Author’s Notes: This was exactly what I needed to kick start the muse after all the angst I’ve been writing. Bring on the fluff and smut! (Italicized portion was the challenge prompt, everything after that is my own writing.)
Buffy Summers hated staying after work. Lately, it had become a really bad habit of hers and if something didn’t give soon, she’d likely burst from the pure frustration of not getting everything done on time.
So far, her boss had yet to catch on to the late hours she’d been keeping, and for that, Buffy was extremely grateful. She really didn’t want to have to explain why she couldn’t get everything done during her regular office hours, especially considering there wasn’t a reasonable explanation for it.
Actually, that wasn’t quite true. There was an explanation, a reasonable one too, she just wasn’t sure her boss would buy it if she told it to him.
What would he say if he knew her every thought was filled with a sinful fantasy of sky blue eyes, sharp, angular cheekbones and soft, pouty lips that left a trail of warm moisture from one end of her body to the other? That the thought of hot, skilled hands traveling over her bare skin left her panting with the need for release and unable to focus on anything but the dream of total, sexual fulfillment?
Would he want details? Would he ask for a demonstration? Or would he fire her on the spot and accuse her of being some sick, twisted pervert that shouldn’t be allowed to work in a high-rise office building like his ever again?
Her boss wasn’t a person one wanted on their bad side, so Buffy was determined to keep him in the dark until she got her hormones under control and managed to be the valued employee she’d always thought she was. And she was, until Spike Pratt was promoted and brought over to her branch to ‘Clean House’, a term he used regularly during their weekly progress meetings. He’d only been there two months and already he’d fired half of the employees at the Sunnydale Branch, a move she wasn’t offended by in the slightest. Buffy had mentioned to her old boss about the slackers at work, only to be addressed with a dismissive wave of his hand as he went back to watching porn on the internet. Turns out, that little reprieve of his was why he’d been replaced.
Replaced by the sexiest man she’d ever seen in all her 26 years of existence.
Spike was 32, British, had a tight body, he was a sharp dresser, a smooth talker, and on more occasions than none, a winker. She discovered that little nuance on his second day of work when they ran into one another at the elevators, quite literally. She’d spilled her coffee all over her shirt and he apologized profusely, holding her by the arms until he was sure she hadn’t broken anything or injured herself in some way. The gesture was so gentlemanly that it caught her off guard, suddenly aware that his thumbs were delicately stroking her shoulders through the satin material of her top. Something clicked in that moment. The dashing gentleman had taken a back seat to the smoldering, seductive demon. His eyes locked with hers, finding something that obviously pleased him as he licked his lips with a smirk and winked at her…and her knees turned to jelly. Buffy didn’t even care that her shirt was soaking wet and that her cheeks had turned crimson. All her focus was trained on Spike’s gorgeous blue eyes that sparkled with mischief and the tip of his tongue that pressed against his upper lip. Unexpectedly, he turned away from her and shoved his hands in his pockets, no doubt a move to show off the perfect ass that clung to the insides of his tailored pants. The bastard knew the effect he had on her and he flaunted it. She’d be angrier if he wasn’t so damn hot.
Buffy couldn’t speak around him after that, couldn’t say a word, couldn’t do much of anything but stare at him with her big green eyes like a star-struck fan, breaking out of her reverie only when he’d clear his throat or snap his fingers in front of her face. She’d blink rapidly with a shy smile, straighten a stack of papers and pretend to be light-headed from lack of sleep. He seemed to fall for it, but she wasn’t sure. God, she’d probably be fired by the end of the week! Spike was a no-nonsense boss. He had no tolerance for falling behind and the fact that she was staying three to four hours late every day just to catch up was sure to bite her in the ass eventually. But dear lord he was pretty and he just had to walk past her desk fifteen times a day!
Without the risk of sounding childish, Buffy might even say he was the man of her dreams, and she’d had several dreams about men. Sometimes they were pirates. The point was, she hadn’t been laid in four years and Spike just oozed sexuality in a way that shouldn’t be legal. He walked as if there were slaves throwing rose petals at his feet, put a cigarette in his mouth like he was warding off the urge to shove his tongue down your throat, spoke as if he were warning you that he was about to slide his hand up your skirt during a sermon, and smiled as if he held a secret. The secret was him, what he could do to you and how you’d feel should you ever get a taste. If she couldn’t have him in real life, she could damn well have him in her dreams. Many times. Eye patch optional.
