Today was a helluva day. Actually, the fiery pits of Satan’s homestead would be far better than the last sixteen hours of my life. It all began at six this morning. I received a not so pleasant breakfast in bed. Did I mention that it was my feisty feline, Mr. Gordo providing the breakfast? He’d served me a partially chomped, dead mouse on my pillow, mere inches from my nose. Needless to say, I was far from thrilled.

Once my screams and dry heaves ended, I dumped my pillow and the tiny corpse into the garbage. With only one option, and since I was a co-conspirator in covering up Mr. Gordo’s murder, I raced to the trash chute with the evidence in hand. When I left my apartment, I was wearing an old battered tank top, sans bra and a pair of an ex’s boxers— perfect sleepwear, or so I thought. Until I heard the sound of my pervy neighbor, Mr. Harris’ door, opening and his blatant murmurs of approval confirming of how perfect my sleepwear was…not.

Nasty, creepy Mr. Harris and his ex-wife were, for lack of a better term, acquaintances of mine. Nearly every Friday night for a year, without an invitation, she would bang on my door wanting to discuss her troubled, shitty life. With mascara-smudged cheeks, a cigarette dangling from her crimson smeared lips and a fifth in hand, it was hard to turn her away. She would go on and on for hours about her bastard of a husband, and the like.

Eventually, and gratefully, she left his ass. I haven’t seen nor heard from her since. That’s what happens. People’s lives just go in different directions, and how I wished at this moment Mr. Harris’ life direction would take his revolting ass back into his dingy apartment. Instead, he remained in the hallway leering and humming his continued approval.

Finally discarding the evidence, I passed him heading back to the shelter of my apartment. Mimicking a contortionist, I twisted my body in an attempt to keep his eyes from lingering on one area too long. It seemed there would be no respite from my torture. The door was locked. I repeatedly jiggled the doorknob, knowing full well the outcome would be the same. Regardless of my silent begging and pleading, it wouldn’t budge. I swore I could hear Mr. Gordo on the other side of the door laughing his furry little ass off. Bastard. With a deep breath, eyes front, and my arms crossed over my chest. I passed Mr. Harris once more. Trying to avoid the morning runners and the other residents who weren’t locked out, I took the back stairwell to the Super’s first-floor apartment.

Cursing myself for the hundredth time for my stupidity, I stood outside Mr. Abraham’s door, or as he suggested countless times before I should call him, Parker. In the three years I’ve lived here, Parker’s asked me on numerous dates, despite the fact he has a wife and children.

First, it was coffee that I politely declined. Next, it was dinner, another polite no. After these constant turn downs, I swear he learned my schedule just to have an opportunity to talk to me. It never failed. He would just be there, all the time: when I left and returned from work, a date, or the gym. Then there were the unfortunate times when I had to seek him out. Regardless of his disappointment, it was solely for his professional, not personal capabilities. He would then constantly joke about owing him a date, like when he fixed my garbage disposal or replaced the broken lock on my bathroom door.

The latest date worthy action was when he personally supervised the exterminators as they laid the cruelty-free traps for mice that I reported living in the basement. What a big fucking joke. I really wished that I hadn’t thrown out Mr. Gordo’s morning snack. I would have loved to see Parker’s face when I handed him its furry remains.

I stood in front of the door for several moments, tugging on my form-fitting tank and mentally preparing for what lay behind door number one. Gratefully, when I knocked, Parker’s wife answered. Her growing belly shadowed the three kids that clung to her legs. I’ve always felt a pang of regret when I saw them. They never knew what a rat Parker was. In the past, I’ve had a few substance induced dreams where Mr. Gordo would use his mad hunting skills of catching and killing wayward rodents, and take care of Parker the rat. His wife and kids would be better off for it.

With embarrassment staining my cheeks, from my momentary flash of past dreams and the fact that I was standing outside her apartment in my sleepwear, I explained my dilemma. She took pity on me, and within ten minutes I was back in my own apartment, with Mr. Gordo nowhere in sight. Bastard. My little fun-filled excursion burned an hour of my getting-ready-for-work time. I was due to work by eight, and my company was a half an hour away on foot, an hour by taxi, damn morning rush hour.

Stripping as I ran to the shower I hopped under the freezing cold spray, filling my apartment with another scream in less than 24 hours. Finally, the water heated to a tolerable level as I simultaneously shaved, shampooed and conditioned. All was going well, until an ungodly loud sound came from inside the walls. It was a noise that someone who had legs covered with shaving cream and a head full of conditioner dreaded. Then it happened. The once steady stream of water sputtered then abruptly stopped.

The third and fourth screams in less than 24 hours echoed off the tiled walls. In addition to my screams, every curse known by all red-blooded males, the same ones that a true lady doesn’t say, never mind think, came spilling from my mouth. Despite my best impersonation of a truck driver and I resorting to eventually begging and pleading, the water never reappeared. Running naked and sudsy through my apartment, I entered the kitchen hoping I had enough bottled water to rise out of my hair, no such luck. Defeated, I headed back into the bathroom. Eying the creaminess of my hair, I had to do the unthinkable. Thank god that the water in the tank of the toilet doesn’t receive the same action as in the bowl.

Running down the busy streets, I managed to get to work only six minutes late, not bad considering my morning. Before I could even sit down, I received a call from my boss’ secretary informing me that he needed to see me immediately. Running my fingers through my freshly washed toilet hair, I headed to his office.

On the way, one of the interns heading full speed toward the same boss’ office with a cup of steaming java in hand collided with me and christened my hundred-dollar crème silk blouse. That was my fifth scream in less than 24 hours, if you're keeping count. She apologized profusely, while tears streamed down her reddened face. Despite how my breasts stung and felt like that one time where I had fallen asleep topless at Orient beach, in St. Martin’s, I smiled and told her everything was fine. What a crock of shit. Well, at least one of us believed me.

Composing myself, I headed into Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody’s office or otherwise known as Angel O’Connor. He is such a pompous, self-righteous bastard, but anyone would say that about their ex. Yeah, I’m a cliché. I’ve slept with my boss. No, it didn’t happen that way. I wasn’t trying to sleep my way to the top. This was simply a case of two people being around one another all the time and things just happened. Believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when he’s hung like a hamster and his stamina is nil. All I can say is that after several times of less than stellar performances, we parted on amicable terms and are able to work side by side without any hang-ups. Well, at least on my part, for him this is an entirely different story, hence the broody-ness.

When I entered his office, I barely received a glance while his eyes remained fixed on his computer screen. By the furrow that etched his caveman brow, he appeared to be listening intently the other person who was chatting loudly on the other end of his earpiece. After a few minutes, he gave a placated response that contradicted the scowl he wore.

“Yes, I understand. I will be sending out my best employee to handle this matter personally. She will be there by tomorrow’s nine am meeting.—No, thank you. Good day.”

I knew the way he looked at me, I knew that I was this employee that he was talking about. Bastard. Before I could even ask, he took charge of the conversation. If he was half as good at taking charge in the bedroom as he was with conversations, I would still be sleeping with him. Shoulda, woulda, coulda…oh well, more fishes in the sea or anchovies in his case, shit, what did he say? I was too busy using witty, crass analogies about his small dick; I completely missed what he said.

"Excuse me?”

“I said, that the million dollar deal that we have been working on for the last six months is about to go belly-up! It’s that stupid Englishman that’s running the show over at Wolfram and Hart’s London office! He just decided that certain stipulations he agreed upon this past Friday. He doesn’t agree with now. Since the whole deal is running into the ground, he’s only willing to meet with someone personally to continue negotiations.”

“Sorry to ask, boss, but then why aren’t you going?”

“He’s refused to meet with me,” he said, running the words together making sound like one long garbled one.

“What?”

“He’s refused to meet with me. I don’t know why. Don’t really care. All I know is that you’re the only one I trust to handle this shit. Cordelia packed you a bag while we were meeting, so you don’t need to go back to your apartment. Your plane leaves LAX at noon.”

Before I could scream, for the sixth time today, his broody-ness kicked me out of his office. Un-fucking believable! That fucking ass hole must have given Cordelia my emergencies only key. Then he had her go to my apartment, rummage through my stuff and pack my bag for a surprise flight to London. A trip that’s sole purpose is for me to kiss the ass of a finicky big wig, because Angel fucked up royally in three days, which two of them being the weekend. What really chaps my ass is Cordelia probably saw the final scene of my shit storm of a morning, my running from my apartment one shoe on, one off, a piece of toast hanging from my mouth and my haphazardly buttoned, now ruined, blouse.

On the way out of Angel’s office, Cordelia handed me the needed files and a small carry-on. With the fucking smirk plastered on her face, I could tell when she packed for me, utter hate fueled her selections. She most likely picked out an outfit that didn’t match, or had more likely filled my bag with enough office supplies to mimic the weight of a packed bag. Then, when I arrive in jolly old England, I would open it only to find staplers and stacks of writing pads. Bitch.

See, Cordelia and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye for well, ever, but it got worse when she accidentally overheard a very private conversation between Angel and me, our break up. Since the moment she started working here, Cordelia wanted to be the Queen C in Angel’s empire, and despite all her attempts Angel chose me, which really burned her ass. It is even worse now especially since our break-up. Angel still shows no interest in her. What can I say the man has standards and taste.

When I finally made it downstairs, gratefully a taxi was waiting. After flashing me a gold-tooth smile, the sleazy driver pulled out into the line of traffic, and that’s where we stayed for the next hour. By the time we made it to LAX, I felt like I was going to vomit from the mixture of sweat, cheap cologne, and smog that polluted the taxi. When he pulled to the curb, he totaled the fare. Damn Cordelia! Of course she wouldn’t use the company’s expense account to spring for the ride. Fishing through my purse, I finally scrounged together enough money to cover the fare and even a six dollar and thirty-two cent tip. What? That’s all I had. Well, that and there was a fuzzy lollipop that I found at the bottom of my bag, which I offered him. He didn’t want it, oh well, his loss.

Entering the airport, I headed toward the check-in counter. After forty-minutes of weaving in and out of the designated ropes, it was finally my turn. Despite how Stepford Wife-ish the woman behind the desk appeared, with her fixed robotic smile on her bright cotton candy, pink lips and her falsetto voice, she was strangely quite pleasant. I quickly gave her my information as she entered it all into the computer, all the while that creepy plastic smile remained.

Did I tell you today had been a helluva day? I thought I did, but just to be thorough, I’ll say it again. Today was a helluva day. This was even before my current predicament was happening. Now the fact was indisputable. Cordelia had booked me on flight to London's Heathrow Airport, with a layover in Newark, New Jersey— the armpit of America.

Of course, the flight had to be booked solid. Despite the batting of my eyelashes and accentuating of my barely-there cleavage there was no other seat for me to relocate to. Even after I gave the steward a sob story, he told me that all seats were occupied. Thinking back, I shouldn’t have even wasted my time with fluttering eyelashes and flashing boobage since the steward only eyed the male passengers.

So here I sat, squished in the middle of two men: two very large, very sweaty, very nasty men. Both seemed to have skipped one critical activity on their daily agenda, tending to personal hygiene. You know things like bathing, using deodorant, and toothpaste— lucky me. The next three plus-hour flight I was grateful I only needed to breathe every forty-eight seconds. Believe me. I tried for longer, but no dice.

