She sat up with a start the next day, and took in the lavish hotel bedroom around her, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and the pale, Adonis-like naked torso lying in the right-hand side of her peripheral vision with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Good morning.” She heard his deep, English accented voice rumble forth from behind her. “Or, afternoon, actually.”
“What… what time is it?” She asked, staring straight ahead.
“One-thirty.”
“Oh, god.”
“Want some… breakfast or something? I could call down…”
“No! Er… no. I should… I should probably just go.” Panties? Oh, God, where are my panties? She was thinking the fairly typical morning-after phrase. She spied them next to the bed, reached over and grabbed them.
“Right.” He sounded strangely dejected. “Let me just call someone to help you out of here.” Her blonde head whipped around for the first time.
“What? I don’t… I don’t need help getting out of here.” She said, more than a little confused at this strange offer. “I’m… I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He said, a weird smirk on his face as she got out of bed, dragging the spread with her, surprisingly modest all of a sudden. God, had she actually let him tie her up at some point last night? Yes. Yes I did. She shook her head violently.
“I don’t… suppose you’ll believe this, but… I don’t normally do things like this.” She said as she walked through the rooms, looking for her dress, picking it up and trying to pull it over her head without letting go of the spread once she found it. She didn’t know quite why she felt the need to-to- explain? Justify? Excuse?—herself to him, but she did.
“I believe you.” He said, laughter in his voice. Dismay fell over her face. Of course. Because I’m obviously such a complete novice… “Not because you were bad, luv, quite the opposite, in fact, but because girls who do normally do things like this are a whole lot more smug and a whole lot less with the blushing the next day. It’s adorable, really.” She hazarded a glance at him. He was still in bed, leaning casually back on his elbows, intently watching her every move, still unabashedly naked and… semi-hard. Perfect. He chuckled as she blushed deeper.
“Oh. So, I guess you do normally do things like this.” She said, looking away.
“Not really. But I used to.”
“Right, well… Thank you for a lovely evening.” She said with a big, plastic smile. “I’ll see… I’ll be… Good bye.” She stammered out and practically ran for the door.
“’Bye.” He called out, sing-song like, even as she flung herself out of the suite.
The hallway was filled with women. Slutty looking, scantily clad women. There was a male here and there, but mostly just… women. Several other suite doors were open and people were walking around, back and forth, like a college dorm in a teen movie. Or, they were walking around, until Buffy emerged from Spike’s suite. Then they all stopped, en masse, and turned to look at her.
The eyes of most of the women narrowed, and a low, angry buzz started to rise and thrum through the suddenly narrow hallway. Buffy, who was not one to be intimidated easily, especially by other girls, was suddenly scared shitless.
She turned around and started pounding on Spike’s door. She only had to pound twice when the door opened just enough to allow a petite body through, and a firm, white hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back into the safety of the room.
She leaned against the door in panic for a moment before gathering herself.
“You were saying about help getting out of here?” She asked sheepishly. Spike, now wearing jeans again, at least, smirked.
“Let me make a call.” He turned his back to her and made his way to a phone, picked it up, and dialed a few numbers.
“Yeah, Bruce? Need some help up here. Crowd control. No, need you to escort a friend of mine out. Oh, and Bruce? Treat her like a lady, yeah? Hm? Oh, Buffy. Buffy Summers. Thanks.” He put the phone back in its cradle, but didn’t look at her.
“Who are you?” She asked. He smiled bitterly, though she didn’t see it.
“Haven’t heard that in a while.” He said to himself. “Nobody, pet. I’m nobody.” He told her, turning to look at her at last.
“Last I checked, nobodys didn’t have groupies and entourages and… and bodyguards or whoever you just called.”
“Look, I’m gonna go hop in the shower. Do you… need anything? Else?” He asked breezily, ignoring her quieries.
“What?” She was utterly bewildered, and it showed. He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Wassa’ matter, pet? Not five minutes ago you were aching to be out of here? Now I’m somebody you want to stay and chat?” She sputtered.
She wanted to run to him, bruise his mouth with more kisses, beg him to make her body sing like he had last night. Tell him she didn’t want to leave—just, in the light of day, after a night of doing things she’d never done before or ever dreamed she would do—she’d panicked.
Instead…
“That- that’s not it at all.” She said defiantly.
“Right.” He sneered and left the living area for the bedroom. She heard a door shut- no, slam, really- and the shower start.
She wanted to go yell at him. Scream. Pound on the bathroom door if it was locked. State her case, whatever case there was. Instead, she plopped down on the couch with a pout and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock on the door.
“Ms. Summers?” A clipped, no nonsense English voice called out. Buffy rose from the couch and opened the door to a massive, broad shouldered man who was shaped remarkably like a refrigerator and an eerily quiet hallway.
“Come with me, ma’am.” He said with a kind smile that looked almost out of place on his stern, hard face. She nodded dumbly as he led her away.
Spike turned the water on hot as he could stand and stood underneath it, head bowed beneath the spray. He thought about the unlikely girl sitting out in the middle of his suite. He really hadn’t fucked like that since he was twenty, and he wasn’t entirely certain he remembered fucking like that ever. He’d unleashed something in that girl, he knew. She’d insisted on being on top the second time ‘round, but that time, he was ready for her. He’d braced himself, held on to her hips for dear life, curled his toes, and taken it until she’d fallen limp against him, then he’d wrapped his arms around her like steel and thrust up into her furiously until she thrashed and flailed and rolled over, pulling him back on top.
