Chapter 25 Can You Hear Me Now?
“The returns for this division are dependent almost entirely on how well this tax structure works,” Jonathan argued.
Angel shot back, “Then it doesn’t look like a very useful division, does it? This is a critical entity in supporting all the legal points of the diversification. You have to make it look like more than just an empty holding company.”
“Isn’t it?”
“But no one should know that but us.”
Spike leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. They had been at it for hours, the two lawyers and the clutch of consultants putting the final shape to the Robartsmaan diversification plan. It was tedious and frustrating. He zoned out, largely ignoring the proceedings.
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated fiercely, rousing him. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “Fitzwilliam.”
“You sound so professional when you answer the phone like that,” Buffy’s soft voice said.
He hid his instant smile and rose from the table to move to the back of the conference room away from prying ears. “That’s because I didn’t know who was on the other end. Hey you.”
“Hey yourself.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Busy?”
“Just a bit. Team meeting. But I always have time for you.”
“Mmm, that sounds nice. I could use a little attention right now.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked back to the team, who were busily arguing over a series of pie graphs. “Something bothering you?”
“You could say that. I’ve been down here in the studio all morning painting you, shaping you, touching every part of you with my brush, and it’s gotten me desperate for the real thing.”
He groaned in sympathy. “Wish I could come scratch that for you, but I can’t . . .”
“I can’t capture the taste of your skin on canvas,” she interrupted him. “I love the taste of your skin. You taste all salty and clean on my tongue.”
“Pet, now really isn’t . . .”
She was relentless. “My favorite spot is that hollow place at the base of your throat, right where you collarbone comes across. It’s so sensitive when I run my tongue over it.”
He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Buffy,” he warned, begged her.
“Actually, come to think of it, that’s only my second favorite. My favorite spot is the muscles going up and down on either side of your stomach. When I lick those, I can feel your cock twitch against the base of my throat.” Her voice became deep and breathless.
“Are you trying to do to me what I think you are?” he growled into the mouthpiece, watching the men around him for any sign of notice. “Because if you are, it’s working.”
“I certainly hope so,” she responded. “I’d hate to think I was the only one turned on enough to have to touch myself.”
The image of her lying on her back on the battered leather couch in her studio, jeans around her knees and her supple hand working between her legs was enough to break him.
Without covering the phone, he addressed the room. “Gentlemen, excuse me. I have to take this call. I’ll be a few minutes, so please go on without me.”
The consultants all looked to Angel, who shrugged and went back to the charting debate.
As soon as he closed the conference room door behind him, he put the phone back up to his ear. “Darlin’, you are so gonna pay for this later.”
She snickered. “And yet somehow I don’t find that to be any kind of a deterrent whatsoever. Don’t forget to lock your door this time.”
He closed his office door behind him and shot the deadbolt. “When I get my hands on you . . .”
“Worry about getting your hands on yourself for now.”
He dropped into his desk chair and pivoted it to prop his feet up on the credenza behind the desk. Opening his slacks, he drew himself out with a quiet moan.
“How does it feel?” Buffy asked huskily.
“Like hot steel,” he said, his rough palm jerking lightly across the dry, tight skin of his shaft.
“I bet it feels good,” she said wistfully. “I want to touch it.”
“I want you to, too.” He leaned his head back, closing his eyes to enjoy the friction of his hand and the image of her in his head. “Take off your shirt.”
She gave a soft gasp, and then he heard the phone knock around for a moment before her voice returned. “All gone.”
“God, Buffy, I want to touch your breasts so badly. Wanna feel how soft and firm they are under my hands. How warm and tender they are in my mouth.”
“Oh!” Her gentle sigh went right through him, and he gripped himself more firmly. “I love the feel of you against my skin,” she breathed. “You’re hard and soft at the same time, and always so warm.”
“You’re so soft,” he replied, “always so soft. I just want to sink into you and never come out.”
“William,” her sigh became a soft moan.
“Say my name again,” he demanded, the dry friction building up tension within him.
“God, William!” He could hear her breathing, ragged and fast. “I love the way you make me feel. Knowing you, being with you, it’s like you’ve woken something up in me.”
“Don’t feel right without you, Buffy.” His words came out in a soft snarl. “You make me whole again, love.”
“I’m so close! William, oh god, William . . .”
“That’s it, Buffy love. Just let it go. Want to hear you so bad.” His shaft was starting to slick with his precum, and he pulled faster, stroking in time to his erratic breathing.
“Unh . . . ah . . . oh god William want you!”
“Got you, love. Give it to me. Come on sweet, come for your William!”
“Mine! Oh . . . oh oh god mine! WILLIAM!”
With the last shred of rational thought he possessed, he snatched a handful of tissues off the desk to spend into, each spurt a burning streak of ecstasy.
They lay together after, several miles apart, just listening to each other’s breathing and the breathless, wordless voicings of drowsy tranquility.
“Pet, you never stop surprising me,” he murmured finally. “That was brilliant.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, still out of breath. “Worth whatever you have in mind for me tonight.”
“Don’t think I could hold this against you. Don’t want to deter your creativity.”
“Mmm.” He could almost hear her stretching. “You could hold it against me a little bit . . .”
He chuckled, closing up his pants and tossing the tissues into the trash. “I will. I’ll hold it against you as long as you want.”
She purred happily. “I should probably get dressed. And aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?”
“Yeah, I just keep getting these distracting phone calls.”
“Gripe gripe gripe.” She paused. “I think I need to get a heater in here. My nipples are as hard as rocks from the chill.”
“Don’t you start, miss. I’ll be down there at four thirty to get them all warmed up for you. We haven’t broken in that bed yet.”
“It’s awfully small.”
“Keep you from gettin’ away from me.”
“And why would I want to?”
“I’ll see you after four, love.”
“Kay. Bring home dinner!” And she disconnected.
Home. He liked the sound of that. He knew she didn’t mean it the way he was taking it, but it was true nonetheless. She was his home.
He stalked back into the conference room and dropped bonelessly into his chair. “So, where are we now, gents?”
Chapter 26 Office Politics
Spike sat at his desk, flipping through the small leather chat book Buffy had presented to him with a wicked grin the night before. The little photo album contained doubles made of all the pictures from their modeling session the previous week. “I had to take them to a private developer to get them printed,” she explained. “Even so, you should have seen the looks I got when I picked them up!”
He skimmed over the photos of himself, although he did stop in surprise at a few of them. That couldn’t be him. He looked so strong and confident and . . . male. He knew he was a sexy thing, but to actually look that in the face and not from his own imagination was startling.
But he was more interested in the pictures of her. He was grateful his rudimentary photography skills hadn’t let him down. Some of the photos were pure Playboy soft porn, some just simple candids, but they all seemed to capture a piece of her.