Then things went from bad to worse, when the stewardess served lunch. Now, I’ve seen feeding time at the zoo but this was worse, so much worse. Hell, I’ve even been nose to non-twitching nose with Mr. Gordo’s entrée, yet nothing prepared me for this. I was afraid, very afraid to place any body parts in their line of dine, fearing some appendage would go missing. So I remained still, very still, as Tweedle Scum and Tweedle Scummier devoured their meal. Following several grunts and growls later, the stewardess removed our lunches. I didn’t touch a bite. My appetite was on hiatus due to this enlightening Wild Kingdom experience.

After another hour of “‘how long can I hold my breath’”, the Captain announced that we would be descending into Liberty International. Hooray, a whole hour to breathe non-polluted air! This was the first break I would get from Mister Toad’s wild ride since breakfast in bed this morning. Then it happened. I had to have been really bad in a previous life or my karma really wanted to bite my ass, or that Murphy’s Law was simply making an example of me. Whichever it was, this day was going to begin and end in the same manner, fucking bad.

The Captain announced that we needed to circle before descent due to a flock of wild geese on the tarmac and more specifically, one goose that had been sucked up into the engine of a taxiing plane. Well, at least my day wasn’t that bad. I need to think of Mr. Slice and Dice bird when I decide next time to bitch about my day.

Yeah, I lied. Don’t give a fuck about how bad Mr. Goose’s day was mine I believe is still worse. It started approximately ten minutes after I tried to think positively. That’s when Tweedle Scum had a case of indigestion that bubbled forth from him in a series of noxious fumes. I would scream, for the sixth time today (remember I couldn’t get the scream out from Angel snuffing me like he did) yet I did not want any of that vile air that surrounded me to get into my mouth. Oh gross…too late, now I can taste what he had for lunch.

Finally, the Captain announced that we would be landing in ten minutes. That would give us, yup, twenty minutes in the airport. Nineteen of those minutes I would be spending walking to the next gate. Hey, at least I’ll be free from this toxic, gassy prison. The moment that the seatbelt lights turned off, I was climbing over the mountain of stink next to me. Nearly plowing over an old woman and a guy in a cast, I headed for the exit. I didn’t even stop when the stewardess welcomed me to Newark and her cheery, yet false wishes for me to “have a nice day.” Yeah, it’s too fucking late for that.

Dragging my carry on behind me, I headed toward the gate. Passing the bathroom, I glanced down at my still coffee stained blouse and hoped that Cordelia didn’t hate me that much as I headed into a stall. With a silent prayer, I zipped open my luggage. Color me surprised. Cordelia had packed me my favorite jade silk blouse, a black pencil skirt with matching belted jacket. She even put in a hairbrush, toothbrush, and deodorant. All the other toiletries such as shampoo and the like, I can get from the complimentary basket at the hotel. Not bad, not bad at all.

Then I saw them, several pairs of my granny panties, the ones that are only worn on those special times of the month. Well, this is Cordelia and she needed to get her digs in there somewhere. Gratefully, she didn’t find my battery-operated friend, Mr. Pointy. Now that would be difficult to explain when my carry-on went through the x-ray machine at the gate. Saving the skirt for tomorrow’s meeting, I slid off one blouse and donned the other. For the first time since this horrific day started, I felt somewhat normal. Running my hands through my toilet clean hair, I headed off to the gate.

Now, the way my day had been going, I was totally grateful we were no longer in California. Due to the natural progression of things, I figured the next incident to happen was the ground opening up and swallowing me whole. Fortunately actually, though unfortunately for my clean blouse and still slightly scalded breasts, this wasn’t the case. Within three steps of the bathroom, another steaming cup of coffee christened me. Well, to be more precise, a caramel macchiato. I know this, because that’s what the stupid bitch who spilled it on me shrieked.

After cursing my day so far once again, I took my caramelized breasts and headed toward my destination, my home for the next seven-plus hours—a gigantic metal tube. Where there was no escaping from breathing in stale processed air, sitting near strangers, and eating plastic food off of plastic trays…hoo-ray. Well, on the plus side, if there was one, the Scum twins were no longer my traveling buddies. That was the only upside. I now had two new companions for the rest of my flight to London, Mr. and Mrs. Bickerson.

From the moment I approached our row, the teary-eyed wife asked if I minded if we swapped seats. After a few moments of looking at her big, pleading eyes, I was guilt-tripped into doing so and ultimately became a human wall between her and the obviously pissed off husband. Two hours into the flight, my mere presence didn’t stop the “looks that could kill” and the nasty barbs traded back and forth. Gratefully, my constant humming of random songs, blocked out most of their interactions.

Dinner was pretty uneventful, except instead of the Bickersons attacking each other; they were now verbally attacking the stewardess. Throughout the meal their complaints never ended. I tried to ignore them and their comments and even offered the stewardess a half-hearted smile, accompanied with an eye roll for her benefit, which she responded with a forced smile of her own.

No matter how shitty this day or any other had been, I vowed right then and there that I would never be as jaded as my two bitchy bookends. In life, you have to take the good with the bad and move on. Even though at that moment those words sounded like utter bullshit or some blurb stuck inside a fortune cookie, I really had to believe them if I was going to get through the day mentally unscathed.

Then the silver lining on this persistent dark cloud that was my life, announced itself. It was the wonderful clinking sound of small bottles striking each other while the stewardess pushed a cart holding alcohol down the aisle. Now, I’m not a religious person, but I could have sworn I saw a heavenly light shine directly on the cart, while an angels’ choir sang loudly, heralding its arrival. I was ready to shout “Hallelujah” and thank any and all denominations that existed for this gift.

That was until she just passed me by…three times! What the fuck! No matter how fast I nodded my head, said “Excuse me.”, or flat out yelled “Hey, over here, a woman needing much alcohol.” She just kept passing me by. Bitch. But I really shouldn’t be surprised. Actually, I should be slightly grateful she didn’t listen to me, if she did, I’d probably keel over from complete and utter shock that actually something went right today.

Well, at least I accomplished something positive. I was finally able to leave my position as a flesh blockade and return to my original seat. It appeared Mr. Bickerson viewed me as a woman of questionable morals due to me begging for alcohol. In turn, he asked if I minded trading seats with his wife once more. Normally, with anyone else doing this, I would’ve been insulted. However, for him to insult me would mean I actually cared, which I so didn’t. Hey, the way my day had been, I’ll take my small pleasures where I can get them.

After begging unsuccessfully for almost an hour, I finally realized that we peasants in coach weren’t worth a second glance. Since the busty blonde stewardess refused to acknowledge my presence as she kept passing me by, repeatedly heading toward and disappearing behind the first class seating curtain. With a huff of frustration, I decided if I couldn’t drink, I would do the next best thing. Wait, I lied. Sex— sex is the first, second, and third best thing, with drinking being fourth, and sleep coming in dead last on my list of best things. Since the first four options were not available, sleep was my only choice.

I turned from the now loving couple beside me and made an uncomfortable, makeshift pillow using my bent arm. Gratefully, a few minutes later sleep started to pull me under. Well, that was until another part of me had a say -- my bladder. I tried to ignore the heavy, full feeling pulling on my lower abdomen, but to no avail. Of course, the only break I had been given today was short-lived.

Grumbling, I stood and headed toward the ungodly tiny room designated for the relief I sought. Once I arrived, I noticed the small red window taunting me…”Ocupado.” I stepped back, well as far as the area allowed, and waited. I waited so long that the “pee-pee dance” was no longer an option, and I had to keep my legs crossed and hoped I didn’t sneeze. Then the door finally opened, revealing the previous occupant… No way!

No fucking way was I going to enter that bathroom after one of the Scum twins exited. I’ve unfortunately smelled what was brewing inside him earlier, and I knew the room would have at the very least needed a Hazmat team to clear the area before anyone could enter safely. Instantly, I decided the first class bathroom was my new destination. Getting there would be a difficult task since coach chattel passing the curtain and entering into this forbidden zone was a big no-no. Nonetheless, I was up to the challenge of this daring and daunting task I had laid out for myself. I had nothing to lose.

As I passed my seat heading toward my new destination, I became tempted to reenact all those well-known scenes from the movies. You know what I’m talking about, when someone gives their final goodbye speech and then takes that walk of martyrdom into the sunset. Hey, I was owed this big time, but when I looked at the Bickersons and saw how they were both too busy playing their part as a nauseating loving couple, I decided my speech would have fallen on deaf ears. So I slipped away quietly, hoping that at least this one thing would go right.

With the combination of stealth and urgency, I walked toward the curtain. As I stared at the deep crimson barrier at the end of the aisle, I felt like I was Charlie’s Grandpa from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Grandpa belonged fully in the world of being an adult, where one viewed things through jaded and uninterested eyes and the magical qualities of life no longer existed. Then, on the other hand, you had his grandson, Charlie, with the eyes of a child, still seeing everything as new and exciting. So when Grandpa entered Mr. Wonka’s world, he had to leave all his adult thoughts behind and embrace his inner child. I was in that frame of mind now. It was strange that even something as simple as the first class area behind the curtain, filled me with an unexpected excitement. Even though my rational adult mind told me, “It’s just more seats, only bigger and more comfy ones, but seats all the same,” I still approached the curtain as if something new, something magical could be behind there. Or all these thoughts could have been a urine-induced craziness from a full bladder, but I decided to go with the saner route, it made me feel much better.

I placed my hand on the heavy fabric, pushing it aside just enough for me to slip past. Beyond me were four rows on each side of a carpeted aisle, with two plush seats in each row. Cautiously, I passed the closest row of seats, which were empty, both on the left and right. Then I spied what I was looking for -- the bathroom. I could have sworn I heard mini trumpets announcing my find.

My eyes remained fixed on my goal as I walked further into the first class area, but within a few more steps, my gaze shifted, and I noticed to my left a lowered tray table with an array of numerous nips littering the surface. Score! I had a sudden urge to reenact Grandpa’s dancing and singing, once he finally dragged his lazy ass out of bed, after Charlie showed him his golden ticket. Oh, for the record, before I go any further, can I say Grandpa’s ménage å quatre, eww. Anyway, like him, I wanted to do a jig and belt out a song, but with a full bladder and me not supposed to be there, I decided against it.

As I walked closer to my glorious find, I noticed something else, more specifically, somebody else. Sprawled lengthwise across a pair of plush seats was a man, no, not just a man, but a bleached hair, black and leathered clad bad boy who was…sleeping. He looked like a walking, well lying and snoozing, contradiction. His features were angelic, but the rest of him screamed pure sinner.

Sleeping beauty’s hair was a shocking shade of platinum, which was definitely not his natural color due to his eyebrows being much darker. He had long, full lashes brushing against his pale skin, a distinctly regal nose, and let’s not forget his insanely, almost feminine but totally not, chiseled cheekbones. Then he had these full, kissable lips holding an almost smug smile.

He was decked from head to toe in black. A snug tee showed off his nicely shaped upper body that was neither scrawny or too bulky. How did Goldilocks put it when she found baby bear’s stuff? Oh, yeah, “just right.” Then I noticed his strong, masculine hands that were interlaced and resting on his abdomen, his long fingers tipped with chipped black nail polish.

Then there were his skin-tight jeans. They looked painted on! How the hell he shimmied into them was anyone’s guess. But, I do have to say this, big thanks from little ol’ me for all his efforts in doing so! He filled out a pair of jeans like nobody’s business! Even though I was unable to view his concealed weapon in the flesh, believe me, I took a long, hard look at his package all wrapped up in tight denim, and let me tell you, Pavlov’s dog couldn’t match the saliva pooling in my mouth. Let’s not even talk about the wetness seeping through my satin thong.

