Part 1: Prologue

Buffy worried the worn clipping of paper in her hand for what felt like the zillionth time since she’d first seen it. She didn’t bother unfolding it to read it; she’d long ago committed the two phrases in the ad to her memory. A plain black box, with the word Indulge… written in white in the upper left corner in a curious, swirling script, and in the lower right corner, the only other lettering in the ad, a website address www.indulgeyourself.com.

She had come across the ad while flipping through the ‘Sunnydale Times,’ and something about it had captivated her. It may have been the utter lack of information given, nothing other than the single word and the website. And it may have been the fact that she had been looking for something to treat herself to for months, something materially useless, utterly impractical, and sinfully overpriced. Something with no redeeming qualities, no moral value, no practical purpose whatsoever. Something she could buy for herself for no good reason other than the fact that she wanted it.

When Buffy’s mother had died two years earlier after a thankfully short but decidedly cruel battle with cancer, Buffy had been plunged into an eighteen-month battle for Joyce’s estate with her mother’s long-absent siblings. Siblings that had decided, out of the kindness of their hearts, that Buffy was far too young to handle an estate the size of Joyce’s, and that it was in her best interest if they stepped in to help her “manage” the remaining money that her mother had left from her father’s life insurance payout, an amount that was considerable. Now most of that money was gone even after her victory--lost to medical bills and legal fees--and Buffy had decided to sell the house and use the remaining money to start fresh in a new city. New city, new job, new life, new Buffy.

But while she had been cleaning out Joyce’s room, she had unexpectedly found a box containing her baby blanket, and wrapped in the baby blanket $25,000 in cash, neatly bundled with a note labeled “Buffy” in Joyce’s even penmanship.

Sweetheart,
I wish I could have protected you from the ugliness that I know will come with the money. So if you’re reading this and you lost, use this for whatever you need. And if you’re reading this and you won, I know it will have been a long road. Use it to treat yourself.
Love.

Buffy had tucked the money away and not even considered what she wanted to do with it until she had come across the ad a couple of months ago while browsing the newspaper. And once she noticed it, she had been unable to look away. “Treat yourself,” after all, was remarkably similar to “Indulge…” Almost as if the ad had been placed there specifically for her.

She had stared at it for a full five minutes, possibilities swirling in her head, before she had finally given in to her curiosity and logged onto the website. From there she had been drawn deeper down the rabbit hole by pictures: a tropical paradise, a finger pressed to a set of lips, a stockinged thigh, all peppered with remarkably oblique phrases like “luxurious,” “sinful,” and “decadent.” None of which told her anything about the service actually provided, but all of which served to heighten her curiosity and strengthen the resolve that oh yes, she would Indulge.

After completing a more extensive and intimate questionnaire than eHarmony ever dreamed, she received the most exhaustive and prohibitive disclaimer she had ever seen, a health screening, and a list of rules that she had to electronically agree to. Which she had, blindly, sure only now that she wanted the promised Experience of a Lifetime.

So now as she sat, shifting in her seat, her anxiety climbing as the plane descended, and she wondered again what she had gotten herself into.

Rule 1. You will not use your real name. You will identify yourself only by your self-chosen pseudonym, which cannot in any way be traceable to you. All electronic devices will be confiscated prior to your arrival to The Island, to both enhance your Escape and to inhibit the sharing of personal information.

Rule 2. After you leave The Island, you will not have any further contact with your partner (or partners). Any efforts to contact each other are strictly prohibited by the terms of this contract. Should accidental contact occur, no recognition of any kind is allowed so as to allow both parties their continued anonymity.

Rule 3. No falling in love.

* * *

Spike stood before the mirror in what had to be the most luxurious hotel suite he’d ever seen in his life, nervously adjusting and re-adjusting his tie. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean through the door open on the veranda, and he could hear palm fronds rustling in the breeze. The beauty of his surroundings however was lost on him as he tried to fix an imagined wrinkle in his trousers.

For the love of God and money, he had no idea what demon had inhabited his mind when he agreed to do his brother-in-law this ridiculous favor. Sure, it had been a long time since the demise of his last relationship, and it wasn’t exactly like he had been tearing up the town ever since. And sure, he probably spent a little more time at his job than he absolutely needed to, but he justified it by the fact that the company was in a bit of a slump, and he seemed to have temporarily lost his business mojo. But that was set to turn around any day, as he had a new business plan, he was invigorating the company with some new blood, and… Ahh, bloody hell. Maybe they’re right; I do spend too much time either at work or thinking about work.

Which returned him to his present situation. Standing in front of a gilt-edged mirror, in a gorgeous luxury suite, on an anonymous desert island. With an ugly fucking tie. He growled in frustration, tearing the tie off and throwing it down, resisting the urge to stamp on it for a good measure.

Easy, mate. You’re just in this for the weekend. You get to spend it with a beautiful woman on a beautiful island having fantasy sex… He drifted off for a moment, mentally running through the list of fantasies provided by his brother-in-law in an exhaustive dossier on the woman he was about to meet.

Elizabeth. It wasn’t her real name, he knew, merely a chosen pseudonym, but he briefly wondered if, like him, she had chosen a name that she had used at some other point in her life. After all, he hadn’t used the name “William” formally for fifteen years—legally, for about ten—but it had been what he was known by when he was younger, and he knew he could respond appropriately when addressed by it.

The headshot accompanying the dossier was a simple headshot of a very pretty California-blonde type woman. A very beautiful woman. Who was paying an obscene amount of money for this weekend. To have sex. To have naughty, uninhibited sex. To have naughty, uninhibited sex with him. Well, not precisely with you, his conscience reminded him, as the woman in the file had not chosen him, per se, but more precisely the experience. Which was a thought that had him unconsciously running his hand through his carefully gelled hair, loosening some ringlets that fell to his forehead, taunting him. He tried forcing the curls back into place with a menacing glare in the mirror, but they remained unimpressed.

Bloody buggering hell! Fuck it.

He slid the dossier back into the desk drawer without another glance at the headshot, sure that he’d know Elizabeth when he saw her. It was the face that had teased his dreams since he had seen the file originally. He knew her wishes, her fantasies, her unfulfilled desires. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that Angel had been right in selecting him for Elizabeth. She was beautiful, apparently intelligent, and there wasn’t a single kink she had on her naughty wishlist that he wasn’t downright enthusiastic about helping her work out.

With that can-do attitude in mind, he abandoned his self-perusal and headed out on the balcony to have a cigarette and wait.

Part 2: The Opening Games

Spike was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the snick of the keycard in the lock. He didn’t turn to look as Buffy slowly crossed the suite, shedding her bags and tentatively making her way towards the open veranda doors. He didn’t even turn around as she gently slid the gauzy curtains out of the way and stood framed by the door.

“I’m… Elizabeth.”

He spun around; clearly he had not been aware that he was no longer alone--and Elizabeth got her first good look at him.

Oh… wow. Her eyes widened fractionally as she drank him in, savoring him. He was a good head taller than her with a slim build, sandy brown hair, chiseled cheekbones, and eyes so blue they had to be a trick of the light.

William felt some of his anxiety drain away as she moved forward onto the veranda. ‘Least she didn’t run away screaming, his nervous brain piped in.

Hush you! He silenced it.

He noticed she was watching him with a combination of amusement and something he couldn’t put his finger on, and realized he hadn’t actually said anything to her yet. Mental facepalm.

“William,” he recovered, moving towards her.

Oh God, and he’s British. Elizabeth could feel the pleasure center of her brain doing a little jig.

She exhaled louder than she had intended, and he realized that she had been as anxious as him, if not more so. He found that more than a little comforting, and gained confidence.

She stuck out her hand somewhat awkwardly, not sure exactly how else to greet him.

He took her hand gently, but instead of shaking it, he turned it palm-up and delicately kissed the inside of her wrist, letting his lips linger just slightly over the soft, sensitive flesh there. “My pleasure.”

Somehow the gesture seemed even more intimate than if he had kissed her lips, and Elizabeth felt little jolts of electricity dancing over her skin, ghosts of where his lips had been.

William gazed down at her, pleased to see black eclipsing hazel as her pupils dilated in obvious arousal.

All right, then. Maybe he would just be able to get through his weekend without killing his brother-in-law for talking him into this… He could see Elizabeth’s bee-stung lips parting slowly as her breathing changed. Might have to send him a bloody fruit basket at this rate.

Elizabeth suddenly realized how close she had moved to William, and backed up in a fit of awareness.

William raised a scarred eyebrow in question, and she fumbled for a minute, and then blurted out, “Ineedsomewater,” before disappearing back into the room.

He shook his head and started after her, grinning ruefully. The chase was on.

* * *

Elizabeth gulped down two full glasses of lukewarm tap water before William stopped her, putting his hand on her forearm as she started to lift a third glass shakily to her lips. “Luv, if you don’t bloody stop that, you’re going to float away.”

She flushed, and put down the glass, obviously at a loss for how to proceed. William took pity on her—but if he was honest with himself, he also relished her obvious reaction to his closeness. It had been a long time since he’d felt the rush of a beautiful woman rendered nervous (and endlessly thirsty) by his proximity. It felt good… who was he kidding? It felt great. He could feel some of his old swagger, sorely M.I.A. of late, returning, and it was intoxicating. He threw her a bone--proverbially, for now.

“How was your flight?”

She stared at him for a moment, startled by the change of pace, and then relief painted itself across her features. “Fine, it was a little long but there was no turbulence.” She rolled her neck around her shoulders to illustrate the stiffness.

He perched himself on the back of a low couch, content to just watch her for now. She was even lovelier than her picture, all sun-kissed and sweet-smelling. “How do you like the room?”

“It’s lovely, really.” She started walking around the suite, fingertips trailing over the plush fabric on the chaise lounge, skipping to the dark mahogany of the wet bar, and coming to rest on the gilt edging of the full-length mirror. “The whole place is just gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” She didn’t turn back towards him, content instead examining the delicate carvings on the frame.

William took full advantage of her back being to him to assess her unabashedly from where he sat. She was a small thing, muscular, but delicately so. Blonde hair was piled into an artfully messy ponytail, and the top two buttons of her white cotton sundress were undone, hinting at a distinct lack of bra, a choice that pleased him down to his most basic male core. Just thinking about it made his trousers distinctly tighter, and he forced himself to remain ease off this train of thought, lobbing another soft question her way and buying time to further his perusal.

“Where do you think we are?”

“Don’t really know. But I suppose that’s part of this whole… experience… is it not? I mean, boarding pass with no destination listed; no phones, so no GPS, either. I mean, freakin’ Gilligan could pop up and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

A laugh bubbled out of William as he started at her unexpected levity. “I know. This is the longest I’ve been without my PDA in, well… ever.”

She relaxed visibly, her shoulders loosening and her chin coming out of her chest, but still she did not turn around.

Few more questions then. It was just so hard to ask questions that were inconsequential and impersonal. That was never the stuff that interested him, but he forced himself to do it anyway. Keep it light and non-threatening.

“How do you like the warm weather?” His voice lowered a little, became more intimate.

She chewed on her lower lip for a second, ignoring the change in tone. “Love it.”

“How do you like to be kissed?”

The floor dropped out. The room rotated on its axis, and Elizabeth’s eyes shot up to meet William’s in the mirror, tension and arousal suddenly making the air in the room thick and heady.

“Excuse me?” She had been somewhat lulled by the casual conversation, but here it was, the 800 lb gorilla in the room staring them down. The reason she had chosen to do this in the first place. Pleasure. Pleasure in its most pure and abject form, no strings attached. Pleasure the electricity already crackling in the air made her sure this man would wring from her very core.

He held her gaze steadily, blue eyes locked on hazel in sinful promise as he slowly moved across the room.

“You heard me, kitten.” He didn’t so much walk towards her as he prowled, navigating his way with feline grace.

“Umm, I’m not really sure how to answer that… I mean it depends upon the situation…”

She was aware that she was babbling, but somehow couldn’t stop her mouth from moving. “Do you mean, like, on a first date, or do you mean, like, soft vs. hard? Or do you mean…” She trailed off, finally breaking the highly charged stare to look down at the credenza.

“I mean exactly what I asked you, pet. I want to know how you like it.” With the deliberate double entendre his voice dropped to a virtual purr, and she pictured him as some kind of erotic jungle cat stalking his prey.

“Do you like something light and airy, just the barest hint of what’s to come…? The slightest trace of his lips across yours, warm, soft, and dry, just teasing your beautiful lips open the barest bit? The warm rush of his breath as it crosses your lips for the first time?”

The tension was back in her shoulders, but he could tell it was a different kind of tension as he kept talking, kept moving towards her.

“Or do you like it hard and punishing… full-on… devouring… to be kissed like you’re being consumed...? Like your every next breath relies on his touch… his taste… his tongue flicking across those beautiful pouty lips.

“Do you like to be devoured, pet? The kind of kiss that makes your nipples hard and your panties wet? Do you want me to taste you, to drink you in, inhale you as if you were the last gasp of a dying man?

“Or would you prefer to split the difference and go with the movie-type, you know, ‘long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last for days…’”

Elizabeth was so wound up in the eroticism of his words that she didn’t realize he was actually waiting for an answer. Her dress felt too tight, and the fabric felt rough--not entirely unpleasantly--against the now erect buds of her nipples. She unconsciously clenched her thighs, willing her body not to turn to Slut Mode quite so quickly. Fat chance, her mind taunted her. Did you hear that voice? See those eyes… that hair… that ass.

Great, her body and her mind were both in on it. Freaking traitors.

“Either one. Any.” She was embarrassed to hear her voice emerge as more of a squeak than the firm assertion of highly held moral standards she had intended.

He chuckled once, long and low. “I don’t think so, pet. I think you know exactly what you like--what you need—but you don’t want to come out and say it.