His favorite was one of her sitting in the middle of the studio rug, leaning back on her hands with one knee raised. He remembered telling her the most outrageous jokes and horrible limericks until she was laughing hysterically, and he had captured the youthful joy on her face. He loved seeing her happy. And naked.
He wasn’t going to get to see her tonight. Tuesdays rolled around much too fast. But it was better than the alternative that was growing closer and closer. He didn’t know how he was going to manage when he went home, couldn’t even see her anymore. She was too vital a part of his life. He felt empty even thinking about it. At least he had these pictures to hold onto. And the memories.
His office door opened to reveal Angel, a fistful of documents in his hand. “I’ve got the final approvals on the project,” Angel said without greeting. “You need to sign off on them before the first implementation meeting on Thursday.” He dropped the sheaf of papers on the desk.
Spike slipped the little album into his desk drawer and started looking through the paperwork. “Did you get the patent assessment issue straightened out?”
“It’s all in there.”
“Alright, I’ll go through it tonight. I’ll have them by the end of business tomorrow. I’m taking some personal time in the morning.”
Angel stopped, his hand on the knob. “Whatever. Have fun knocking boots with my wife. Just get those signed.” And he was gone.
It took Spike a moment to register what he had said.
Without breathing, without seeing, fear flaming through his body, he went after Angel, catching up to him in his office down the hall.
“Was there something I forgot?” Angel leaned back, steepling his fingers.
“What did you say?”
“What, did I use too many words? Let me do it in five words or less.” And he counted them down with his fingers. “Enjoy fucking my wife. Jackass.”
The look of shock on Spike’s face must have amused Angel, because he laughed. “What, did you two think you were being discreet? Please! Half the office knows what you’re up to. Mr. Perfect Attendance suddenly starts missing hours of work? Buffy hanging out with Cordelia Chase, of all people? And picking up her art again? Right, like that’s had any interest for her in years. But the studio’s a convenient little love nest, away from prying eyes. Unlike the hotel. If you’re going to have an affair, you could at least try to be careful. I’m not stupid. Just supremely indifferent.”
Spike’s fists clenched and opened. “You don’t care.”
“Frankly, I don’t. If I’d wanted loyalty, I’d have gotten a dog. She brought something else to our marriage, an appearance of respectability, a beautiful face over a pliant personality that made my career advancement easier. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, Spike? How easily she shapes herself to please whoever she’s with? Makes a man feel special, doesn’t it? Powerful. Like he’s in charge.”
“You’re a cold hearted son of a bitch,” Spike spat.
“Poor Spikey, I see it all now. Did you think you could use her to get to me?” He rose from the chair to stalk menacingly around the desk. “Think you’d seduce my wife the way I did yours, then show me the evidence and bring me crashing to my knees? And now your little plot is all broken because I don’t care if she sleeps with you. Well, I might have hoped she’d have better taste in her first lover. Oh, well.”
“Shut up.”
“Actually, I probably should thank you. I never really had the time or the inclination to educate her properly. Aside from popping her cherry, she really hasn’t brought me much pleasure in bed. You’ve done a great job with her. I especially like her mouth work. She’s turned into quite the talented little cocksucker. . .”
Every ounce of power and rage Spike possessed went into that punch. Angel flew off his feet, knocked backwards by the force of the blow to bounce off the hardwood coffee table behind him before crashing to the floor. Every urge in Spike’s brain screamed at him, demanded that he finish the job of pounding his enemy into a pulpy, bloody mass. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that. Or I’ll kill you.”
Angel propped himself up on one hand, reaching up with the other to wipe gingerly at the blood gushing down over his lips and chin. He studied the scarlet smears on his fingertips, then looked at Spike. “You miss the point, Spike,” he said in a deadly monotone, sarcastic emphasis only on the name. “She’s my wife. Bought and paid for. I can do whatever I want, with her, for her and to her. You’re just her fuck toy. You have no say over her.” He paused, his eyes narrowing over a wolfish smile. “But you know what? I can be a generous man. Go ahead, Spike. Bang her as much as you want, at least until you’re gone. You have my blessing.”
“Why you . . .” Spike lunged at him.
“Oh my god! What happened?” Darla, apparently summoned by the crash, rushed into the room.
Spike was frustrated, denied the physical relief of hitting Angel again. “This isn’t done.”
“What are you going to do? Take her away from me?” Angel scoffed. “She’s a good girl. And good girls don’t leave. Unless she’s not such a good girl anymore. What do you think, Spike? Is Buffy still a good girl?”
Howling in impotent rage, Spike stormed out of the office.
Panic and rage fought for pride of place in his mind as he slammed his own door shut. His hatred for Angel grew moment by moment. He knew the man was a heartless, selfish son of a bitch, but Spike never would have thought he would be so cruel and cavalier towards his own wife.
God, what would the bastard do to her? Now that their relationship was out in the open, would he use it to control her? Humiliate her? Was he even telling the truth about not caring, and would he want to punish her now?
He snatched up the phone and dialed quickly.
The first ring brought him to his senses. What could he possibly tell her? Not to go home because her husband might beat her up? That Angel knew, but it was okay, they didn’t need to change anything?
Before he could hang up to think this through, the ringing was interrupted by her eager “Hello?”
He hesitated, trying to decide to disconnect. But he couldn’t. “Hey there, pet.”
“William!” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I was hoping it was you.”
“Had to call and check in on my best girl.” Needed my touchstone to bring me back to ground.
“I’m glad you called. I was missing you.”
God, love, if you knew what I’ve done. “Miss you, too. You working?”
“Fine tuning a couple of sketches.”
“Did you get your portfolio updated like I told you to?”
“I just have to add these when I finish them. What’s this about?”
“Told you. I want to introduce you to someone tomorrow, and she’s going to want to see your work.” He began randomly adding his signature to each document in front of him without reading them over first.
“Well, I won’t let you down.”
Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, Spike? How easily she shapes herself to please whoever she’s with?
“You couldn’t if you tried. I . . .” I love you. Come away with me, let me take you away from him and love you the way you deserve. “I’ll meet you there at the studio. Around 9:30?”
“I can’t wait.”
“Buffy, if anything . . . odd happens tonight,” if your husband rapes you, or beats you, or insults and humiliates you, “promise you’ll call me?” Let me save you from the things I can’t protect you from.
She chuckled. “Only if you promise to be able to tell the phone from the sparrows this time.”
“No drinking, I swear.” Alcohol’s not going to wash this pain away.
“Alright then, if I need you, I’ll call. Scout’s honor.”
“Bet you were a right fetching little Guide.”
“We call them Girl Scouts over here. And I was very cute. Especially in the short little skirts.”
God. You’re so happy and playful. How could I ruin you the way I have? “Maybe you’ll show me sometime.”
“Maybe.”
“Well.” Don’t hang up. As long as you’re on the phone, I know you’re safe. “You should get back to it to be ready for tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I think you’re really going to like it, though!”