She’d only had one serious relationship in her life, Owen, and that was only because their parents felt sorry for the both of them and forced them into an awkward love affair. Owen really liked cats. Really, really liked cats. He had cat calendars, cat slippers, cat pajamas, (But they’re so cute, Buffy. So cute!) cat salt and pepper shakers and an apron that read, “I kiss kitties and I’m not ashamed”. Needless to say, when the decision came between Buffy and the cats, the Persians won.
Though her luck with men was nothing to write home about, she considered herself a handsome woman. Not beautiful, not striking or gorgeous, sexy, desirable or even exotic. No. Buffy was fine looking. Her golden blonde hair was always fashioned in a stylish chignon; her clothing was pristinely ironed, tasteful and subdued. As her mother told her time and time again, a woman needs three things and three things only: mascara, lip gloss and pinched cheeks. Anything more and you are a whore! Her mother always had a clever rhyme for things she thought important life lessons.
However, her reluctance to pull the stick out of her ass that had been lodged there since her first cotillion gave her the reality check she needed in this quite complicated situation. Spike would never give her the time of day, not like that. Yes, he was flirtatious but surely he was with the other women in the office, too, right? Perhaps he was just born that way or maybe he got off on the giggling. Either way, Buffy knew she wasn’t anything special and certainly not special enough for the likes of Spike Pratt.
“Didn’ sleep well again, I take it,” came the silken tones of her dream man as he leaned against her desk.
“What was that?” Buffy pushed her reading glasses further up her nose and cleared her throat, embarrassed that she’d been caught staring into space again.
Spike smiled, craning his neck a bit as he spied a tiny clay sculpture on her desk and picked it up, turning it from side to side as he inspected it carefully. “I asked how the expense report is coming along and you were lookin’ catatonic.” He gave her a sideways glance as he set the sculpture down and Buffy missed the tiny smile he gave her when she adjusted herself in her seat.
“Oh, um,” she sifted through the papers on her desk in a panic. She was supposed to have that expense report for him that morning and she hadn’t even started on it. This was it. She was completely and totally fired. “It was here a second ago,” she laughed nervously, frantically searching her file cabinets for the document that she knew very well was in her briefcase. Stalling had to work in her favor this time.
It did, but not for the reasons she thought. Spike tilted his head to the side as she bent over to search through her files in the bottom drawer, clenching his jaw as a shiver ran up his spine. “Just uh,” he coughed into his fist and stood up, “make sure you have it by the end of the day.”
Buffy turned around; nervously smoothing down her skirt and pushing her glasses back up her nose. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Pratt. I’ll make that top priority.”
He gave her a sultry smile and then ducked his head as he placed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “See that you do.” He turned to walk away and Buffy sat back down in her seat, jumping slightly when he was suddenly right next to her again. “Almost forgot,” he whispered and crouched down beside her so that he was eye level with her. She held her breath, feeling her heart pounding against her chest as he leaned so close to her she might have died right there, his lips mere centimeters from her ear, warm breath sending tingles from her neck to her core and finally, God, finally he spoke. “Mrs. Anderson is having a surprise party in the break room at four and I need you to sign this card,” he said as he slipped a birthday card into her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles and pulled back slightly to smile at her.
She exhaled and nodded, “Oh, um…sure,” she smiled, trembling as she reached for a pen on her desk. Blinking rapidly as she came crashing back to reality and the fact that she was reading way too much into his gestures, she signed the card with a curt, ‘Have a good one, Buffy’, and handed it back to him with a tight smile.
He read what she wrote, of course, and chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll be moved to tears, pet.” He stood then and walked to the next cubicle and Buffy sighed, sinking into her chair dejectedly. This was getting ridiculous! She’d never acted this way around a man before. Never! Did she say never? Yes! She did! So what the hell was going on, exactly? Every time he came near she felt a surge of electricity zipping back and forth between them, a strange pull to his mouth, her hands would clench whatever skirt she wore that day and she’d rub her knees together like a brazen hussy! It was inappropriate, for certain, and her mother would be ashamed of her behavior. She’d had sex exactly three times in her life, thank you very much and had the scars to prove it! Owen’s cats were…very territorial. But it certainly taught her everything she needed to know about intercourse and it wasn’t that special. So why, when this man came within three feet of her, did her cheeks grow warm and why did her panties get drenched and why, why, why couldn’t he just bend her over the desk and take her like a sex starved criminal?
