So when she felt something, Buffy wasn't sure what to make of it. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention as every nerve in her body became aware. She tingled, and she couldn't smother the small gasp that came from her when she looked up to see William…no, Spike…watching her from across the room. He looked so out of place as he leaned in the doorway, his jeans and t-shirt not belonging in the mix of tuxedoes and expensive dresses.
He smirked and crooked his finger. Buffy shook her head, fear and excitement meshing inside of her until she couldn't tell one from the other.
Spike mouthed his response to her refusal clearly, letting her see what he was saying even with the room between them.
I'll make a scene.
Buffy knew he'd do it, and she also knew they'd both get in trouble for it. Or at least she would. Buffy wasn't certain Liam would have as much as control as he'd once had over the man his son had become.
She glanced around, making sure she was as invisible as she wanted to be before she went across the room, her heart thudding in her chest. Suddenly, Spike's hand was around her arm and he was dragging her away. A scream caught in her throat, but Buffy was too worried anyone who might respond to it would give her more trouble than Spike would to let it slip out.
And was she even in danger? He was scaring her, that she couldn't deny, but the hands on her now felt like William's, and there was still comfort in that.
"Shh…not going to hurt you, pet," Spike whispered to her as he brought her away from the party. "Just want to go someplace where we can talk."
He brought her into an empty hallway and dropped his arm, giving Buffy the chance to run if she wanted to. She didn't.
Spike had planned a thousand things to say to her when he'd left Dru sleeping and crept downstairs. For months, he'd harbored his anger for Buffy, hating her for the way she'd treated him, for turning out to be just like everyone else in his life. The noise of the festivities downstairs had kept him awake, and the whiskey he'd pilfered from his father's liquor cabinet hadn't been able to dull his senses enough to let him sleep.
Yet now, looking at her, he was at a loss. She was still beautiful, the burgundy of her dress highlighting the flush of her cheeks. Her shoulders were bare, and he could watch the tops of her breasts above the line of her dress as she took deep, uneasy breaths.
She was glorious, breathtaking.
She wasn't his.
It was that last thought that reminded him he was angry, even as the part of his brain still functioning tried to remind him that he had a woman who was. Even now, he felt the sting of Buffy's rejection, unable to drown our her declaration that he wasn't enough to please her no matter how many times Drusilla's screams of release rang in his ears.
Spike took a step closer, watching Buffy's sharp intake of breath in response. "I was watching you," he told her, his head tilting as he regarded her with dark eyes. "I watched you letting him parade you around like his little whore. Is that what it takes to get you off, Buffy? Do you like being used?"
His words slammed into her, her initial response one of hurt. But then, anger flared up in its place, mixing with embarrassment that he'd even seen her that way, and that he knew as well as she did what she was to Liam.
Buffy wanted him gone. She didn't want Spike here, didn't want to be reminded of what she'd had to let slip away. She narrowed her eyes, her hands moving to her hips. This whole situation had her upset, and though she knew she had no right to care, she couldn't help the angry jealousy she felt seeing him with Drusilla anymore than she could the shame she felt knowing he knew the truth about her sham of a marriage.
"Liam knows what it takes to get me off, William," she snapped, her defensive words coming out before she even had a chance to consider them. "Which, if I recall correctly, is more than I can say for you."
It took only a second for Buffy to realize her miscalculation. Spike was already angry—clearly drunk—and now, she'd pushed him further by insulting his manhood. His nostrils flared and his hand shot out again, grabbing her arm with bruising force. Buffy gasped, unable to keep up with what was happening as he dragged her down the hall and into a nearby closet.
Spike tore the door open with his free hand and threw her inside before stepping inside the small closet himself and shutting the door. It was too dark for Buffy to see him now, but she could hear his harsh, steady breathing, and her body trembled. She didn't know if it was fear or desire, yet when she felt his strong arm clamp around her waist, she didn't struggle to get away.
His hot breath rushed past her cheek before he spoke low in her ear. "You really think I can't get you off, baby?"
Buffy shook harder, the situation spiraling further out of control than she'd even begun to expect when he'd lead her away from the party. She was still angry, though now she was angry at herself as well for responding to him like this. She turned her head back towards him, her eyes adjusting and making out the dark outline of his face. "I know you can't," she snapped. "Now let me get back to my husband."
At her reply, the last of Spike's control snapped. Without another word, he roughly pushed up the bottom of her skirt and ripped away the flimsy panties she wore beneath.
Buffy gasped when two of his fingers pushed inside of her, hardly able to believe this was even happening. She wondered for a second if she'd fallen asleep at the party and was having a very bizarre—very vivid—dream.
