far enough to kiss his crown as he gasped for air against her chest.
She thought he might have fallen asleep, it took him so long to move. But finally he rose and left the bed, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom. The light came on, and she heard water running, the flow interrupted by something passing under the stream. After a few moments, the water and the light went off again, and he came out, a wet washcloth in hand. He leaned over her and gently, thoroughly cleaned her tender places with the warm cloth, his touch comforting, caring. He tossed the cloth back into the bathroom and untied first one ankle and then the other, kissing each before bringing them together. She groaned softly as the release of tension eased her flexed muscles. Then he leaned forward and repeated the actions on her wrists, his lips lingering on each pulse point before he gathered her up in his arms, pulling the covers over them. “Brave, brave Buffy,” he murmured against her hair. “So proud of you. So strong.”
She drifted off to sleep, his words of praise a melody in her ear.
Chapter 19 Artist's Tools
Spike picked his way carefully down the alley, comparing the address on the slip of paper in his hand to the building numbers he passed. Buffy’s studio was about as far south and west as it could be and still be called Soho. Even so, it must have cost Angel a pretty penny when he’d bought it for her. Must kill him to know it was standing around unused.
Forty-seven Dominick Alley. Here it was. Not what he’d expected. It looked to be the back of one of the old cast iron buildings, with two loading bay doors and a steel door at the entrance with a keypad. Hardly art space. But he stepped up gamely and rang the number she had given him.
He had given up and turned away when the intercom finally squawked. “William? Is that you?” Buffy’s voice came through the static.
He pushed the button. “Yeah, love, it’s me.”
“Come on up. Fourth floor, last door.” And the steel door buzzed.
He pulled it open. The entrance hall was bare and stark, leading to a square stairwell with painted iron stairs circling upward. The old rail was smooth under his hand, worn from all the people who had used it over the building’s lifetime.
The fourth floor landing opened onto a long hallway of old wood floors, new drywalled walls and a pressed tin ceiling. There were only two doors on the hall, one near the stairs on the left and one on the right at the end of the hall. As he passed the first door, he paused to read the sign on the glass. Dominick Street Movement Center. Jazz, ballet, tap, yoga, tai chi and taekwon do. Well, someone had a variety of interests. He continued on to the end of the hall and knocked on the scarred wooden door there. He heard a muffled sound and presumed it was her bidding him to come in, so he tried the heavy brass knob. It turned easily in his hand.
The space did not live up to the promised blandness of the entrance. Except for the long drywalled wall dividing the studio from the rest of the floor, the architecture was unchanged from its origins. Bare bricks and copper piping showed throughout. The front opposite the new wall was a row of tall windows, the tops curved in an elegant scallop. The ceilings were easily sixteen to eighteen feet high and covered in antique pressed tin tiles. To the far right was a spiral staircase leading up to a loft railed in in ornate black iron work. Part of the space underneath was framed out to make what he presumed were the facilities. The rest was a small kitchenette.
The long wall was covered in shelves and closets and storage racks, some of which were now standing open, as well as shelf upon shelf of art books. The brick wall to the left was covered in unframed canvasses. A long, wide table stood in front of it, covered in a variety of mats and stretchers and containers holding rulers and knives and medieval looking cutting devices, a variety of frames stacked underneath. The floor near the windows was covered in an array of Persian rugs and set with an old leather couch and a couple of chairs as well as her easel and stool, a rolling cart filled with paints, brushes, palettes and miscellaneous other necessities nearby. There was fresh paint on the canvas.
And in the middle of it all was Buffy. Her hair was clipped loosely on top of her head, and she was dressed in slouchy, paint stained overalls and a PAFA t-shirt. But what he noticed most was how her face glowed.
She put down her brush and danced across the floor to throw herself into his arms. Her legs and arms tangled around him as she dropped light kisses all over his face. He grinned at her excitement, finally stopping her by catching her mouth with his own to kiss her properly. She tasted sweet and happy, and it was hard for him to pull away. “Hello to you, too.”
She laughed, sliding down his body playfully, making him groan at the intimate contact. She took his hand and led him into the space. “Let me show you around.”
She proceeded to give him the grand tour, which included the contents of every drawer and cupboard. “The oils have all mostly dried out, but my watercolors seem to be salvageable. The pens are all hit or miss.” The bathroom included a stand up shower and sink as well as a small linen closet. The kitchenette pantry was bare save for a few cans of soup. “I haven’t been here much, so it didn’t make sense to keep it stocked.” Up the spiral stairs in the loft was a small office, complete with phone and fax, as well as a small bed and dresser.