“I think you’re just dying to be taken like something out of one of those god awful romance novel. I think you want me to grab your head in my hands, wind my hands in that beautiful golden hair, and kiss you like I’m possessing you. Maybe you do want me to possess you. In fact, there’s no maybe about it…

“I think you want me rip that beautiful, virginal dress right off you and take those lovely perky breasts right in my hands. I think you want me to palm your rosy little nipples, rub my thumbs over them as I’m sliding my tongue over your lips—upper lips, of course…

“If I were a betting man—and I am—I’d wager you’d like nothing better right now than for me to take what I want from you. Look at you, mouth open, breathing heavy, and I haven’t even laid one… little… finger on you, not how I want to. Not how I’ve been thinking about since you walked through that door. Or how you’ve been thinking about it—and I know you have. Can’t wait. Can’t bloody waitto be buried deep inside you, feel you clench around me, bathing me with your juices.”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open at the sheer dirtiness of his words. The rest of her body, however, willfully refused to be offended, and she could swear she actually felt her thighs trembling as her core flooded with arousal.

Her reaction to his explicit words was duly noted and catalogued for later reference as he came to a halt just inches from her, invading her personal space in the most delicious way but still not actually touching her.

She looked up at him through a lust-fogged gaze, and he lowered his lips to a mere hairsbreadth away from hers.

“I… I don’t think… that’s not what I…” One last attempt at saving face.

That same low, rumbling chuckle. “Liar.”

She was lying, she knew she was lying, but she still felt compelled to hold some ground. She shook her head ‘no’ slightly, almost imperceptibly. She dropped her eyes to his lips, her tongue flicking out to moisten her own unconsciously as she struggled with her last little bit of control. His hand drifted upwards, and he rubbed one thumb slowly, hypnotically, over her bottom lip, so close to her that his words flowed into her mouth instead of reaching her ears.

“You are lying. Your body gives you away, kitten. You want me to touch you so bad you’re shaking. I bet if I slipped my hand into your delicate little underthings, your pretty pussy is begging to be touched. Dripping wet, swollen with need, and so hot you feel like you’re gonna just die if I don’t fill you up right this very minute.

“So tell me again, pet, honestly, how do you like to be kissed?”

* * *

There really was only one acceptable answer to William’s question.

So Elizabeth kissed him. Really kissed him. She had never made the first move with a man—ever--and here she was, devouring a virtual stranger like she had never wanted or needed anything more in her entire life.

William’s eyes flew open in surprise for a split second before he poured his soul into returning her kiss. He seized her head in his hands, cradling it under the assault of his lips. She tasted warm, wet and wonderful with just a hint of vanilla and sugar. Her lips parted further, granting him access deeper into her, and he didn’t think he’d ever been harder in his life. At the same time, it felt like too much and never enough.

* * *

Elizabeth was dying. Drowning, burning, dying. Her skin felt too tight and itchy, and she couldn’t seem to get close enough to William to relieve the need welling up deeper inside her. He smelled like pure sex, and he tasted heady and exotic, like expensive whiskey with just the faintest trace of cigarettes. Purely male and vaguely animal. She could feel his erection grinding against her stomach and it both pleased and empowered her to know that she was not the only one enthralled with the interplay between them.

They pulled apart, both breathing hard, and William slid to his knees in front of her.

“What are you---OH!” She yelped as he seized the dress from the bottom and tore upwards, ripping the delicate cotton open all the way to the top and leaving her almost completely naked.

She was dimly aware of the buttons zinging off in various directions, but she was more aware of the glazed look on William’s face as he took her in, intoxicated by the mere sight of her standing there in nothing more than a pair of white lace panties, her ruined sundress still hanging from her smooth, tanned shoulders.

One more tug on the hem and the straps broke, leaving her clad in lace and delicate white strappy sandals.

He reached one hand up as if he were going to finally touch her where she needed him most, but at the last minute he seemed to catch himself and the hand fell back to his side.

William fumbled for words.

“Luv, you are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole bloody life. And I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t touch you soon.”

Although she appreciated his blatant arousal and adoration, Elizabeth was feeling feverish, and if he didn’t quit with the staring and get with the touching right this fucking minute-- “Are you gonna touch me?”

He seemed to remember himself, and tore his heavy-lidded eyes away from the sopping little panel of lace guarding the only bit of her he had not yet seen.

He sat back on his heels, looked up at her face, and grinned.

“No.”

“NO?” HUH? He was enjoying himself way too much at her confusion.

He smirked, curling his tongue in a way that only made her quiver more. “Nope.”

Before Elizabeth could even blink, he had torn the panties away, and was guiding her own hand straight to her glistening core.

“I’m not gonna touch you, but you are… And I’m gonna watch.”

Part 3: The Watching Game



“I’m not gonna touch you, but you are… And I’m gonna watch.”



* * *



Elizabeth stood frozen for a minute, staring down at William with an odd combination of lust and self-consciousness.



William bided his time for a moment, and then got to his feet and led Buffy gently by the hand to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned towards her, brushing a stray lock of hair off of one flushed cheek. “If you don’t want to do this, we can stop now. You just need to say the word.”



Elizabeth worried her lower lip between her teeth, but she didn’t try to move away from William’s touch or cover her nudity, which he took as a good sign.



“Luv, this is all about you. I’m here with you because you wanted it, wished for it. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted from a man but not been able to ask for. No recriminations, no guilt. After this weekend, we both walk out of here, and we’ll never see each other again, so you have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of what we do. You won’t make a fool of yourself, and can ask me to do any naughty little thing your heart has ever wished for, and I won’t judge you.”



As he spoke, William realized that he needed this weekend every bit as much as the petite blonde sitting next to him and asked her softly, “Are you in or out?”



After a moment’s debate, Elizabeth chin came up and she met William’s gaze, a slow, devilish smile quirking the corner of her mouth.



He had his answer, and he slid back to his knees on the floor in front of her in a flash. He dropped one chaste kiss on each of her knees before starting to slip off the buttons on his shirt.



* * *



Elizabeth felt like she felt as if she was treading on uneven ground as his alabaster chest was revealed button by button, unsure exactly as to how he intended this to play out. “I don’t know how to start…”



He smiled at her. “How do you usually start?”

She looked puzzled, so he clarified, “I mean, how do you start touching yourself? I want you to show me how you touch yourself, late at night, when you’re all alone under the covers, and there’s no one but you to soothe that ache deep inside…”

Her slight flush became a full-blown blush that he found just bloody adorable. Bare-ass naked in front of a virtual stranger, but blushing at the thought of talking about masturbation. He removed his shirt and folded it carefully, laying it to the side.

Elizabeth stared at his naked chest for a moment. Those were… good abs to have…

Realizing he was stopping at the shirt, she pouted and he smirked, dipping his chin slightly towards her breasts. She caught on and slid her hands up over her torso, gliding her fingertips slowly around the curves of her breasts, avoiding the nipples as she placed feather-light touches here and there, taunting herself with the promise of pleasure.

William’s hands started moving again, slowly unbuckling his belt and sliding it free of the loops and leaving it beside the discarded shirt as his eyes never straying away from her hands.

“Such lovely breasts you have, kitten. And I can’t wait to taste them. You’re all flushed and trembling; love you like that. Your nipples look like they could use some attention from those delicate fingertips, though.”

She slid her fingers lightly around the little pink buds as a wave of desire rushed over her. Her gaze snapped up to meet William’s, and her hesitance flew right out the window. She met his eyes with a fiery intensity, all doubt gone with only hunger remaining.

She palmed the mounds roughly and pinched her nipples, flicking her thumbs over them until her head fell back with a throaty moan at the intensity of the feeling.

William took the opportunity to remove his pants, and when she opened her eyes to meet the heat of his gaze again, he was standing before her naked.

After a split second of surprise, she treated her eyes to a slow trek downward, drinking in his pale, smooth skin, his finely toned chest, the narrow trail of light brown hair leading down to a…

Ho-ly SHIT! A cock like that should be preceded be a drum roll. Or at the very least, a ‘ta-dah!’

It was perfect: long, thick, and achingly hard, with just a tip of pre-come glistening at the slit of its belled head. The ache within Elizabeth increased tenfold just by looking at it, and her tongue unconsciously flicked out to lick her suddenly dry lips, an action which caused it to jump slightly.

William wrapped one large hand around his shaft, stroking it slowly as he slid back to the floor to kneel in front of Elizabeth. He used his free hand to move her knees further apart as he sat perched in front of her, eyes perfectly aligned with her thighs.

When she parted her legs even farther, he saw her beautiful nether lips laid open for him, and he had to squeeze himself briefly at the base to hold himself in check. She fondled one breast languidly as he refocused on her.

“As luscious as your tits are, luv, do you really wait this long to touch your beautiful quim?” The question was asked for his sake as much as hers; as much as he loved watching her tiny fingers cup her breasts, really, he was dying for her to move southward.

Elizabeth was no idiot, and she sensed this game--and the agonizingly slow pace of it--was getting to him just as much as it was getting to her. She decided to make him wait just a little bit longer. Enjoying his vaguely strained expression, she held his stare as she trailed one hand lower to caress her bare, tanned belly. William growled his approval and resumed a slow, loose rubbing of his hardened prick, breaking the rhythm every so often to run a thumb over the slippery head.

Her own feeling of power grew with her arousal at seeing him, seeing the reaction she was provoking in him, and she became bolder, letting her legs fall further apart as her right hand finally reached its destination.

She had known she was wet, really wet, but as she traced her slit with one fingertip--one increasingly slippery fingertip--she realized she was more turned on than she had ever been in her life.

She watched the path of William’s hand for a moment as it caressed his cock, and she started tracing her labia at the same time, mirroring his motions.

“I like to start softly, not too much…” She eased off her pace, allowing herself to enjoy each slow pass of her finger, “I usually go nice and easy for a little while, just getting myself ready, so I’m really nice and wet…”

William’s throat went suddenly went dry as he listened to her low, dreamy voice and watched the movement of her hand as if hypnotized. He had chosen this particular game from her list because he had both wanted to learn how she pleasured herself, and because it was one that would give her a little more time to become comfortable with herself in front of him before she became comfortable with him. And judging by the fluttering eyelids, the parted lips, and the heavy breaths escaping from her luscious mouth, she had not only broken out of her shell, but she was currently stomping on the itty bitty remnants of it.

He gathered his focus. “What is it you’re waiting for, sweetheart?”

Her voice had become a virtual whisper as she watched his hand gliding up and down, down and up his erection, and felt the response in her own body.

Her left hand abandoned her breast and slid down to join the right, holding her lips open and giving William one hell of a view. He suddenly empathized with Elizabeth’s sudden bout of thirst before. If I didn’t need a bloody glass of water then, I certainly could do with one---

Her husky voice broke his thought. “I like it to be nice and slick…”

“What do you need to be so slippery for?” He rasped.

“I like it when my fingers can just slide right over… my… clit…” As she said the word, her right hand suddenly found her prize and her fingers began circling the erect little pearl gently.

William bit back a groan as he increased his pace on himself, using his pre-come to lubricate the motion until his dick was glistening and his movements were entirely fluid. He could feel it throbbing, and he started letting his thumb rub against the sensitive spot on the underside on every upstroke.

* * *

Elizabeth was gone, lost to lust as she worked her fingers faster over her clit and watched William pump his cock more roughly in his hand. Every variation she made in strength or tempo he mimicked until they were both panting, reveling in the desire threatening to crash over them like a tidal wave, and at the same time wanting to draw out the exquisite pleasure for as long as possible.

William squeezed his heavy balls with one hand as he continued to grip himself in the other, never ceasing his motion. “You look so fucking hot doing that… I could watch your delicate hands rubbing that slippery little clit forever. Such a gorgeous quim you have. Love to see you all dark pink, suffused with blood and throbbing in need. Go ahead… could watch you fingering your glistening pussy forever.”

At his words, a tremor ran through Elizabeth, and she abandoned all efforts to prolong reaching her climax. She slowly slipped one finger between the slippery folds and redoubled her efforts on her clit, massaging it with her index and middle fingers.

As soon as he watched her slide her finger deep inside herself, any restraint William still had left snapped like an old rubber band. He began working himself furiously, gripping and releasing with each stroke as he felt the familiar tingling working its way up from his toes.

“Talk to me, luv…” he begged, “tell me how you feel… how it feels inside you…”

Elizabeth’s voice was broken, uneven between gasps. “Feels so hot… so wet… feels like a fever… burning me up… fuck, feels so wet… never so wet…” She fell back onto the bed, her hands still rubbing busily between her thighs.

“Oh God, William, I think…” Her voice was rising in pitch as her orgasm grew closer. She stopped slamming her fingers inside her pussy to frantically polish her clit as her legs started to shake. “I’m gonna… Ohhh, William…”

“Come for me, sweetheart. Want to see you come around your fingers,” he managed to choke out.

Her climax hit her fast and hard, wracking her with spasms from head to toe. “WILLIAM!!!”

At the first sign of tremors between her slippery thighs, he had risen to stand over her, balls tightening, and as she screamed his name in climax, he gritted his teeth and his hot come splashed across her stomach, tattooing her skin in glistening spurts.

* * *

After he came he collapsed next to her on the bed, propping his head up on one elbow to look at her as one finger swirled lazily through the fluid on her stomach, painting his come across her breasts and rubbing it into her nipples.

Buffy opened one eye to look up at him. “That’s gross.” Her tone of voice remained unconvinced.

He grinned, carefully covering his whole palm in his fluids before sliding it down between her legs as began slowly rubbing his hand against her inner thighs, blending his semen with her juices. “You don’t sound convinced, sweetheart.”

She opened the other eye to glower at him with an utter lack of conviction. “It’s gross. Very gross. Stop it.” She didn’t try to move his hand away, instead pressing into his touch.

He singsonged, “Somebody needs convincing…”

She quirked that same evil smile at him again, raising one perfect eyebrow at him. “And what are you going to do to convince me?”