Letting out a frustrated and sexually repressed groan, she opened her briefcase and pulled out the expense report and looked at the clock. It was going to be another late night.
* * *
By five thirty that evening, most of the office employees were getting ready to go home and Buffy was hiding in the bathroom as she had for the past month, waiting until six when everyone would presumably be gone and she could finish up her work. She managed to get the expense report finished but it had taken up most of the day, pushing back the work she should have been doing instead. If she could just focus for a solid two hours, she might be done by eight.
When she emerged from the bathroom, she carefully looked into the main office to see if anyone was there. Satisfied that she was well enough alone, she walked to her desk and turned on her monitor. Her feet were killing her and she took off one shoe and pulled her foot into her lap and started rubbing it. She was so focused on the soothing sensation that she squealed when someone spoke behind her.
“Oh my God,” she panted, clutching her chest as she tried to calm down. Spike hadn’t left the office yet. Spike was still here! Spike was speaking to her, probably about to fire her!
“Sorry I spooked you luv,” he said with a smile in his voice as he came to sit on her desk. “But what on earth are you still doin’ here? It’s Friday. Go home. Go out.”
“I, um,” she swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, “I haven’t finished my work for the day, Mr. Pratt.”
“Spike. Call me Spike.”
“Ok. Spike,” she said with an embarrassing giggle and cleared her throat to stop her traitorous voice from making her sound more pathetic than she was. “Well, Spike, I’m not done working.”
He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head as he looked at her. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and one scarred eyebrow lifted curiously. “An’ jus’ how far behind are you, Miss Summers?”
She grinned sheepishly and held up a large manila folder, shrugging her shoulders like the coward she was as if he were about to strike her. “All of this?”
She expected him to sigh, purse his lips and clench his jaw like he always did when he was frustrated, but instead he laughed. “Christ, Summers…what am I gonna do with you?”
“I don’t know…what, um…what you mean.”
Spike sighed with a grin and pointed to the ceiling behind her. “See that?”
“The security camera?”
“Yeah, Buffy. The security camera. Know what it’s been recordin’ for the past month?” Her eyes grew wide and she started breathing heavily. Here it comes! “You, staying late every day, workin’ your ass off until you’re about to pass out. Care to explain why?”
If she could have curled into a ball, she would have. “I-I can’t seem to make my deadlines and I’m sorry but I do clock out when I’m supposed to so I’ve been working on my own time please don’t fire me.”
Spike blinked as her nervous rambling finally set in and he noticed the tension all over her body. He decided now was as good a time as any to make his move. His fingers barely grazed the outside of her leg but he smiled when she didn’t move away. “Been distracted by somethin’?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, watching his fingers as they delicately moved over her bare knee. That was definitely deliberate. “I-I’ve been distracted but I won’t,” she gasped when his hand crept up her thigh, “let it get in the way of my work again.” What was he doing to her? She was frozen stiff in her chair, watching his hand intensely as it stroked her between her legs. This wasn’t appropriate, not in the slightest but she couldn’t find reason to care, not when he slid off the edge of her desk and placed both hands on the arms of her chair.
“I’ve been distracted, too,” he whispered, leaning forward to rub the tip of his nose along her neck. He inhaled slowly and she gasped when she felt his large hands encircle her wrists and tug her to a standing position. “Isn’ that a funny coincidence?” He smiled down at her, cupping the side of her blushing face.
She nodded and her eyelashes fluttered as his lips grazed her earlobe. “Very strange,” she said in a husky whisper that surprised her. And oh, his other hand was rubbing her lower back and his breath was tickling her throat. Christ, he smelled like an angel!
“You’re so beautiful, Buffy,” his voice was lower, thicker, sending chills up her spine as he moved his mouth down her neck. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She closed her eyes and rolled her head backwards as the tip of his tongue darted out for a quick taste of her throat. He’d hypnotized her, trapped her in this place of pure ecstasy and she prayed to the heavens that she wasn’t dreaming and that he was really doing these sinful things to her body. He moaned softly, pulling her body flush against his and continued teasing her with his damned lips. “M-Mr. Pratt?”