“I know I will.” Haven’t found anything about you yet that I don’t cherish.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.” If you still want me. If you don’t hate me.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
He held the phone long after she’d hung up, until the automated voice came on to advise him that if he wanted to make a call, he should please hang up and try again.
Chapter 27 A Lady of Quality
When the door buzzer sounded in the studio, Buffy grabbed up her coat, purse and portfolio case, punching the intercom on her way out. “I’m on my way!”
She dashed down the four flights of stairs, throwing her coat on as she went, and pushed through the heavy steel door to find William pacing the alley like a caged animal. She thought she saw panic in his eyes for an instant before he crushed her in his arms, kissing her as though he hadn’t seen her in weeks. She dropped her bags and threw herself eagerly into the kiss, allowing her now-free hands to stroke over his shoulders and neck and down through the inside of his coat to toy with the solid muscles there. His hands, too, were busy, exploring every inch of her, pausing barely a moment before moving on, as though he were inspecting her. She reveled in the attention, quelling her loneliness in his passion.
When he finally lifted his head, he looked dazed.
She grinned happily and pulled his head down to rest on her forehead. “I missed you, too.”
He smiled softly. “You got that, did you?”
“Just a bit. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine now.” He gathered her close, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heart’s rapid beat. “Just had bad dreams last night. All gone now that the sun’s up.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “How was your night?”
“Lonely.”
“Not sure that husband of yours would appreciate having his company valued so lightly.”
“He didn’t come home last night.”
“He didn’t?” William pulled back to look at her.
She shook her head. “He called and said he’d be home late. He still hadn’t gotten back when I went to bed at midnight, and he wasn’t there when I woke up. I called the office before I came down, and he said he’d been there all night.”
His expression grew troubled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to take care of you.”
She smiled and kissed him lightly. “You’re sweet. But I was fine. Except for worrying about today.”
He picked up her portfolio and handed her her purse before slinging his arm around her shoulder to guide her towards Hudson Street. “You haven’t got a thing to fret, love. You two are going to get on like a house afire.”
“Do I get any hints?” she asked as they turned onto Hudson and began walking south.
“It’s not a secret. Remember I told you I have a friend in the art business?” When she nodded, he continued. “Well, I want you to meet her. If you’re going to get back into your art, you’re going to have to start making connections locally.”
She watched his face as he spoke, saw something softer in his eyes. “That’s not the only reason, is it?” she asked gently.
He turned his head to meet her eyes, then shrugged slightly. “She’s a very special lady, and one of my best friends on this side of the pond. Anywhere, actually. So I want you to meet her.”
“And I’m not supposed to worry? God, William, you make it sound like you’re taking me home to meet your family!”
He laughed and gave her a comforting squeeze. “She’s going to love you, pet. No worries.”
They crossed over Canal Street and into the Tribeca section, a mish mash of arts, manufacturing and financial businesses bounded by Canal Street, Broadway and the Hudson River and ending just north of the remains of World Trade. They continued on in companionable silence for several more blocks before turning right onto Reade Street. A former industrial block turned commercial, the buildings all still bore a utilitarian stamp despite the come-hither windows.
The door he led her to was part of a glass front, the framing all painted black and the name Yggdrasil stenciled in gold leaf on the front window, which currently displayed a photographic collection. He winked at her as he pressed the buzzer. A moment later, a young but professional sounding voice came over the intercom. “I’m sorry, but the gallery doesn’t open until eleven.”
He punched the intercom button. “Open up, Nibblet, it’s Spike.”
“Oh, hey! Come on in.” And the door buzzed.
William held the door for Buffy as he guided her inside. A moment later, they were joined by a chestnut-haired young woman who stood several inches taller than Buffy but looked to be at least five years her junior. “Hey there, handsome! I wasn’t sure if we were going to see you again before you went home.”
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving without sayin’ goodbye to the harem.” He took her hands and kissed the cheek she offered chastely. “How goes the semester?”
“Ugh,” she replied succinctly.
He grinned, then turned to Buffy. “Dawnie, I’d like you to meet Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is Dawn Keyes. Dawn is the gopher and general dog’s body around here.”
Buffy extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Dawn shook it, strongly but quickly. “Same here. I hate to rush off, but Carey just put his hammer through the drywall, so I am off in search of spackle to save his opening tomorrow. It’s a good thing he’s an artist and not a builder. The man is a menace with a hammer in his hand.” She headed backwards towards the door. “Boss lady is in the office. Don’t you dare leave without a proper goodbye!” And she was gone.
“Dawn’s an art student at NYU,” William explained as he led Buffy through the gallery to the back. “She’s been working here almost since she started there. Sometimes I feel like I’ve watched her grow up here.”
A part of Buffy wanted to be jealous of the girl, but she couldn’t, not really. Seeing Dawn was almost like looking through a lens back at her own life. Dawn stood at the point Buffy had been at when she met Angel and her life went off in such a different direction than she had planned. She felt a certain kinship with the girl, a wistful touch of the “what if”.
The entrance to the back office was covered in rough, heavy silk, swagged back behind a celestial tieback to reveal the office behind. William escorted her in as the young woman behind the desk hung up the phone and rose from the chair. “Spike!” Her soft face lit up as she came around the desk to hug him. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks! I was worried you’d gone home without saying goodbye.”
“Never happen, Glinda.” He hugged her back closely, and this time Buffy did feel a little tremble of jealousy. “I’ve just been puttin’ my time to better use than waiting for you to see I’m worth giving up girls for. Tara, I’d like you to meet Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is Tara Maclay.”
Buffy offered her hand hesitantly. “I’m glad to meet you. William’s been dropping hints about you for a while now.”
“William?” Tara took Buffy’s hand, but raised her eyebrows at William. He shrugged, and Buffy could swear he blushed a bit. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.” She smiled and covered their hands in her other one. “Spike said on the phone that you are an artist? And your mother owns a gallery?”
Buffy nodded. “Her clientele is more interested in collecting older works than investing in new artists, though. Old masters, cultural artifacts. Amphorae, pre-Columbian sculpture and the like.”
“Well, let me give you the tour.” Tara drew Buffy’s arm through hers. “I’d be interested to see what you think.”
Buffy glanced over at William, who was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a pleased look on his face. He blew her a kiss as she let Tara guide her back into the gallery.
It was an unusual use of exhibit space. Instead of leaving the large floor plan open, Tara had broken it up into almost random sized areas with semi-permanent walls. Each area was painted a rich, solid jewel tone, purple or amber or burgundy or blue, so different from the traditional bare white. The whole space was brought together by crown and floor molding, cut in matching patterns and stained a dark walnut. The track lighting matched the white of the ceiling, disappearing from notice.
“Don’t the artists mind competing with the wall color?” Buffy asked, trying to envision her own art on these walls.
