The waiting is the hardest part. Even after two years, I drop everything the minute Spike Pratt wants to see me. Never mind that he almost always makes me wait. Sometimes, while I’m waiting, my mind wanders, and I find myself thinking this will be the time he won’t show. Not that he hasn’t done it before, but that this will be the time. The time when he doesn’t show up because it’s over. And what’s worse is I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.
When I first met Spike, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. My sister, Dawn, and I had just moved to New York from Sunnydale, California after our mother passed away. We were just getting settled, she in the dorms at the Fashion Institute of Technology and me in my new, tiny, one bedroom apartment.
We met in a bookstore of all places. It was the week before I started the fall semester at New York University, and I was browsing through the fiction and literature section of the bookstore. My hands were burdened with three large textbooks I had already gathered from the social work section. It was going to cost me a fortune, but those books were required for the graduate program I was starting.
It was there, in the fiction and literature section where I heard his voice for the first time. His voice still makes my knees weak, even after hearing it for two years. The raw seduction oozing from his lips, and his sexy English accent was more than enough to capture my attention.
“Doing a bit of heavy reading there, love?”
At first, I wasn’t even sure he was talking to me. I mean I barely knew a soul in the city and certainly no one with a voice like that. When I turned around there was no mistaking who he was talking to. The bluest eyes I’d ever seen bore into mine with an unyielding force. I should’ve known right at that very moment just how much trouble I was in.
But of course, I had no idea.
I blushed under his gaze, finally realizing I was supposed to respond to this gorgeous creature. Clad in an expensive looking suit, with bright blonde hair and chiseled cheekbones, he was breathtaking. Literally, because at that moment I was finding it hard to breathe.
“Uh, yeah. You could say that.” Not exactly my finest moment.
He walked over to me, taking the romance novel I had been looking at out of my hands. I blushed, because it was some stupid, tawdry novel I probably wasn’t even going to buy.
He put the book back on the shelf and searched for something else. After finding the book he was looking for, he handed it to me with a wink. “Try this one. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
Wuthering Heights. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but that was probably because I usually stuck to stupid, tawdry novels.
“Thanks. I’m Buffy Summers.”
“Spike Pratt,” he introduced himself. “If you don’t mind me asking, what in the world do you need those gigantic books for?”
Shifting the books uncomfortably in my arms, I contemplated lying to this stranger. He appeared older than I was and would probably be put off by the fact that I was a student, even though I was in graduate school. Deciding it didn’t really matter, because he definitely was not interested in me, I told him the truth.
“I’m starting graduate school at NYU.”
He looked impressed, but with a quick glance at his watch and a muttered curse he smiled apologetically at me. “Unfortunately, I have to get going. It was a pleasure meeting you, Buffy Summers.”
I didn’t expect to ever see or hear from Spike Pratt again. So I was very surprised when he called my apartment a few days later. Hearing his voice on the other end of the line made my heart race so fast I thought it would burst through my chest.
“Buffy? It’s Spike Pratt. We met in the bookstore on Sunday?”
Like I would forget. “Yeah, sure, I remember you. Wuthering Heights guy.”
Spike laughed, and I decided that was the best sound I’d ever heard.
“How did you get my number?” I was sure I hadn’t given it to him, and I knew I wasn’t listed in the phone book.
“I’m a very resourceful man,” he told me mysteriously.
I was too elated he had taken the time to find my number to be worried that he might be some crazy stalker. When he asked me out to dinner, I did a little dance around my kitchenette. I hadn’t been able to take my mind off of this man since meeting him and he had not only managed to track me down, but also wanted to take me on a date?
Oh, yeah. I was in big trouble.
On our first date, I found out he is sixteen years older than I am. The age gap scared me little, but I was already too infatuated with him to really give a shit.
After three months, I found out he is the Vice President of his father’s Fortune 500 Company, Pratt Industries. At the time, I had no idea what Pratt Industries was, so I Googled it and found out it’s a very successful real estate business. I knew Spike was always dressed in expensive suits and clothing, but I had no idea what kind of money he had.
After six months, I found out that he is married.
Spike arrives at my apartment forty-five minutes late. I’m used to waiting around for him, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I’m sitting on my new overstuffed couch -a couch Spike bought me- eating popcorn and watching television when he walks through the door. I hate it when Spike gives me expensive “presents.” I’m not with him for his money. He has offered too many times to buy me a bigger apartment, and I always turn him down, angry at the extravagant offer. The couch he had delivered one day while I was at school. When I called him up, furious because I liked my old, worn-out couch, he just laughed and told me if he was going to have to sit on my couch it was going to be a nice one.