“Spike,” he uttered against her temple.
“R-right, Spike. Spike, do you like cats?”
He pulled away with a tiny smile. “Bloody hate cats. I’m a dog pers—”
She crashed her lips against his and flung her arms around his neck. He groaned and grabbed her, stumbling a bit as the force of her kiss pushed him backwards. He returned her aggressive gesture with a swipe of his tongue against her lips, squeezing her hips as she willingly let him in. Her hands moved frantically about his head and neck, his climbed up her back and gripped her shoulder blades, and their tongues fought one another in a fierce battle of lust. His lips were so much softer than she imagined, his tongue so warm and pliant, his body hard and willing against hers and she broke away to catch her breath as she became dizzy. But Spike never stopped. He latched onto her neck with his lips and gripped her ass as he lifted her and spun around to set her on her desk.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he said with a raspy moan, hiking her skirt up around her waist so he could settle himself against her again. When she felt his erection pressing between her thighs she clung to the edge of the desk with one hand and ripped her reading glasses away with the other, flinging them carelessly behind her. He sneered and kissed her, groaning as her tiny hands shoved his jacket off his shoulders.
“This isn’t happening,” she sighed, tugging his tie loose as his hands slipped beneath her skirt and massaged her ass.
“Oh, but it is, pet. Un-bloody-believable,” he praised as he unbuttoned her top and pushed it to the side so he could cup her breasts. When he dipped his fingers behind her bra and pulled the lacy fabric down to expose her soft mounds, she whimpered, unable to look at the intensity in his eyes. Oh, he wanted her, she knew now, and the realization was overwhelming. In an instant, his mouth was on her nipples, teasing them with gentle kisses before he groaned and sucked them into his mouth.
“Oh, dear God!” This was so much better than she ever imagined, and he wasn’t even wearing an eye patch!
“I jus’ wanna bite you,” he did, “and lick you,” oh, he did that too, “and make you mine.” Yes, please! Please make me yours! “Take my shirt off,” he mumbled against her tits and then reluctantly stood straight to allow her to carry out his command.
Some primal force within her took over and she ripped his shirt off, popping off buttons and they scattered about the cubicle. She gasped at her boldness but Spike only sneered appreciatively. “Knew you were a lil’ minx. Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
She smiled shyly, unaware that that expression alone would be his undoing. Here she was, sitting on her desk with her tits hanging out of her bra, shirt falling around her arms, and her skirt hiked up about her waist and blushing. Well, it was enough to make a bloke hard as hell and he went in for more of her lips, gasping thickly against her mouth as his perfectly sculpted chest made contact with her wet, erect nipples. Her calves rubbed the backs of his thighs, seeking out as much friction as she could and then suddenly his hand was between her legs, rubbing her over her satin panties. She let out a low, shuddering moan and moved her pelvis against his delicious touches, wondering where this behavior was coming from. She wanted this unlike anything before, craved more and more and mewled when he stroked a part of her she didn’t know existed.
“Oh! What…what is that you’re doing?”
He chuckled against her lips and pulled away. “Please tell me you know what a clitoris is, luv.”
“Well, yes,” she blushed, “o-of course I know, I just didn’t…oh God,” she moaned when he pinched this mysterious clitoris he spoke of.
“Things just got very interestin’ for me,” he said with a saucy leer and tugged her panties down her thighs and off her feet, quickly returning to his original position and glided his fingers over her wet folds. “Someone’s wet,” he cooed, nipping at her lips and swallowing her cries of pleasure as he inserted two fingers and flicked her clit with his thumb. Whatever he was doing, he was doing it right because Buffy felt as if she were going to pass out from pleasure. Owen had never done this! His fingers were so large, so skillful, so…oh God, what was that?
The devil smiled against her neck, satisfied that he’d found her g-spot and rubbed it in slow circular motions. Oh, he absolutely loved that he was the first to bring her pleasure! He felt as if he’d discovered Atlantis! “Tell me how that feels.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he purred and flicked his tongue across her nipples before he sank to his knees. With both hands she held up the few loose strands that escaped her chignon and looked down at him with a drunken expression. He smiled up at her and kissed her thigh.
“Wh-what are you doing down there?”
“This,” he whispered, right before he dragged his tongue up her slit.