Again, I’m not a religious person, but I was ready to get on my knees and…pray, so I could thank God for this unfortunately concealed but extremely blessed attribute I able to ogle and—

Huh? What? I spaced out? Sorry, I…what was I saying?

Right…I didn’t forget! I was just having a private moment there. Anyway, let’s not forget the best part— ok, the second best part -- the leather. The man had on a leather trench to complete his bad boy outfit, and you know how I feel about a man in a leather coat. Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more.

I’m truly convinced the devil himself had created this man and unleashed him on the female population to create a big ol’ conga line to hell. The devil is a tricky bastard, but you have to give him kudos; he definitely knows how to market his product.

Regardless of all this man’s yumminess, he did share one thing with the rest of the male population— he was completely clueless. Despite me standing there gawking at him with immense appreciation, he continued to sleep. But I do have to say this, he looked so good doing it.

He reminded me of a big, dangerous cat stretched out in the midday sun, right after feasting on his latest hunt. Boy, what I wouldn’t do to be the object he tracked, captured, and devoured. Unfortunately, I didn’t trespass into I-have-more-money-than-you land to leer at this guy, regardless of how it couldn’t be avoided. You had to be blind not to see the utter perfection that was he. *Sigh*

Then I decided, well more so my bladder did, to move on and do what I’d originally came there to do. But first, those little bottles of liquid happiness called my name. Since I couldn’t partake in my first, second, or third favorite thing, I could at least have my fourth. I eyed Mr. Sexy once more, before I slowly reached forward to borrow a few nips.

It almost seemed inhuman how fast he moved. One of his strong hands moved lightning quick and wrapped around my wrist, his long slender fingers overlapping his thumb within his grip. Oh, oh, busted! I froze instantly, only my huge bugged eyes moved from the bottles to him. His eyes were stormy, and his jaw was clenched tight as he spoke. Clearly, he was pissed off.

“Do be specific and tell a fellow just exactly what you're doing.”

Initially, despite how pissed off he was, all I could focus on was his captivating blue eyes and his amazingly sexy voice. It was as smooth as silk and possessed a deep timbre with a bonus panty-soaking English accent. After a few moments of me staring at him stupidly, I finally found my voice.

“I…um…I thought since you…well, since you were sleeping—“

“That you’d ‘ave a go at my radiator hooch?”

“Huh? No, I wasn’t trying to touch that, I was only going to take…I mean borrow, yeah borrow, some alcohol. See, the ditzy blond stewardess wouldn’t give me my own, no matter how much I tried to get her attention. After about an hour, I decided to stop trying. Then I was going to go asleep, but I couldn’t since I had to use the little girls’ room. I was going to use the one back in coach, but this nasty assed guy was in there before me, and I just couldn’t go in after him, so I decided to come to first class and use this bathroom. That’s when I noticed the extra booze you weren’t drinking, and since you were sleeping… You were sleeping weren’t you? Anyway, I thought you wouldn’t mind…and I was going to leave you some money for what I took and—“

While I rambled on and on like I normally do when I’m nervous, I could see his jaw relax and his eyes began to lighten. His blue eyes now resembled the sky on a crisp autumn day, and the anger originally there was now gratefully gone, replaced by what appeared to be humor.

Then he was laughing, a deep rumbling laugh that I felt running up my arm, traveling throughout my body, and settling at the apex of my thighs. I instantly became wet. In fact, I’m getting wet now just thinking about him. Sorry, I know, TMI—just deal with it. I’m glad he took over the conversation, because I was completely running out of things to say, which unfortunately, as you know, doesn’t stop me from continuing to babble.

“Radiator hooch is a piss poor excuse for alcohol, pet. What did you think I was referring to?”

“Um, never mind what I thought. I’m sorry I tried to, well let’s be honest, steal your whatever you called it. I normally don’t do things like that. Its just today’s been a different kind of day and not in a good way. I should’ve known I was gonna get busted.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly stealthy in the way of tryin’ to nick my alcohol. So, tell me, what’s the name of my little Oliver Twist?”

He practically purred when he said my. Normally, any guy trying to be all possessive, Cro-Magnon man over me, I tell him to get stuffed and leave or tell him to leave, whatever the case may be. Yet, this man made me weak in the knees, had my heart beating wildly within my chest and yup, even wetter. He still had a firm, yet at the same time gentle, grasp on my wrist, and I had no desire for him to let go. Sounding like a pubescent girl talking to a cute boy for the first time, I finally answered him, stuttering like a fool.

“B…B…Buffy?”

“Are you askin’ or tellin’ me your name? The way you tripped over your own tongue, I wager you made that piss-poor name up. That’s fine. I don’t wanna keep your precious self detained a minute longer. Now, push off and go take care of your business so you can leave me be.”

Following his sarcastic and stinging remark, he let go of my wrist as if the skin there burned him. For the first time since he woke, the mini-trance I was under ended. I went from horny to pissed off in two seconds flat. How dare he?

“You…are…such…an…ass! I wasn’t giving you a made up name, but now that I’ve seen this charming side of you, I wish I had! I can’t even believe my day. This is a nightmare, all of it! It has to be! There is no way one person could have this much shit happened to them in one day. Thanks for the chat, asshole.”

I turned around and tried to storm away, but he wouldn’t let me. In a whirl of motion, he was standing before me as an ever-present wall of black. I tried to dodge around him, but he shifted and now completely blocked my way. Since I wasn’t going to climb over the seats, he had me trapped. Briefly holding up his hands in mock surrender, he spoke,

“Whoa, kitten has claws.”

“Yeah, I do and if you don’t get your bleached ass out of my way, I’ll have to use them.”

“Don’t mind if you do. I like it rough.”

There he went again, purring his words causing my inner slut to jump up and down wanting to have a go at this salty goodness standing before me. Tamping her down, I started to relax a little from the raw sexuality oozing off of him. That mingled with his dirty humor distracted and disarmed the bitchy side of me. I guess it worked a little too well, since my next words were real doozies.

“So, since you seem to be getting me all worked up, and I will probably be screaming your name any minute now, what should I be screaming?”

Damn it! I thought I had placed my inner slut under lock and key, yet she pulled a Houdini and freed herself, whispering naughty thoughts to my brain and leaking them to my mouth. Even though I could feel my eyes bulging from their sockets in an almost cartoon-like manner, I hoped he hadn’t taken my words seriously. Then I knew by the way his pupils grew instantly, the black hungrily eating away at the blue and the smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, no doubt you’ll be screamin’ my name, luv. That I can guarantee. Name’s Spike, but I will also answer to ‘Oh my God’.”

I really should have been pissed with him being so smug, but seeing the outline of his Spike hiding in his snug denims, I could tell he wasn’t just talking shit, and he definitely had the equipment to back up his boasting. So, I let it slide. Boy, I really wanted to let it slide, right between my…fine, fine sorry! You usually like all the smutty details. When the hell did you turn into a nun? Anyway, I bet an ex-girlfriend or another lucky chick that got to ride this black-clad stud gave him his fitting name. Then, the smooth operator I am, I started stuttering again.

“I totally didn’t mean…I mean...I’ve been screaming all day…oh, no, not like that…it’s just…never mind…I, all I wanted to know was…well, not about you inthatway…just your name…not…ok, before I continue to embarrass myself any further, I should exit, stage left.”

“No need to drop a clanger, luv. ‘M flattered, yeah?”

“Huh, drop a clunker? Is that British for someone who is about as subtle as a freight train?”

“No, and it’s drop a clanger, and it means you’re embarrassed ‘bout what you said.”

“Oh, ok, yeah, I’m completely embarrassed for coming across like some big vapid ho. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind, but I’m usually not so…um…forward.”

“Again, luv, not complain’ ‘ere. I rather fancy a beautiful woman who voices what she needs. What she desires.”

As he continued to speak his voice dropped several octaves and, if possible, became even more seductive and incredibly sexy. Each word caressed me like a courteous lover, sending tendrils of pleasure gliding across my body.

For endless moments, we just stared at one another. Completely transfixed, I couldn’t blink or move. Only the steady rise and fall of my chest and the pounding of my heart marked the time that passed.

I felt completely lost in his mesmerizing gaze. Do you remember during Disney’s Jungle Book when Kaa the snake had Mowgli all wrapped up and was trying to hypnotize him? It was like that, well, without the freaky psychedelic swirling eyes. Then my bladder, the Baloo of this analogy, started kicking up a fierce protest that I wasn’t doing what I originally set out to do. It took all my will to break away, but I finally did, and my voice came out in a mere whisper.

“Um…I…I really need...”

“What do you need, luv?”

Then he was standing before me, our chests a hairsbreadth from touching. I could feel the heat from his body burning me, the warm puffs of his breath tickling my face, and his intense gaze trying to pull me under once more. Every part of me wanted the endless ocean of his blue eyes to sweep me away. Well, all of me accept the muscles holding back the flood my bladder wanted to release.

“I need…I need to pee.”

Ha! Eat your heart out Kate Hudson! I don’t need ten days to lose a guy, just ten seconds. Stupid natural urges. I’ve definitely chased Mr. I’ve-gotta-get-me-some-of-that away, and I doubt he’ll even give me even a second glance when I come out of the bathroom. Well, unless he’s into that sort of thing, and if he is, all I can say is eww. I like kink, but a golden shower is not on my sexual things-to-do list.

It seemed to take a few moments for my words to sink into his mind. Once they did, his brow furrowed briefly, probably from sheer disgust. Then he totally surprised me, he laughed. Not a nervous grossed out laugh, but an actual this is pretty funny, never expected that, laugh. The deep chuckle spilling from him causing his chest to brush against mine, and I had to stifle a moan from this briefest touch. My nipples hardened instantly into two sharp peaks, and it took all my self-control not to grab him—my trip to the bathroom and full bladder be damned!

“Well, don’t let The Big Bad Wolf stop you from your journey, Little Red Riding Hood.”

In an instant, he now stood off to the side with his arm extended like a perfect gentleman. Well, a perfect gentleman that had me almost cumming in my pants. I gave him a small smile and whispered "thanks" before I headed to the bathroom.

Luckily, for the stewardess this bathroom was empty. If it wasn’t she would have without doubt had a nasty spillage to clean up. Quickly, I shut the door and with my thighs clenched together, I hurried to the toilet all the while hiking up my skirt. Just as my ass hit the cold metal, a stream of relief burst forth along with a long, grateful sigh. As I sat on my majestic throne, my mind wandered back to the stunning hunk of salty goodness I’d just met.

I’m surprised the sky marshals allowed Mr. Walking Sex on the plane. His mere presence should be illegal, illegal I tell you! Everything from his bad boy bleached hair, seemingly flawless physique, to those killer cheekbones and full lips with a taunting smirk, and then wrapping all of that up in leather? Complete and total yum.

What? Why didn’t I what? What kind of person do you think I am? Yeah, yeah I am, but I’m not a complete nympho. Couldn’t very well attack the man and tear his pants down, could I? Well, I could, but I can proudly say I showed restraint. Boy, I really hate my inner Jiminy Cricket sometimes.

Well, after I finished doing my business and washed my hands, I tried the best I could to fix myself up. I don’t know how Mr. Hotness found me the least bit attractive. I had a huge stain on my blouse, and my makeup lost its freshness about five hours ago. Let’s not even discuss my hair. If he knew how, or more specifically where I rinsed my hair out this morning, he would have called for the stewardess immediately to get this crazy-toilet-bathing chick the hell away from him.

