Buffy had the most tight, delectable and pretty pussy he had ever fucked.

With something close to gleeful pride, Spike watched how his cock disappeared between her glistening folds.

The gold-haired goddess laid spread out in the bed under him, hands closed tightly about the headboard of the bed. Her head was tilted back, a whole-hearted moan escaping her mouth.

Her tanned legs were stretched apart as far as they would go and Spike had almost come at the mere sight of her. She had prepared herself for him, had worked herself to the brink of orgasm to be as wet possible for her lover.

With ease, he’d sunken into her and with the first thrust, he had made her come. Now, as he was pumping furiously into her, she was close again. It wouldn’t take him much longer either but he wanted her to get there first. He wanted to feel her inner muscles tighten around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Buffy let out what could only be described as a high-pitched scream. Her back arched, sweat glistening on her skin, as she came apart around him. Her muscles closed so tightly around him that for a fleeting second he feared she would snap off his cock in two.

Spurred by the sight of her falling into ecstasy, he sped up his thrusts even more, driving into her at jackhammer speed. He had never felt anything so exquisite before but even if he wanted this moment to last forever, he knew wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

“Come over me,” Buffy panted, looking at him with those big green eyes. “I want you to pull out and come all over me.”

If it hadn’t been for her devious little smile, he would have thought she was kidding. Never before had she made such a request. But who was he not to oblige.

He sat back on his heels, pulling out of her still spasming pussy. His cock was glistening with her juices and he eagerly closed his hand around it, pumping up and down the length.

“Come for me, baby. Come all over me.”

A few more strokes. Just a few more.

And with a feral growl…

…Spike woke up.

The sheet beneath him was soaked in sweat, and the one entangled around his legs was also wet but not from sweat alone. The early morning sun already filtered through the curtains as he sat up in the bed, running a hand through his tousled bleached curls. His breath came in ragged pants as he tried come to terms with the fact that he had been dreaming.

It wasn’t the first time he had dreamed this dream or one of its many variations. It always ended the same way. He had the girl of his (pardon the pun) dreams in his arms, in his bed, but just as he was about to come he woke up, leaving him wanting. Wanting more, wanting her. All of her. Which he could never have.

Spike rose from the bed, not caring that he was naked without the sheet around his hips and went to the glass door that led out to the pool. He pulled the curtain back an inch, peering over to the main house. All the curtains on the upper floor were still closed but the clock on his nightstand showed it was 6:45 and it would only be a matter of time before his boss called for his services. There was always something to be done, although most of the time, these errands merely required the need of a handyman. And still, Angel made him jump through hoops whenever he saw it fit. And there was nothing he could do about it.

With a frustrated sigh, he stepped back from the door and went to the bathroom to take a shower. A cold one.


*

Buffy hopped into the shower, singing horribly off-key to some pop song on the radio. Angel hated it when she sang, so she had waited to take her morning shower until her husband had left for work. There was no point in pissing him off, after all. It would only lead to one of their infamous fights and she certainly didn’t need one of those.

Drying her long blonde hair with a towel after showering, she stepped up to the window, wiping it clean of the hot shower induced mist. Her bathroom window looked out over the pool. Ever since Angel’s friend had moved into their pool house, she always felt a little uncomfortable. She hadn’t actually caught the slightly obnoxious, British pseudo-punk spying on her but Angel had warned her about him and you could never be too sure.

She wrapped herself in a thin satin bathrobe, ran a brush through her hair and went down to the kitchen for a late breakfast. She had a few more weeks left until she started college and sleeping in was one of the luxuries she was enjoying until then.

Still humming the same pop song, she stopped dead in her tracks all of a sudden. Had she not come to a halt, she would have knocked Spike right off the ladder he stood on, changing one of the light bulbs in the kitchen. What she was stunned by was the slightly distracting fact that not only was she on eye level with his jeans-clad crotch, but he was also half-naked, showing deliciously tanned abs.

“Oh,” was all she could manage, staring up at him. No matter how annoying he was with his accent and the Billy Idol look, he was hot to boot.