“Don’t really have to.” He wormed an arm under her shoulders and gathered her against him to coax her further up the bed so that they were reclining against a pile of pillows facing each other. “You’re already convinced.”

She fixed him with a faux glare. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

He leaned close enough to tap her nose for emphasis. “You… are…”

She felt the stirrings of desire again from his mere proximity, and wiggled a little closer to him, breathing in his scent. “How could you possibly presume to know that?”

He ghosted one hand up the outside of her hip, encouraging her to move in even closer before he started rubbing slow, gentle circles at the small of her back. “Because…” Circle. “Your reactions,” circle, “tell me all,” circle, “I need to know.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she enjoyed the simple sensation. “And what are they telling you right now?”

He did that tongue-curling thing again, and Elizabeth felt her arousal grow thick again deep inside her. She rubbed her thighs together--just the slightest of motions, but William caught it. His grin grew more predatory.

“They’re telling me that you, are in fact, a liar.” His hand dropped lower, cupping the swell of her ass as he drew her flush against him. “They’re telling me that you are not grossed out. They’re telling me that you are extremely turned on.”

She moved her head over onto the same pillow as his, her lips coming to a halt a whisper away from his. “And how do you intend to prove your theory?”

He kissed her gently, drawing her lower lip in between his teeth and nipping it before pulling away. “My dear Elizabeth,” he kissed her neck, “do pay attention.”

He dropped another soft kiss on her collarbone, and his idle hand rolled her onto her back and parted her thighs as he rose up over her. “You always tell me what I need to know, whether you realize it or not.”

She sighed and shifted her hips, trying to encourage his hand to where she wanted him. “So what is my body telling you right now?”

“It’s telling me that you want me to… touch you…” his hand began a torturous slow ascent towards her core, “right…” he continued until she could feel the heat from his hand emanating against her nether lips, “here…”

His lips descended upon hers hungrily at the same time his hand finally—finally—came into contact with her moist pussy. She kissed him back just as passionately, her clever little tongue parting his lips to explore his mouth as her hips started undulating against his hand.

William rubbed his thumb carefully over his her labia, gathering dew as he slowly worked another finger into her folds. He could feel her juices seeping out around his gentle touch, and finally sank one long, slender finger inside her.

Elizabeth let out a little mewl at the penetration and let her knees fall further apart, giving him more room to work his magic. He kissed his way down her neck and around each nipple before worrying each bud back to hardness.

She felt wonderful wrapped around his finger, tight and soft, hot and wet, and he pressed his reawakening erection against her hip, grinding lightly. He couldn’t wait for the chance to replace his finger with something… more substantial… but he wanted to reawaken her desire slowly first.

* * *

Elizabeth felt his cock pressing hard against her, and hazarded a quick glance downward. Sure enough, he was hard again. And so soon. Yay! The universe seemed to be paying her back in spades for the two-year shitstorm it had given her.

She reached over and wrapped one small hand around his erection, and when she heard his sudden gasp, she squeezed gently. He groaned, grinding himself more insistently against her soft skin. “Elizabeth, if you don’t stop that soon, I’m not going to be able to take this slow much longer.”

She grinned cheekily at him. “Who said I wanted slow?”

He gaped at her for a moment before letting out a growl. In one swift move, he rolled to his side, retrieved a condom where he’d left them on the bedside table, and rolled back over to settle himself between her legs. He quickly rolled the condom down his shaft, never taking his eyes off of her warm, waiting body. With an evil grin, he gathered both of her small wrists with one large hand to pin them on the pillow above her head.

He wrapped his other hand around his shaft and started rubbing the head of his cock against her slippery folds. She cooed and rolled her hips, trying to draw him inside her.

“Naughty girl. It’s not nice to tease,” he whispered, continuing to taunt her with the gentle slip of his silky head over her clit as she drew her legs up and around him, pulling him closer to gain more friction. “Do you like it when I tease you?”

The combination of the stimulation on her clit and his throaty voice at her ear nearly drove Elizabeth over the edge, and she rasped, “Inside me. Now.”

Okay, fuck slow. He positioned himself at her entrance and slipped just the head of his cock inside her. She whimpered.

He moved his hips slightly forward, pressing himself into her channel slowly enough that she wanted to cry. Then, instead of going further, he reversed and pulled back, then advanced again, until he was slowly fucking just the head of his prick into her.

She wiggled her hips, trying to draw him deeper, but he just gave her his own slow smile, enjoying the slight discomfort he was inflicting. His grip tightened on her pinned hands, and his free hand came up to toy with one erect pink nipple. He could feel the flow of her juices increasing around his cock, and he loved how she was responding to his particular brand of torture so much he decided to up the ante.

“When I tell you I want to take things slow, I expect you to listen, luv,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “In fact, when I tell you anything, I expect you to listen.”

Her eyes, previously closed in agonized pleasure, flew open at his raspy command, eyeing him warily. He reassured her, still whispering against her ear.

“It’s your game, kitten. You say stop, we stop. Bottom always controls the game by reaction. And your reaction tells me so far that you love this.” His hips continued their languid roll against hers. “But if at any time you need to stop, you cry ‘break.’ Literally, say that word, and I’ll stop.

“But until you do, until that word falls from those lovely lips, I’m in charge. You may have wanted this. You may have wished for it, cried for it, screamed for it--and if I’m as good as I think I am, you may yet beg for it—but unless you say the word, I’m driving. Understand?”

She looked up at him for a moment, debating what he was asking her, and she was struck by how easy it was to ask for something on a form, and how different it actually felt to have your wish granted. Questions filled out months ago with her deepest, previously unexpressed desires of her heart and body had led her here, to this moment, to this man’s arms, enthralled by the hypnotic sound of his voice washing over her.

It wasn’t such a hard decision after all.

When he saw what he had been waiting for flash in her eyes, William fisted his free hand into her hair, grabbing a golden handful to yank her head backwards uncomfortably. “I said,” he growled against her throat, nipping her once across her jugular, his words measured and deliberate, “do… you… understand?”

Elizabeth nodded, dropping her eyes in submission.

“Good girl.” He rewarded her by seating himself deep inside her with one solid thrust.

“Fuck, you feel amazing!” He took a minute to gain control of himself, wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself by shooting off inside her immediately.

“OH!!!” Her head snapped back, her eyes shut, and her walls fluttered around him, welcoming his invasion with another flood of moisture. He felt amazing, buried deeper inside her than any man had ever been, and he fit her so perfectly she wanted to weep. He was so thick and hard it felt like he was going to split her in two, but she couldn’t think of a better way to go.

He kept her arms positioned above her head as he drove into her hard for a couple strokes, and then eased into slower, shallower thrusts for the next few. She arched her back up, pressing her hard nipples against his chest, as she reached blindly for his lips, and he kissed her slowly, savoring her taste before breaking free to catch his breath.

“Feel so wonderful, kitten. Wrapped around me so tightly, you are. So perfect, so tight and wet, makes it so much easier to fuck you…”

She groaned, way beyond coherent words at this point, and lifted her knees higher, drawing him deeper inside of her.

“Want it deeper, luv? Want me to go a little bit harder… make it hurt just a little bit more?”

At Elizabeth’s answering moan, he slid a hand under her ass, pressing her up towards him and tilting her pelvis so he slid across her clit with every one of his thrusts.

Her gasps and moans were rapidly turning into screams and wails, and she starting muttering one word desperately over and over against his throat.

“Please… please… please…” She let out a high-pitched keening sound, and William could feel her pussy starting to quiver around his cock in the most delicious fashion.

“What’s that, sweetness?” he crooned, slipping one hand between them as he continued to pound into her relentlessly. “Do you want to come?”

She arched further up into him, whimpering as the waves of pleasure creeping over her intensified.

“Got to tell me what you want, luv.” He danced a fingertip over her clit, a tiny shock ran through her, but it wasn’t enough to send her over the edge.

“Please… William…” she pleaded. “Please, come with me… I can’t wait… ohGODPLEASE!"

Any self-restraint William might have had was gone with her simple words, and he let go of her wrists, gathering her to him with one hand while the other hand lent gracious fingertips to rub her steadily where they were joined.

She writhed. She gasped. She moaned. And she sank perfectly even white teeth into William’s shoulder, instantly causing him to shoot his load. As she felt his cock pulsing within her, ecstasy flashed white hot through her blood, and she came harder than she ever had in her life, screaming her release and sobbing her pleasure until they both tumbled back to the bed, exhausted, sated, and slightly worse for wear.

* * *

Spike awoke with a start somewhere around 3a.m. He had a moment of disorientation at the posh surroundings, and then when he heard the sleepy sigh and felt a soft thigh pressed up against his own, he suddenly remembered.

Disengaging himself from the tousled blonde in the bed, he quietly rose and padded nude towards where he had left some of his things on the credenza. The doors to the veranda were still wide open from earlier, but the cool breeze rolling off the ocean circulated softly through the room, causing the gauzy curtains to billow and flow over the balmy air.

The night was pleasant, warm even, but humidity didn’t seem to hang as low in the air on The Island as it did in his current hometown of Los Angeles. Spike was vaguely curious as to where it was located to enjoy such an evenly temperate climate, but he knew better than to ask such questions to his brother-in-law. Family was family, sure, but business secrets were deeper than blood, and as Spike couldn’t even begin to venture a guess how much this particular secret was worth to Angel; he had long ago stopped trying to pry information out of him regarding this particular venture.

Spike clicked on the overhead fan, and the cooler air started to circulate more evenly throughout the suite, reaching even the previously neglected corners. He had always preferred open, free-flowing air to the artificially circulated, slightly stale-smelling air that seemed to pump out of every air conditioner in California. That had been one of his biggest challenges to endure when he migrated to the States ten years ago. Not the slang, or the wrong-side-of-the-road driving, but the bloody air conditioning that every building in L.A. had, necessitated by both the heat and the smog. Spike was British; he liked his buildings musty, slightly damp, and at least 200 years old.

* * *

Buffy awakened to the gentle snick of a Zippo lighting, and she slowly came to consciousness as the faint, slightly sweet smell of tobacco reached her nose. She was aware of her surroundings as her body luxuriated on the 900-million thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets she was loosely wrapped in, but she felt no need to let the hottie who was currently enjoying a cigarette at the table know that she was awake. One section of hair had fallen in a thin golden veil over her face; she could see him perfectly through it, but knew he could not see that her eyes had fluttered open. She was content to study him quietly. Curiously.

Head tilted up towards the ceiling, he exhaled a lazy stream of smoke towards the slowly rotating blades of the fan, and they both watched as it was swirled gently about until it dissipated into the night air.

Buffy studied him as the soft light off the veranda illuminated the planes of his face, making the sharp angles of his cheekbones seem even more dramatic.

She watched as his gaze returned to her, and he studied her as she studied him, both asking themselves unanswerable questions in their heads. Telling themselves stories about who the other was in their Other Life until Buffy fell back asleep, not feeling the gentle weight of Spike has he slid back into bed beside her and drifted off to sleep himself.


TBC

Part 4a: The Waiting Game

The next time Elizabeth awoke, it was to the sound of a shower running full-blast. She sat up in bed, still groggy, looking for a clock, but to no avail. There appeared to be no timepieces of any kind anywhere in the room, an indication that time was supposed to stand still while on The Island.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and steam billowed out in great clouds as William strode out, still fully nude, toweling his wet hair vigorously. He stood stark naked in the middle of the suite for a full minute, working the fluffy crimson towel over his head intently, before he noticed Elizabeth sitting up in bed, wide awake and staring at him with saucer eyes.

He grinned cheekily at her. “Mornin,’ luv.” He made no effort to hide his nakedness, standing there dripping water on the undoubtedly very expensive carpet as Elizabeth gaped at him. “If you’re up for mornin’ ablutions, the shower’s all yours.”

For some reason, the morning light seemed to have clicked on some odd sense of modesty in Elizabeth, and she clutched the sheet to her bare breasts, eyes scanning the area surrounding the bed desperately for something she could use to cover herself for her Walk of Shame to the bathroom.

William found her discomfort charming, and more than just a little amusing, as he watched her eyes dart over the nightstand and floor, realizing her suitcase and all her clothes were on the same side of the room as the bathroom.

She looked at him with pleading eyes, and he relented with a grin, tossing her the towel he had been using to dry his hair, and watching cheerily as she wrapped it gratefully around herself, hustling herself out of bed and across the room towards her suitcase with what she liked to think of as a dignified grace. It was just too fucking cute for words in William’s opinion.

Made cuter by the fact that she apparently couldn’t find what she was looking for in her luggage, until with a growl she dumped the whole suitcase onto the floor, and stood, pawing through it, until she triumphantly laid hands on what she had been looking for, and flounced past William with her prize to the bathroom.

As she paraded her barely-covered body by him on the way to the shower, he noticed a little tattoo of twin dragonflies at the small of her back, and he smiled to himself. There were definitely things about this woman he was going to find out for sure before this weekend was through.

As Elizabeth hustled past William and slid into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, she noticed that his freshly dried hair was extremely curly in its natural state, flopping loosely around his forehead and temples and giving his face a far softer look, belying the natural confidence and expertise he had exhibited during last night’s escapades. There were definitely things she was curious to find out about this man before the weekend was through.

* * *

The door to the bathroom was been shut tight, sealing Elizabeth inside its steamy confines, and William was trying to remember where he had left his Blackberry, taking several steps towards his discarded pants before he remembered that he had surrendered it on the plane ride in. He felt more naked now than ever, being without his ‘Wee Electronic Leash,’ as a Scottish colleague had once referred to it, and he felt slight anxiety about not knowing what was going on in his office while he was—Hello, what’s this?

His bare foot nudged something that crackled, and he looked down. When Elizabeth had dumped the contents of her suitcase out on the floor several items had tumbled free of the initial pile, and one of those items, a small pale pink bag, was currently resting against William’s left foot. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached down and snagged the bag with a fingertip, taking a peek inside.