With a final glance at the disaster that I was, I headed to the door. Pulling the door open, I was immediately face to face with a cotton-clad, muscular chest. My wide gaze traveled upwards, completely enjoying the route along the way, until it locked with his. Before I could say a word, his lips were on mine. His hungry kiss spoke volumes: it was gentle yet demanding, tentative yet confident, taking yet giving. All the while I could feel he was holding back, waiting for me to make the final decision—allowing him in.

Boy, I’ve been talking an awful lot, and I really need a drink, a nice stiff one. I’ll be right back and then I’ll finish—no, I’m not a tease. I'm thirsty and…fine, before I go, I’ll give you this little bit to ponder while I’m gone— Hell yes, of course I let him in!

” Blaaah!”

What? You thought I was joking about getting a drink? I don’t joke about consuming the beverage of the gods, especially if Angel’s paying the bill. Huh? What time is it in London? Why does that matter— fine, fine, it’s six a.m.!

Hey, I’m not a lush! It’s ten p.m. in LA, and since I’m still on that time, no harm no foul! Anyway, I’m only having just the one. Need I remind you the lack of liquid refreshment while I was on the plane, despite my constant begging for it? Well, that’s true. I was begging for that too, but not until a little later. Oh, you’re a riot—I need a stiff one to talk about a stiff one, very clever.

I’m not stalling. Here it is: I let him in—we did it— the end. What? Not twenty minutes ago you were being all Virgin Mary, not wanting details. All right, all right! Fine, you want details. First, can I say I’m so glad you’re back from the nunnery! You had me worried, who would I share my sordid time with Mr. Walking-Sex with, if not you?

Well, before we start with all the juicy details, you might want to get a drink of your own. By the time I’m through with my little, well big tale, you’ll need it!

Where was I…oh, how could I forget—the minute I looked up from the wall of cotton-clad muscle, his lips were devouring mine. All I could do was hold on, and give as good as I got. It took all my will not to claw at his clothes like an animal in heat while his god-like physique, the one I was ogling earlier, pressed tightly against mine. Somehow, we ended up inside the small room, the door closed, and I perched on the small metal countertop next to the sink.

Instinctually, I spread my legs, causing the constricting material of my skirt to bunch around my thighs. With our mouths still fused, he placed himself where I desperately needed him to be, only two layers of clothing away from my damp and burning cleft. The smallest contact from the coarse denim brushing against my satin covered sex caused me to moan, and I shifted my hips attempting to gain more friction.

Once oxygen started to become an issue, I reluctantly broke away from his lips, and he took that opportunity to place demanding kisses and small nips along my jaw, the shell of my ear, and my throat. His mouth was everywhere at once, and my mind was spinning with pure lust. Silently urging him to continue this highly stimulating, tactile assault, I tilted my head and rested it on the mirror, granting him further access to my sensitive flesh.

His talented mouth and tongue created random, tediously blissful patterns on my throat, descending toward the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. All the while, his hands, oh God his hands, made demanding sweeps across my skin, burning a path through my clothing. They never remained idle, and he seemed to be memorizing every curve of my body.


The onslaught of pleasure he created with his mere touch was intoxicating. My last thought before my brain containing all higher reasoning, shut down was— “if this is what he can do with our clothes on, can’t wait—“,then he released my throat. His demanding lips were on mine once more— feasting, devouring, and that was all she wrote. My mind blanked, and all I could do was feel. Feel the warm cavern of his mouth, his skillful tongue dueling with mine and his deft fingers releasing each button of my blouse from its fastening.

Half way through liberating me of my blouse, his patience seemed to end. Snatching his delicious mouth from mine, he fisted the parted silk and yanked, causing buttons to fly every which way, exposing my satin covered breasts to his hungry gaze.

The flying buttons broke me from my lust-riddled stupor momentarily. Before I could yell, “Hey, that’s my hundred-dollar silk blouse! What, you’re too good to work the buttons?” He attacked my heaving chest like a starving man. These thoughts and any other going beyond “More…more…more” went completely bye-bye.

While he teased one clothed mound with open-mouthed kisses, wetting the fabric with his attentions, he painstakingly palmed my other breast. In both instances, he purposely avoided my sensitive nipples that puckered almost painfully against their bindings, longing for his touch.

Without breaking contact, he switched the attention he gave each breast. The coolness of the room amplified the dampness left from his hot mouth on the fabric now clinging to my skin.

While he enthusiastically feasted on the twins, my fingers itched to work their way through his hair. At first, I didn’t know if he would have allowed me to, or, even if I could with the amount product he used.

Do you remember John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever during the dinner scene? I was afraid the minute I touched Spike’s hair, he would say, complete with the Brooklyn accent— ”Would ya just watch the hair. Ya know, I work on my hair a long time, and you touched it.”

What? Yes, I know I said he’s English. He still is. It's just that line wouldn’t work with his type of accent and…never mind…let’s move on.

Well, since I was already being so daring, you know having sex with a complete stranger at 40,000 feet, I decided to go for it. With tentativeness, I ran my fingers through it. To my surprise, his mouth instantly became more urgent on my flesh, and I swore I heard a sound coming from him that resembled purring.

When it came to his hair, looks were definitely deceiving. From the minute I first saw it, I thought, even though incredibly sexy—helmet hair— it had to be, the way it appeared harshly slicked back. My next thought, it must feel like straw from all the bleaching. So wrong, on both accounts! His hair was thick and soft, and while I ran my busy little fingers through it, I released curls that I knew, with how much time it must take to make them behave and lay straight, he didn’t want them showing. Too bad, his curls were untamable and so damn sexy—just like him!

Where was my other hand? No, even though I wanted to so desperately to capture the spike, my other hand unfortunately due to the laws of gravity not being on my side, continued clutching the edge of the shiny metal countertop, so during the throes of passion, I wouldn’t slide off. I can picture it now—“Oh…oh…yeah…oh…BANG!” Yeah, that would have been really sexy. You know that the “bang” was me landing on the floor, you got that, right? Good, let’s move on.

So, back to what he was doing. I needed more, and obviously so did he, because the next thing he did was—look ma, no hands! He released the front hook of my bra with his teeth! I know, it was hot!

Now, with the girls waving in the breeze, he didn’t waste anytime getting down to business. He suckled, teased, nibbled, and I enjoyed every sinful moment of it. The only bad thing was despite how nonchalantly I tried guiding him, with the firm hold I had in his hair, toward my aching nipples, he kept avoiding them! Pure evil…that’s what he was, and he totally knew it too. He’s lucky that he’s so damn hot, or I would have kicked his ass out and finished up by myself.

Then before my frustration got the better of me, and before I could tighten the grip I had on his hair to pull him away to give him a piece of my mind for teasing me, he latched his teeth onto one erect peak, while at the same time tweaked the other with his thumb and forefinger.

Instead of frustrating words spilling from my mouth, there were only groans of pleasure and a string of nonsensical words, fueling his enthusiasm and causing his mouth and hands to become more urgent.

My mind was awhirl from the incredible things he was doing to me. After endless moments of his feasting, without a warning, he stopped. The cool air danced across my damp flesh, causing me to shiver slightly. Too dazed, I just sat there for a few moments. Then, missing his touch and needing, no craving more, I lazily lifted my head from the mirror and attempted to focus on my tormentor.

He stood before me, the once blueness of his eyes almost completely gone, devoured by the inky pupils that radiated pure lust. My body burned and ached from his gaze. I needed him; unlike I’d needed anyone else before that moment.

It was at that instant, feeling his mesmerized gaze, consuming and savoring me completely when, out of nowhere, a poetic thought came to my mind— my nipples were small rose buds, and he was the sun. Under the heat of his stare they bloomed, rising as they sought the warmth of his hands and mouth, these were the only things that could bring them to life.

Yeah, I know, those were thoughts of a pitiful poet, but I couldn’t help it, that’s what came to my mind. Believe me. I don’t normally have those types of thoughts or any other thoughts beyond “Yeah, give me more!” and “Don’t stop!” during sex.

However, in that moment, from the way he looked at me, it felt so much more than that—more than just sex. We were more than ”The beast with two backs”. I felt beautiful, even with me sitting on an airplane’s bathroom countertop with my legs sprawled open, showcasing the most intimate part of me to a complete stranger. Despite all that, I felt worshiped. His words instantly broke me from my thoughts.

“Simply break taking you are. My little nymph.”

His deep, rumbling voice washed over me, and I shivered again—from the combination of his heated gaze, the lust radiating from him, and from that one small, possessive word still echoing in my ears—my.

It felt surreal when I heard a sultry, feminine voice saying, “Come here.”, since I didn’t remember speaking. Obviously, it was me, because the next thing I saw was his scarred brow rise in response to my brazen demand, his wickedly talented tongue curling and touching the front of his teeth, while his full kissable lips twisted into a sinful smirk.

For several moments, I contemplated between wanting to smack or kiss that smirk off his face. It didn’t take long for me to choose the less violent and more pleasurable way, especially since he looked completely delectable: his eyes filled with lust and his tongue wicked, sliding over his pearly whites. Hooking my index fingers into his belt loops, I tugged him toward me. In an instant, our bodies were touching from mouth to waist.

Without wasting another moment, our mouths fused once more. Our tongues dueled, yet neither of us gave nor took control, while my greedy hands traveled up his far too clothed chest, sliding under his coat, and continuing upwards toward his shoulders. Once I reached the top, I pushed the leather from his shoulders and with a soft swoosh, it pooled at his feet.

My hands continued to have a mind of their own, when they yanked his form fitting tee from the waist of his jeans and quickly wrenched it up and over his head, tossing it across the tiny room. At the last possible second, I released his mouth, so I could remove the shirt. During the momentary break, my gaze hungrily traveled over his now exposed body.

If I had to describe him in one word it would be—beautiful. I know men hate being called that, it’s not manly enough, but in this case too damn bad. He was: everything from his almost flawless, pale skin. His rippling muscles that flexed and released under my eager gaze. He resembled a marble statue of a Greek God come to life. Like I said, beautiful.

“See somethin’ you like, kitten?”

What a smug bastard. Now, I know he’s totally hot, but him knowing he was totally hot and even more so that he knew that I knew he was hot, completely grated on my nerves. Even though I wanted to scream, “Fuck yeah, I see something I like!” I tried to appear like I had some control over myself and that this beautiful man standing before me wasn’t affecting me so much, even though I was barely holding on by a proverbial thread.

“Not bad.”

Ha, take that! Following my blasé answer, he did that sexy raising the one-eyebrow thing, while calling my bluff.

“Is that right? Well, since this is a waste of your precious time and clearly is a waste of mine—“

Ooohhh…a waste of his time, I’ll show him!

Before he could move away, I trapped him between my thighs by locking my ankles under his denim-clad ass, pulling him quickly into a breath-taking kiss. This time there was no holding back. I didn’t care if I seemed out of control. Control was overrated anyway.

Our mouths battled fiercely, neither of us could get enough. For the first time, I pulled away, trekking downward with fiercely nipping and licking the skin on his throat and muscular chest. With each taste, he groaned and gasped, urging me to give more.

Reaching his nipples, I latched onto one flat nub with my teeth and tugged. The best way to describe the sound coming from him was a growl, before his head fell backward exposing his throat and sexy Adam’s apple to my demanding mouth.

