Previously in Dare to Dance…
Spike rolled onto his back trying to catch his breath and pulled her into his arms until she was half-lying on top of him and it was then that he noticed the damp patch she left on his thigh. Banging his head on the ground repeatedly as he berated himself for forgetting about protection, he brought his arm up to cover his eyes as he swallowed.
Bloody hell! What the fuck was he going to tell her now?
Chapter 4. Rising Storm
Bloody hell! What the fuck was he going to tell her now? Sorry, pet, but I was too bleedin’ caught up in the moment to remember about protection? He had the feeling that wouldn’t go well.
He should’ve known better. Hell, he did know better. He was fucking thirty-eight, not a simpering teenager for hell’s sakes!
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!
The whole situation had disaster written all over it. Not only did he take advantage of his best friends’ seventeen year old daughter, who they had entrusted into his care, he’d also exposed her to the probability of an unplanned pregnancy.
It didn't matter that Buffy had been a willing participant in their little tryst. Nor did it matter that every little thing she did drove him insane with lust until he couldn’t think straight anymore. Nothing else mattered but the knowledge he'd botched things up in the worst of ways.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Buffy slowly came down from her high to notice William banging his head on the ground. The muscle ticking in his jaw was the only thing she saw of his face since he had covered his eyes with his forearm and his whole body went tense under hers. His distress was obvious, even for someone as inexperienced as she. And the cause of it was quite clear, too.
He regretted what happened between them.
Biting her lower lip in an attempt to hold the tears at bay prickling the back of her eyes, she tried to scramble off his body. Tried and failed because all too soon, she found herself flat on her back with William hovering above her, his sapphire gaze, stormy and intense as it searched for God knew what in her face.
“Where do you think you're goin’?”
“I-I,” she stuttered, closing her eyes and turning her head to the side to avoid looking at him, a lone tear slipping from under her thick lashes. “Let me up, please?”
He caught the stray tear with his thumb, caressing her cheek softly, and her heart nearly broke at his tenderness. “Not until you tell me what’s wron’, love.”
“Nothing,” she replied stubbornly.
“Did I hurt you, is that why you’re cryin’?”
Yes, he did hurt her. She sighed miserably as she closed her eyes even tighter, but she had the feeling he meant physically, not emotionally. While there had been some mild discomfort at first, and though she felt slightly sore now, any physical pain had been short-lived against the wonderment of being one with William. Cliché? Probably, but she hadn’t cared because she thought they were on the same page, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Emotionally, however, was another matter altogether. Hurt didn’t begin to cover how she felt right now. She was crushed, devastated, mortified and above all, humiliated. And if that wasn’t enough, the only thing she wanted to do right now was the one thing he wasn’t allowing her to.
Escape. Run away. Hide in her room until it was time for her parents to pick her up. Or better yet, call one of her friends and beg them to let her stay at their house for the duration of her parents’ trip.
She wanted to be anywhere that meant not having to face William right now, or in the next fifty to sixty years for that matter. That meant not having to feel his lean, muscled body against hers and knowing this might be the last, the only time she ever did. That meant opening her eyes and dying a little inside as she read the regret that would surely be written in his azure gaze.
Those thoughts gave her the strength she needed to push him away, to stand on not so steady legs and run towards the house, uncaring of her nudity, or of William calling after her.
Blinded by the tears that were now falling freely down her cheeks, she stumbled as she went through the huge French doors and into the house, running, pushing herself to the limit when she heard his heavy footsteps coming closer.
He nearly caught up with her in the corridor that led to her room, but a rush of adrenaline came to her aid and she managed to get inside and lock the door before he could block her entrance.
She reclined against the heavy, oak wood; grateful it was holding her up as she breathed in harshly through her sobs, her lungs demanding oxygen after her sprint. Grateful it dulled William’s knocks and pleas for her to let him in. Grateful she couldn’t see him, or him her.
Buffy slid down to the floor, pulling her knees up, hugging them tightly against her chest before placing her head on them and crying her eyes out for what could’ve been. Crying until she had no more tears, mourning the loss of her dreams, of her innocence, but above all, for having lost him, even if she never really had him.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
She wasn’t certain how long she remained on the floor. Seconds, minutes, hours, days? Time had ceased to exist for her. She felt as if she were in limbo, blissfully numb and detached.
Mechanically, she rose to her feet and walked towards the bathroom, stepping into the shower and turning the hot faucet on full blast, washing the remnants of her idiocy down the drain as she scrubbed her skin until it was nearly raw.
Now she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, after cleaning the steam from the shower with a towel, observing the image reflected there critically. Other than her eyes being puffy and red after her cry-fest, she didn’t look all that different. She felt different, though. Older, but definitely not wiser.