Well, hello… why yes, if you insist…

* * *

Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, looking refreshed and reinvigorated by her shower, and feeling much calmer after reciting William’s words from last night to herself repeatedly. No recriminations, no guilt.

She was feeling downright confident, in fact, until she looked to see William sitting on the edge of the neatly made bed, wearing a crisp white v-neck t-shirt, khakis, and what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. Trepidation and excitement start to swell deep inside her. Feelings that were magnified tenfold when she saw what dangled from his fingertips.

Oh shit.

* * *

Elizabeth had been saving her little purchase for her last night on The Island, if she felt up to it, but here it was, draped over William’s fingers as he looked at her with a hungry grin.

“Decided what’s on the roster for today, luv!” he announced cheerily.

She winced.

“Well, don’t make that face. Why did you bring it if you didn’t intend to wear it?”

Elizabeth glared at him for a moment and then softened when she saw the gentle humor in his eyes. There was something else there, too. A challenge. And Elizabeth never backed away from a challenge.

She strode across the room, dropping the towel in a heap as she furiously seized the lacy confection of ribbons and garters from his hand, plopping herself down on the bed next to him. She defiantly rolled one flesh-colored stocking up her leg, making sure the lacy tops were perfectly centered at mid-thigh.

As she leaned over to ease the remaining stocking on, William stopped her with one large hand over her two smaller ones, sliding off of the bed and onto the floor in front of her. Elizabeth felt a rush of heat and warmth as she remembered this position from last night, but he did not move to touch her in the same way, merely carefully rolling the other stocking up her thigh. Gentle fingertips only increased the returning heat as he carefully slid the pale pink bra up her arms, drawing her down towards him as he clasped the back before allowing her to fix herself in the lacy cups. He motioned for her to stand, and she did so wordlessly, enthralled by the sight of him carefully dressing her.

He hooked the matching garter belt around her waist before slowly pivoting her in front of her as he slowly hooked the garters to the stockings, his touch never lasting long enough to truly please. One, two, three, and four, and he turned her back so she was facing him again.

She bent over to snatch the lacy pink thong from the floor, but he batted her hand away gently.

“No such luck, sweetness.” He moved to a seated position on the bed, admiring her in pink bra with matching garter belt and thigh-highs. “I like you better like this.” He trailed his hand up one garter, following the lace around her waist, and then down the other thigh, briefly stopping to cup her sex before looking back up at her, “It frames you. ‘Like seeing you all open and wanting,” his hand traveled the same route again, “all perfect and waiting for my touch.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she realized where this was heading, and she again damned her honesty on that cursed questionnaire.

William saw awareness settle over her quizzical features and smiled, helping her into the button-up sundress she had walked out of the bathroom carrying. His nimble fingertips started at the hem, quickly fastening the dress until only the barest hint of cleavage was visible between the top three buttons. He smiled and stood, drawing her close to him with hands tight on her hips.

“Control is always the name of the game, luv, but today it has nothing to do with me. Today’s all about you controlling yourself.”

A heated flush pounded though Elizabeth’s ears and slowly washed through her whole body, causing her to clutch his hips just as her held hers.

He grinned with delight, amazed at how quickly her body responded to him after such a short time. “No matter what I say, what I do, you cannot come. No matter how much I tease you, taunt you, and torment you, you have to remain in full control of your reactions.” A shiver passed through Elizabeth. “I intend on touching you, licking you, tasting you, fucking you, and just generally working your body until you bloody cry, but you… cannot… come.”

He lifted her chin up with one fingertip, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Understood?”

She gulped what she hoped was quietly. “Yes.”

He smiled, dropping a soft kiss on her lips. “One other thing just for today, Elizabeth.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, enjoying the faint taste of him on her lips.

“You will call me ‘sir’ until I tell you otherwise.”

* * *

Elizabeth thought she did remarkably well throughout lunch.

They appeared to have missed breakfast entirely, but the small restaurant off the lobby served all day—and in generous portions--so they were soon sitting side-by-side in a discreet little booth while a waiter brought out tray after tray of food.

They were alone save for one other couple in the restaurant, a slim brunette woman dressed in an odd old-fashioned dress and a middle aged man kneeling besides the woman’s seat, dog collar fastened around his neck, waiting for the occasional scrap she fed him off her fork and the careless pats she gave to the top of his head. It would have been outright funny if not for the affectionate glances the brunette gave her pet as she fed him, and both William and Elizabeth were careful not to stare, giving the other couple the same anonymity they were being given.

More trays arrived. The game temporarily forgotten, William watched, fascinated, as Elizabeth shoveled an unbelievable amount of food into her dainty little mouth. A large salad had already disappeared, virtually inhaled, and half of a plate of cheeseburger and an order of onion rings were gone before she even noticed William was staring openly at her.

She swallowed the bite she was chewing, taking a large mouthful of Diet Pepsi to wash it down, and answered the question he had not asked while shaking liberal amounts of salt and pepper onto a waiting side dish of fries.

“I do martial arts, some yoga, a little kickboxing in my spare time. A little pilates too. Builds up one hell of an appetite.” She continued unabashedly, dumping ketchup onto her bread plate and starting to dip fries into it. “Always eat like this, even when I’m not in training for anything.” She paused to pop a fry into her mouth and gave a blissful and candid smile. “Plus, I just fucking love food.”

William found himself engaged, and just a bit turned on by this side of Elizabeth. He had dated enough women to have suffered through more than one dinner in which his date would eat three leaves of a spinach salad, declare herself full and push away the plate, only to ravenously eye his rare-to-mooing steak for the rest of an inevitably uncomfortable meal. The comfort and obvious lack of self-consciousness with which Elizabeth ate were appealing to him in a way he couldn’t put his finger on, but he knew she understood as she smiled at him.

Yes, Elizabeth thought she did remarkably well at lunch, until the hand that had been resting casually on her knee started sliding up her thigh just as the waiter came over to see if they’d like any dessert.

She didn’t choke as the wandering hand slid over the top of her stocking to stroke warm, soft flesh as the waiter was reciting the dessert specials. She didn’t cough as his hand journeyed further, tracing the contours of her moist and rapidly overheating sex as she pretended to be interested in how Baked Alaska was made. And she was especially proud of herself for not swallowing her tongue when William slid one long finger easily inside her.

She did however start, and her eyes flew to William who was watching her with some amusement, eyes daring her to react. She narrowed her gaze at him just as the waiter reached the end of a seemingly interminable list of cakes, and he rewarded her with one light tap to her clit with his index finger.

Her eyes flew open and she couldn’t stop the startled “Oh!” that escaped her lips.

William grinned evilly at her, and she forced down the rising wave of warmth while she dropped her eyes, knowing that the price for her noise was going to be both wonderful and awful.

The waiter cleared his throat, awaiting their orders, and both William and Buffy were startled to remember they were not alone, locked into their mental battle as they had been.

The waiter, who had clearly been trained in the fine art of discretion, seemed not to notice or care that several hands were busy under the table. After receiving their assurances that no, they absolutely did not want cake no matter what the preparation, delicacy, or nationality, he gave them a slip of paper to initial and disappeared faster than a figment of their imaginations.

“Now you’ve done it, luv,” William grabbed Elizabeth by her hand and practically hauled her out of the booth and out of the restaurant after him.

Elizabeth blinked as the bright sun hit her eyes full on, and she threw up her hand to shield her eyes while William scanned the horizon for something. Lush tropical foliage seemed to surround all the buildings, and wild flowers in various shades of pink, orange, and purple were sprinkled here and there. They could see an aquamarine ocean glittering brightly in the sun about 200 yards away, framed by a bright white beach. It had been twilight when Elizabeth arrived the previous day, and she had been so overcome with nerves that she hadn’t had the time or presence of mind to appreciate their utopian surroundings.

“There it is,” he announced triumphantly, spotting a long winding path strewn with crushed clamshells that seemed to lead down to a main road. With childish enthusiasm, he dragged Elizabeth down the road after him.

“Wait! Where are we going?” She yelped, trying to fish sunglasses out of her bag while keeping up with him.

He stopped so suddenly she almost trampled him, and turned to grin impishly at her. “Sightseeing!”

* * *

She had thought he was kidding. She had hoped he was kidding. She had even prayed that he was kidding, but apparently God—and William—had really odd senses of humor.

So here they were, along with two other couples, being led around their tropical paradise by an oddly cheerful tour guide who had only introduced himself as “Lorne” before leading them on foot down the clamshell road that seemed to traverse the island.

To his credit, he seemed to know every bird of paradise, every flower, and every tide that lapped at the island. Elizabeth started to relax and enjoy the tour, lulled by the beautiful surroundings and Lorne’s even patter. William placed a hand at the small of her back, helping to steady her as the path got more uneven, and she relaxed into it as the small group stopped on a bluff overlooking the perfect white beach.

It was warm, but not stifling hot, and the sun felt wonderful on her bare shoulders. There were only two other couples on the walk with them, the brunette and her ‘pet’ from the restaurant, and a couple of ridiculously handsome gay men that had no apparent kink currently going on.

Then again, Elizabeth reasoned, we have no ‘apparent’ kink, either.

As if prompted by the word ‘kink,’ William’s hand dropped from her waist to tug the hem of her dress up, sliding between her legs, encouraging her to widen her stance slightly. She resisted for a second, and William gave a gentle warning pinch to the inside of one thigh, not missing her startled exhalation.

She snuck a quick glimpse of the rest of the group, and sure enough, not a single person was paying even the slightest bit of attention to them. Everyone was wrapped up in their respective partner, and their exuberant guide was explaining currents with demonstrative hand gestures. Emboldened, she adjusted her stance, and William’s hand slid home.

“Very nice, luv,” he purred in her ear, “but in the future I expect you to respond immediately when I give you an order.” His index finger slid teasingly up and down her slit, never entering her, and he was pleased to feel her moisture already starting to leak into his hand. “Very nice, already nice and wet for me… bet you’d like it if I dropped to my knees right now and buried my tongue in that lovely quim.” He felt her tense against him and chuckled. “Don’t worry, pet, not gonna go for my prize right now.” She relaxed a little, and then tensed as his hand gave her clit a quick caress, and then dropped away entirely.

Elizabeth bit her lip; the internal heat she was starting to feel was rising to a simmer, and she didn’t know how she was possibly going to hold herself together. She had no idea how long William intended on continuing this game, and already she was aching to be filled by his fingers, tongue, or cock.

William seemed to know where her thoughts had wandered, and gave her garter a quick snap before removing his hand from under her dress. She threw him a glare over her shoulder, and he responded with that infuriatingly sexy tongue-curly-thing, which only served to make her both madder and moister. And then lifted his hand to his mouth and, inhaling the scent of her from it, lovingly and languidly slid the finger into his own mouth, savoring her taste while never breaking her gaze. She sagged against him, her head dropping forward, and he grinned in victory.

* * *

William was fine, really; he was totally in control of this game. He absolutely did not almost lose control when Elizabeth’s juices exploded on his taste buds, and he did for one second let his eyes close shut as he savored her taste. He in no way thought about saying fuck this game and dragging her into the nearest crop of trees for a hard shagging. And he would never have had to hang back as the group started to move again to readjust the hard-on that was threatening to bust through his zipper with eagerness. Going commando was all well and good in theory, but underwear would have afforded him an extra layer of fabric restraint. What I wouldn’t give for a bloody pair of boxer briefs rights about now.

And then Elizabeth stopped to see why he was lagging behind, flashing him a golden minxy smile, and he almost choked from the fresh lust that welled up in him. Or Speedos. Really, really tight Speedos…


TBC

Part 4b: The Waiting Game

The first hour of the tour was pure torture. Every time they had a moment alone, William would sneak a hand under Elizabeth’s skirt, tweak one of her nipples, or whisper naughty little promises of what he wanted to do to her into her ear. He brought her to a simmer over and over, only to back off right before anything that could truly satisfy her.

Once Elizabeth settled into the rhythm of the afternoon—and realized that there was no way she was going to get William to buckle and drag her back to the room like she wanted—she began to relax and enjoy the tour.

The Island was phenomenal. She had traveled a fair amount for her business over the years, but she had never seen any location quite like this one. The resort itself was spectacular, but she guessed features like the rolling golf course and the sparkling blue Infinity pool actually got very little usage, as very few of the guests seemed to leave their rooms.

From the flight over, Elizabeth knew that all twenty-five rooms in the hotel were currently booked, as all twenty-five seats on her flight in had been occupied. However, she had only seen a scattered handful of people, other than the service staff, since they had stepped foot outside their suite. Probably they weren’t currently being tortured into erotic submission by a British hottie while on a foot tour.

Probably.

* * *

The temperature outside climbed as the afternoon sun drifted higher into the sky, and Elizabeth’s personal temperature was on the same trajectory. In the beginning, William’s sneaky ministrations had been fewer and further apart, giving her time to return to almost-normal in between touches, but as the day went on, his taunting of her body became more frequent, never allowing her to return to a less feverish state. She had reached a simmer by the second hour, and she was two licks short of rolling boil by the end of the third.

It was with a sigh of relief she realized that they had finally reached the end of the tour, which dropped them exactly on the lawn outside of the verandas of the guest suites. As Lorne gave them some parting tips and points of interest, William stepped in so close behind Elizabeth that she could feel him pressing, hard, up against her. She clenched her fists as he ground himself against her ass lightly, dropping his head forward so he could whisper to her as she tried to keep up the pretense of listening to their tour guide.

“You feel so good, luv. All warm from the sun and pliable, just waiting for me. So much tension in you…” His voice rolled over her like a sensual wave, pulling her along in the undertow. As she succumbed, her eyes drifted shut and she let herself feel nothing but his voice.

“Can’t wait to eat your pussy, pet. I just know you’re going to be bloody delicious.”