“They did at first,” Tara admitted. “For my first few openings, I had to force my friends to let me show them. But the clients seem to appreciate the warmer feel of the place, and a lot of the artists are starting to find that it actually displays their work better than plain white walls. Carey’s work, for example.” She indicated the photography collection being installed. “He has his black and white pictures behind white mats in black frames. On white walls, the images would just disappear. Here they stand out more.”
The colors also suited the gallery owner, Buffy realized. While passionate about her gallery, she was a quiet, soothing presence. She couldn’t be much older than Buffy herself, but she seemed to carry with her an air of wisdom and experience that Buffy couldn’t hope to acquire in her lifetime. She could see why William would become friends with her. Her rooted focus was complementary to his boundless energy.
“Do you ever display your own work?” Buffy asked.
Tara shook her head. “I prefer supporting other artists. I think my art is more in putting others on display. I also do volunteer art outreach in some of the local schools. With the budget cuts and the after-effects of September eleventh, art has been more important to the kids around here than ever. We do a special show for them in the spring. I’d like to offer art classes here if I can ever let go of some of the day to day responsibilities of running this place.”
“Can’t Dawn pick up some of the load?”
Tara shook her head. “She’s in her last year. Sculpture. Which means she’s got to be getting her senior show ready for spring, and then she’s hoping to get to go to Italy for a year to work with some of the masters there. She’s keeping an eye out for a promising first year for me, but it will still take a while to get them trained up on all the ins and outs of gallery work. Plus they’ll have their own coursework to think about.”
Buffy noticed William helping Dawn and a slight, balding man, presumably the aforementioned Carey. William had taken off his suit coat and was applying patching plaster to a hole in the wall while Dawn hammered picture hooks into the wall at Carey’s direction. Every time Carey reached for the hammer himself, the other two shouted him down.
“I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time,” Tara said softly over Buffy’s shoulder.
Buffy flushed at being caught staring. “You’ve known him for a while?”
“Almost ten years. We met my first year at Columbia. About halfway through the semester, he started haunting all the art department activities. The girls all figured he was looking for an easy score, so they sent the gay chick to check him out. Turned out he was just really lonely. We’ve been best friends almost since then. We’d stand up with each other when we needed suitable looking dates, he’d model for me, and I’d critique arguments for him.”
“Did you know his ex-wife?” Buffy wasn’t sure why she asked that.
“I met her a couple of times. He met her after he’d graduated and gone back to England. I didn’t like her much. She was a manipulator, and Spike’s basically too nice for his own good. They were only married a couple of years before . . .”
“Yeah.” Buffy turned away in case William noticed the tears gathering in her eyes.
Tara seemed to pick up on her discomfort. “Well, you’ve seen mine, how about showing me yours?”
Buffy started at that. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your art! Spike said he’d make sure you brought your portfolio.”
“Oh!” Buffy blushed. She’d obviously been around William too long. Everything was starting to sound like innuendo to her. “I did, but he was carrying it . . .”
“Lose something, love?” She hadn’t noticed him crossing over to them.
“My portfolio?”
“I left it in the office. I’ll fetch it . . .”
“No, I’ll go. I’ve been monopolizing your friend.” And she hurried off to the office.
She found it leaning up against the front of the desk. She paused a moment to wipe her eyes carefully and gather her composure before stepping back out into the gallery.
She paused in the doorway as she saw Tara and William obviously arguing about something. Tara was gesturing emphatically with one finger, while William seemed to be trying to placate her. Finally he crossed his hands over his heart, then kissed her on the forehead. Buffy hesitantly crossed over to them. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine, pet.” He kissed her lightly, wrapping his arms around her. “Tara’s just reminding me of the proper behavior for a gentleman.”
“When have you ever been a gentleman?” Both women’s voices sounded in harmony.
They all laughed, and he raised his hands in surrender. “All right, I confess, I’m a heel of the first water. Good thing I have the two of you to keep me in check. Can we look at the pretty pictures now?”
Tara took the portfolio case from Buffy and opened it up on the work table Dawn and Carey were using. William stood behind Buffy, his arms wrapped around her as they looked on.
“These are from school,” Buffy explained as Tara flipped quickly through the first leaves of the collection.
“That was a while ago, wasn’t it?”
“Five years,” Buffy admitted.
“What about what you’re doing current . . . oh my!” She had stopped at the beginning of the pencil drawings she had made of William the other day. Tara studied them over carefully before turning the page. “I like your eye. You have a great sense of negative space.” She turned the page again to the first painted piece.
“That’s just a test,” Buffy explained. “I want to do a bigger canvas of it . . .”
Buffy felt William draw in a sharp breath behind her.
She had taken the sketch she had made of him sitting in her window and turned it into almost a religious icon. The window was a stained glass image of an angel, wings folded in and garbed in a simple white tunic. His hand was extended in benediction, a mournful look on his face. His fingertips ended mere inches from the top of William’s head, which was bent and turned away. The anachronism of his clothing and a sharper use of color and line set him apart from the glass, but she had given him a vulnerable air, a sense of sorrow and loss, a search for peace that the glass angel seemed to be offering.
She felt him squeeze her close and bury his face in her neck.
“If you can maintain the intimacy in a larger piece, this would be an amazing work,” Tara offered.
There were several more pages of pencil sketches, and then a ten by fourteen landscape photograph of the canvas of William reading. Buffy blushed, but William just chuckled and Tara smirked for a moment. Mostly Buffy had only painted in William and the rugs so far, taking her time to execute all the details. But she had penciled in the background, full of shelves and stacks of books, a desk corner with a lamp providing the light source for the perspective. “I like how you don’t ignore the background,” Tara commented. “A nude like this, a lot of artists would be content with just the model.”
“Are you content with the model?” he murmured in her ear.
She stepped on his toes softly.
The last page was a matched pair of portraits. On the left, William sat in the studio’s armchair, chest and feet bare, one ankle crossed over his knee. She had caught every detail of the studio she could, including the office lights shining through the dark from across the street. On the right was a rendering of herself taken from one of William’s photographs. Again, she had not skimped on detail, despite the embarrassment examining her own naked body so closely had caused. She was seated in the same chair William was in in the other half, although the room’s details showed she had moved the chair over a bit. She had been careful to catch the drape and fold of the leather coat she wore, giving it a richness of texture and tone that made her look more regal than simply naked.
She felt his breathing go ragged, and he brushed his groin against the curve of her ass so she could feel his swelling erection.
“That’s just . . .” Tara seemed at a loss for words. “Wow.”
“I think I want to do it again, a bit larger, in oils. The color needs to be richer.”
“When you’re done, I get those,” William insisted, his voice guttural against her ear.
“These are all really good, Buffy,” Tara insisted as she closed the portfolio. “If you ever decide to show, I hope you’ll come to me first. It would be a real honor to host you.”
“Thank you. These are mostly for private consumption, but I appreciate the offer.”
Tara offered her the case as William slipped his coat back on. “Well, if nothing else, you two should come to dinner with Kennedy and me on Friday. It will have to be early, because we have ritual at eleven, but we’d really like to see you both.”