While I continued exploring his body with hungry kisses, nips, and bites, our hands were everywhere—teasing and groping. I loved how his muscles bunched under my hands, but I needed more. I craved the prize hidden within his tight jeans.

Nipping his throat, I cupped him with my eager hand, thrilled to feel his cock jumping at my touch. Following another growling noise, he firmly grabbed me by the hair, instantly stilling me, drawing my gaze to his, his brazen words making me shiver.

“I need to taste you, now!”

Without another word, he grabbed my hips pulling me to the edge of the counter, and he dropped to his knees. He passionately parted my thighs before ripping my thong from my sodden cleft with one fierce tug. Prior to the fabric leaving my body, it rubbed against my throbbing clit, causing me to shudder— I could feel that my climax was near. Despite how he’d removed the final barrier between his mouth and my pussy with such magnificent force, the first touch of his tongue was so subtle I barely felt it.

Increasing the pressure, he lapped at my folds several times, from the bottom of my opening to the top, purposefully missing my clit, driving me insane. Before I knew what was happening, a scream tore from my throat as he wrenched an orgasm from my body. With my hands fisted in his hair, I shamelessly rotated my hips grinding my pussy against his face, riding out my climax.

While I began to come down from my orgasmic high, he gave me a brief reprieve before he attacked me once again. His tongue flicked against and dipped into my folds, before taking my clit between his teeth and tugging. Instantly, I exploded into another orgasm, flooding his tongue with my spendings.

This orgasm was fiercer and longer than the first, since he drew it out by continuing to use the tip of his tongue and tapping it against my clit. It was all too much. I was on sensory overload.

It was amazing, before I could voice that it was all too much, following cleaning me thoroughly, he released me from the blissful torture. With a parting lick, he raised his head, his lustful gaze seeking mine. After several moments, I lifted my heavy lids trying to focus on him, while his sexy voice filled my ears.

“I don’t normally use this word, but you are absolutely delicious, kitten,” he murmured before lapping at me once more, our dual groans sounding throughout the room. It took me a few moments for the meaning of his words to click inside my lust-addled mind. I responded quickly, and I was surprisingly coherent, especially how “fire bad tree pretty” my mind was at that moment.

“Caramel.”

Now I shouldn’t have said a damn thing, because when I did, he stopped that wickedly fantastic thing he was doing with his tongue. Sometimes I should really know when to keep my big mouth shut, now being one of those times.

Then he chuckled against my clit, causing my eyes to roll up. I probably looked possessed, but I so didn’t care. It felt like everything he did, every single touch with his talented mouth and hands, caused my body to ignite into flames. With a slow parting lick starting at the base of my opening and finishing with a quick flick to my descended nub, he rested his chin on my bare mons and with his heated gaze fixed with mine, his deep rumbling voice returned.

“Caramel? Huh, ‘m not familiar with a flavored body wash. Too bad for me, been missin’ out.”

“No, not body wash, a bitch with a macchiato gave my boobs a hot and unpleasant sampling.”

Following my words, I shamelessly wiggled my hips, not so subtly hinting I wanted him to continue. Once more, he chuckled. The vibrations traveled directly to my slick heat causing my insides to clench.

“Thought your titties tasted extra sweet. Mmm…you’re my own personal sundae— pert vanilla mounds smothered with sticky caramel, topped with cherry-tipped nipples and here,” lifting his chin and with his mesmerizing eyes still fixed with mine, he lapped at my drenched folds once more. “is like whipped cream, which, by the way, is my favorite part—love how the cream coats and dissolves on my tongue. As I said before, simply delicious.”

“Oh, god.” It sounded so erotic. The way he almost purred the words made me moan. Then they changed instantly to gasps as he attacked my throbbing pussy with renewed enthusiasm.

While his mouth waged an erotic war with my folds, I felt another orgasm fast approaching. Again, almost as if we had been lovers forever, he sensed this and slowly slid two fingers inside me, seeking, then skillfully finding my G-spot. With only two strokes on the Holy Grail of sex, another wail tore from my throat, heralding my orgasm.

Oh, boy, now I was totally out of my mind. I started to giggle. You know, that holy shit I just had several amazing orgasms giggling, which, unfortunately for me, I have been the only one hearing this giggle of mine, until now.

Following several moments of my giddiness, my body relaxed, and I became a boneless heap. I’ve never felt so completely satisfied in my life. If this moment was my last, I would gratefully welcome hell while Satan brought me around for a meet and greet to all those that had fallen during the times of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Pulling me out of my haze, Spike placed several lingering kisses on my inner thighs, before traveling upwards, reaching my stomach, my breasts, and then my lips. His kisses were soft and tender. Slowly, I returned them. We gently explored one another’s mouths. When I tasted myself on his lips, this ignited my passion once more as I deepened the kiss.

Earlier, I gave up complete control to my passions and to him, but I had a craving to get the control back. I needed a single, yet significant act, to tip the scales back into my favor. Instantly, only one came to mind.

Now, some women believe kneeling before a man, her mouth opened ready to receive his cock is a completely submissive action. Well, it can be, if the woman unfortunately isn’t doing it right. Especially if said woman is letting some guy fuck her face—now that’s completely submissive. Fortunately, I know what I’m doing.

Every carefully planned movement from how I hold their gaze while I slowly sink to my knees and releasing their cock from its confines, to caressing the hardened flesh with my mouth and hands—I’m in complete control, dominating the entire act.

It’s amazing how a single lick around the belled-head or cradling his balls in the palm of my hand, caused the most fluent man stumbling over his words, and the most powerful one becoming as weak as a kitten. I love when their eyes roll into the back of their head, that silly, boyish grin playing on their lips and their incoherent mutterings—all these things fill me with womanly pride.

Putting my plan into motion, while my mouth devoured his, I pushed him away, but followed him while I slid off the counter and walked him backwards until his back hit the door behind us. My hands traveled down his chest, seeking, then finding the waist of his jeans.

Deftly, I released the button and zipper, and once undone, my eager hand reached in for my prize. Now, I expected to meet a barrier. Nope, Mr. Sex-On-Legs goes commando. He chuckled, when a small gasp from my unexpected findings left my lips. His laughter caught in his throat, the minute I began trekking downward.

My mouth, tongue, and teeth savored every inch of skin. Once I lowered myself to the ground, his heated gaze remained fixed with mine, as I pulled his jeans down over his lean hips, exposing his beautiful cock for the first time. He was so stunningly thick and long. A small bead of pre-cum formed and glistening in the slit, and with a long lick, I cleared it from the head, lingering on the sensitive flesh housed there.

Oh, my god, he was delicious. I normally don’t say cock is delicious. That word is saved for a great pair of Manolo Blahniks or anything dipped, covered, or filled with chocolate, yet the minute my tongue wrapped around him, I was hooked. He tasted salty, yet sweet, and smoky all at the same time. I know, sounds completely weird, but my taste buds weren’t lying.

It wasn’t only his taste that had me hooked, but also how he handled himself and me while I was handling him. He was far more courteous than most others. I’ve had some guys, the minute I opened my mouth, they would thrust their pelvis forward while grabbing a handful of my hair, like some caveman, and tried jamming his dick down my throat. First off, super rude. Second off, the minute I felt a guy’s hands tightening in my hair, I stopped him right away. Believe me. I’ve heard many of unmanly yelping in my time from a jerk with a bitten dick, courtesy of moi.

Spike weaved his fingers through my hair, but instead of grabbing, his hold was gentle, and his fingertips kneaded and drew small circles over my scalp. It felt amazing! There were several times when I lost myself in his touch and forgot the real reason why I was down there.

While I set the pace of my explorations, his sighing and whispered praises were the only directions he gave.

I cradled his cock with one hand, while I leisurely licked him from root to tip. I lingered on the head, swirling my tongue around the bulbous tip, before I pointed my tongue removing the newly formed pearly fluid from the slit. While I traced with my tongue down his length, his sighs changed into low groans that spurred my movement to become bolder.

While my tongue trailed upward teasing him with small laps, once I reached the top, I closed my lips around the head and then with tedious slowness, I slid my mouth down taking in as much of him as I could. Due to his sheer size, I couldn’t take all of him. The head was hitting the back of my throat when I was only three-quarters of the way down, so I wrapped my hand around the remainder and went to work.

I knew I had him completely at my mercy, when I could hear the string of curses falling from his lips increasing, his eyes slamming closed, and how his body tensed while he fought the urges to tighten his fists in my hair and to thrust his hips forward, while my mouth bobbed up and down on his cock. The curses became louder when only the head remained in my mouth and I swirled my tongue around the rim.

I loved how my womanly pride swelled to the point of bursting from how I affected him so. This once arrogant man was now putty in my hands.

After several delicious moments, I heard his say, “Stop.” Now, years ago, I would have released him and asked what I did wrong. However, after years of experience, I knew this was “stop” I’m going to burst, not a “stop” stop.

Usually, at this point I would release his cock, and wait for my reward—being fucked silly. Except, instead of letting go, I increased my pace. I don’t know why, but I needed him to cum in my mouth. I needed to devour him, just as he had devoured me.

I heard him gasping and grunting, completely enjoying my oral assault. Then after a few moments his plea came again—“Stop”. This time it was a little louder and firmer. Being stubborn, I just kept going, like I said I needed to have him inside of me. Then I felt his hand tightening in my hair. Normally, this would be the point where I would bite the bastard, instead I groaned around his cock. It was almost like we were having a battle for dominance, and at this moment, I was winning.

Yeah, that didn’t last for long. On the upstroke, he took this opportunity and shifted his hips so his cock popped out of my mouth, and with the hands in my hair, directed my face upwards. I felt another surge of power from what I saw there: his eyes stormy with lust, his jaw clenched, he was on the verge, and I had brought him there.

”Now” was all he said and I was in his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist, his cock brushing against my drenched folds, and his mouth was on mine. Cradling my clinging body to his, he walked, carefully since his pants were still around his ankles, toward the counter.

It’s amazing how a single word, had us in such frenzy. He placed me gently on the counter. Instantly, our hands and mouths were everywhere, never resting in one area for long. Then following several frantic moments, he pulled back, cupping my face with his hands. I opened my eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

“You’re so beautiful, Buffy. Please, I need to be inside you. Will you let me inside?”

I froze: my gaze transfixed with his, my mouth slightly open, and all the thoughts that could have been going through my mind—nonexistent. Then I heard a single word response, even though it sounded like it was from far away, I knew it was me speaking, granting him permission with one word—“Yes.”

Then the sweetest smile filled his lips, before he slowly leaned forward capturing my mouth with his. After several blissful moments of us savouring one another, his hands left my face, and then I heard the slight rustling of plastic being torn open.

Even though my curiosity was piqued, wondering where he got the condom, I quickly pushed it away. My big mouth wasn’t going to ruin the mood this time. Gratefully, once the proper riding equipment was in place, I felt the nudge of his cock sliding through my folds.

With torturously slow increments, he entered me until he was fully seated within. Our contentment in the form of breathy sighs filled the air. Spike’s eyes were closed and jaw clenched, as he appeared that he was attempting to gain some semblance of himself, all the while he remained stone still.

Once he seemed to have some control, he placed his lips tenderly to mine, and between dozens of soft kisses, he whispered words that caused shivers to travel all over my body. “So bloody beautiful. I fit perfectly, feels like you were made for only me.” and “Christ! You’re so hot, going to burn me, you will.”