She led him to the railing to look down into the studio. “This was apparently the machine floor for whatever the company was that originally built the place. The floor is six by sixes throughout to support the weight of the machinery. I could do welded sculpture up here and no one in the offices below would even know it. Not that I’d want to.” She turned to lean her back against the railing. “This was the foreman’s office. He could sit up here and take care of business while still keeping an eye on the work floor.”
“I must say, pet, this is a pretty amazing place.”
“It’s way too big for what I do with it. But Angel owned the building already, and I was a sucker for those windows. So when he sold it to some business developer, he stipulated in the contract that this would be mine outright.”
“That must have cost him.”
“Not really. Even with the lost space, he still more than doubled his investment.”
He laid his coat and jacket over the railing. “So. What do we do now?”
“I want to finish doing the base coat on this canvas. And then I’m going to put my newest model through his paces.”
“What?” He followed her down the stairs. “Now wait just a . . .”
She turned and kissed him, a smile on her lips as she slid them over his. He gathered her close and reveled in her, knowing the battle was already lost. But somehow he never minded losing to her.
Finally she pushed him away, still smiling. “I won’t be long.” And she went back to her canvas.
He watched her work for a few minutes, the wide brush she was using making dark washes of crimson and marigold on the canvas, spritzes of water from a spray bottle helping them to merge without actually blending.
Eventually he drifted away to the storage cabinets, to the racks where she kept her own work. The stretched canvases showed mostly figurative works, rich in color and detail, but very static. The models were obviously posed, nothing organic or natural to them. While she was good, the subjects all had a two dimensional quality to them, perhaps the source of the Lichtenstein comment in her review. But he had never seen anyone use color the way she did, especially in the watercolors. To him, watercolor always meant wispy paintings of dreary British quaintness. But she brought out jewel-tone depths from the paints that he wouldn’t have imagined possible. Her representational skills may need some work, a change that simple life experience may have wrought, but her mastery of pigment was absolute.
“So, are you ready?” She spoke from behind him, and he turned to find her bouncing up on the balls of her feet, her eyes sparkling in anticipation.
“What do you want me to do?” He surrendered. There wasn’t even any point in pretending to fight this.
“Nothing difficult, I promise. I don’t need a contortionist. Run up and grab your coats while I set up.”
He did as he was told, and when he came back down, she had traded the large rolling cart for a smaller plastic one and a large sketch pad. “Which do you want to do first, suit coat or duster?”
“Figured you’d want to get me starkers as soon as possible,” he smirked at her.
She quirked her eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there. Here, put on the duster and go stand by the wall.”
He slipped his arms into the coat and moved to stand against the bricks as she shifted her stool and sat down. She opened one of the drawers in the plastic caddy and pulled out several drawing pencils, putting them and a gum eraser on top of the car. She flipped open the pad and looked at him critically.
He flung his arms wide in a tragic crucifixion pose.
She laughed in surprise at his silliness. He changed postures, wrapping his arm around his face to peer over it at her in dastardly evil. He vamped and vogued, and she laughed until she almost fell off the stool. “Enough!” she demanded finally. “Just . . . lean, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and leaned his shoulder against the wall, letting his head turn and tip to rest there as well.
“That’s good, don’t move.”
He heard her pencil scratching across paper and let his eyes fall closed.
He didn’t know why he had protested modeling for her. He had done it often enough at Columbia. The crowd he hung with demanded it. He had posed in a myriad of ways and states of dress, even had some of the results back home.
Maybe it was the fear of getting caught. If he sat for her, there would be documented evidence that they knew each other in more than an impersonal way. He didn’t want to make any more trouble for her.
He was also a little afraid to see what she thought of him. It was the nature of art to draw out the artist’s inner feelings regarding their subject. But he and Buffy didn’t talk about feelings. It wasn’t appropriate, considering what they were doing. He didn’t know if he was ready to see hers. Or worse, to see that she didn’t have any, that she simply saw him as a model.
“Could you drop your head?” Her voice startled him. “Maybe support it with your hand?”
He turned more fully profile and crossed his arms over his chest, resting his forehead on the fingertips of his right hand.
“That’s great.” She turned a page and began sketching again.