William looked to Buffy, who smiled and nodded her head. “I’d like that.”
“Dinner it is,” William confirmed. “Your place or out?”
“How about our place? At about seven?” She escorted them towards the front door.
“We’ll be there.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the temple. “Good luck with the opening tomorrow. Oh, hey, Bit!” He raised his voice to be heard to the back of the gallery. Her dark head popped around the corner. “I’m off. You keep that hammer away from him.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” they heard a male voice mutter from behind the wall, and Dawn laughed. “You just make sure you come in and say goodbye before you ship back to Limeyland next week, got it?”
“Promise. Nothing short of disaster could keep me away.”
Tara offered Buffy a business card. “Call me anytime.”
She took the card with a grateful smile. “I will.”
Tara wrapped her in a warm embrace. “Make sure he treats you right.”
William looked offended. “My intentions are purely honorable!”
“Not even you believe that,” Tara chided.
He smiled and kissed her again, then put his arm around Buffy. “C’mon pet, let’s take my dishonorable intentions back home.”
Home sounded good to her.
Chapter 28 Devil in the Details
The watery sunlight from that gray Thursday faded from the windows of William’s suite as Buffy sat on the couch, a large sketchpad across her lap. The weather only looked to get worse, but it should serve to keep all the Devil’s Night tricksters indoors for the night. Buffy just hoped William made it home before the storm broke.
She had been inspired by the approach of Halloween to work on something a little different today. Instead of using her William sketches, she had grabbed a couple of snapshots she had of Anya and Xander’s two kids and was busy laying out a costume-inspired picture. Only instead of simply having the children costumed, she was transforming them into their alter egos. So little Amy was the tiniest of witches, her tall pointed hat covered in stars, her dress diaphanous and ragged along the hem and sleeves. Little sparkles of magical energy hovered around her and glittered on and around the head of the broom she held in her far hand. Young Jesse was of course dressed as a vampire, his four year old body towering a foot over his younger sister. He dressed like a traditional Hollywood vampire, black suit, white shirt, black cape lined with red silk, his dark hair slicked back from his face. But where cheap plastic fangs would be, he instead sported rough, ragged teeth, and his eyes she penciled in like cat’s eyes, slitted with oval pupils and pale to reflect the yellow she would paint in later. The two of them leaned in quiet awe over a jack-o-lantern he held, the eyes, mouth and open top glowing with an ambient light (she wasn’t sure yet what color she would paint it in with) and was surrounded by sparkles similar to those around Amy, although Buffy planned to color the two differently to distinguish them from each other.
She was roughing in a midnight forest background when she heard the key in the lock. With a smile, she put the pad and pencils down and rose to greet him.
She was surprised at how haggard and pale he looked as he came in. His hair was damp, and the drizzle had collected on the shoulders and arms of his coat. He smiled tiredly on seeing her. “Hey, pet.”
“Hey yourself.” She took his attaché and helped him out of his coat. “You look like you had a rough day.”
“It’s not getting any easier,” he sighed, gathering her up in his arms and burying his face in her hair.
She held him quietly for a moment, then gave him a gentle nudge. “Go sit down. You want a drink?”
“That would be brilliant.”
She watched him collapse on the couch as she poured a double shot of whiskey into a glass. His head fell against the back of the sofa as he dragged his still shod feet up onto the coffee table with a thump. She let him rest there for a moment before moving over and jiggling the glass, allowing the ice to chime against the crystal and draw his attention. He lifted his head and took the glass from her hand, sipping heavily before dropping his head back down. “God.”
She bent over his feet and slipped one of his shoes off. “Pet, you don’t have to . . .”
“Hush.” She removed the other shoe as well and dropped them both on the floor. “Finish your drink.”
He did as she commanded while she removed his socks. Then she took the tumbler from his hand and set it aside before sitting next to him on the couch, drawing his head down into her lap. “Just rest for a little while,” she urged, gently dragging her fingers through his hair. “We’ll order dinner in a little bit.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and order now?” he said, rubbing the back of his head against her belly as he settled his head more comfortably in the crook of her hip. “By the time it gets here I should be ready to eat.”
“What do you want?” she asked, picking up the phone.
“I don’t care.” She could hear his voice thickening in relaxation. “You choose.”
“Beef, chicken, fish or pork?”
“Beef,” he grunted.
She dialed the restaurant. “Yes, I’d like to order room service, please . . . Suite twelve thirty-seven. . . Yes, we need a petite filet . . .rare?” He nodded minutely. “Rare. Baked potato . . . yes, please . . .” She moved the phone from her mouth. “What kind of dressing?”
“Blue cheese,” he mumbled.
“Blue cheese,” she repeated. “And the salmon with dill sauce . . . grilled vegetables . . . Caesar on the side. Do we want dessert?” He shook his head. “Just coffee. And can we have a bottle of merlot? . . . Oh, that would be lovely, thank you. And have him just come in when he brings it. He doesn’t need to knock. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and focused on stroking William’s hair, his neck, his shoulders, slowly, softly, soothingly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not for anything in heaven or on earth,” he replied heavily. “But tell me about your day. Wanna hear your voice.”
“It wasn’t very exciting.” She kept her voice soft and monotone, lulling him with her voice as well as her hands. “I spent a couple of hours this morning paying bills, the usual end of the month things. Then I went down to the studio. Had lunch with a couple of my girlfriends. Came up here around three thirty, and I’ve been sketching and waiting for you since then.”
“Glad you spent time with your mates. You’re alone too much.”
“Well, that hasn’t been true the last several weeks, has it?”
“ ‘S my point. You have too much time to spend with me. Not that I’m complainin'.”
“I should hope not.”
She felt rather than heard him chuckle.
The silence washed over them comfortably as she gently touched his hair. The valet arrived to find them still sitting like that in the darkness. Buffy shielded William’s eyes as she turned on a couch lamp and pointed the young man towards the table near the kitchenette. “Over there, please. And leave everything covered for now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he efficiently began laying out linen and silver and glassware in a fitting semblance of a romantic dinner for two. When he finished, he lit the candles and opened the wine. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you, that’s perfect,” Buffy replied quietly. “If you would grab my purse by the door, I’ll give you your tip.”
“I got it, pet,” William mumbled. He fished in his trouser pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing it to her. She counted through the bills and handed the waiter a twenty. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Thank you. You folks have a nice night.” And he let himself out.
She gave William’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Feel like eating?”
“Yeah, I could probably manage something.” He pushed himself up and rubbed his forehead tiredly with the heel of his hand. He noticed the sketchpad and picked it up. She was pleased to see him smile. “Cute kids.”
“They’re my friend Anya’s. Amy’s two and Jesse’s four.”
“I like it. It’s cute without being precious.”
“Maybe I need to change models permanently.” She offered him a hand up off the couch.