Each of his words created new waves of pleasure, until I couldn’t handle his stillness anymore. I needed him to move, to feel him build on the blissful tension of my climax deeply within me.

Following my whispered begging of “Please.”, he began to move. His strokes were excruciatingly slow and deep. His cock reached parts of me I never knew existed. With every forward stroke, the silky covered steel of him rubbed against my G-spot, and with every retreat, I felt my muscles clinging to him, trying to keep him inside.

At that moment, I felt like I’d never felt before—blissfully conflicted. I was complete, yet breaking into a thousand pieces. It was all too much, yet not enough. All I did know is that from that moment on the man had changed my world forever.

It was strange how well he knew my body. The minute he felt my orgasm approaching, he increased his pace. With each push forward, he swirled his hips hitting me in a different way each time. When pulling out, he would only leave the head in place, my body begging for his return.

Following several mind-numbing plunges, my orgasm, resembling a violent tsunami, swelled to enormous heights then crashed, causing me to drench his cock with my spendings. I could hear him say, “Bloody hell” while my pussy clenched around him, almost so tight he couldn’t move. Once my muscles released him, he continued moving, his pace increasing.

Almost on the heels of my fourth orgasm, number five raced through me. While it coursed through my body, my nails left scratches and claw marks on his skin and a row of indentations on his throat from where I sank my teeth into him. I was acting like a wild animal, but I didn’t care. Actually, I think the primal side of Buffy turned him on more.

He fisted his hands in my hair, pulling me away from his throat, his mouth crashing down on mine. Our tongues and teeth duelled, and I was ready to burst with another orgasm.

I know! Never, never have I had multiples with anyone before, never mind the countless ones I’ve had since his wicked mouth first touched mine.

Then he snatched his lips from me, his eyes trying to meet my gaze. After several attempts, I was able to focus on him. Despite the nearly brutal pace of our lower bodies, his face was almost serene as he looked at me. With three tiny words, he had us falling over the edge into our orgasmic abyss—“Come with me.”

It was as if he had complete control over my mind and body, and at his command, I came instantly. At the same time I came, I could feel him pulsating his release within me.

Following our mutual climax, our hips continued to move. Each time became slower and slower until they stopped completely. His forehead rested on my shoulder, his breath fell on my bare chest in heavy pants, as I tenderly ran my fingers through his hair. Despite how we barely knew one another and where we were, I felt so comfortable, like we did this all the time. There were no signs of post-coital awkwardness anywhere in sight.

When our breaths finally slowed into a normal rhythm, he pulled his head from my shoulder and looked at me. The big smile that filled his face caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle, making him look almost boyish. It was such a genuine sweet smile, and all I could do was smile back.

He placed a small kiss on my lips, which impressively, had his cock stirring inside me once more. I was about the comment on how I was so on board with another round, until a knock came from the door. At first, we both ignored it, hoping it would go away. Unfortunately, the asshole on the other side was insistent. Then we heard an annoying, almost like a cat in the blender, voice coming through the door.

“Excuse me, sir, you’ve been in there a long time, do you need some assistance. Sir, we will be landing soon, and you both, I mean, you need to take your seat.”

I was about to yell out that I would be assisting him in any needs he had, but almost as if he could read my mind, he placed a lingering kiss on my lips.

Once he pulled away, I completely forgot what I was about to say, and actually what my name was. Then slowly my memories came back, but before I could say what I truly wanted to, he spoke,

“Sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up. Don’t get me wrong, the “I’ve been shagged six ways to Sunday” by yours truly is a right fetching look on you, but I think if we don’t vacate soon, some bloke will be stormin’ through the door, and I don’t want anyone to see you in all your naked glory. That privilege is solely mine, yeah?”

Again, his words were heavy with the sexy possessiveness. I wanted to tell him this privilege was his, and that it could be his a lot longer than this one time if he wanted it. But then reality hit me like a bucket of ice water. This was a onetime thing; there wasn’t another time after today, that wasn’t in the cards for us. Not because I or even he wanted it that way, only because of the reality that lingered outside of this room.

I was from LA. He, from his accent I assumed, was from London or another part of England. We lived almost a world away from one another. Plus, did he have someone else at home, wherever that was—a girlfriend, a fiancée, a wife? Oh my god…did he have kids?

I know these are all the things you should think about before getting groiny with someone, but I’m single, so that meant I can fuck anyone I wanted to. And to be completely honest, at the time, I didn’t really think to ask if he was single too. It was only now, with him still balls deep inside me and with my thighs slick with multiple orgasms, that this reality reared its ugly head.

While lost in my thoughts, he must have been staring at me and noticed that crease I get when I’m thinking. Like my body, I felt like he knew my thoughts too. It was almost if he had read my mind, because out of nowhere, he told me that there was no one else, no girlfriend or missus, and he didn’t have any kiddies, that he was aware of anyway, running around. I let out a big sigh of relief after he told me that.

Even with that concern cleared up, there was still the whole distance thing, and more importantly, did he truly want some sort of future with me? I know he called me “his” several times, but was that how he actually felt or was it more like something he blurted out during sex? Should I really be taking his words literally? But before I asked any of those questions, another knock came through the door, and a more insistent voice followed.

“Sir, please, we will be landing soon, I need you to return to your seat.”

With a sigh, he looked toward the door, then back at me. He placed a chaste kiss to my lips before he slowly pulled from my depths. Instantly, I felt empty, incomplete.

Like a true gentleman, he retrieved some paper towels, wet them and tenderly cleaned between my thighs. The coolness of the water and his gentle stroking sparked my desire once more, and by the look on his face, his desire as well, but unfortunately we had to leave.

Placing his hands on my waist, he helped me down from the counter, and we began putting ourselves together.

While I was pulling down my skirt, which looked like a big fabric belt since it completely encircled my waist and nowhere else, and rearranged my breasts into their rightful place, he was pulling up his jeans and donning his tee shirt. I looked around for my ruined thong, but after seeing him tucking it into his back pocket, I knew he had no plans in returning it.

After buttoning my blouse, or buttoning what left of the buttons on my blouse, I stood in the mirror and tried gaining control of my hair. It looked like a rat had nested there and there was no way I was taming this mess, especially without a brush.

Once I saw him behind me, now in his sexy leather, peering over my shoulder at our reflection, all the thoughts about my ratty hair and disheveled clothing were gone. Not when I could see that wicked twinkle had returned to his eyes, and his erection I felt pressing into the swell of my ass.

He slowly turned me around, and cradled my face with his hands. He didn’t say a word, before he kissed me tenderly. When he finally pulled away, he gave me a half-hearted smile, and then opened the door for me to leave. With a similar smile of my own, I left.

After giving the busty stewardess, the same one who denied my liquid happiness earlier, a lip-splitting grin and telling her, “Yeah, he was that good”, I returned to my seat.

Once settled, I closed my eyes trying to catch a nap before we landed, the large perma-grin remaining. It wasn’t too long before the captain announced we were landing soon at London’s Heathrow airport.

Once we landed, the pilot requested we remained seated briefly due to “minor technical difficulties with the jet way”. Fifteen minutes had passed before I was able to collect my carry-on and make a mad dash to the entrance. Unfortunately, I hit everyone else on the way out, and it took me almost another fifteen minutes to make it to the end of the aisle.

Once I was there, I looked over into first class hoping to see Spike there, but he was gone. I rushed down the jet way, hoping I would see him there or even waiting inside the airport, but he wasn’t.

I was disappointed, to say the very least. I wished he was there, but I knew, in my heart of hearts he wouldn’t be. Now that was the reality hovering outside the door. With a deep breath, I went through customs, and then headed toward the entrance of the airport.

While I was walking, lost in my own thoughts, I heard someone calling my name. I turned around quickly, hoping to see him. Nope, not him, it was some guy holding a sign. Well, it wasn’t who I wanted it to be, but hey, Angel sprang for me to take a limo to my hotel room, so all wasn’t lost. A half an hour later, I arrive in a pretty decent hotel, and then I called you.

Hello? You’ve been awfully quiet there, missy. The only reason why I know you’re still there is all that heavy breathing. Pretty amazing, huh? Well, besides him disappearing without a trace after, but it was still really amazing!

It almost seemed like some intense, erotic dream, yet I know it really happened due to the delicious ache I still have between my thighs.

No— no regrets, well, except for one—that I never asked for a way to contact him. After being interrupted by an untimely knock on the door, I had lost my nerve to ask. I guess the time we shared together was all that we were destined to have. Well, on the bright side, I still have my memories and dreams. *Sigh*

Oh, shit, what time is it? I need to get ready for that meeting. Remember the real reason why I came to England in the first place? Yeah, unfortunately having life-altering sex with an incredibly desirable man wasn’t the reason.

Ok, well, I’ll give you a call once I get home. Oh, before I forget, do you mind checking up on Mr. Gordo until I get back? Even though that furry little bastard deserves to starve, I could never do that to him.

What? Very funny, yet again you’re being a comedic genius. This is true— I do need constant tending to my pussy, you’re very clever. Have you ever thought about taking your show on the road? Anyway, talk to you soon, I’ll call you when I get back…bye!

Recap of previous chapters: Buffy's day started off horribly and went downhill from there. Angel is a bad lay. Cordelia is a bitch, and flying coach sucks. It's impossible to ignore a full bladder, and stealing nips of alcohol from a believed sleeping person is never a good idea--well, unless he looks like Spike. Buffy and Spike had wild and nasty monkey sex in the airplane bathroom. You are now recapped...proceed...









Hey—yes, yes, I know. I've been MIA for the past few days. Yes, I did get your text saying you were contacting the U.S. Embassy in London if you didn’t hear from me pronto. That’s what prompted my call. A little harsh if you ask me, but I know ya love me. So, no harm, no foul!



Believe me. I did want to call you. I was just—detained. I bet you want an explanation, don’t you? Okay, let me begin from when I last spoke to you.



So, after I got off the phone with you, I dressed and made myself presentable for my meeting. I can’t tell you how nice a lengthy shower without any distractions was, especially the not running out of water part.



Afterward, I dug through my carry-on, hoping that during the trip my clothes had gotten frisky and produced another clean shirt for me. Alas, they’d behaved, and I had to choose between two coffee-stained blouses, one with its buttons intact and the other minus several. Ultimately, I decided on the one with all the buttons. The latter reminded me too much of the steamy interlude in the airplane’s bathroom, both in good and bad ways.



Well, the good way doesn’t need explaining. Why bad? Well, at the top of a long list of reasons, the harsh reality is this god-like man who rocked my world was now no more than memory. So, the crème silk blouse seemed the better choice. Luckily, I had a belted jacket that hid the giant Rorschach coffee-blot from the world.



The meeting was promptly at nine, so around eight, I headed downstairs and had a scone with clotted crème and jam and a spot of English breakfast tea. Yeah, I know I sounded stupid saying “a spot of tea,” but I just loved how the little old man talked when he served me, so I decided to give it a whirl. Fine, note to self: stick with my usual lingo.



Around eight thirty, the limo came to take me to London’s branch of Wolfram and Hart. Even though the day was overcast, which I’ve been told is quite common here. The sights were amazing.



I looked like a total tourist with my face pressed against the glass, my mouth agape and eyes wide open. The best part of the short trip was going over London Bridge. I began singing the nursery rhyme—“London Bridge is falling down, falling down; London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady,” under my breath. Well, the way I acted on the plane ride over definitely wasn’t befitting of a fair lady. So, I had nothing to fear. No falling bridges for this not-so-fair lady!