Trying to keep her mind from straying to William and her gloomy thoughts regarding him, she focused on combing the tangles out of her hair and blow drying it until it fell in a lustrous curtain past her shoulders and down her back. She then applied some Visine to soothe her irritated eyes, flesh-tone concealer underneath them to make them appear less puffy and covered the redness of her nose as well as the hickey on her throat, though she wasn’t completely happy with the less than stellar results. Oh well, there was only so much she could do about the haunted, dull look to her face, and it wasn’t as if she needed to impress anyone anymore.
She returned to her room, put on her underwear and sighed dejectedly as she looked in her closet for something to wear. Everything she brought with her had been with seduction in mind and now she was hard-pressed to find something that actually covered enough of her.
Finally, she decided on a pair of denim shorts and a sleeveless, form-fitting red turtleneck top that showcased her slim torso and the curve of her breasts, but at least it covered more than the rest of her outfits would have. Not like she was planning on anyone seeing her if she could help it. Her plan was to stay in her room for as long as she could and when she was certain he wasn’t around, she would sneak out of the house. A foolproof plan, or so she hoped.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Spike stayed outside her door for a good half an hour, his heart breaking as he heard the muffled sobs through the solid oak, until he finally gave up and went to his room to shower and change.
If it were up to him, he would’ve busted the door down—and probably break more than a few bones in the process—or used his key to open the blasted thing and make her listen to him, make her tell him what he could do to make it better.
Make it better, he chuckled humorlessly. Yeah, right! Make things sodding worse, was more like it.
He had the sneaking suspicion if he had given in to his impulses and done any of that, she never would have forgiven him. Not only for invading her privacy, but for not giving her the space she obviously needed after what happened.
Hadn’t he done more than enough damage for one day, anyway? Bloody hell, he’d probably done more than enough damage for a few lifetimes as it was. Not only did he steal her virginity, but mucked things up by forgetting about protection. Not to mention he still wasn’t certain what was it that had caused her earlier escape. If he’d hurt her… he would never forgive himself.
Argh, he hated this! He ran his hands through his already mussed hair as he stole another glance at the empty hallway that led to Buffy’s room. He’d been pacing the length of the living room for over an hour now, driving himself crazy with guilt while waiting for her to make an appearance.
She wouldn’t stay in her room all day just to avoid him, would she?
Bleeding Christ. He hated feeling so… impotent, knowing she was so close and yet so far away. Hated how he’d fucked things up because he couldn’t keep his bloody hands off her. Hated that he made her cry, not having a fucking clue as to what to do to solve this mess.
He needed to talk to her, she deserved to know how royally he’d screwed things up, and because of that screw up, they now had to deal with the consequences of his actions, discuss their options and decide on what to do next.
Fifteen minutes. He would give her fifteen more minutes, and if she didn’t come out by then, he would go into her room, like it or not.
He heard the doorbell chime just then and frowned. Who the hell could it be? It wasn’t like he was expecting anyone.
Spike crossed to the door and opened it, his frown deepening into a foreboding scowl when he saw tall, dark and forehead standing on the other side of the door. He rose to his full height and blocked the brunet’s view of the inside of his house.
“Hello, is Buffy home?” Angel asked, seemingly nonplussed by Spike’s posture.
“What the hell do you want with her?”
The other man chuckled, evidently amused by his jealous tone and completely uncaring of how close he was to being throttled. “Down, man. I just came to invite her to a pool party at my house.”
“She’s not going to any party at your house, or anyone else’s for that matter,” Spike growled, his hands fisting at his side.
“Actually, she can decide for herself, thank you very much, and of course, I’ll be happy to go with you, Angel,” Buffy said from behind Spike, making him turn around so quickly he nearly got whiplash.
She was there, looking just about as beautiful as she had before even with slightly puffy eyes that refused to make contact with his. “Just give me a sec to change,” she said, continuing to ignore him.
“There’s no need to, you’re perfect as you are,” the other man replied smoothly, leering at her in a way that made Spike want to punch the daylights out of him for moving in on his territory.
Only the girl wasn’t his exactly, now was she? And that was precisely why she was leaving now with his wanker of a neighbor without so much as a backward glance towards him.
That hurt… more than he refused to admit. He wanted her to at least acknowledge him. She didn’t, of course, but sodding Angel Fischer did, and there was no bloody mistaking the triumphant look he threw Spike over his shoulder as he led Buffy down the graveled path towards his house.
tbc
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I swear you’re not seeing visions and I really updated this story. Hope I still have readers for it, too, despite my lack of updates. *sighs*
Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter! And thank you as well to my lovely friends Tina and Deanna for betaing this chapter for me. I don’t know what I’d do without all your help and support, cariños!
Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter! And thank you as well to my lovely friends Tina and Deanna for betaing this chapter for me. I don’t know what I’d do without all your help and support, cariños!
Chapter End Notes:
*hides*