It was a revelation to see her in her own element. He hadn’t known she had so much joy in her. He had seen the potential for it, of course. It was part of what drew him to her. But he suddenly saw that this place, this life, her art was where all her potential was realized. Here she had mastery, had knowledge and control. She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted, and expected to get it without question. Once again he felt a surge of hatred against Angel for taking her out of this life. He would rather she had been left where she was happy, even if it meant he would never have met her.
He was startled by a sudden flash of light, and looked up to see her with a camera to her face just as she fired the flash again. “Bloody hell, woman!” He blinked and squinted his eyes, trying to clear away the blobs of color that swam in his vision. “Give a bloke some warning, will ya?”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she chided. “I didn’t want to lose the detail. Put your head back down.”
“Bossy chit,” he grumbled, but did as she asked. There was another flash, this time accompanied by a whirring sound. He dared a glance to see her pulling film out of a Polaroid camera. She caught his look. “They catch the light differently,” she said, explaining the two cameras. “Plus the whole benefit of instant gratification. I’m done with this, is there anything else you’d like to do?”
He thought for a minute, then leaned back against the wall, one foot up against the bricks. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at her.
She grinned, raised the camera and shot again.
“Dammit!”
“Shut up,” she said good naturedly. She picked up the pad again, her hands flying over the paper to capture his image.
When she finished, she shifted her position. “Okay, lose the coat and put on your jacket.”
He did as she asked. “Want me to put the tie back on?”
She tipped her head, studied him up and down for a moment. “On,” she said finally, “but don’t tighten it.” He slid the loop of the black silk tie over his head and settled it in place. “Now have a seat on the stairs.”
He sat on the second step, feet flat on the floor, straight and proper.
She giggled.
“What?”
“You look like you’re waiting for a bus. I’m trying to capture the essence of you, William. Just . . . sit there like you would sit there.”
He pulled his feet up onto the bottom step, resting his forearms across his knees as he leaned forward.
“That’s more like it.”
This time he watched her as she worked.
Her focus was totally on the page, and on the way her brain translated the images she was receiving through her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused, and he had the feeling that she wasn’t really seeing him. After a preliminary study of him, she barely glanced at him, her eyes occasionally flicking up to confirm some detail as her pencil danced across the page. Her hand never stopped moving except to flip the page over, and he was surprised to see she had already used a third of the book.
“Okay, now lean back.”
She changed pencils and continued on.
Her focus was incredible. He wasn’t sure at this point if he could distract her, had he wanted to. The longer she worked, the more distant she seemed.
It was interesting giving himself up to her like this, when she had no hesitancy, needed no encouragement from him. He was surprised how much release he found in that, in sacrificing all pride, all vanity, all ego and trusting himself to her artistry. So he gave himself up to her, following her curt directions unhesitatingly, sometimes asking for clarification, sometimes teasing her gently.
She undressed him slowly, pose by pose, but seemed almost unaware of his growing nudity. The jacket, tie and his shoes came off for him to sit with his knees up on the sill of one of the tall arched windows, looking down into the street. His shirt was opened for him to lean against the arm of the sofa, his arms braced on either side. She had him take off the shirt and sit in one of the arm chairs, one leg crossed over the other.
Finally she tossed the sketch pad aside. “Okay, take off your pants and grab a book off the shelf.” Her voice and expression told him she was still very far away, lost in whatever vision she had that required a naked him and a book. He wondered what it was like in her head, all the color and imagery flowing around for her to gather up and splash on canvas.
He went to the shelf first and scanned the shelves, looking for something that might suit her purposes. Amongst the art books were various text books, bestsellers and classics, scattered throughout as though all her books from school were just put up on the shelves will she nil she without any consideration for content or application. Maybe they had been.
He selected one, then set it on the couch to slip out of his slacks, tossing them across the back of the couch, leaving him nude in the middle of the large room.
He wasn’t shy about his body, nor was he uncomfortable being naked. He spent half his time with her in the all together, so it was hardly an unusual state for him. But there was something vaguely erotic about being objectified by his lover like this, and he could feel his body responding to it. He gave his lengthening member a gentle stroke, more as acknowledgement than for any real stimulation, and called to her, “Where do you want me?”
“Lay down on the rug, like you’re reading,” she called back. He settled himself down onto the carpets, opening the book as she returned with two long canvases. One she set up on the easel, the other she leaned against the cart. The she came over to him. “Here, put these on.” And handed him his glasses.