All too soon I was at my destination. London’s downtown buildings held a great deal of old world charm mixed in with more modern architecture. Unfortunately, downtown L.A. doesn’t have the same character. All the buildings back home look identical, or maybe that’s just the part of me that’s bored with the same ol’ same ol’.



What really sucked was that Angel booked my return flight for four, which didn’t give me nearly enough time for sightseeing. I wanted to change my flight to the following day, but I knew I’d never hear the end of it from Angel, so four it had to be.



The driver opened the door, and I stepped out of the limo. My eyes instantly went to building towering before me. The firm occupied one of the more modern buildings, constructed of sharp angular lines with large windows that almost looked bluish in the foggy morning air—simply breath-taking.



Even though the modern exterior reminded me of the many buildings in L.A., once I stepped inside, the homey and welcoming décor let me know I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.



In our building, everything from the furniture to the walls is decorated in hues of harsh blacks and whites with splashes of red here and there. This lobby was so very different. You should have seen it, decorated in neutral hues of beiges with accents of deep burgundy and sage green, with beautiful mahogany wood floors and strategically placed pieces of mahogany furniture throughout. I fell in love with the place instantly.



Despite my professional appearance, I looked like a tourist once again. I looked around the space in awe, taking it all in. Anyone who saw me wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d whipped a camera out of nowhere and begun taking pictures as I oohed and aahed.



While I was making a mental note or more so borrowing ideas on how I was going to redecorate our office when I got back, the secretary sitting behind a large mahogany desk greeted me and asked if she could assist me.



I finally answered her, once I stopped gawking at the place like a total idiot. It also took me a moment to wrap my head around the fact that everyone had an English accent— very similar to the accent that had my insides clenching with lust less than eight hours before.



After I got my bearings, I told her why I was there. She smiled at me warmly, before calling upstairs. Following a few “Yes, sirs,” she showed me to the elevators and told me Mr. Wyndham-Pryce would be waiting for me on the fourth floor.



My stomach felt tied in knots during the short ride up. Even though I knew this account inside and out, I didn’t have a clue as to what Angel had said or done to fuck it up so badly as to require a personal meeting. Usually, a conference call worked. But knowing Angel, he’d really put his foot in his mouth this time, and if I didn’t make nice and smooth things over this morning, Angel could kiss this million-dollar account, and most likely his ass, good-bye! If I didn’t think my ass was on the line too, I would’ve tanked this meeting on purpose to teach his arrogant ass a lesson!



When I arrived at the fourth floor, the little elevator bell dinged, and the door opened while I was still deep in thought. It wasn’t until the door started to slide closed before my mind registered and screamed— “Hello, get out!” Gratefully, the doors had sensors on them, or I would’ve been cut in half, since I tried sliding through the partial opening that was closing quickly.



Only one person, the secretary, witnessed my almost sawing-the-lady-in-half trick, and thankfully, she didn’t make a comment on it. Once I told her who I was, she escorted me to the boardroom that was already half-filled with those attending the meeting.



Prior to setting up my laptop for my presentation, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce introduced himself and some of the other members of the board to me. Despite the beaming smile I wore, I was completely freaking out inside. Of course, they all had English accents like Spike’s.



Granted, their voices didn’t have the same deep, sexy quality his had, but after hearing his words rumbling in my ear during the best sex I’ve ever experienced, even the gecko from that insurance company’s commercials would get me wet. Like Pavlov’s dog, I will be forever reprogrammed to react that way to an English accent.



Quickly, I slapped my mental slut a few times so I could get through the meet and greet. Finally, once two more members entered and introductions took place, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce instructed everyone to take their seats. Following one more formal introduction of yours truly, I started my presentation.



Let me just say this, I was on fucking fire! Once I pushed past the lusty thoughts of Spike, I focused on my presentation. By the end of my spiel, Angel’s fuck up was a thing of the past. I could barely keep my grinning to a minimum while putting my things away, when I overheard several board members discussing how they wanted me to be the sole contact for this office from now on. Ha—take that Angel!



Following several handshakes and thank yous, I headed toward the elevator to leave. Before I pressed the button, my bladder decided to protest, with my morning tea making itself known. After asking the secretary where the restroom was, I headed down the lengthy hallway, while my mind wandered to the last bathroom trip I made— the one on the plane.



The closer I walked, the more my insides twisted, and the more the thought that maybe, just maybe, Spike would be waiting behind the door. I knew it was wishful thinking, but neither my hoping nor my inner lustiness understood nor followed any sort of reasoning.



Tentatively, I stood facing the closed bathroom door for several moments as I tried collecting myself. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.



Before I opened my eyes, my mind brought forth a vision of what existed behind this door. A spacious, candlelit room and in the center of it was an ornate four-poster, mahogany bed with swags of black muslin hanging from the canopy. Lying in the middle of the massive bed on the black silk sheets was Spike in all his naked glory. The inky fabric showcasing his glorious pale skin, while he rested on his side with his head propped up by the palm of his hand. His other hand rested on his hip and hovered just mere inches from his impressively erect cock.



My gaze traveled hungrily over his body until I reached his beautiful face. The soft candlelight flickered across his sharp features, and his full lips held a sinful, knowing smirk. But it was his eyes that held me captivated. They appeared to be a deep shade of blue, almost black, as they twinkled with a combination of mischief and lust. As our gazes remained locked, his full lips parted and his voice broke through the silence.



“Excuse me, miss, are you alright?”



My face scrunched with confusion. The voice was all wrong; too high pitched and whiny. Not the sexy timbre that I remembered. I slowly opened my eyes and realized all that I’d envisioned was just that, my imagination. Completely not real, and I feared right then and there I should’ve have been institutionalized for having these sordid hallucinations.



Instead of the fantasy candle lit room I visualized, it was a sterile-looking company bathroom complete with three stalls and a row of sinks. Also, the person in there with was not the naked man I had hoped for, but a gratefully fully clothed, mid-fifty-ish woman, who was badly in need of a good dentist and a hairdresser.



With the sweetest smile I could muster, I headed into the furthest unoccupied stall and closed the door, my eyes remaining downcast during my entire walk of shame.



I waited inside the stall until she left, so I didn’t need to further my embarrassment by seeing her again. Finally, after taking her sweet ol’ time, she left. Quickly, I left the stall and went to the sinks. After washing and drying my hands, I tried fluffing up my limp hair that had fallen flat since that morning’s primping.



While my hands tousled my hair, I noticed something that convinced me instantly whatever had been fucking with me yesterday—Murphy’s Law, karma, or what have you—wasn’t through with me yet. My earring was missing. Yeah—my favorite diamond stud earring gone!



After pulling my eyes back into my head, I slowly ran my fingers through my hair while whispering prayers the earring was caught within the strands. No such luck. I started gently shaking out my clothes. It wasn’t there either.



Shit! I rushed into the stall and started stripping down. While standing and shivering in a public bathroom in only my bra and granny panties, I began crying.



It was inevitable that this day— well, not exactly a day since the shit storm had followed me from one day into the next— was going to catch up with me. After a few minutes following a good cry, I wiped my remaining tears away and quickly got dressed.



As I stood in the mirror, continuing to wipe away my raccoon eyes, a thought came to me. During my presentation, I had felt something brushing against my neck. At the time, I shook it off thinking it a wayward piece of hair. But maybe, just maybe, it was my earring falling out! Excitedly, I finished freshening up before leaving the bathroom.



Heading toward the boardroom, I continued my silent prayers my earring was there and not lost somewhere between LA and England. My pace quickened once I saw the closed door at the end of the hall. Looking around me and not seeing anyone close by, I entered and closed the door softly behind me.



I started taking slow and hesitant steps toward the front of the room, all the while my gaze remained fixed on the carpet below. Nothing, once I reached the front, my eyes continued scanning the floor and still nothing. I moved chairs, the small presentation table, even a potted plant in the corner. I came up with more nothing.



I decided I needed to get closer. Hiking up my skirt somewhat, I squatted and continued my search. I tried looking under the table, but after bumping my head several times on the edge and with my ankles in pain from maintaining this position, I knew what I needed to do. Looking around and heaving a deep breath, I went onto my hands and knees and started crawling under the table.



Yeah, har-har! Get all your laughs out now. In my defense, I didn’t care how stupid I looked. I needed to find that earring. Appearances be damned!



Anyway, being on my knees did the trick—what? Very fucking funny! Again with you being a comedic genius! Like I said before, you should really look into becoming a professional. Now, where was I…oh, yeah…I was on my knees, and after a few moments, I found it!



Resting on top of the compact fibers of the multi-colored carpet was my earring! With a triumphant grin and a muted but excited, “Yes!” I cupped my precious in my palm, before wrapping my fingers around it. Holding my diamond-containing fist to my chest, I thanked any faith willing to listen for helping me find it.



Now, all I had to do was shimmy myself out from under this table and make a stealthy get-away before someone caught me in this compromising position. Yeah, you know what happened next, don’t you? With how Murphy’s Law has been making me its bitch, I should have kept my mind completely blank. But, noooo, I had to go and think about my getaway. Just then the door I had come in earlier opened and in walked two men.



Before you ask, I knew they were guys by their shoes. One wore a pair off the shelfers — boring, plain, and ho-hum. But the other, he wore a pair of John Lobb of London! What! I know you have just as a big shoe fetish as I do! I’m deeply disappointed you don’t know this! John Lobb is the Manolo Blahnik of men’s shoes! Their motto is “The bare maximum for every man.” These fucking things cost more than two-months rent! Needless to say, truly impressed!



Anyhoo, getting off of the topic of shoes, I was so hoping these two were looking for a pen or a missing paper, but no such luck. Once I heard the door close, they walked toward the table I was hiding under. Standing only a few feet from me, their murmured conversation started. I knew, just knew I’d be stuck there for a while. Then going with an impersonation of an inanimate object, I did my best to remain stock-still.



The whole time they were there, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce was the only one who spoke. The other man just listened, grunting and scoffing responses throughout. At one point, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s voice rose enough so I could actually make out what he was saying. He was giving the other guy a big-time tongue lashing for his not having been at the meeting, especially since he was the one who wanted it to take place.



Then, Mr. Grunt and Scoff actually responded something other than his caveman-like noises. Now what happened next, threw me for a loop. It wasn’t what he said, ‘cause all he uttered, which sounded more like a growl, was “I know.” It was his voice. The deep and silky timbre caused my insides to clench instantly. My first thought was, “It can’t be!” Then, on the heels of my first, my second thought came—“It’s not him. It’s only my mind playing tricks on me again.”



Mr. Grunt and Scoff didn’t say another word as Mr. Wyndam-Pryce continued speaking. Once more, his voice lowered and held the same hushed tone, so I couldn’t hear a damn thing he was saying. After another five minutes, the murmuring stopped, and I saw both pairs of feet turning back toward the door.



When I heard the sound of someone placing his hand on the door knob, turning it, and releasing the latch, the breath I didn’t know I was holding passed by my lips as I dropped my head in relief.



Then it happened. Like I said, I’ve been fate’s bitch lately. While I was taking in another slow draw of air through my nose, I must’ve been too close to the rug or a wayward piece of dust decided my nostril would be a fun place to explore. Whatever it was caused the inside of my nose to start twitching and tingling with an impending sneeze. I tried to hold it in. I really did. However, my body had other plans.