Spike gazed down at the young woman, for a fleeting moment equally surprised to find her there. “Morning, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said finally as he tore his eyes away from her and the gap in her bathrobe. “Sorry to disturb you. Will be out of your way in a minute.”

It cost Buffy a whole lot more effort not to gawk at the man in her kitchen. She took a step back from him, made a mental note of all the hotness in front of her, then turned towards the fridge.

“I told you to stop calling me Mrs. Donnelly. You’re Angel’s oldest friend, call me Buffy.”

For a second, Spike thought of all the names he would love to call her but would never have the chance to. The dream he had had this morning was still too vivid to dwell on the subject.

“Friendship’s not what I’m here for. I needed the money, your husband needed someone to fix the odds and ends around the house. Worked out nicely for the both of us.” He tried to keep the anger and frustration from his voice. It was true, he’d known Angel for ages and they had been friends way back but things had changed and they weren’t quite so fond of each other anymore.

Buffy took a yogurt from the fridge and plucked a few grapes from a bowl on the kitchen counter. “Okay, if that is the case, I bought a few new pictures for the master bedroom. Would help me hanging them up?” She smiled at him. “Tip included.”

Buffy. Master bedroom. And him. His brain only managed to process this in small bites. Otherwise he probably would have been hard in an instant.

“No problem,” he managed, slowly descending from the ladder. “If it can wait for a little bit longer? Your husband gave me a list of things that need fixing. Might take a while.”

“Sure. No rush. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll probably be at the pool.”

Spike couldn’t help but stare after her as left the kitchen. He tried not to notice that she obviously wasn’t wearing anything underneath that robe. Was she doing this on purpose? Waltzing around the house in that excuse for clothing, driving him insane with the need to get his hands underneath the fabric? Or was she really oblivious to the effect she had on him? He couldn’t decide which option he liked better.

Thankfully, he was busy enough with the chores Angel had given him that he couldn’t elaborate on that any further. But time came eventually when he had crossed the last item off his list, all the excuses not be in her presence used up. Of course, he could always pretend to have an urgent phone call to one of the other properties he occasionally worked at, but that would only put off the inevitable. He had to be a man about it.

But that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? He wanted to be a man about it, wanted to have his manly way with her by all means possible.

Taking a deep breath, he set his toolbox on the kitchen counter, squared his shoulders and went out to the pool.

02

To Buffy’s disappointment, Spike had put on a shirt when he came out to the pool to let her know that he was done for the day and would help her with her pictures. Even though the sight of him in the white wife-beater, the chest soaked through with sweat, was a bit of a consolation, she wouldn’t have minded to get a glimpse of that body again.

“Right, I got the pictures already up in the bedroom but they are too big and heavy for me to hang them alone, so…” She rose from the pool chair, tugged on her flimsy bikini and led the way into the house.

Spike swallowed hard, trying to think innocent thoughts as he followed her. He wasn’t certain if she was aware of how visible her nipples were through the fabric of her bikini top, or of how deliciously the bottom clung to her ass, the top of her crack just peaking over the hem…

Don’t go there, Spike, he scolded himself. If he followed that trail of thought he’d either go insane or finally snap out of his moral restraint and seduce her, Angel and this bloody job be damned.

He had never been to the master bedroom but he knew right away that Buffy had decorated it. The room had her written all over it. Warm colors, the occasional throw pillow and soft textures. It wasn’t a girly room per se but it sure carried her signature. It surprised him that Angel had given her free reign in this. Knowing him, he was sure that this kind of generosity came with a condition. It always did.

“Those are the pieces?” he gestured at the two huge frames still wrapped in a bubble wrap.

“Yes. The first goes on the wall there, the other above the bed.”

Of course, one of them went above the bed. Where else would it go?

Spike unwrapped the paintings. The first one was the abstract image of a patch of flowers, painted in warm subdued colors. It was a pretty piece but probably horrendously over-prized. Which was, in fact, all the more satisfying as she had spent Angel’s money on it.