* * *

William suppressed a satisfied grin as Elizabeth’s head flew up. Got her attention with that one, I did. She gave a barely audible sigh and pressed back into him. He could feel the heat and the tension radiating through the thin cotton of their clothes. “What do you say, sweetheart, you ready to go back to the room?”

He punctuated his question by slipping one hand into the top of her dress, stroking her nipple into hardness as she tried to gather herself. Then, just as quickly, the hand was gone.

She spun around to glare at him, and the heat in his eyes stopped the fiery retort dead in her throat. Lust so thick it choked the air around them, enveloping them. A prickly, burning heat spread over her skin like wildfire as she struggled with words.

“Room… please?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she was stumped for a moment before catching on to what he was waiting for. “…Sir?”

He grinned with pleasure and the fire flared even brighter between them as they stared at each other, until finally he grabbed her hand and they rushed back up the clamshell path back towards the room.

* * *

As Elizabeth fumbled with the card key in the lock, William pressed himself against her, effectively pinning her to the door. He kept her there, trapped, for a moment as he inhaled her scent, licking a trail from the base of her neck out along her collarbone. She shivered, and he spun her in his arms, one hand sliding over a tanned expanse of thigh while the other cradled her head a second before his lips came crashing down upon hers.

She tasted both sweet and salty, a combination of her natural vanilla flavor and the salt air they had been walking around in, and it intoxicated him. His tongue took deep plunges into her mouth, and she sagged back against the door, pinned in place by his tongue and hands.

He pulled back to look at her from underneath hooded lids, and Elizabeth realized that playing their game all day had driven him just as mad as it had driven her, the energy and tension now radiating off from both their frames.

William’s hand released her thigh to slide around her, working for a split second until with a gentle beep the door lock disengaged.

They tumbled back into the room, kissing passionately for a few more moments until they pulled apart, both breathing heavily.

William took a second to gather himself before he allowed his gaze to be drawn to Elizabeth’s chest, which was rising and falling as she struggled for air. Another button had come undone at some point in their grope-fest, and now a more generous portion of her cleavage was visible, her smooth skin showing a faint sheen of perspiration.

He walked her backwards over to a burgundy leather wingback chair, sitting himself down before arranging Elizabeth in his lap, straddling him, still fully clothed. He unbuttoned her dress slowly and carefully, each separate button making the wait until more of her skin was exposed more interminable. When he finally reached the bottom, he slid the dress down her arms, carefully laying it to the side as she sat on his thighs trembling.

He allowed himself a moment to fully appreciate the beauty in his lap. She was naked save for the garter belt, stockings, and bra, and she was magnificent. Responsive to his slightest touch, and so eager for him.

Slipping back into gear, he raised an eyebrow. “Why are those beautiful eyes on me, luv? I told you, eyes down. I’ve let you get away with several bits of impudence, but now that we’re alone, I won’t be so forgiving.”

The shiver that passed through her body at his words didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, and she shifted unconsciously in his lap. Big mistake.

“Elizabeth!” She looked up at him, startled and swallowed at his rough tone. “Did I tell you it was okay to move?”

Understanding passed over her face, and she dropped her eyes submissively. Good girl.

“No.”

“No what?” His tone held a warning to it.

“No… sir.” She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Damn right. You do not move until I tell you to. You are not to give yourself any kind of pleasure. Any pleasure you get will be orchestrated by me, and me alone.”

She kept her eyes lowered until he brought her chin up on his index finger.

“Are we clear?”

When she didn’t respond instantly, he pinched the inside of her thigh in warning. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckled soft and low, the sound thick in the air. “Good girl.” He deftly unhooked her bra with one hand, drawing it down her arms until it joined her dress on the floor. Her breasts tumbled out into his waiting hands, and he thumbed her nipples gently until a whimper rose from her throat. “Such pretty little rosebuds.”

He lifted one knee to nudge her further up his lap, closer to his questing mouth, until she was sitting directly over his erection. He licked and sucked first one nipple and then the other as he slowly began to move against her.

Elizabeth could feel her feminine moisture flowing freely as the fabric of his pants rubbed against her nether lips with a gentle glide. She forced herself not to react too much, not to grab him and grind herself wantonly on him as she was so desperate to do. William held her behind her thighs as he rotated his hips slowly beneath her, pulling her into his movement as she bit her lip, lost in lust but trying desperately not to moan.

Sensing her breaking point rapidly approaching, William took his advantage and seized her hips, slamming her down on him hard, just once.

A startled cry flew from her lips at the unexpected stimulation. “Ohhh…” She tried to regain control of herself, but she knew it was too late.

William stood up abruptly, saving her from tumbling to the floor with an arm around her waist, and grinned evilly at her. “Now you’ve done it, sweetness. That one’s gonna cost you…”

She kept her eyes on the floor, trying no to make her situation worse, and she heard the sounds of a zipper, and then clothes dropping to the floor. William stepped forward and ran his hands up the outside of both her thighs, slowly unsnapping the garters and disengaging the garter belt until she was left before him in nothing but flesh-colored thigh-highs.

She was a vision, pressing her knees together while she stood, her thighs already slick with her juices. He stepped around her, retrieving something from the credenza before resuming his position in the armchair, beckoning her back to her former position in his lap.

She swung one leg over his naked thighs before delicately settling herself against his cock, fumbling for some semblance of self-control. Her position laid her completely open for him, and he startled a slow, torturous slide of his cock over her labia, careful to avoid her clit.

Elizabeth could feel the tingling and the pressure welling up inside her, and she forced it down as much as she could. It was getting harder and harder not to just impale herself on him but this, the waiting, was possibly the sweetest agony she had ever known. They settled into the slick slide of flesh over flesh for a couple of moments until William noticed her thighs beginning to shake and abruptly ceased all movement.
Elizabeth ground her teeth together to keep from crying out in frustration and clamped her thighs tight around the outside of his, willing them to cease and desist all trembling activity.

“Lean back, sweetheart, and put your hands on my knees.” Elizabeth complied, arching her back so that her upper body was leaning away from William.

“Very nice. That should help ease the stimulation just a little bit.” William handed her the condom he had palmed. “Put this on me, nice and slow.”

Elizabeth could have jumped for joy. Finish line in sight, she carefully grasped his swollen cock in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the weeping head before rolling the latex sheath down over him. He looked so good and hard she practically wept. So close…

She shifted against him, rising up on her knees, and he stopped her just as she poised herself to take him inside, swollen tip nudging the slippery flesh aside. She let out an involuntary whimper, and he swallowed a smile before leaning in for the kill. “And remember, no matter how good it feels, you… cannot… come.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat; in her eagerness to get him back inside of her, she had forgotten that little rule.

Before she had time to recover, William began a slow, easy slide deep into her. She was so well-prepared that she was able to take him all the way inside with the first stroke, and the very second she felt herself reach the base of his cock, she quaked with an unexpected orgasm, head falling back in ecstasy.

William gritted his teeth, struggling not to come as she strangled his cock in her warm, wet haven. Bloody hell! Just from penetration… He let her ride out the aftershocks, and then lifted her off his cock. When she finally focused her eyes on him again there was guilt written all over her face. He had asked one thing of her, and try as she might, she had not been able to obey. Even worse than that was the fact that her spontaneous orgasm had not decreased the heat within her, but merely added to the need raging throughout her.

William smiled, pressing his hand up against her to make sure she stayed bowed back over his legs. “Not enough, luv?”

A flash of indignance crossed her face at his arrogance, quickly wiped away by the raw want that replaced it.

“I’ve been playing your body like a harp all day; did you really think one little orgasm was going to be able to satisfy you?”

Elizabeth’s body was taut with tension, stretched out across his so tightly it looked like it was going to snap. She held her position as he rubbed his prick against her, giving her just enough friction to increase the tension, but nowhere near enough to satisfy the need that was threatening to consume her.

“I was going to give you what you wanted, little girl, but since you went ahead and took it without permission now you’re going to have to wait longer to really come.” He held her in that position, thumb rubbing in swirls around her slippery clit until he noticed her arms start to shake from trying to hold her position.

Gathering her in his arms, he walked them both over to the bed, depositing her in the very center and arranging himself between her knees. He pressed her thighs apart, taking her own hands to hold herself behind her knees, forcing her thighs to open wider for him.

He grinned down at her, examining her sex carefully until she started to writhe under him. Taking his cue, he took one, long, satisfying lick of her slit from rear to clit.

“OH!” She pulled her knees further towards her chest, her grip tightening as she tried to force down the orgasm that was threatening to tear through her. He had already promised to make her wait even longer because of her first indiscretion; she couldn’t afford another one.

William paused and then began a slow, moist torture of her sex. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to taste her yet, and he took the opportunity to introduce himself with gentle licks, flicks of his tongue designed to memorize her feel and taste. He breathed her scent in, consumed by her as she was by him.

The slow slide of his tongue had her panting, and he no longer tried to stop her from making noise, content to listen to the pants and sighs that his attentions were coaxing from her. He worked her over for what seemed like ages, bring her closer and closer to release and then backing off just before she could break.

* * *

Elizabeth was drunk. Really, really drunk. Flying, actually. She had been drunk on wine more than once, and she had smoked the obligatory joint during her freshman year of college, but it was nothing—nothing—compared to the intoxication she was feeling right now. Her extremities were tingling and her legs were stiff as she desperately tried to keep the crest building inside of her down. It felt like she was moving underwater, and she had lost all powers of coherent speech. Her muscles ached and her soul wept for the release he kept dangling just out her reach. She realized William had stopped his oral caress and was waiting for an answer to a question she had clearly not heard him ask.

She blinked, trying to fight her way through the fog. “Hunh?”

He grinned, taking in her glazed expression, and took pity on her. “I said, do you want to come?”

Dear God, yes!!! If he could finally take away the ache inside of her, she was pretty sure she would throw a parade in his honor.

“Yes, please… sir!” She remembered at the last minute.

He rewarded her with a soft kiss to her thigh. “Good girl. Now, let go of your knees.” She let her legs fall down and out on either side of him. She had the distinct feeling that this was going to be Epic.

He took her nearest hand in his, guiding it until it rested flat against her taut belly. “Keep that right there.” He slowly slid two fingers into her quivering flesh, a fresh flood of moisture greeting him. She gasped and tried not to wiggle, soclosesoclosesoclose…

He curled his fingers inside her, searching for the roughened bundle of nerves. “Press down with your hand, sweetheart, until you can feel my fingers.”

She dutifully pushed her hand flatter into her stomach, stopping when she could feel his questing fingertips beneath her skin from the inside. Being able to feel him from both the inside and the outside simultaneously was both erotic and slightly obscene, but it was nothing compared to what happened when he started to rub his fingertips in a circular motion over her interior walls.

“What are you… oh… what… ohhhh…”

He smiled up at her. “Now push down really hard, luv.”

She complied, and instantly felt an alien, more intense sensation sweeping over her as his fingers worked inside of her.

“What--” She broke off in panic, looking at him. He eased off slightly, still rubbing but more slowly.

“Don’t worry, luv, you’re not going to wet the bed. When I tell you to, bear down like you’re trying to force me out.” She looked at him warily, and he gave her a reassuring half-smile. “Trust me?”

She nodded and slowly relaxed back into the bed. He resumed working her with vigor, and she felt the sensation building inside her once again, deeper and more furious before.

“Oh…” Liquid heat was rushing through her veins, dragging her down.

He smiled at her, feeling the flow of her juices over his fingers become more copious and more urgent, and watched his fingers disappearing and reappearing inside of her. When he felt her abdomen grow tense again, he rubbed furiously. “Now, bear down now.”

She complied, and he was rewarded with a virtual flood of her come, flowing out over his had, down over his wrists, and soaking into the bedsheets beneath her. Pleasure flowed throughout her body, shaking her limbs and making every part of her flutter. It was different coming this way; instead of the usual sharp crest with a sudden stop, this was a slow, rolling release that pulled her under and swept her away.

He had to grind himself against the mattress, hard, to stave off his own orgasm at the sight of her in her moment of abject rapture, and he stroked her gently as she came down, removing his fingers and crawling up her body to position his prick at her entrance.

He slid inside of her easily, and she welcomed him back with languid thrusts. Still riding the crest of her orgasm, she was tightening around him in minutes, and the pressure he had been fighting all day raced through him. He gave one more sharp thrust and then arched his back, falling over her as the release he had been denying himself all day overtook him, dragging her along in the undertow.

He rolled to the side, never withdrawing from her body as they lay face-to-face, breathing heavily, eyes still closed.

Elizabeth regained her power of speech first. “That was… amazing…” She shifted her leg further up on him, draping it around his waist. She wrinkled her nose at the feel of the damp sheets under her rear. “And a little messy.”

William laughed, eyes still closed. “Beautiful, that. Freaking fantastic, watching your honey pour over my fingers.”

A minor tremor raced through her at his words. “I never thought that was possible.”

“What?” He opened bright blue eyes at her and moved a sweaty lock of hair off of her cheek, refocusing on her face.

“You know, the g-spot orgasm. I thought it was an urban legend.” She gave a blissful sigh.

“What, like Bigfoot?” he teased her.

“You know, created by Cosmo to sell more magazines to women with unsatisfying sex lives.” She rolled onto her back, separating them with a small murmur of discontent. “Never been so happy to be wrong in all my life.”

William smiled sleepily, lacing his fingers through hers and bringing her hand up to his mouth so he could brush a kiss over her knuckles. “Glad to hear you enjoyed, pet.”

He was just giving himself over to exhaustion when Elizabeth’s voice, drowsy but indignant, broke through the haze of sleep as it was descending.

“Wait… did you just compare my orgasm to Sasquatch?”



TBC

Part 5a: The Most Dangerous Game

Elizabeth wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten here. She was bent over the leather arm of the wingback chair, completely naked with her ass high in the air, standing with straight legs on the balls of her feet, her calf muscles stretched taught. William stood behind her, also naked, admiring her perfectly curved ass as her thighs trembled to hold her position.