Spike puts his keys on the counter that separates the small kitchen from the smaller living room and joins me on the couch. He tries to kiss me, but I shrug him off.
“You’re late,” I tell him in a calm voice, like I’m tired of his shit.
“Sorry, baby.” It’s always ‘baby’ when he wants sex. He kisses my neck. “You know how things come up.”
“And you know I hate waiting for you.”
“Touché,” he responds with a chuckle. “I came over as soon as I could. Don’t be mad at me.” He takes my hand, kissing each knuckle, and I can feel my anger slipping away. Damn his sinister attraction. “Let me take you somewhere nice for dinner.”
I show him my bowl of half eaten popcorn. “I already ate.”
Spike scoffs. “That’s hardly a proper meal. C’mon let’s go get you something decent.”
“I like popcorn,” I tell him, even though forty-five minutes ago I would’ve loved to have dressed up and gone to a fancy restaurant. “I’m tired from working all day.”
“You work too much.” He’s one to talk; he works more than anyone I’ve ever known.
“You know I need the money,” I tell him quietly, because he does know, and I really don’t want this to turn into another argument.
“If you’d just let me pay for school or an apartment, you wouldn’t have to work at that bloody store so much.”
“Can we not have this conversation again?”
“Fine. There are other things I’d much rather be doing, anyway,” he tells me with a leer.
I smile, because it’s been a few days since we’ve been together, and I’m just as aroused as he is. Just his proximity is enough to turn me on. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Spike takes the bowl of popcorn from my hands and places it on the coffee table. He brings me into his embrace, and I’m practically putty in his hands when he starts kissing and nuzzling my neck. All thoughts of his lateness fly out of my mind when he touches me. He pulls me on top of him so I’m straddling his thighs. Bringing his lips back to mine, I kiss him hungrily. It’s crazy how much I miss him when we’re apart.
I can feel how hard he is underneath his pants. I grind down onto his erection, and he moans into my mouth. I love kissing him. I could kiss him for hours and never get tired of it. His hands travel up and down my back, cupping my ass and rocking my hips to increase the friction. We break away from each other, panting for air.
“God, the things you do to me,” he says breathily, as his hands move to unbutton the blouse I’d worn to work that day. He places kisses on the tops of my breasts, and I arch into his mouth begging him silently for more. I’m wearing a front-clasp bra today, so it doesn’t take long before my breasts spring free from the lacy confines of my bra.
“Ohh,” I moan as his mouth captures a nipple. He sucks on it and teases it with his teeth as his hand explores my other breast. As he’s doing that, I’m working on getting his clothes off. Even though he looks amazing in his suits, there are too many layers between his naked chest and me. After pushing off his jacket, I make quick work undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. I throw them to the floor beside the couch, not caring where they land. I run my hands seductively over his hard chest. My fingers pause at his nipples before continuing down to the top of his pants. In seconds, I have his erection free and in my hands.
Spike groans, leaning his head back against the couch as I stroke him. I lean forward, trailing kisses from the column of his throat up to his lips. Never breaking the kiss, his hands cup my ass, and I’m lifted off the couch into his arms. I make a small sound into his mouth in surprise as he carries me into my bedroom. He deposits me on my bed, taking his pants off as I watch. In the beginning, I found it weird that he always goes commando, but now I think it’s quite convenient.
Once his shoes and pants are discarded, he is over me, unbuttoning the black dress pants I wear to work. Along with my matching lace panties, they too are discarded next to his pants on the floor, leaving me bare to his hungry gaze. My legs are hanging over the side of the bed, and Spike kneels on the floor between them. He teases my pussy with his lips until I can’t take it anymore, and I’m begging him for more.
“Please, Spike…more…”
I can feel him smile at my request as he plunges his tongue deep inside. My hands reach out to fist in his hair, forcing him deeper, if that’s even possible. His fingers get in on the action, first inserting one then two inside me as his tongue moves up to my clit. My hips buck into his face as his teeth brush against the sensitive nub. I’m so close to orgasm. My toes curl, and my fingers clench his hair even tighter.
“Yes! Spike…I’m almost there…don’t stop…don’t stop!”