He took it, pulling her close as he dragged himself to his feet. “Nah. I like the way you make me look, too.” And he kissed her then with a gentle intensity that set her alight. She held him close, caressing his body gently, undemandingly, leaving all the passion for their mouths. He was the one to finally break the kiss, resting his forehead on hers with a gentle smile. “Nothing like a little something beforehand to improve the appetite.”
She smiled in return and took his hand, drawing him towards the table. “Then come eat.”
He held her chair for her, then moved his service over to sit next to her rather than across. She carried the burden of the conversation, watching critically to make sure he was eating. As she related tales of Anya’s kids and Willow’s conquest in the dress she had bought the day William had met them down in Soho, he devoured his salad, then proceeded to work on the potato, adding the occasional bite of steak uninterestedly. He also finished two glasses of wine quickly. When he reached for the bottle again, she laid her hand gently on his. “Eat some more first.”
He scowled at her half-heartedly. “What are you, my mother?”
“Only if I have to be.” She gripped his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “I respect you not wanting to talk about whatever’s bothering you, but you don’t get to drink it into submission either, okay?”
He sagged a little, but lifted her hand to his lips. “You’re right, pet. I’m sorry.”
She picked her fork up again. “Besides, I’ve got some news that should cheer you up. Or maybe you’ve heard it already?”
“Heard what?”
“Angel’s going to Chicago for the weekend.”
His face hardened subtly. He calmly wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it on the table. “Yeah, I heard about that.”
“Oh. I thought that would make you happy.” She knew the confusion was evident in her voice. “We won’t have to be apart for our last weekend together.”
“It does, pet. Really.” He smiled, but it was far weaker than his normal electric smirk. “It’ll be nice to wake up next to you for a change.”
She could tell that he wanted to grab the wine bottle again, but he settled for the coffee carafe. “William . . .”
“Eat up, love. Children are starving in Africa and all that.”
She could have pointed out that his own plate was far from clean, but instead she said, “What are you, my father?”
There was a twinkle of his usual wickedness as he replied, “Only if you want me to be.”
She laughed, then focused on her meal, hoping that at least might please him. He sipped at his black coffee and watched her, his expression never the same each time she looked at him.
Finally she finished, pushing her plate away. “There, all done.” She leaned forward. “Do I get dessert now?”
He toyed with one long tendril of her hair. “Depends on what you want.”
“Mmm. Definitely something sweet.”
“Can’t help you, then. Nothing here but bitter old crabapples.”
She shrugged. “Nothing the right amount of sugar won’t cure.” Her lips met his richly, teasing his cool lips apart with the soft curve of her own to allow her tongue to explore the darkness within. After long minutes, his hand came up to pillow the mass of hair at the base of her neck. When he began holding her tighter, kissing her more eagerly, she pulled away, taking his hands and drawing him to his feet to lead him toward the bedroom. “Come with me.”
She moved into the bedroom to kick off her shoes, then turned with a welcoming smile on her face. She hadn’t expected to see him frozen in the doorway, staring at her with wide, empty eyes. “What is it?”
His voice was as hollow as his gaze. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, since you taught me everything I know, that can’t be true,” she said, her voice gently teasing. “Or else we’re in real trouble.”
“I just don’t know what to do anymore.” He looked so terribly lost. “Tell me what to do, Buffy. I don’t know anymore.”
“Shh.” She moved to rest her hand on his cheek. “It’s alright. I know. I know what to do.” She drew her hand tenderly down along his arm before delicately wrapping her fingers around his wrist, lifting it to set his palm on the bare skin at her collar. “Just touch me.”
“How?” he pleaded, staring at his hand like it was somehow not attached to him.
“Like this.” She removed his already loose tie and unbuttoned the top several buttons before sliding her hands inside to run gentle fingertips along his throat and collarbone and shoulder. “Wherever the skin’s bare.”
His fingers moved gently, mimicking hers, his eyes watching them as though he’d never seen them, never seen her before. She hummed encouragingly as he moved up to trace the fragile shells of her ears, and she bent her head to the side to direct the path of his touch. His fingers followed the route she offered, and she gasped as they coasted over the exposed swell of her breasts. “Please, William, kiss me,” she begged softly.
She was surprised when his lips touched hers instead of the skin he was caressing, but she responded eagerly, letting him set the careful pace. Their mouths coasted over each other this way and that, tongues touching and retreating. His fingers started to knot in her hair, and she pulled away. “Don’t stop touching me,” she said breathlessly before diving back into his lips. Her own hands were busy slowly unbuttoning the sky blue dress shirt he wore. She took one of his hands in hers and then the other, placing kisses in the palm of each as she unbuttoned the cuffs, allowing her tongue to slide down over the pulse point in his wrist and enjoying the hiss he made in response. She pushed the cotton off his shoulders and down his arms, allowing the shirt to fall to the floor. “Now mine,” she said against the hollow of his throat.
She was glad she had dressed for intimacy, because she didn’t think he could have managed complex buttons and hooks tonight. He tugged awkwardly, pulling the silk tank from the waistband of her jeans, then catching the hem to draw it up over her head. He stared at her unabashedly, the blouse still clutched in one hand. “Do you like?” she asked.
“Yes,” was his simple answer.
“Would you like to touch?”
“Oh, yes!” His tone was reverent, worshipful, and it made her shiver.
“I want you to. I want to feel your hands on my back and my stomach. And on my breasts. Especially on my breasts.”
He reached up hesitantly, fingers curved out from his palm, to gently cup one full breast. Her intake of breath must have encouraged him, for he took her more fully in hand, rubbing the heel of his palm against her tightening nipple. She groaned and let her head fall back. “Oh god, William, just like that.” Then she dragged his head back down to hers.
She fingered her way down the velvet curves of muscle along his bare back, holding him close but staying out of his way. While his left hand explored every curve of her breast, his right coasted along her back, up and over the roundness of each shoulder and down, down to hesitate at the waistband of her pants. She could tell he wanted to continue lower. “Take them off,” she murmured against his mouth.
His hand swiftly moved around to the front where he worked for long moments at the tight button, but it refused to give. He growled in frustration against her lips.
“Shh, let me.” She stepped back and unfastened the pants, quickly pushing them down to the floor. The black lace thong she had worn as a temptation followed immediately after. He was in no condition to appreciate them. Almost as an afterthought, she reached out and released his trousers to fall to the floor as well. Then she climbed into the bed and moved to recline on the pillows, watching his face the entire time. Once she was comfortable, she held out a hand to him. “Come to bed, William.”
Without hesitating, he knelt on the mattress and crawled towards her in semblance of his usual sexual presence. He stopped inches away from her, his eyes locked on her mouth. “What do you want me to do, Buffy?”
Her heart fluttered. “I want to feel your mouth on my whole body.” Despite her brazen words, she could barely draw the breath to speak them.