He took them in surprise, looking up at her as he unfolded them. “Sure you’ll be able to resist me if I do?”
She smiled vaguely. “Probably not. Do it anyway.” She adjusted his legs so they lay flat, the top one crossed over the bottom. He supported himself on his lower arm, while she bent the top one so that the forearm and hand draped over his lower chest. She moved the open book so it was close to his body, forcing him to hang his head to look at the pages. Se stepped back to study him for a moment, then reached down to scrunch her fingers through his hair, releasing his curls from the prison of gel that held it smooth. Then she leaned down and kissed him. Hard. All lips and teeth, grinding and nipping. His free hand curved behind her neck, holding her steady as he returned the kiss with equal ardor. He was about to pull her down on the floor next to him when she pulled away and examined him, running her thumb over his now-swollen lips. “Perfect,” she decided, and stood back up.
“Buffy,” he groaned.
“It won’t be much longer. Now sit still. And put your arm back where it was.”
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” But he did as she asked.
“Mmm-hmm.” He could tell she was already gone again, picking up the thirty-five millimeter camera to line him up from several angles before popping a couple of Polaroids as well.
She was more careful with the pencil on the canvas, taking time to capture fine detail, studying shadow and contour more closely. He peered over the top of his frames at her occasionally, but satisfied himself with paging through the book absently.
He was surprised to feel her warm hands on his face, slipping off the spectacles. She set them on the work table, then went to the wall to turn on the track lights, the small halogens bright in the fading daylight. She adjusted the individual spots until she had him highlighted in bright white light. Then she came back to him. “Lay all the way down,” she said softly, her eyes seeing the picture in her head. She stretched his bottom arm out straight, hand palm up, so he could pillow his head on the bicep. She set his other hand flat on the floor by his throat, allowing his arm to fall across his chest. She copied the posture with his legs, bending the upper one at the knee, setting the foot flat on the floor in front of his other knee, keeping his hips squarely forward. “Is that comfortable? Can you hold that?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good. Close your eyes now.” She took up the cameras again, carefully capturing the pose from all angles, front and back. Then she went to her easel and swapped the previous canvas for the other one she had brought. He could feel her studying him intently for long moments before he heard her pencils begin skritching again.
He should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he didn’t. He was hers to shape and mold, as much as he claimed to be shaping her. Lying here under her gaze, shaped to her demands, he found that he was happier than he had been in a very long time. Perhaps since even before Dru. Yes, he shared passion and sensuality with Buffy, but there was also peace, contentment, a quiet sense of companionship. She grounded him, healed him. Completed him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.
He loved her.
The realization snatched away his breath, and his eyes flew open.
She didn’t notice, continuing with her sketching, unaware of the radical shift in his world.
Oh god, no.
Loving her was the last thing he had intended. What was he supposed to do now? His whole world was thrown into chaos. He felt panic welling up inside him.
“Roll over on your back now.”
He followed her command automatically, instantly, then cursed himself as he realized just how fully she possessed him.
What in God’s name was he going to do now?
A soft click of metal drew his attention, and he turned his head to see her slowly unhooking the catches on her overalls to reveal the caption “Artists do it with small strokes” on the t-shirt underneath. Her eyes, still unfocused and slightly distant, never left the image she had created on the canvas as she dropped the overalls to the floor. His breath caught at the sight of her bare legs and the delicate scrap of blue covering the junction of her thighs.
She pulled the shirt off over her head to reveal her bare breasts, heavy and full, the same warm honey color as the rest of her skin. Her eyes shifted to him as she reached up and unclipped her hair, allowing the amber curls to fall across her bare shoulders. He looked into her eyes as his desire for her rose. She looked the way he’s imagined someone with second sight might look, as though she saw him, but saw more of him than was reflected in a mirror. Entranced, his panic replaced by fascination, he reached out a hand to touch her magic.
She slipped the narrow waistband down over her hips and stepped towards him, leaving the panties on the floor behind her. She knelt at his side, one hand resting on his heartbeat as he curled an arm around her waist, his other hand reaching up to caress her soft cheek. She bent her head and offered her lips to him.