The spot she had picked opposite the bed was a perfect. It fit perfectly into the overall theme of the room and even though it was huge it almost seemed to blend in with the rest of the décor. As he told her that, her eyebrows went up in surprise.

“You know about art?”

“Well, knowing is too strong a word,” he shrugged. “I paint on very rare occasions and I took a course back in university. Let’s just say I know something is pretty when I see it.” He wasn’t so sure himself if that pun had been intentional or not. Thankfully, Buffy didn’t pick up on it.

“Really? Angel never told me you painted.”

“I suppose he didn’t tell you much about me, did he?”

Buffy lowered her gaze and she drew a line into the carpet with her toe. “Not particularly. Only that you know each other from school and that you needed a place to stay after your girlfriend kicked you out.”

Spike’s jaw tightened. That was only a third of the truth and of course the part which shed the best light on Angel.

“Exactly,” he said finally, nodding. “He’s… a very generous man,” he added through gritted teeth, busying himself with unwrapping the second painting.

This one, too, was abstract but the image of two lovers entwined was still glaringly obvious. A bit of uncomfortable silence stretched between them as Spike regarded the picture.

“Above the bed, you said?”

“Yes. Ehm, if you need my help, just…”

“No need to. Just tell me if it’s hanging straight.” His inner wiseass cracked a joke about how things were not exactly hanging but he pushed that thought into the farthest corner of his mind. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed.

This picture was heavier than the other one and he struggled a little to hang it up. Now he understood why Buffy hadn’t asked her precious husband to do it, physical labor was beneath him in every way possible.

“So?” he asked, swiping a trickle of sweat from his brow.

“It’s tilting. Move the right corner up a little,” Buffy ordered and he complied. “No, not that corner. The other right.”

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. “You do know left and right, don’t you, luv?”

“Yes, I do, thank you. Just... move the other corner up.” She squinted at the picture, closed one eye, then the other. “Now it’s tilting the other way. Put it back.”

“Would you make up your bleeding mind, please?”

She put her hands on her hips, scowling at him. “What is it with your British people and the blood, huh? Just…” She climbed onto the bed and nudged him aside. “Let me.”

With one finger, she delicately pushed the corner of the picture frame. It didn’t budge, not even a hairsbreadth but she seemed to think it made all the difference.

“There, now it’s perfect.” She took a step back to admire her work.

Walking on a mattress was a wobbly business at best. Her foot got caught in the comforter and as she tried to free herself while keeping her balance, her leg gave out from under her. All of which wouldn’t have been too bad if she hadn’t stumbled into Spike, her momentum adding to his, and they tumbled to the floor in a pile of limbs, pillows and blankets.

The wildest of his fantasies flooded his mind all at once. How many times had he dreamed about being on top of her, breathless, their bodies entwined. His imagination hadn’t been able to conjure up exactly how good it might actually feel, though.

Her body was hot beneath his, her leg under his, one arm around his neck, the other trapped between their bodies. It took him a second or two to realize how close her hand was to…

Buffy cleared her throat and he blinked.

“I think my husband’s home,” she said, her voice quivering a little.

It took all of his willpower to tear himself away from the petite blonde goddess. He could have stared into her big green eyes for hours and hours on end but the prospect of Angel catching them in the not-quite-an-act had him re-thinking this.

In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling her up as well.

“I better take the backstairs, then.” He couldn’t believe he was actually running away from Buffy’s husband. They’d known each other for twenty years and if it came to a fight he could take the other man, no matter that he was half a foot taller. But he wasn’t so worried about getting in trouble himself, he wanted to protect Buffy from Angel’s wrath. And wrath he had a-plenty.

“Yeah, might be best.” Buffy tugged on her bikini top for modesty sake again (he hadn’t even realized it revealed a good portion of her breast), then headed for the stairs. “Thanks for, ehm… helping me with the pictures and…”

“Don’t mention it,” he nodded, then picked up his shoes and padded quietly to the back staircase. He didn’t notice the almost sad look on Buffy’s face before she went down to greet her husband.


*