Yup, before I could stop it, a big ass sneeze came barreling out of my nose. Now you know how I sneeze -- no dainty “ah-choo” for me, oh no. My sneezing sounds like the big bad wolf’s blowing the pig’s house down or something equally obnoxious.



So, once my spittle-snot flying sneeze ended, I started cursing under my breath. The room was completely silent as I kept my eyes closed tight and my head down. I was afraid to look. I hoped and prayed they’d left before the blast, otherwise known as my sneeze, had sounded. Yeah, you’re right: I wasn’t that lucky.



Slowly looking up, I noticed both pairs of shoes turning now facing the table. Great! Just great! I was scared shitless that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and Mr. G & S were going to be extremely pissed off that I didn’t let them know I was under the table before they began their obviously private conversation. Never mind them being pissed, I was so scared everything I had accomplished that morning was all for naught, and they were going to pull out of the deal completely.



Still living in denial, praying they didn’t hear and hoping they would turn away, I remained where I was. I watched one set of feet, those of the guy sporting the John Lobb’s, as they continued walking past me, while off the shelfer remained still, now facing the table. I wanted to cry and wished the ground would open and swallow me whole. Again, I wasn’t that fortunate.



Oh, let me not forget the cherry on the top of this shit sundae. My ass was hanging out beyond the table. Before I could back out from under it, as gracefully as one can on their hands and knees, and skirt hiked up can be, I heard Mr. G & S, he of the John Lobbs, speak.



“Buffy?”



It happened again. Once more I thought the voice floating from above me resembled my own personal Eros. Shaking my head slightly, I started to back out from under the table.



Once I stood to full height, my eyes remained fixed downward while I started toying with my outfit, brushing off my knees, trying to buy some time to think of something witty to say. Before I could come up with some garbled bullshit, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce spoke,



“Ah, even though this is not exactly the way I envisioned your introductions, this will have to suffice. Miss Buffy Summers this is Mr. William Pratt, MD, or CEO as you American’s call them, of the London branch of Wolfram and Hart.”



On cue, I looked up and almost swallowed my tongue. It was him! Sure, gone was the black on black leather, replaced by a clearly tailored dark blue suit with thin, white pinstripes, a deep rose-colored dress shirt, and a silk cranberry tie, but the slicked-back bleached blond hair and beautiful blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and lust remained. Even after Mr. Wyndam-Pryce called him William, not the moniker by which I knew him, it was still him—Spike!



Going by the way his eyes only flashed briefly with surprise, I could tell he didn’t expect to see me again. Yet, just as he had on the plane, he composed himself quickly. But soon his intense gaze shifted from surprise, to blaze with the same intensity that had almost burned me alive earlier.



Despite our earlier pleasures of the flesh, he outstretched his hand as civilized people during introductions do. I steadied myself, attempting to keep my hand from shaking, as I mirrored his actions and clasped his hand in mine. I felt pulses of electricity racing up my arm and spreading throughout my body like wildfire, before settling between my thighs. Then when he decided to speak, I nearly came undone.



“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Summers. I’ve long awaited meeting the brains of your company. You must pardon my absence from your presentation. It was unintentional, I assure you. I fear the flight I had taken from the States last night, even though it was extremely gratifying, had been far more taxing than I anticipated. I do understand you’ve already given your presentation to the other board members, but maybe if I entice you with the lovely sights of London and fabulous meal, would you be willing to recapitulate the meeting?”



My mind was all in a tizzy! Never mind running into him again, but running into him here at the company where I made my presentation. Plus, his accent wasn’t the same brash Cockney accent that had rumbled in my ear, but a cultured, intellectual one that still made my insides clench.



On top of all that, the entire time he spoke, he still held my hand. With gentle and torturous caresses, his thumb skimmed across my knuckles. It became almost too hard to concentrate with him doing that! I was stunned, absolutely speechless, and it took me a few minutes to grab a thought, since so many were busy running through my mind. Finally, I caught the slippery little sucker, and I actually sounded somewhat intelligent! Kudos to me!



“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pratt. You’re correct, I have given my presentation already, but it seems you know exactly what to say. Bribing me with the sights of London and a delicious meal has earned you an encore.”



He smiled, even though it wasn’t nearly as cat-that-ate-the-canary-ish as it was before. I knew by the way his eyes flashed, he definitely thought, “game on.”



Not too long after, we left Wolfram and Hart via limo to take in the sights of London. After an hour of sightseeing, I told him I needed to get back to my hotel, since I had a four o’clock flight back to the States. He told me he took the liberty of having Mr. Wyndam-Pryce contact Angel to tell him my services were still needed in London, then instructed him to call the airlines to have my flight postponed.



One part of me wanted to yell at him and tell him he had no right to do that! Just because we had a fling in the plane’s bathroom didn’t make him the boss of me! Yeah, I know I’m full of shit. That belligerent, “I am woman hear me roar” part of me was really small and remained in the forefront for all of a minute. It was instantly replaced with the other, much larger part of me that was gushing like a school girl from his actions. You’re right. I’m a total sucker for a man in charge.



With the worries of Angel and my flight out of the way, he showed me the sights of London: Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and the London Eye. While he explained each one, his voice had me mesmerized, and every inch of my skin felt on fire.



Despite the UST hanging heavy in the air, he never touched me. The entire time he remained a perfect gentleman, that or a complete clit tease—depending on your perspective. Mine leaned toward the latter.



After several hours, we stopped for lunch. He took me to one of Gordon Ramsey’s restaurants. The minute we walked in, the maître d’ greeted us, calling him by name. Immediately, despite the customers who had been obviously waiting for awhile, we were shown to our table.



I shuddered uncontrollably when he placed his hand on my lower back as he escorted me toward our table. That was the first time he had touched me since I shimmied myself from under the table, and we shook hands. It took all my restraint not to jump on him like a bitch in heat.



The meal was beyond exquisite. Every bite was like an orgasmic experience! It took all my control not to moan after each delicious bite. Throughout the meal, he eyed my mouth as I slowly wrapped it around my fork or framed the edge of my glass. Two can play that game. Despite all my womanly wiles, he remained ever the gentleman.



Once our lunch was over, we took in more sights. We talked the entire time, everything from my presentation, to lighter subjects such as how we enjoyed living in our respective cities and of our friends and families. The conversation never dragged. Time passed so quickly, and when he pulled outside my hotel it was already seven o’clock!



Even though we’d spent the entire day together, I didn’t want it to end, so I asked him if he wanted to join me for a drink. We spent another two hours talking before it was clear the night needed to end. You should have seen him when I tried to leave. He blushed while he asked me if he could walk me to my room. The man that spent time between my thighs feasting on me—blushed!



At the door, I had a sense of déjà vu. It felt like when I was in high school, my parents were waiting in the living room and if I stood out there too long with my date, they were going to start flicking the porch light off and on. After we said our goodnights and before he turned to leave, he slowly leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek.



No way! No way was I letting him give me only that. I’ve been on the edge from the moment I saw him again, and I was a good girl all day! I deserved a little kissage!



Just before his lips met with the side of my face, I turned quickly and met his lips head on. The instant they met, I felt a surge of electricity. It was like a dam letting loose despite the ever vigilant little Dutch boy standing there with his finger in the seawall. Before I knew it, he was inside my room and everything else from there a flurry of clothes being torn away and bodies clashing in a hurried joining.



After God only knows how long, we lay on the bed sated and breathing heavily. Once I could gather some sort of coherent thought, I asked why he waited so long to make a move. His response: he didn’t want me to think badly of him. Before I could stop it, a hearty laugh spilled from my mouth, which in turn triggered his.



Well, that’s my sordid tale. Whatcha think? I know. I know the whole thing was completely crazy. Well, not was—is. It is crazy. Yup, I’m still with him. Before you give me a mother hen lecture, just hear me out. Following our laughing and major sexage session, we fell asleep. When I awoke, he was still there, his arm banded around my middle holding onto me tightly, as though I was a beloved stuffed animal or something.



The moment I tried to move, he tightened his grip, pulling me further back into his body. Then his mouth was on that weak-in-the-knees spot just below my ear, and his deep, rumbling voice filled my ears. He asked where I was going. When I told him the bathroom and I would be right back, with a long parting kiss, he finally let go.



When I came out of the bathroom, there was a cart over-filled with breakfast foods, more than you could ever imagine. After stuffing ourselves like pigs, we headed into the shower, and following some sudsy, naked fun, we decided it was time to get dressed.



Long story short, he asked me to come back to his apartment. No, this whole time hasn’t been one giant sexfest. We've talked, really talked, about everything.



He told me he had no intention of letting us part the way we did. When I asked him then why wasn’t he was waiting for me in first class or at the very least at the gate, he told me he tried to wait, but security had other plans for him. I guess when he told the stewardess he was waiting for me, but couldn’t tell them my full name, they thought he was kinda creepy and asked him to “leave quickly.” Not wanting to cause a scene or worse get arrested, he did what they asked.



Uh, what’s what? Is this a relationship? Well, I don’t know. I really can’t put a label on what is going on between us. Even though we’ve only been together for a few days, I feel I know him better than anyone else I’ve ever been with. It’s so weird. No, I’m not going all Fatal Attraction on him!



He’s told me so many times and not just when he’s deep inside of me, that I mean a lot to him and that he wants more than just this short period of time together. We’ve exchanged everything from our e-mails to phone numbers in order to keep in touch with one another.



Plus, of how many one-night stands can you say you’ve met his friends after the fact? Last night we went to a pub and I met them. They were so great. When Spike went to the bar to get me a drink, his best friend, Clem, told me without my asking that I must be someone special to him ‘cause, “He never brings a woman to meet us.”



No, I’m not saying that. I have my life in LA, and he’s in London. I’m not planning to throw away everything I’ve worked for and move here. I mean, don’t get me wrong -- being his concubine has an orgasmic ring to it, but this is all so new. We want to see what happens, but I’ll tell you this, whatever this is, it’s amazing. He’s amazing.



Where is Mr. Amazing now? Well, if you haven’t guessed by what I’ve been saying so far, the man has major stamina. However, my body isn’t used to that type of attention. He’s taken pity on me and is working out his energies elsewhere, at the gym, his gym. Yup, the man’s apartment is huge! You could fit at least three of my apartments in here with room to spare.



Hey, I’ve got an idea. You wanna see a pic of my man? Ok, now I have to be really quiet. He has like supernatural hearing or something. I can never sneak up on the man, he always catches me. Now, shhh…be vwey quiet, I’m huntin’ Spwike.




CLICK








Oh my god, oh my god, did you get it? He’s so going to punish me! Don’t worry. It’s in a good way, a totally good way! Ok, shhh…he’s coming, I’ve gotta hide.



“Fe, fi, fo fum. I smell a nice… ripe…. girl.”



Did you hear his voice? It's sooo sexy! Why am I whispering? I told you I’m hiding.



“So, you want to play with fire, kitten. I’ve told you it will burn you one day. Today is the day. Such a naughty girl taking pics of yours truly, you could’ve waited until I was starkers. Oh, and lookie here, now I am.”



Yeah, I know I’m acting like a kid but I’ve gotta drag out getting caught, don’t I? Ok, there’s only room for two of us in the sexual hide-and-seek game. I’ll talk to you—



“Hello, cutie. You think I wouldn’t find you? Well, it’s time to say bye-bye to your mate and take your punishment like a big girl.”



Umm…I really gotta go. Take care of Mr. Gordo and I’ll talk to you when— CLICK