“Everywhere?” There was no innuendo in his voice, although she thought she detected a hint of it in his eyes.
“Everywhere.”
“Then everywhere it shall be.” And he surprised her by gripping her far shoulder and hip and rolling her towards him onto her stomach.
She was about to raise her head to ask him what he was doing when she felt him gently move her hair over her shoulder and off her neck.
His warm breath preceded the soft touch of his lips by half a second, and she sighed and sank into the mattress, reveling in his caresses. He supported himself on his arms, one on either side of her body, as he slowly, gently lipped and tongued his way down the column of her neck and over her shoulders. He kept his body off of hers, his hips resting on the mattress next to her, but she could feel his cock prodding undemandingly at her hip and knew that whatever else was going on in his head, he was enjoying this.
He moved down and slowly began covering every inch of her shoulder blades, running his tongue lightly down along her spine before kissing gently up her ribs, pausing at the beginning swell of her breasts where she was most sensitive, making her gasp and arch toward him. He waited until she relaxed, his mouth still resting on her skin, before he continued up her ribcage. She giggled as he explored the crease of her armpit with his tongue. He quickly skimmed across her shoulder to repeat his actions in reverse on the other side.
He continued tenderly down along the curve of her waist, pausing to nibble playfully at the dimples at the base of her spine. Meticulously, he patterned over the plane of her lower back before taking the pillows of her behind in his hands and rubbing his face all over it. He licked and nipped each taut globe, making her whimper as he focused on the seam where leg and cheek met. Then he slowly moved down, over one tanned thigh and then the other, gentle love bits on the back of her knees before moving down along her strong calves and the tendons in her ankles and the arch of her foot, drawing each of her toes into his mouth in erotic turn. Then, for the first time in what seemed to Buffy to be hours, he spoke. “Roll over.”
She responded instantly, turning onto her back to look at him. He stood at the foot of the bed, eyes dark, cock erect, totally focused on the task she had set him. The lost look was gone. He bent down and started from where he had left off, stroking over the tops of her feet with his tongue, kissing and nibbling his way up her legs. He paid special attention to the insides of her thighs, working eagerly with lips and tongue and teeth until she was writhing and moaning beneath him. He moved up, shifting his head to center, when she stopped him, gripping the hair at his temples to keep him from moving any closer to her throbbing center. “No,” she instructed. “Not now, it’s too much. Too intense. I just . . . I want to enjoy the build up, okay?”
He nodded his understanding, making her moan as the tip of his nose barely brushed her clit. But he moved away, spiraling around the roundness of her belly, defining each line of her ribs before tracing along the underside of her breasts. Working one and then the other, he sucked the swell of flesh between his lips all over its soft roundness. When she could feel that the skin was all red and rosy, his tongue reached out to catch the tight peak, flicking over it rapidly before latching on to suckle it the way he knew she liked. Her hands closed on his head as she strained toward him, crying out at the pleasure he gave her, her hips undulating with the energy gathering there. He pressed the heel of his hand down on her hipbone, holding her still against the mattress as he continued devouring her breasts. When he was satisfied, he targeted all the most sensitive spots along her neck, humming softly in her ear before finally, finally coming back to rest on her mouth.
She kissed him back hungrily, clutching him to her as she rolled him beneath her on his back, indulging in the feel of his warm velvet skin and hard muscle finally rubbing along every inch of her. She let her hands wander freely over his body, stroking and caressing all the places she could reach without releasing his beautiful mouth. But finally she had to breathe, and she pulled her head up to look into his midnight dark eyes.
“What do you want, Buffy?” he asked her again, the sorrow and desperation gone, leaving only a rich, lustful rumble to his voice.
“I want . . .” but he kissed her again before she could get the words out, a hungry, demanding kiss that encouraged her to surrender herself. After long moments she pulled away, continuing to kiss him lightly. “I want you to tell me what you want.”
“God.” He buried his face in her hair. “I want to be inside you. I want to feel like I’m a part of you, even if it’s only for a little while.” And his mouth captured hers again.
She shifted her weight above him, swinging one leg over his hips to slide her damp slit along his length. He moaned and clutched at her hips, drawing her up to center the swollen head of his cock at her opening and then slowly pushing her down onto him. “Christ! God, Buffy!”
She took the initiative, slowly rising and falling over him, taking cues from him to set their pace. But the arousal he had built up in her could be held back no longer, and she was quickly riding him hard, driving him as deeply into her as she could, crying out his name with each thrust. He held her close to him as she moved, murmuring words of encouragement and pleasure with each stroke. Climax caught her unawares, and she bucked and trembled against him as he held and caressed her comfortingly.
She lay on his chest, his hands stroking her hair as she came back down, still intimately aware of the solid shaft within her. With the last of her strength, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rolled, her legs tangling about his to keep him in place as they changed positions. “I want you to find pleasure in my body.” It was part command, part plea.
“Oh God, love, I do. I always do,” he whispered fervently as he began moving inside of her again. “You are all that is right and beautiful in this world.” He sped up quickly, and she could feel his release building already. “You make me feel alive in ways I didn’t even know were possible.” His thrusts became erratic, sending small shocks through her sated body. . “God, Buffy, how did I live . . . ohgodBuffy!” He roared as he exploded, his hips jerking with each eruption and she held him, stroking his back and hair and murmuring to him as he had done to her so many times before.
She watched him watch her as he came down, lungs bellowing, skin glistening with sweat, his eyes bright with wonder. “You knew,” he said finally, awestruck. “When I didn’t, you knew.”
“Yeah.” She was surprised by the revelation herself. “Yeah, I guess I did . . .”
Chapter 29 One Pair of Candy Lips
Buffy answered the door with a smile and a bowl of candy.
William was leaning against the doorframe. “Trick or treat,” he purred.
“Oh look, it’s the big bad wolf. Great costume!” she laughed.
He leaned in. “Do I get something sweet?”
“Not in front of the neighbors.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him inside.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Now about that treat . . .”
“Candy’s for the kids,” she said coyly.
“They can have it.” He took the bowl from her, set it outside on the porch and closed the door. “I’ve got a treat we’ll both enjoy.”
“Sounds more like a trick to me.”
“Yeah . . .” His smirking mouth captured hers as he slowly backed her against the paneled wall, never touching her as he leaned on his hands on either side of her head. He could feel the happy curve of her lips even as she kissed him back eagerly, soft and mobile and sweet with the chocolate she’d been stealing out of the trick or treat bowl.
Finally she pulled away with a breathless gasp. “You seem to be feeling better today.”
“Should be. Had the best care a man could ask for.” He dragged his finger lightly along the line of her jaw. “Let me show you how much better.”
“I have to finish getting ready.”
“So we’ll be late.” He moved to catch her lips again, but she ducked under his arm and slipped away from him with a laugh.
“I’ll just be a minute.” She disappeared around the corner and he heard her bare feet pad up the stairs.