She remembered bits and pieces, really. She remembered them waking up and taking their showers, and then a rigorous debate about what the day’s activities would be. She was open to suggestions, but when William suggested this particular game, she had balked. Which led to a there’s-no-spanking-before-breakfast argument, to which he had argued that this technically wasn’t ‘before breakfast’ since they had woken up far closer to noon than sunrise. Elizabeth had replied that she wasn’t sure there was spanking before lunch either, to which William reasoned that since they didn’t know which time zone they were in, it wasn’t necessarily ‘before lunch.’ And besides, it was always four o’clock somewhere.

He had been winning that particular disagreement until Elizabeth’s stomach expressed its opinion with a loud growl. She looked at him defiantly, as if to say See! He chuckled and had to concede the point, allowing her to drag him down to the café for a quick bite.

She remembered that much, sure, but as to how exactly they went from eating to doing this, she was drawing a blank. All she knew was that when William gave her a certain look, touched her in a certain way, she could refuse him nothing. Especially when it was what she really wanted, too.

* * *

William stared, entranced, at the naked flesh that quivered under his gaze. His eyes swept from the floor up over her raised heels, the tight muscles of her calves, her muscled thighs, and the swell of her ass. He feasted upon the sight of her bent over, her sex weeping for his touch.

He trailed one finger up one thigh, across the curve of her buttocks, and back down the other leg. She whimpered, but said nothing aloud and held her position on her toes. He rewarded her with one pass of his thumb over her slit, and again she trembled but said nothing. He smiled. She was learning, and learning fast.

“Hold that position, pet.” He swatted her lightly on one cheek, and when she flexed into the movement instead of pulling away, he grinned. Kitten not only has claws, she doesn’t mind being scratched herself.

He crossed the room, retrieving an insulated champagne bucket from where he had left it in the bathroom. Elizabeth heard the ice rattling against the silver, and dropped her head, mentally steeling herself. She didn’t know what exactly he had planned for the ice, but she had the distinct feeling that it was going to be both awful and wonderful.

William swatted the previously neglected cheek with his free hand, making sure he hit her with slightly more force this time, and still she moved with him instead of against.

He smacked her once more, hard enough to leave a nice rosy palm print on the evenly tanned skin. That time she arched her back, emitting a long, low moan, and began to sink back onto flat feet. He clicked his tongue in warning, and she remembered herself, rising back up onto the balls of her feet again.

He rewarded her with a soft, gentle caress of the reddened area, and as soon as she started to relax into his touch, he retrieved a single icy crescent from the bucket and ran it over her ass, tracing the edge of his handprint as the ice melted, dripping down over the curves of her shapely legs. She shivered as the water left cool trails over her heated flesh, and he pressed the remaining sliver of the ice cube against her nether lips, rendering it into water immediately.

She let out a startled “Oh!” and then turned her head to look guiltily over her shoulder at him, certain he was going to punish her for her loud noise.

He smiled and worked one leg between her thighs, widening her stance. “It’s okay, luv. Whimpers, moans, and sighs are definitely allowed. And for the next part, cries are encouraged too.”

Before she could question what he meant, his hand came down again onto the ice-dampened section of her ass, the wetness of her flesh making the contact sting far more sharply, and indeed Elizabeth did cry out then. He had been careful to avoid her most sensitive flesh, but she could still feel the burn rising off her skin where his hand had come down.

He gave her a moment to collect herself, and when she did not protest, he began a steady series of increasingly stronger spanks, her reactions becoming more heated with the force of his blows. When he readjusted his hand, she was unprepared for the feeling of his flattened palm slapping her pussy, and she quaked with a sudden mini-orgasm.

He grinned and stepped back for a moment, watching her trembling swell and subside with great pleasure. Even when he could not see her face, her body was beautiful in her moments of release, going rosy with a full blush before the tensing and release of her muscles. It took her a minute to recover, and he waited patiently. He was pleased to be able to instinctively bring out what she had wanted most, even in the things she had not asked for.

Which is why he was more than a little surprised to hear her clear voice ring out through the room, “Break!”

It took William a minute to realize she had said the safe word he had given her, and when he did, he had a moment of panic. Had he hit her too hard? Was this too much? Bloody pillock, you should’ve never improvised!

In a panic, he pulled her back up into a standing position and spun her to face him, searching her expression for answers as to what had gone wrong. Elizabeth must have seen the barely contained fear in his face, for she stroked one cheekbone with a light caress. “It’s okay, William, I swear. You didn’t hurt me.”

While slightly reassured, he was still perplexed and as he gazed down at her, he saw something shift in her expression, something unfathomable.

She looked at him for a long minute and then said, so softly he could barely hear her, “I want to do something different tonight.”

He cocked his head sideways at her, sensing the sudden weight in the room.

“I want to… can we just…” Words failed her, and he took her hand, stroking his thumb over the inside of her wrist in gentle reassurance.

“Can we make tonight, like, a date? A real date… with dinner and conversation and such?”

William stared at her for a moment. Just stared. Awed, and a little bit scared, at what she was asking him.

This would be different to anything they had done this far. Far more intimate. Sex was well and good, but the further they let each other in, the harder it was going to close the doors at the end of this all.

But after a long minute spent contemplating, he rationalized. He had, after all, never been very good at choosing what he should do over what he wanted. In fact, he was piss-poor at it. Sometimes it worked out in his favor, and sometimes it ended in tears, but it was his fatal flaw, and he owned up to it. At least that was how he justified it to himself.

Elizabeth was awaiting his answer tensely, aware of just how much she was requesting. She breathed a sigh of relief when he brought their joined hands up to his lips, brushing kisses over each knuckle individually.

“Sweetheart, it would be my honor to take you to dinner tonight.”

* * *

When Elizabeth had made her request, she had forgotten one very simple thing. It was very difficult to prepare for a date when you’re sharing a room—a bathroom, especially—with the person you’re trying to date. She was really going for the ‘Wow’ factor, and didn’t want him seeing all the preparation that went into it. She merely wanted to be able to emerge, perfectly made up and coiffed, on the top of a sweeping staircase. Which was a difficult illusion to maintain when you’re darting around in front of your date in desperate search of a hairdryer you know you packed.

Since William didn’t need the bathroom mirror as much as Elizabeth did, he relinquished bathroom rights entirely to her, electing instead to stand in front of the elaborate mirror over the credenza while he dressed and styled his hair. He watched Elizabeth reemerge from the bathroom at least three times, wrapped in a fluffy robe, obviously having forgotten something essential in her luggage. On the third return trip, she gave up and growled, dragging the entire suitcase into the bathroom with her, slamming the door on his soft chuckle.

A discreet knock at the door drew his attention, and he padded over to the entrance barefoot, letting in a tuxedo-clad server with a rolling trolley. The server rolled the cart into the veranda where William indicated, and then disappeared as quietly as he had appeared, pausing only to flick the recessed lights around the patio on, bathing the entire area in a soft glow.

William stood silently for a moment, reflecting. When Elizabeth had requested this dinner, he had known one thing for sure: they could not eat in the dining room they had been relying on for their sustenance. Over their last two meals there, he had noticed the wait staff, although low-key, seemed to be keeping an eye on their interactions. When Elizabeth laughed a little too long, or when his hand dropped to cover hers on the tablecloth, he realized it had not gone without notice. And over their brunch this morning, he had seen their waiter sneaking glances at them throughout the conversation.

It had taken him a little while to suss it out, and then he realized:

Rule 3. No falling in love.

He had to stop himself from smacking his own forehead when he realized. Of course. The staff of this entire enterprise had undoubtedly been put on notice to watch for patrons that looked to be breaking the rules. And while William was pretty comfortable with the way the intimacy between himself and Elizabeth had grown since the first day, he knew it was something The Island frowned upon. This was a place that thrived on anonymity and freedom from emotional entanglements. It was what the bloody business had been built upon. So, naturally, they would have come to someone’s notice.

Hence, this had to be a stealth date. He reasoned that it seemed more intimate this way anyway, away from prying eyes. He wasn’t sure what course the evening was going to take, but he could be certain that whatever happened, it didn’t need witnesses.

He transferred the food and place settings from the trolley onto the veranda table, moving things around several times before he finally decided on the perfect arrangement. Looking around the area, he saw that the beautiful foliage was keeping the majority of the wind out, and decided to add the shielded candles provided on the trolley to the arrangement.

He had just stepped back to admire his handiwork when he heard Elizabeth call his name from inside the suite.

He stepped back through the curtains into the room, and his breath caught in his throat.

Elizabeth was dressed in red. Crimson, really. A halter dress that wasn’t too tight, too short, or too revealing. It should have been just a dress, but it flowed around her body like liquid sin, shaping and molding itself to her curves in a way that had to be illegal somewhere. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the soft light, and like him, she had chosen to remain barefoot. She had twisted her hair up into a soft knot, held in place by black lacquered chopsticks with gold Chinese characters engraved in them. She was a vision, a bloody epiphany standing there before him, and he realized he was staring.

* * *

For what it was worth, William looked absolutely amazing. He was dressed in lightweight charcoal slacks and a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up just below the elbows, and a tie hanging loosely around his neck. When Elizabeth’s gaze came to rest on the tie, he realized he had forgotten to tighten it, but when he reached up to do so, she closed the space between them, stopping him with a soft hand over his.

“Don’t. It’s sexy like that.” She smiled softly up at him, and he felt himself starting to slip under the power of her touch.

I’m so fucked.

* * *

The dinner itself was fabulous, and by the time they had cleared the salad plates and moved on to their entrees, they had reached a comfortable pattern to their conversation.

Obviously there were certain things that could not be revealed, identifiers like real names or current cities, but they learned to navigate through this by talking about their lives up until the last few years. Family and careers were talked about in broad strokes, but as the night drew on, the strokes got more and more narrow. The reality of their situation--and the danger they were flirting with--was shut out as they worked their way through filet mignon, some kind of buttery potatoes, half a bottle of a very heady merlot, and lightly steamed string beans.

As William stood to clear the dinner plates, he noticed Elizabeth had grown quiet. He carefully scraped the food detritus all onto one plate, the gentle clanking of the silverware filling the emptiness left by her silence.

When he placed the goblet of chocolate mousse in front of her and she didn’t immediately dig in, he knew it wasn’t from lack of appetite. He slid back into his own seat, studying her face as the candlelight flickered over it. Her expression was unreadable, and she seemed to be struggling with words.

He had just picked up his own dessert spoon when she finally spoke.

“I’m not damaged, you know.”

William set his spoon down and removed the cloth napkin from his lap, studying her intently as he waited for her next words.

“I’m not damaged, and I’m not broken, I just… like what I like.” She seemed to be gathering strength as she went on, and he listened carefully, not wanting to distract her from what she was obviously having a hard time getting out.

“I don’t have ‘Daddy Issues’ and I’m not secretly in want of a domineering man in my life…” she was really starting to gather steam now, her voice becoming more strident and focused as she went on, and the knot in William’s stomach grew as he realized not only where this was going, but where it had probably come from. “I’m not a freak, I’m not damaged, and I’m not fucking broken!”

She spat out the last words as if they were poisonous, and William guessed that to her, they probably were.

He reached across the table, taking her nearest hand in his. She resisted at first, so caught up in wherever she was in her head that she could not allow herself the slightest bit of comfort, and it was only after William had been stroking the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger gently for a full minute that she came back to herself.

He soothed her, letting her gather herself, and when she finally relaxed under his grip, he stood, needing a moment to choose his own response.

“More wine?” She nodded. He busied himself pouring more merlot into their glasses, and when he sat back down and motioned for her to join him on his side of the table she willingly let him draw her down into his lap, curling up crosswise before tucking her head under his chin.

He smoothed the few stray blond locks that had escaped the chopsticks back into place, reveling in the softness of her hair as he searched for the right words to respond to her. He decided ultimately that she seemed to be a woman that would respond better to directness than placation.

“Luv, can I ask you something?” He felt her nod under his chin. “You’re pretty successful at… whatever it is you do professionally, right?”

Another nod.

“And you’ve probably been taking care of yourself, out on your own, for a long time, longer than most your age, right?” Affirmative again. “So you’re used to having a pretty high amount of control in your life, correct?”

She pulled her head back to look up at him. “…yes.”

He took it as a good sign that she was verbal again. “Well, fantasy’s about having what you don’t have in real life, right? I mean, if you had it, it wouldn’t be fantasy… I think, maybe, it feels good for you to let go… and everything we’ve done is a way for you to lose control without really losing it. Like I said, even in submission games, bottom still controls by reaction. So you can both lose control and still have it at the same time.”

Since she seemed receptive to his ideas so far, he decided to push his luck.

“Can I take a stab at this, kitten?” She remained silent, contemplative, and he took that as permission to continue.

“Since the moment we met on the first day here, I’ve been wondering why a beautiful woman like you would need to pay to do this,” she flinched but he continued, determined now to get this out, “and it’s been driving me crazy, why you would have to go out of your way to secure a fantasy that practically every red-blooded male in the States would be more than happy to help you fulfill. I mean, while your tastes are probably not mainstream, they’re not extreme either.

“And I think I finally just figured it out, pet. You had someone, probably a while ago now, that you finally trusted enough to ask what you wanted of, and he was disgusted. Pulled away, accused you of all those things you just said, and just in general made you feel like a freak for asking?”

She nodded, her eyes slightly wet even by the soft light. She worried her lower lip for a moment, choosing her words carefully, then explained.

“My college boyfriend. We were together for about four years. When I finally got up the courage to ask him to… well, for what I wanted… he told me that I was sick, that I needed therapy, and he stormed out of my dorm. He broke up with me not too long after that, because he told me he could never look at me the same again.” The bitterness was back in her tone.