A few more pumps of his fingers and I’m coming. Hard. He licks me one last time before crawling onto the bed next to me. I push him up against the headboard and straddle him, impaling myself on his cock. Spike loves when I’m on top and so do I. I love the feeling of power it gives me as I watch him come undone. I like to think if he does have sex with his wife, and I’d like to think he doesn’t, that she’s boring, old, and doesn’t do the things I do with him.
I lift myself up and down, torturing him with the slow pace. His hands are on my breasts, kneading them just as slowly. When he can’t take it anymore, his hands move to my hips, increasing the speed. I grind my pelvis against his on every down stroke, earning little grunts and groans from him.
In a flash, he switches positions, and I’m lying flat on my back. Spike’s above me, kneeling on the mattress with my legs against his chest. He’s pumping into me so fast and hard that I’m coming instantly. His hand snakes in between our bodies, rubbing my clit as he continues thrusting. I can tell he’s close when he closes his eyes and tenses his jaw.
“Oh, God!” I cry, as he sends me into another blinding orgasm. He yells my name as he comes, thrusting a few more times before releasing my legs and collapsing on top of me. He’s breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. He places a sweet kiss on my lips before he rolls off of me and lies on his back next to me.
Spike reaches for me, bringing me into his embrace. I lay my head on his chest that’s still moving up and down as he tries to pull oxygen into his lungs. I look at the clock on my nightstand; the red numbers telling me it’s only ten. I don’t even consider asking him to spend the night anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that just this one time he’d stay.
“Can we do something on Saturday?” I ask quietly, my voice still sounding loud compared to the silence in my apartment. Saturday is the two-year anniversary of our first date. I don’t expect him to remember, but it would be nice if we could do something special.
“Can’t, kitten,” he tells me apologetically, kissing the top of my head.
I don’t look up at him. I don’t want him to see the disappointment in my eyes. “Ok. No big deal.”
“Sorry, love. I’ve got some stupid party to attend that night. I don’t know how late it will go, though. Maybe, I can come over after.”
I disentangle myself from his embrace, reaching for the robe hanging on the post of my bed. I keep my eyes trained on tying the sash. “Sure. Whatever.” I don’t make it two steps before he’s pulling me back onto the bed.
“Don’t be mad, baby,” he says, kissing the back of my neck. “This isn’t something I can get out of.”
“I know. I’m not mad,” I assure him. And I’m not. Maybe, disappointed, but not mad. I can walk away from him if I don’t like it. As he pulls me back into bed, I know I won’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
On Saturday I have the early shift. Working at Bloomingdales in the make-up department is not my idea of a dream job, but it pays the bills. And this morning, we are booked solid with clients. It’s still early, so it’s just me and Cordelia Chase working the counter. Harmony Kendall is scheduled to come in around noon to relieve us for lunch breaks. It still surprises me how close I’ve become to both of them. They aren’t exactly girls I would’ve been friends with in high school, or even college. But I wasn’t in Sunnydale anymore, and I can use all the friends I can get.
Cordy is busy chatting away with her client, when I hear the woman say Spike’s name. My head snaps up from the client I’m working on to look at this woman. She looks rich, around fifty and oh my God is she Spike’s wife?
“That sounds like fun,” Cordy is saying in a tone that only I know means she couldn’t care less, but to the client it sounds like she’s really interested. “Where is it?”
I can’t hear what the woman is saying because my client is asking me questions. Annoyed, I focus on my client, knowing I can get the details from Cordy later. It takes all my strength and patience to get through the next half hour. As it is, I can’t stop looking over at the woman in Cordy’s chair. The thought that she could be Spike’s wife is making me sick to my stomach.
Finally, both women leave, tipping us both generously. Trying to be cool and collected, I approach Cordy as she’s cleaning up and getting ready for her next client.
“What was that woman’s name?”
Cordy looks up at me, surprised. “Um, it was Elizabeth. Elizabeth something, I can’t remember. Why, do you know her?”
I’m so relieved, but try not to let it show. Cordy is a very perceptive person, and she’s also the last person I would want to find out about me and Spike. “She looked familiar, but I guess she wasn’t who I thought she was.” I wait a few seconds before continuing. “What was she talking to you about?”
“She’s going to some big shindig tonight at the Waldorf. They’re honoring some real estate tycoon for doing something.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
I retreat back to my station, upset and annoyed. Spike was being honored for something, and he hadn’t even told me? What kind of bullshit is that? Two years, and he still can’t share things with me.
That’s when I get an idea -a really stupid idea. An idea that will no doubt get me into trouble.