He took in the décor of the entry and living room briefly as he took off his coat to follow her upstairs. Decorator chic. Looks like Angel didn’t trust the artist to be able to handle interior design. Spike couldn’t see anything that looked like Buffy in the space.
He climbed the stairs, looking down the hall to see where she might have gone. He heard tuneless humming coming from the third door on the left and followed it.
The door opened onto a large master bedroom. The walls were all cream and taupe, the only punch of color being the burgundy comforter on the bed. There was a small black duffel in the middle of the bed, and Buffy came out of the bathroom a moment later to drop a couple of toiletries into it. “Hey! You didn’t have to come up.”
“I don’t mind. Prefer the company up here.”
She grinned and disappeared back into the bathroom. “I promise, I won’t be long.”
“Take your time, pet. ’m in no hurry.”
He poked around the room, peeking in drawers and on top of dressers and shelves. There was barely any indication of habitation. All the dresser tops and one of the bedside tables were clear of any personal items. The other table had a couple of books, a small collection of half burned candles and one photo in a wooden inlaid frame. He picked it up to see a handsome middle aged woman, dark blonde hair attractively arranged, a bright smile on her face. The family resemblance between her and his lover was striking. He held the picture up when she came back out of the bathroom, hair brushed out in soft flowing waves, mouth freshly painted a cheerful pink. “Your mom?”
She smiled, crossing over to take the frame from him. “That was taken a couple of years ago. She’d been really sick for a long time. That was when she was finally better. We spent a week in San Francisco, getting her new clothes and a makeover.”
“She’s a beautiful woman,” he said softly.
“Yeah.” Her fingers drifted lightly over the photo.
“Like mother, like daughter.”
She rolled her eyes and put the photo back. “Flatterer. Is that the dress code for the evening?” She indicated his t-shirt and button-down shirt over black slacks.
“Wear what’s comfortable, pet.” His eyes fastened on her as she skinned off her t-shirt to reveal the cobalt satin bra underneath. “Guarantee you’ll be better dressed than Kennedy, whatever you wear.”
Spike watched as she unfastened her jeans and casually shimmied out of them, tossing them on the bed before padding into her closet in nothing but her bra and lace panties, the sweet curve of her fanny barely peeking out below the scalloped edge as she walked.
His heart was touched by how comfortable she was with the casual intimacy of changing in front of him. No shyness, no uncertainty, just as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The rest of him, of course, throbbed with need for her.
Spike followed her into the closet.
She was pushing hangers to one side and the other as he wrapped his arms around her waist, sliding his hands over the warm skin of her belly. “I thought I’d wear a dress. Or would that be overdressing?”
“Mmm, dresses are good.” He bit down lightly on the curve of her neck, smiling as she shivered against him.
“You aren’t helping.” She settled the curve of her ass against his pelvis.
“Not trying to. Why would I want you dressed?” His left hand slid up to toy with the edges of her bra before sliding into the cup to tweak the hardening bud of her nipple.
“Stop,” she said breathlessly, but in the voice he had come to know meant she wanted him to do nothing of the kind.
“I’d keep you naked as much as I possibly could, if I had my way.” His right hand slipped under the elastic of her panties to twist through her coarse curls.
She sagged against him, all pretext of dressing gone.
He slipped into her center and Christ, didn’t she sound incredible, that soft, wanting cry that would make a dead man hard. Her arm reached up to wrap around his neck, and she used the leverage to ride against him as he fingered her. His cock strained towards her, knowing it belonged buried deep in her heat. She was like a kitten getting her belly scratched, stretching and contracting with each flex of his hand, each roll and pinch of her tight nipple between his fingers.
“William, oh yes, William! So good . . .”
“You inspire me to greatness, dove,” he grumbled into her ear, making her tremble.
“More,” she begged softly. “I need more.”
In an instant he swept her up off her feet with a primal growl to carry her back into the bedroom.
He was about to drop her into the middle of the bed when she suddenly clutched him tightly around the neck. “Wait!” There was a thread of panic to her voice.
“Why?”
“I can’t, not here. It’s his bed, our bed. It . . . it just wouldn’t be right.”
The reminder was a dash of cold water. She still wasn’t his. The bastard still had access to parts of her he didn’t. And apparently their marriage bed was still sacred enough to her.
He slowly dropped her back to her feet. “Right then. Hurry up and get dressed. We’re gonna be late.”
“So we’re late.” And her mouth captured his. She pushed him back, pulling his shirts from his trousers, unbuttoning his slacks. He crushed his confusion beneath her desire.
He was surprised to feel a door slam up against his back. He opened his eyes to see they were standing in the hall against one of the closed doors. She reached around him and turned the knob. He grabbed her and pulled her with him as he stumbled into the room. She pushed his trousers down as she backed him up to the edge of the bed and pushed him to sit down before straddling his lap. “Buffy . . .” He clutched her to him as she rose over him. “Thought it wasn’t right. Thought you couldn’t oh Christ.” He buried his face in her shoulder as she took him in, sinking down on the full length of his shaft.
“Guest room, guest bed.” Her eyes closed and her head rolled back as she began rising and falling on him.
“’m feeling real welcome now . . .” His arms tightened around her waist, bringing her down on him harder and harder.
She growled. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth?”
“Might.” He nosed the edge of her bra down, freeing her breast to his attention. He twisted the tip of his tongue around the nipple before sucking hard on it. She screamed and arched, but he didn’t release her, keeping the suction tight as he bounced her hard above him. He could feel her inner muscles twitching around him, pulling him, squeezing him with each thrust.
“Oh yes harder . . . god yes,” she babbled, and he could tell neither of them could last much longer. “Fuck William feels . . . oh god so deep . . . almost . . . almost . . .”
He bit down on her nipple.
The howl that burst from her lips would have scared the neighbors any other night of the year. He plunged one last time through the strangling muscles of her quim and came with his own grateful roar, each burst a soul satisfying release.
After it was over, she sagged against him in limp contentment, her arms draped over his shoulders and down his back as he places soft kisses along her neck and face. “Can we just sleep for a couple of hours?”
“We could, but Tara might be disappointed.”
“Oh right, we’re supposed to go out.” She gingerly pulled herself off him to collapse on the bed next to him, her arm over her eyes. She drew a deep, shuddering breath and slowly released it before looking at him. “You are a terrible influence. Now I have to start getting ready all over again.”
He leaned over her with a smile. “I don’t know, you aren’t too bad off. Lip color, more red than pink, but check.” He ghosted his fingertips over her mouth before moving on to her hair. “Hair loose and windblown, check. Sweet little knickers, check.” He pulled the cup back over to cover her tender breast. “Just throw on a dress and a pair of shoes and you’re good to go.”
She pushed herself up with a groan. “Call a cab while I finish. And call Tara,” she continued from the next room. “You can explain to her why we’re late!”
He chuckled unrepentantly.