“Elizabeth.”

She looked at him, startled out of her memories. He had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of using pet names instead of the pseudonyms for her, so when she heard her name, or her assumed name, she knew it meant he had something important to say.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Not one bloody fucking thing. Just because some vanilla college boy couldn’t handle what you needed, it doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you. I’ve been a willing—actually, an ecstatic--participant in these games for the last three days… do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

She studied him for a moment and then the tension eased out of her and she slid slowly back against his chest.

“So what about you?”

“I thought we covered that, luv, any red-blooded—“

“No, I mean why are you having sex with me for money?”

William was pole-axed for a moment, and then realized what she was really asking him.

“It’s my first time doing this… my only time. My brother-in-law… has a vested interest in this business, and he needed a favor… truth be told, I think he could’ve found one of his… umm… professionals, for this job.

“But I’ve been having some… confidence issues lately, kinda needed to get out of my head, regain my stride and whatnot. Series of bad business decisions, couple failed relationships… Honestly, I think he picked me out just for you. Or picked you out just for me. Not really sure.”

When Elizabeth gave a soft sigh of contentment and wrapped her arms more tightly around him, he realized that she had been worrying over the answer to that particular question for quite a while before she had gotten up the courage to ask it.

The winds were gradually starting to pick up, extinguishing the candles as it swirled around them where they sat entwined. The gentle rustling of the palm fronds had become a dull roar around them, and they could hear waves starting to pound the shoreline.

The temperature was starting to drop, and William tilted his head to glance up at the sky. Sure enough, huge gray clouds were rolling in, dropping in front of the moon and blanketing The Island in an eerie light.

“Storm’s coming, pet.”

Still she didn’t move until the first fat drops of rain started to splatter the patio.

Unhurriedly she rose, unfolding off of his lap and pulling him wordlessly to his feet and back into the suite behind her, shutting the French doors behind them, closing the weather out as the first bolt of lightning split the sky.


TBC

A/N1: Please read and review. My muse is a feedback whore.

A/N2: This chapter had to be split because, once again, I suffer from an excess of wordage.

Part 5b: The Most Dangerous Game

As Buffy deposited their half-full wineglasses on top of one of the bedside tables, Spike moved over to what looked like a small old Victrola sitting on an end table. Flipping up the ‘turntable’ part of it, he revealed the console for the satellite radio and scrolled through the digital selection until he found something that fit the mood of the evening.

Buffy clicked the latch on the French doors as they started to rattle softly in the wind, and she realized that the storm sky had become so bright, even without the lightening, that it illuminated the entire section of the suite from the windows to the bed with no problem. She watched the lightening arc in brilliant bolts across the sky above the ocean for a minute, lost in thought until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She spun around to face Spike, and suddenly found herself folded gently against him as he started to move to the sweet, sultry voice emanating from the stereo.

“Another living room…”

She sighed, looping her arms around his waist and letting her head fall against his chest.

“With their eyes all over me…”

He tightened his arms protectively, pulling her closer to him as they swayed to the music. He let his eyes drift shut for just a moment, memorizing the smell and feel of her.

“We could get in trouble,
but I love the way you look at me…”

She lifted her head to look up at him, and he plucked the chopsticks out of her hair, causing a blonde waterfall to swirl down around the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders. With uncharacteristic carelessness, he tossed them to the side, neither of them heeding as they clattered unnoticed across the table and to the floor.

“Another stereo
waiting for permission…”

Buffy started to unbutton his crisp shirt slowly, carefully dropping a chaste kiss on each inch of his chest as it was revealed until he was moving against her in nothing but a pair of crisp black slacks.

They continued dancing, neither of them particularly wanting to rush the gentle exposure they had started.

“Started playing Cadillac Walk
would it shut me up and get me to listen…”

With the hand not wrapped around Buffy’s small waist, he tugged slowly at the crimson knot on the halter top of Buffy’s dress until the fabric slowly gave. He eased his grip on her just enough to step back and watch the blood-red fabric slither down over her curves as gravity pulled it to the floor, the knot no longer anchoring it.

“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”

He drank her in for a moment, struck by the fact that every time he saw this woman naked and vulnerable before him felt like a revelation. Every. Single. Time.

She softly looked back at him, not covering herself as she kept moving to the lyrics. Another flash of lightening outside the windows illuminated her from behind, only serving to make her burn brighter before his eyes.

“You could be my gateway,
I could be your therapy…”

He was awestruck by how beautiful she was. How strong she was. How vulnerable she was. How perfect she was. And how—not fucking his—she was.

“I could be your trouble,
I can feel it all over me…”

It was Buffy that pulled him close again, as they slid slowly over to the bed.

“Another night, another living room…”

She undid his trousers with a deft flick of her wrist, a hidden talent, and his pants pooled around his ankles.

“Another hand is slowly thumbing through his impressive collection,
Call it curiosity, what's he gonna play for me now?”

They tumbled gracelessly back onto the king-size bed, and Buffy propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over Spike as she lowered her lips to his for their first kiss since the evening had started.

Their lips moved softly over each other with the newness of a first kiss, but the confidence of familiarity. And it was a first kiss, even though it was nothing like their actual first kiss. The first day had been about raw hunger, raw need, and pure pleasure. This was something different, something deeper and more dangerous.

“Another beer, another bar, another difficult choice,”

They kissed slowly for what felt like hours, reintroducing themselves as thunder rumbled outside, unheard by them.

Buffy pulled back slightly, motioning for Spike to slide all the way up on the bed, which he did willingly. He arranged his pale, muscular limbs easily, propping his head up on one of the overstuffed pillows so he could continue to watch her.

“He threw his coat over my shoulders and he lowered his voice…”

She smiled gently at him, feathering one hand lightly over his naked form as she slid over to his side.

“and said I didn't mean to scare you,
I only want to keep you warm…”

With one fluid move, she retrieved one of the wineglasses from the bed table and turned to face him, easily sliding a tanned thigh over his hips so she was astride his waist, effectively pinning him to the bed.

He gazed up at her in awe as she leaned down to give him a chaste kiss, contrasting sweetly with their nudity.

She took a small mouthful of merlot, returning the glass to the table before settling herself fully atop him. He watched her curiously.

She looked him dead in the eye and pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, causing the deep red wine to cascade out of the corners of her mouth, streaking down across her skin.

It was the most deeply erotic thing he had ever seen, and Spike watched her, transfixed for a moment as his eyes followed the crimson rivulets the merlot was leaving as it ran down over her lips, down the slender column of her neck and over her collarbones. It was only when it reached her hard nipples and started to drip onto his chest that he was able to galvanize himself into action.

“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”

He swooped forwards, surging up under her to capture the nipple between his lips, gently savoring the rich, sweet tones of the merlot as he lapped it from her skin, and then he used his tongue to retrace the path of the wine upwards, carefully cleaning every drop of it from her skin.

She let out a throaty moan and captured his head in her hands, drawing him close to her as he continued to lave her sensitive flesh until she pulled away from him, sitting back on his hips. He stole a couple last laps of her warm skin before acquiescing and reclining back to the pillows.

He could feel her pressing soft and moist against the skin of his stomach, and it filled him with a slow fire as she undulated against him.

“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”

She rose up on her knees and slid his cock between her folds until he was perfectly positioned at her entrance. She made sure to hold his gaze as she began a slow, torturous descent, taking him inside her.

Spike met her gaze evenly as he tried to keep himself from shaking until he was completely buried deep within her. Her warmth and her moisture as it flowed over his bare skin was nothing compared to the enormity of the emotion of this moment, of this level of intimacy.

She smiled a half-grin at him, and as he raised an eyebrow slightly at her, she let her knees slide entirely away from his hips, forcing gravity to drop her an extra couple of millimeters onto him that he hadn’t known he was missing, deeper inside each other than they had ever been. Spike’s eyes shot open even wider, and Buffy’s mouth quirked in a slow, sensual smile.

Still holding his gaze, she rotated her hips slowly in a figure eight, swiveling her hips so that rather than withdrawing with every stroke, she was merely changing the angle while keeping him embedded deep in her core.

She rolled her head around her shoulders as a slow wash of ecstasy began to flow, and they began to move together slowly and languidly, savoring each touch, each sensation at the moment they created it in each other.

They touched and listened, smelled and tasted and watched each other, the world around them disappearing as they memorized every last bit of each other.

They moved that way for what felt like hours, flowing over each other like water, twining and untwining, ebbing and flowing, and it wasn’t until Spike felt the small tremors starting to pulse inside of Buffy that he let himself start to crest.

She felt the tingling start moving up through her thighs, and as Spike started taking shorter, deeper strokes she knew he too was ready. She eased herself forward, pressing bare breasts against his chest as she moved her lips over his, never changing the slow pace they had set.

She darted her tongue out to taste his lips briefly, and when she opened her eyes again to look in his, he realized that he had been wrong about the true color of her eyes.

While he had initially thought them to be hazel, as she stared down at him and they moved in unison, he realized that they were a bright, clear green even in the half-light of the room. They stared back at him sensually, half-closed in passion but still locked on him with something resembling… awe?

When Buffy saw the wonder with which Spike’s cobalt eyes were dancing over hers, emotion overtook her and she felt her breaking point approach, restlessly moving through her limbs as she arched her back and tightened, pulling him along with her.

She felt his warm release flood her as a series of smaller tremors continued to run through her, and he gathered her close to his chest, neither of them stopping the gentle rocking motion as they came down.

* * *

They didn’t get much sleep, drifting fitfully off for fifteen and half-hour segments of time together until they woke up again, aroused and reaching for each other with increasing frequency and desperation as an invisible clock counted out the last of their time together.

Tangled and torn bedsheets were thrown to the floor, pillows tossed aside, as any stimulation other than each other was deemed too unbearable. Both flashed back to their thoughts from the first night, too much and never enough.

Over and over they awoke, tangling limbs as Lover’s Time became real time, counted in hours and minutes instead of gasps and sighs.

Exhausted and sweated, they finally both passed out just as daylight was starting to filter into the room, the first rays of the sun dissipating the last of the clouds left from the night storm.

* * *

Buffy awoke before Spike did, and as she was lying, watching the sun dance through the room and over their entwined limbs, she realized that a previously unnoticed digital clock atop the table by the abandoned wineglasses had blinked to life.

It flashed a large read “2:00,” and as she watched it, she realized that it wasn’t 2pm, and the time was counting backwards instead of up. Counting down on the last of their time together.

She felt a wave of sadness start to wash over her just at she felt Spike start to stir beside her, and she rolled over to face him, turning her back on the insidious clock.

He smiled sleepily good morning, his smile fading slowly as he too noticed the ‘time.’

She looked away, having no words.

Spike arose and circled around to her side of the bed, taking both of her wrists in his hands and leading her into the bathroom.

They showered together for the first time since they had both arrived on The Island, but they touched each other with soft caresses meant to soothe rather than arouse.

They stood in the spacious shower pressed together, washing every trace of themselves off each other until at last the shower ran cold.

They carefully climbed out and toweled each other off with the same care and delicacy that they’d washed each other, and reluctantly left to gather their things and repack.

* * *

Spike watched as Buffy slowly secured the latches on her suitcase, her back to him.

The four days had been such a rollercoaster of emotion, first anxiety, then lust, then something more, giving way to anxiety again, and he had suddenly found himself with a profound feeling of loss.

Buffy didn’t meet Spike’s eyes, or even look in his direction as she carefully placed her luggage by the door, gathering the last of her toiletries into her purse before she finally steeled herself enough to look up at him.

She walked over to where he stood in the middle of the suite, and when she got within arm’s reach, Spike opened his mouth to try and find words.

Buffy stopped him with the mere look on her face, giving the slightest of shakes to her head, and he fell silent. Sometimes there really are no words.

She smiled gently, craning her neck up to brush her lips over his so softly that he thought he had imagined it, and then she was gone, the soft snick of the shutting door echoing loudly through the room. The only proof she’d ever been more than a figment of Spike’s imagination was the faint smell of vanilla that still lingered in the air.



To Be Concluded…



A/N: The song is Maggie Walter’s “Another Living Room.” (Listen to it here). Apologies, I’m not one for song fics usually, but this song inspired the scene so, you know, credit where credit’s due.

A/N2: Feedback makes my muse grow up big and strong… or at least write faster…

Part 6: Endgame

The reception area of W&H Industries was the perfect representation of everything else about the company. It was cool (but not uninviting), modern (but not ugly), and reeked of power and wealth. It had been a Fortune 500 company for several years now, and everything about the company—and the waiting area—was impressive.

The silence was broken occasionally by the ringing of the receptionist’s phone as Buffy sat nervously, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her charcoal pencil skirt, waiting to be called in for her introductory presentation. She flipped through her laptop case, taking inventory, even though she knew everything necessary was there from the two previous times she had checked… in the last five minutes.

Extra battery, paper copy, back-up flash drive… check. Skirt—straight. Blouse—crisp and buttoned correctly. No runs in the pantyhose. Hair fine. I’m good, I’m fine… I’m going to slay them in there… I’m going to breathe a new life into this firm. Breathe… breath? Oh God, what if my breath smells?

Buffy discreetly covered her mouth with one hand and breathed into it, measuring its minty-freshness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blonde receptionist suppressing a smile, and she resolved to be more discrete about her total mental meltdown.

“Sorry,” she murmured, “nerves, you know?”

The receptionist smiled reassuringly. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure the Director of Personnel wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were the best person for the job. You know, they interviewed an insane number of applicants for your position. He wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t the best and brightest. Now, all you have to do is go in there and give your presentation to the higher-ups. There’s only twelve of them, plus our new CEO, which admittedly, is probably a little nerve-jangling for you, but you just have to go in there and be brilliant! Knock their socks off! Easy as pie.”

The receptionist smiled encouragingly at Buffy.