And when he’d pulled out a set of silk scarves and asked, simply, “Do you trust me?” She’d swallowed, nodded, and said “Yeah. Don’t see why not.”
Then he’d tortured her with his mouth, first taking his sweet time to get to the place she craved it the most, then stayed there, long after she’d started bucking, thrashing, begging, and pulling against her restraints, to no avail, she quickly found. He knew how to tie a knot, dammit, even with silk.
If he was being perfectly honest with himself, she’d unleashed something in him, too. Something he’d thought long dead. When he finally did crawl back up her body, he’d thrust himself inside and started fucking her furiously, even as he fumbled with his own knots so that he could free her and promptly roll her back on top to vent the frustration he’d just spent the better part of an hour helping her build up. The whole time, he’d growled things in her ear that he, frankly, blushed to recall.
What he wanted to do, was walk out there, (leave the shower running), and pull her back against him in another one of her soft, fiery kisses. Slide that dress back off her body and rip that flimsy little thong to shreds, pull her into this shower and fuck her up against the wall until the water turned cold.
But she’d hurt his feelings, dammit, with her little disappearing act. Wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to be nice, offering her breakfast and all that. Sure, she’d just woken up in a strange hotel room after going home with a strange man who’d fucked her up, down, and sideways (literally, at one point) all night, which was something she was clearly not accustomed to doing, and had probably just panicked, but still. A man had his pride. And, currently, yet another erection.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He muttered as he stared down at his traitorous dick. “Where were you all year, mate? Hmmm?” He sighed as he wrapped a firm hand around it.
Buffy hesitated on the sidewalk once Bruce led her out of the hotel, but he turned to her with a gentle smile.
“This way, ma’am.” He then led her to a boxy black town car with dark tinted windows and opened the back door for her. He even helped her get in.
The car rocked as Bruce settled himself behind the steering wheel.
“Where to, ma’am?” He asked.
“I- um… my apartment, I guess.” Bruce raised his eyebrows expectantly in the rearview mirror. “Oh! Oh- um- it’s on Vermont Avenue.” Bruce nodded and started the car.
Buffy was no sooner on the sidewalk outside her apartment than she fished her cell phone out of her purse and turned it back on.
She’d missed about twenty calls from Xander. She rolled her eyes and called him back.
“Buffy!” Relief very clearly washed through his voice.
“Hi, Xand!” She said, overly cheerful.
“Where are you? Are you okay? What happened to you last night?” He asked, all in a rush.
“I’m fine, Xand. You- do you remember that guy? With the white hair?”
“Ye-eah.”
“Well- we were arguing. And then there was kissing, then a cab ride, and then there was a hotel—a really nice hotel—and I suddenly don’t want to be discussing this with you anymore.” She was met with shocked silence on the other end of the line. Briefly.
“Buffy! Don’t you know who he is?” He asked, stunned.
“No! No I don’t! Who is he, Xander? Was I supposed to know?”
“He- you didn’t recognize Spike Rock? Lead singer of The Players? Buffy, he’s on the cover of Rolling Stone right now!”
“I don’t read Rolling Stone!” She said defensively.
“They’re in L.A. recording their first album in, like, years!”
“So? I didn’t know, Xander, okay? Jesus, what’s the big?”
“The big, Buffy… I don’t know what the big is, but it’s big!”
“Got that right.” She muttered.
“What? Oh God. Did not need to know that. I can’t believe my little sister fucked a rock star.”
“Step-sister. And I’m not little, okay? I can- I can fuck whoever I want!”
“Okay, okay. Are you… where are you?”
“I’m at my apartment. And I’m done with this conversation. I was just calling to let you know I wasn’t dead or anything anyway.”
“Well… thanks. You know you’re never leaving my sight at the club again, right? I turn my back for one second and you’re out the door and on your way to sexy fun time with England’s baddest bad boy.”
“He’s not- he’s not bad.”
“Again with the not needing to know.”
“No, I mean—he was nice. Sort-of.”
“Sort-of?”
“Goodbye, Xander.”
“What’s sort-of mean?” She hung up the phone before he could continue. She was in her apartment by now. She looked around and sighed, then looked back down at her phone. Truth was, she did want to talk about it, just… not with Xander. She quickly dialed another number.
“Hello?” A small, female voice asked after the second or third ring.
“Will! Oh my god, Will. I just had the best sex of my life.”
“What? With- with Parker?”
“No, god, not with Parker.”
“Oh, cuz you said he was disappointing. And then with the not calling…”
“Yeah, he was disappointing. And also, no, not with Parker.”
“Who, then?”
“Can we- can we meet up for coffee or something?”
“Yeah. Meet you at Ozzy’s in 10?”
“Uh, more like thirty. I need a shower. And to change.”
“Oooh. Okay. See you there.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
There's got to be one... (a morning after, that is).
Also, you should be hearing the title of this chapter in Andre 3000's voice... he's the funkily dressed guy from Outkast.