But then his thumb found her clit and another long finger slid into her body, and she didn't care if she was awake or asleep. He had clearly picked up a few tips since the last time he'd touched her, and even in his drunken state, his fingers were sure and steady with determination.
Her legs wobbled, and Buffy grabbed onto Spike's bicep, gripping him tightly for support. He sped up the thrusts of his fingers inside of her, using them to fuck her hard. Inside of her, he curved the long digits up, sliding across her sensitive, hidden spot as his thumb moved faster against her swollen clit. Unbidden, she made a loud noise somewhere between a sob and a moan, and Spike's free hand moved up, clamping over her mouth and nose.
It took Buffy a moment to realize she was no longer able to breathe, and her eyes widened as she tried to move away from Spike's hand, but he had her locked in place, seemingly unaware of her plight.
Buffy whimpered into his hand as she started to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Her lungs began to burn and she wondered if he would realize what he was doing before it was too late.
Then, she didn't care. Her body burst into intense orgasm, the likes of which she certainly hadn't been experiencing recently, if ever. She let herself be limp in his arms as shocks of pleasure rushed through her, nothing seeming to exist except the feelings he'd given her.
As quickly as it had begun, however, it was over, and Buffy felt herself falling to the ground as she gasped for fresh air. The door opened, and she looked up, her hand resting against the top of her dress.
Spike sneered down at her, his silhouette illuminated by the thin sliver of light coming through the partially open closet door. "Go back to your husband now," he snapped before walking away, leaving Buffy there alone.
A lump in her throat, Buffy reached around until she found her ruined panties, then tossed them to the back of the closet with a frustrated whimper as she realized she wouldn't have any place to put them anyway now that she could no longer wear them.
Hot tears fought to fall from her eyes, but Buffy roughly brushed them away as she leaned back, letting her head hit against the closet wall. She was angry—furious—though not with him. With herself. Both for pushing him to that point and for liking it when she did. He'd been rough and cruel, and yet she'd done nothing but succumb to it.
She wanted to tell herself that she'd gone along with it as a way to make amends for her cruel treatment of him, both after his first time and for what she'd said to him tonight as well. At least that sounded like a viable excuse. But Buffy knew she hadn't been thinking that clearly when she'd let him push his fingers inside of her pussy. Her response had been purely physical, any rational thought going away the moment Spike touched her.
He'd called her a whore; she'd acted like one.
Buffy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob as she hit her head against the wall three times. She hoped she was too far away from the party for anyone to see her like this, messy and rumpled, her dress still hiked up to her hips.
"Whore," Buffy said aloud before she shook her head and made the sob/laugh again. She wasn't a wife. Not truly anyway. There was no love in her marriage, no desire to for the two of them to create a home together. Everything she did with Liam, every touch she endured, was for money.
Tonight was no different. She knew, once the guests went home, he'd want her. He always did after nights like this, wanted to stake his claim on what was his after he'd shown her off to others.
Buffy pushed herself off the ground, holding on to the wall for a moment until her legs stopped quaking. Then, she straightened her dress and headed out to clean up in the bathroom before rejoining her husband.
Spike woke to the sound of what he thought had to be the loudest birds in the history of the world. They were
screaming outside the window and he groaned, opening his eyes for second only to shut them again against the glaring light coming in from the space between the curtains.
He rolled over away from the sun, his eyes opening again to take in the sight of Drusilla sleeping peacefully next to him. She was right where she was supposed to be, yet something felt off.
When it came back to him, Spike bolted upright in bed, ignoring the pounding in his head. He couldn't have actually done that—could he? He tried to tell himself it had to be nothing more than a dream, but memories of Buffy in his arms, his hand beneath her skirt, were too vivid for him to dismiss as anything but reality.
Guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as he wondered how he could've done such a thing—to both Drusilla and Buffy. He'd cheated on his girlfriend by doing something reprehensible to his father's wife.
In not a one of his hazy memories from the night before could he remember Buffy consenting to what he had done to her.
He felt sick—and from more than just the hangover making him regret however much liquor he'd managed to ingest the night before. He'd come back here to make Buffy regret spurning him the way she had, but he'd never intended to do anything like that.
Spike knew he never should've come. He'd gotten away, made a life for himself away from the specter of his father. He should've just stayed with Dru, where he'd been happy. He'd been beyond foolish to want to come back here to try to get some of his own back with Buffy.
He'd done that now, although in a way he'd never wanted to.
Now he just wished he could take it all back.
I've given up on trying a regular posting schedule. I put this story on a short break while I finished the other one I was working on. Now, I'm hoping to get one chapter of this one out a week, but I don't know what day of the week that'll be. It's just too much for me to get a chapter ready at a specific time anymore. However, if you're worried about missing a post or just want to know as soon as there's a new chapter, you can join my updates list: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/addielogan/
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