His mind might be in turmoil over his realization, but his hear had no such problem, accepting the truth as given and throwing itself wholeheartedly into the abyss. His hand slid under the curtain of her hair to draw her closer in a long, slow, patient kiss that expressed the depth of his feeling for her. She stretched her body out next to his, and he shifted her to lay atop him, indulging in the decadent feel of full body contact as their lips and tongues danced in growing eagerness.
As hard as he was for her, as desperately as he wanted to bury himself deep within her and never come out, this time he was actually not being driven by his dick. His heart had taken control, and used every touch, every kiss, every contact to express the feelings he couldn’t give word to. He thought she felt the difference as well, as she was quickly writhing against him, whimpering softly.
He took her hips in his hands and gently guided her over him, hissing in a breath as she took him in hand to guide him to her center. He almost wept as she slid down around him, enveloping him in her sweet womanhood. He gathered her close, allowing only subtle movements as she rocked back and forth, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her soft gasps puffed against her shoulder as the intensity within them built, the gentle undulations of their bodies building more fervor than their most aggressive coupling.
He felt climax crawling down his spine, felt words he dared not say clawing their way up his throat. He slid a hand between them to find her sensitive nub and grind against it firmly as he thrust deeper with each stroke. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and he saw her eyes were now clear, sharply focused and fully present. “My William,” she sighed and jerked against him. He felt her clench tightly around him, felt her spasm against his hips, saw her mouth open in a startled “oh” as the unexpectedly powerful climax swept over her.
He pulled her head back down to his chest, kissing the top of her head as his hips worked in time to the chant screaming in his head. “Love you loveyou Buffy love you so much god I love you.” His own release seized him moments later, and he buried his face in her hair as he sobbed out her name.
He would love her. That was what he would do now. It was all he could do. All thoughts of pain and loss and revenge were cast aside. He didn’t need that anymore. Angel, Dru, they were nothing to him now. He had her. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t risk her.
He would just simply love her.
They lay quietly in each others’ arms for Spike didn’t know how long. Night was full upon them as they nestled in the brilliant circle of light created by the bright spotlights. Finally, he shifted her gently and rose up, crossing the floor to lower the intensity of the lights to a warm sepia glow. He paused at the easel as he went back to her, curious to see what she had created.
He was amazed at what he saw.
She had rendered him accurately, yet somehow not. There was a peacefulness, a luminosity to the naked figure on the canvas that he never would have associated with himself. For the first time, the curls he resented so much actually added to his masculinity. Of course, the prominent erection didn’t hurt that, either.
But more compelling was what she had included from her own vision. For, extending outward along his outstretched arm and upward unfolding above his shoulder were a pair of angel’s wings, heavy and strong, long white feathers straight and unblemished. He looked like a fantasy of Raphael come to rest, sleeping the sleep of the righteous.
He looked at her, her beautiful form laid out naked and feminine in the softened light. If he did nothing else for her, he was determined to give her back her art. That it had ever been taken away was a greater crime against nature than any he could imagine.
She was a work of art herself. Someone should frame her and hang her somewhere to be marveled at.
His eye fell on her cameras, still sitting atop her drawing caddy.
He took up the thirty-five millimeter, removed the flash and reset the stops to compensate for the muted light. Then, as quietly as he could, he began shooting her.
She lay on her back, her hair spread out around her head, one arm stretched out above her while the other one lay across her belly. He carefully captured her from several angles before picking up the Polaroid camera. Standing near her feet, he snapped the picture.
She jumped at the bright flash and looked up at him. “What are you doing?”
He tossed the picture on her belly. ”Portrait of the artist as a wanton sex goddess.”
She smiled and blushed, sitting up to watch the picture develop. He took the opportunity to take several more shots with both cameras.
“Will you stop that?”
“Nope.” He caught another one as she rose to her feet. “I didn’t see any self-portraits in your collection. Maybe these will help.”
“Or maybe you’re just a dirty old man who wants naked pictures of his girlfriend.”
“Maybe.” He grinned wickedly at her. He caught up his duster and tossed it to her. “Here, put that on.”
“Why should I?” she groused, slipping her arms into the sleeves.
He stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. The black leather against her pale hair and tanned skin, those beautiful breasts framed by the jacket lapels, was almost too much for him. ”Because it makes me hard.”
“Oh.” She thought about it. “All right then.” She slouched down into one of the armchairs, legs wide, arms spread along the chair’s rests, every part of her exposed and framed in black leather.
He just drank in the sight of her. “Exactly how much film have you got up here, pet?”