The whole encouragement thing? Not this chick’s strongest suit. ‘Just knock their socks off.’ Fine, no problem.

Just as she was sinking deeper into her mire of self-doubt, the door to the boardroom opened, and the Director of Personnel who’d hired Buffy, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, gave a nod to the receptionist, who turned back to smile chirpily at Buffy.

“They’re ready for you, Ms. Summers.” As Buffy passed her desk, she added, in a stage whisper, “You’ll be fantastic… and if not, with your credentials, I’m sure you can find something else real quickly.”

Buffy missed a step. This girl definitely missed her calling as a motivational speaker.

She entered the room and her eyes quickly scanned over the thirteen people seated around the table, mentally cataloguing their faces for later reference. Most seemed to be in their early thirties, like her; clearly W&H Industries made a practice of taking chances on young talent.

Wesley gave her a brief introduction around the table, and she smiled what she hoped was engagingly at several suited men, one pretty female redhead, and---OhdearGod.

Her heart dropped, her smile froze, and her blood ran cold.

There, seated in what was undoubtedly the Power Seat at the head of the large mahogany table, was William. Or who she had known as William. The blood rushing to her ears almost drowned out Wesley introducing the man in question as “Our acting, and soon-to-be permanent CEO, Spike Giles.”

She thought for a minute that she was seeing things. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…

But no, it was William. Same sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and aquiline features. The only thing different was the hair, which had been bleached almost white and slicked back, and only served to highlight the sleek angles of his face. An odd look for a CEO (or acting-CEO), but it worked for him. Made him look more dangerous.

Had it not been for the scarred eyebrow that twitched upward for a split second, Buffy would have thought that he did not recognize her at all. Spike… Mr. Giles… smiled and nodded politely, offering a totally neutral, “Pleasure to finally meet the woman who so impressed Wesley, Ms. Summers. We’re eager to hear what you have planned for revitalizing our marketing division.”

And then he turned away, giving her no further notice as the introductions continued around the table.

Buffy got through the rest with a frozen smile plastered on her face, fumbling as she connected her laptop to the projector, giving herself time to gather her runaway thoughts.

This was the mother of all catastrophes, really. Standing in the most panic-inducing, high-pressure moment of her life, and realizing you’ve slept with your boss. Not only slept with, her mind mocked. Been on your knees in front of. Let him turn you inside out and upside down, and begged for more.

Her Inner Monologue and the chirpy blonde receptionist needed to run off and give self-help lectures together.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at the table full of people, who were looking at her expectantly. Spike, however, could not be bothered. He was typing away on his PDA, not ignoring her but not looking at her either. Not even registering your presence.

The blood burning in Buffy’s ears boiled, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. Oh, this was going to be fun. The lights dimmed, and it was time. Go big or go home.

She channeled all her anger at Spike’s casual dismissal of her into her presentation, and she put on one hell of a show.

She had charts, graphs, and statistics. She had PowerPoints for illustration, PowerPoints for persuasion, and PowerPoints for planning. She had drive, skill, ambition, and passion.

She had also accidentally pierced the projection screen slightly with the collapsible pointer, but she chalked it up to an unavoidable casualty of the presentation.

As she tore through slide after slide of charts, market research, and data, with more passion and fire than she had exhibited for her work in a long time, she could see the various board members start to lean forward slightly with interest, and by the time she clicked the lights back on at the end, several were even nodding in approval.

She would have felt wonderful if she hadn’t been sick to her stomach.

* * *

It was almost 5pm, and Buffy sat in her beautiful new office, with her head in her hands. The belongings she had shipped from Sunnydale were still sitting in stacks of boxes around the room exactly where they had been deposited by the delivery company.

Several of the execs had taken her out to lunch after her presentation, a nice, welcoming gesture that she would have enjoyed more had she not been so distracted her skin practically itched. She had kept her head in the game and her composure on, and had managed to charm them as well, but she barely touched her food.

After the late lunch, she had retreated back to her office, ostensibly to unpack, but she couldn’t bring herself to open a single box. Her entire business life was surrounding her in shipping cardboard, the business life she’d worked so long and hard to build, and had taken the chance and up and moved out here.

The business life she was watching go up in smoke. She had slept with her boss. Sure, she hadn’t known he was her boss at the time, but still. She’d slept with her boss. She was relatively certain this was not something covered in Hints From Heloise.

And so she sat, elbows propped up on her desk, listlessly checking her email as she waited for 5pm to roll in.

She wasn’t at all surprised when the receptionist from earlier popped her head in and informed Buffy that Mr. Giles would like to see her in his office before she left for the day. Not surprised at all.

* * *

She entered Spike’s office slowly, unsure of what to expect.

Spike was sitting behind an enormous desk, checking his email, and looked briefly up at her, waving her towards a chair while he finished at his computer.

Buffy elected to stand instead, busying herself by taking in the details of his office. Obviously expensive, obviously professionally decorated. There were scads of black leather, very modern furniture, and scarlet slashes of color here and there. Like the man holding court in the middle of it, the office was both comfortable and edgy.

The lover-formerly-known-as-William finished his work, put the laptop into sleep mode, and focused his undivided attention on her.

“Buffy.” It wasn’t a question. He was testing the name in his mouth, weighing it and finding it much more suitable than ‘Elizabeth.’ “Buffy?”

She understood what he was asking, and answered him, not being able to meet his penetrating gaze just yet. “My mom gave it to me. It’s not a family name or anything; she just liked it. People just always seem to assume that it has to be short for something, that nobody could be cruel enough to name a little blonde girl ‘Buffy.’ For some reason, they generally assume it’s short for ‘Elizabeth.’”

She steeled herself to meet his eyes, watching him as he stood and moved around his desk towards her.

His expression remained entirely too neutral for her liking, and Buffy’s blood started to pound in her ears again. Here she was taking the chance of a lifetime, abandoning everything she had built for herself in Sunnydale to take this opportunity, only to have it blow up spectacularly in her face. And here he was, calm as could be, studying her like she was a problem that needed to be solved.

She had opened herself up to him on The Island, told him things--done things—that she had never dared do before, and she had laid herself bare for him. She could feel her cheeks flaming as she was assaulted by a montage of images from the days they had shared, a cruel contrast to their current situation. Frustration and rage mounted higher in her until finally Spike spoke.

Suddenly he couldn’t meet her eyes. She had given up everything to do this. Quit her old job, sold the family house, and moved up here on a wing and the promise of this job. And he couldn’t even look at her?

There was pregnant silence for a solid minute, and then he sighed.

“Pet, I think it might be best if—" He never got a chance to finish his sentence.

“You ASSHOLE!” Buffy’s anger boiled over, and she snatched the nearest thing off his desk--a delicate crystal vase brimming with English roses--and threw it at him.

Spike barely had time to duck as the vase sailed past him, smashing against the wall and dripping crystal shards and rose-scented water onto the thick cream carpeting.

He gaped at the sparkling wreckage for a moment, before turning to gape at Buffy, his composure completely gone. “Bloody hell, woman, you almost took my fucking head OFF!”

Buffy was too far into her ire and righteous indignation to care that she had just heaved an object at the head of her new (acting) CEO. It was all too much, just too much. To have shared an amazing weekend with this man, who she had finally opened up to, only to have to say goodbye. And just when she had started to reconcile the loss of what-could’ve-been…

“You deserved it! You were about to say something AWFUL!”

“How do you know it was gonna be awful?”

“Have you ever heard a positive sentence that started with the words ‘I think it might be better if…’?”

Her hands were on her hips, and her eyes were still narrowed in anger, but her voice was starting to return to a pitch suitable for humans rather than dogs. Spike relaxed his posture somewhat, realizing that the worst of the storm had passed.

“I just thought that maybe it might be easier for both of us, considering what happened, if—“

“What?” She challenged him. “It might be better if what? If you sent me off to work in some remote branch of your office so you don’t have to, what, see me? Remember what we did? Something like that?”

All the defensiveness drained out of Spike. She was right; that was exactly what he had been about to suggest. “I just thought it might be better for you if—“

Wrong words.

“Well, isn’t that so fucking nice. You thought it would be better for me…” Buffy’s shoulders squared as she stalked over to where Spike was standing, stopping mere inches from his nose as she glared up at him, “If you shipped me off to some office where I don’t have the same opportunities that I’d have here, the same resources, the same anything.

“Can I tell you, just for a moment, how SICK I am of people making decisions for me? My whole life, everybody’s always known better than me, made choices for me, done what they thought would be in my best interest. But nobody ever asked what Buffy wanted. And so, for the first time in my life, I started making choices. I abandon my old house, my old neighborhood, my old LIFE to take a chance with some strange situation.

“And so of course it blows up in my face!” Buffy backed away from Spike, her voice slowly getting quieter, eerie calm, talking to herself more than she was to Spike. “Because that’s what Buffy’s life does. It blows up in her face.”

Spike remained quiet, waiting.

“I gave up EVERYTHING for this opportunity. I get here, and find out that my new boss is the guy I just spent four days screwing the crap out of? The guy that I paid for sex?” Her voice was starting to trail off. “The guy who’s standing there, emotionless, watching crazy-girl-he’s-seen-naked rant her brains out in his office…”

Her arms fell to her sides, limp, all the fight gone out of her as she tried to blink away the tears of anger and embarrassment that were forming.

* * *

Spike stared at the tiny blonde standing in front of him.

It was the word ‘emotionless’ that had keyed him in.

Suddenly he realized what the vase-heaving had been about.

“Is that what you think, luv? You think I don’t care? That you didn’t affect me?”

Buffy stared down at her hands, her avoidance of his question giving Spike all the confirmation he needed.

Silently he backed away from her, crossing behind his desk to retrieve his suit jacket from where he had carefully draped it over the back of his chair. Slipping a hand inside the breast pocket, he retrieved the monogrammed silver cigarette case and, flipping it open, held it wordlessly out to her.

Curious, she reached over and took it from his hand.

There, nestled in the velvet lining were eleven Dunhills, and—ohhh!

The twelfth space was occupied by half of one black lacquered chopstick, broken perfectly to fit inside the case. Buffy stood, running her finger over the gold Chinese character inlaid on it.

“Haven’t been able to think of anything but.”

She stared for a moment longer. “Do you know what this character means?”

Spike shrugged, curious. “Dunno, pet, just figured it was a pretty bauble you picked up somewhere.”

“It means ‘patience.’” She refocused on his face. “If I affected you so much, why did you want to send me away?”

He moved closer, tipping her chin up towards him. “Didn’t want to send you away… just figured you weren’t the kind of girl who’d want to be doin’ the boss.”

She breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar smell of all that was Wil—Spike, and curled one hand against his chest.

“Isn’t that my decision to make?” The question was half-joking and half-serious, but her point was well-taken.

He nodded, hypnotized by her lips as he leaned closer. “That was my favorite vase, you know.”

She gave an impish, unrepentant smile. “You deserved it.”

He grinned, and then sobered. “This isn’t gonna to be easy, you know? I mean, sodding Rule Number Three notwithstanding, all the human resources policies we’d be violatin’…”

She pulled him closer, refusing to back down. “Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

He smirked at her, his voice taking on a throaty purr. “Is that it, pet? You plannin’ on having me?”

“Down, boy,” she pulled herself away slightly when he moved his hands down to the swell of her hips, and smiled despite herself when he pouted slightly.

“No having of me then?” He sounded like a petulant child denied his favorite toy.

“Spike.” He dropped his joking expression at her tone and focused on what she was saying. “We already know we’re good at that. We have to figure out if we’re good at… the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?” He searched her face with his eyes for a second and then, finding what he was looking for, let his features met into a smile as he pulled her close. “As you wish.”

He kissed her. Slowly, softly, and perfectly. It was everything they had started on The Island and more. It had no boundaries and no expiration dates.

Buffy pulled him closer, threading her fingers through his hair, knocking some of the curls loose. They kissed until they reluctantly had to come up for air. Spike growled and pulled back finally, smoothing the errant curls as he pressed his forehead against hers, both of them breathing slowly and deeply.

“So what now, luv?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner,” she confirmed. “You’re taking me out to eat. Somewhere nice.” She grinned at him, brushing one more kiss against his lips. “I’m starving, and we have to have a real first date at some point. Some place that has steak, preferably. I’m in need of steakage.”

“And then…” he prompted, “after there’s steak…?”

Buffy grinned and laced her fingers through his. “We’ll figure that out… after.”

A full-blown grin spread across Spike’s features, and he looked more in that moment like the William that she had first met one month ago.

He stole another light kiss and then grabbed his jacket, towing her after him with slightly more eagerness than he normally would have considered manly.

The door swung shut behind them, and Spike’s email account chimed, unheard, in the empty office. “One new message.”

My boy,

Sometimes what we want and what we need are the same thing. Besides, I’ve never known you to follow a rule you didn’t want to in the entire time I’ve known you.

~A



*The End*




A/N: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns…” is from Casablanca (1942).

A/N2: Hints from Heloise is a collection of advice columns from the early 60s on such things as food, travel, and general household maintenance. Think ‘Dear Abby’ meets ‘Ladies Home Journal.’

A/N3: “As you wish” is from The Princess Bride (1987). It’s one of my favoritest movies of all time, plus it features a ridiculously hot blond rogue who goes to the ends of the earth for the woman he loves. Hmmm… wonder why I like that?

FINAL NOTES: I wanted to thank everyone who has read and reviewed, because knowing people were enjoying this truly did encourage me to keep expanding the story. A very, VERY special thank you to my beautiful beta, Mari: You took a chance on me as a writer, and you truly helped shape this. You weren’t just a proofreader, you were an editor who coached me through the hard parts and showed me how to do this more skillfully—I just can’t thank you enough! *hugs*
Lastly: I’m considering writing another fic, something that starts in canon, S6, and goes AU after “After Life.” However, it will be longer, much darker in the beginning, and the smut will be slow to arrive. Any interest?