She squealed and gripped his hair, clenching her thighs around his head as this new sensation sent a jolt up her spine. “What on earth did you just do?” It was so perverse, so wrong and so…oh, that was rather nice, actually. She relaxed a bit when his tongue circled her clit and he put his fingers back where they belonged, inside of her, stroking that amazing bundle of nerves inside her once more. Her legs fell slack and Spike took full advantage, feasting on her like a man starved, and…growling! He was growling against her pussy, sucking on her clit and pumping his fingers faster, harder, making her body quake and tremble as she shouted his name. “Oh! My! God!” She came, grinding against his face and holding him still with a firm grip to his hair, biting her lip and grunting, riding it out for what seemed like an eternity. Before she could register the fact that she’d had her first orgasm, he was kissing her again and she heard him fumbling with his belt buckle. He wanted more! He wasn’t finished! Oh, help.
Then his hand was on one of her thighs and she felt the tip of his cock nudging and teasing her entrance. “Do you want me, Buffy?”
And then he was inside her, stretching her to the limit, breathing hard against her cheek and grabbing her ass. “Oh…you,” he said shaking his head from side to side as he slowly pulled out, looking at her with heavy lidded eyes, “are so divine.” She almost swooned at the sentiment but then he was plunging inside her again and she was exalted to another dimension of pleasure at the feel of him. His fingers were skilled but his cock was magnificent! The slow glide of his thick shaft as it pushed its way in and out of her felt so natural, so right. His eyes locked with hers for a moment before he pressed his lips against hers sweetly, tenderly, a gesture so completely unexpected that it combated with the powerful thrust and twist of his hips.
She started panting, clawing at his back as he moved steadily inside her. “Oh, Spike…”
“I am so…taking you out to dinner after this,” he sped up his pace a bit, grinding his pelvis against her clit. “Do you…like…Italian food?”
She nodded drunkenly and squealed when he hit that glorious spot inside her again. “I…love…Italian food! Oh! Oh!”
“Oh, fuck…there’s this place…hahh! Shit, Buffy! Down on 22nd…bloody hell…serves the best gnocchi I’ve ever…oh, Christ!”
“Antonio’s…mmmm…I love that place…oooh!”
He nipped her throat and started pounding his hips against hers, gasping and moaning as the tension within him built. The pitch of her cries went higher and higher, feeling that slow crawl of pleasure in her womb. He was thrusting so hard that the cubicle rattled, the framed picture of her mother fell onto the floor, her bulky monitor creaked as it jiggled and Spike slammed his hands flat on the desk, wrinkling a stack of papers as he clenched his fingers. “Oh, God…Buffy!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She was practically screaming in rapture as her inner walls fluttered and squeezed him. She met him thrust for thrust, shouting and keening as she came abruptly.
“Oh, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy…I’m gonna,” he never finished that sentence and instead he gripped her ass and stood up, lifting her hips and slamming her back down on his cock as he roared his release. She clung to his shoulders and felt her other shoe fall off as he thrust violently inside her. His body tensed and then relaxed, moving his hands to her waist as he slid her body down and settled her feet onto the floor. He kissed her and rested his forehead against hers as he panted. She felt like a pile of goo, more relaxed than she’d been in ages and still felt the pulsing between her legs as her body calmed.
“That was insane,” she said with a smile. “Wonderfully insane.”
He chuckled and pulled his pants up and started on his buckle. “It was a bloody revelation is what it was. So,” he said as he zipped his pants, “Antonio’s?”
Buffy was busying herself with her attire, suddenly feeling very exposed but also incredibly happy. “That sounds lovely. Oh! But…what about work,” she said with a worried expression, turning to meet him once she was properly buttoned up.
“You can do it at my place,” he winked.
“Oh,” she giggled, “at your place. Well, then.”
He smiled beatifically. “This one’s toast,” he said as he held up his busted dress shirt.
“Sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“I’ve got a spare in the car. You never know when a beautiful girl might spill coffee all over you.” She blushed and he couldn’t resist giving her a kiss on the lips. “Shall we?”
Buffy nodded, sighing blissfully as Spike wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked them out of the office, her manila folder in hand. She wondered if she’d get any work done that weekend and when Spike pinched her ass, she knew instantly that work was the last thing on the menu. She had absolutely no problems with that. None at all.