Chapter 16: Checklist
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A/N: I'm not a big perfume wearer, so I spent like an hour reading perfume reviews for one little line in this chapter. I have never smelled this perfume. I hope it's good.
A/N #2: I'm sure I had a #2. I'll probably think of it later.
Buffy rechecked and refolded her list and marched purposefully across 6th Street.
Lists were her new best friend. She'd discovered that breaking down each moment to a checkbox left little room for anything else -- such as talking directly to one's husband, or considering becoming a cutter.
Go to Bank of America to order new checks for Lindsey. Stop at Coffee Bean, pick up caramel latte and sandwich for Lindsey.
Yep, it was all about Lindsey. Getting him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Bonus if it meant time away from the office. And/or Lindsey.
"Miss Summers."
Huh? She slowed in confusion, and turned her head to get a load of Spike's driver, Garrett -- looking tres secret service guy -- beside a black stretch limo.
This was not on her list.
"Mr. Pratt wishes to speak to you."
"Mr. Pratt can take that up with a shooting star," she returned cheerfully, and kept walking.
"Miss Summers--"
"It's Summers-Pratt, okay? And he's not the Pratt I promised to obey."
Garrett touched his earpiece, and cleared his throat. "He uh, he wants me to tell you that if you keep wasting time like this," he lowered his voice, "you'll miss all the foreplay."
Buffy blinked. Her mouth went dry. The. Nerve. "Excuse me."
Fully intending to tell him off, she got into the car and found him chuckling at the gadget in his hand.
"Ingenious, isn't it? See, I listen here and then talk into this end, and he says whatever I bloody tell him. Best toy I've ever--"
"Spike! Shut up about the toy and listen to me--"
"'Blah blah, how dare you, blah blah, you fiendish brute, let me be, family values mixed messages etcetera'--" He snatched her arm as she went for the door. "I've missed you."
She scoffed. "I don't care."
"Liar." He sniffed her neck. "You've missed me, haven't you, minette? The things I do to you? The things I say?"
Not on my list. Not on my list. Notonmylist! "We haven't been apart long enough. Ask me in a year."
He seized her by the waist. "Don't make me touch your spot."
"Don't make me kick you in the junk."
"So it's a spanking you want."
List. Not... "Spike, I'm serious--"
"So am I."
"--I have to get back to work and we can't do this anymore. Ever. Ne-ver. This is not on my list, and this is not happening again!"
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy." He moved her hair out of her ear and said her name a lot, which always made her skin goosebumpy. "You talk and talk but you never actually say no."
"No," she said, evading his too-close lips. "There, I said it."
"Your body, love." He tickled one suddenly hard nipple, said in her ear, "All it ever says is 'yes, Spike, yes'."
She quivered. Stupid traitor nipples. Stupid list. "Stop."
"Go," he said, and the car started moving.
"What? Hey!" She flailed against him. "Spike, this is not okay! You can't just kidnap me when you get a case of mid-morning wood! Try a hooker, she'll come to you!"
Laughing at her, he patronized, "The more you struggle the harder I get, lambchop! You've got to know that by now."
"Oh my GOD," she swiveled around to slap him, "I fucking hate you!"
"Ooh." His eyes, flaring with desire, met hers. "There you are."
She yanked at his tie and their tongues collided.
* * *
Buffy pushed her blouse across the limousine floor so it wouldn't get lipstick-stained.
This was all his fault.
What she hoped would be a quick, tidy skirt bunch had somehow devolved into an all-nude wrestling match, ending with him kneeling on the seat and plowing into her from above while she tried to avoid facial rug burn. The irony was, he'd rented this car for the one feature they'd had yet to christen: its comfortable center divan.
To add to the nasty, he was holding her by the spot and spanking her, barehanded, supplying a reason for each strike: "That's for assuming you can slap me whenever you bloody well feel like it." "That's for disrespecting your elders." "That's for lying to me." "That's for lying to yourself."
"Aahh!"
He pulled her up by the hair. "You want me. You want me. You. Want. Me. Say it with me, pet."
She waited until he was close enough to hear: "You want me."
He dropped her, licked the inward curve of her lower back -- ohjesusyes -- and slapped it.
"Aaahunh!"
"And that's for being such a cheeky little cunt." He rubbed her ass. "And a naughty little cheat."
"Hunh..." She circled her hips and bucked into him fast.
"Yeah..." He massaged her spot. "Baby's gonna come."
He wasn't wrong: she held her breath and convulsed in his grasp, a ragged scream tearing out of her throat.
Just when her voice was sounding normal again... and just when she had to continue her work day, and somehow convince Lindsey that she didn't just have rough limousine sex with his father... She was a horrible human being.
He pulled out of her, and she felt empty. "Spin round. On your back."
Dazed, she followed his orders and let him fuck her on the floor.
"Open your eyes, Buffy. Look at me."
It was disconcerting, the way he gazed at her. He was savoring this too much. "Hurry up. I have to get back."
He arched a brow. "Want me to hurry, you'll have to find my spot."
Spike had an achilles heel too? She searched his devilish eyes, wondering where it could be. Nipples? Earlobe? Nape of... Without another thought, she clutched his throat.
His overly delighted wolf grin and tongue flick told her she'd scored.
Knew it. Freak. She tightened her grasp and her nails dug into his skin.
She had to admit, there was a certain satisfaction in watching his face turn red; in giving him his just desserts for a change... but she couldn't keep it up beyond his first orgasmic shudder.
Spent, face buried in her neck, he whispered, "You're amazing."
"Don't--" She pushed his head up. "I'm gonna smell like you. He knows your cologne."
He grinned lazily. "Bit late for that."
"Off!" She stopped him before he closed in for a kiss.
"All right, feisty." Rolling off of her, he opened a compartment beneath the divan and threw a handful of little gold packets on her belly. "Should mask my hideous stench."
She didn't think it was hideous. Lately, even cheap knockoffs of his cologne tended to cause a Pavlovian effect. In her underpants. "Designer wet-naps," she said, inspecting a packet. "Where do you find this stuff?"
"Try it. If you like it I'll get you a few bottles."
She sniffed one. It smelled expensive. "You're saying cheap body spray doesn't do it for you?"
"I'm saying you deserve the best."
She wiped it over her neck. "I'm fine with what I have."
He was giving her a look, most likely a meaningful one, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she found her thong and wriggled into it while scanning the passing scenery for something recognizable. Koreatown. Not far.
"Can you tell Garrett to turn around now?"
"I'm watching you dress."
She rolled her eyes. "At least tell me what time it is."
He tsked, and opened another compartment that turned out to be a mini-fridge. "You should always wear a watch, kitten. Basic necessity for an adulteress. Plus it hides the wrist burns. Peach?"
Buffy blinked at the fruit he'd just bitten into. "No. Thanks... I don't need a watch because we are not seeing each other again."
"Did you ever drink that champagne I got you?"
"I haven't had much reason to celebrate."
"Secretary's Day, that's coming up."
She stopped buttoning her blouse to goggle at him. "I'm not a secretary!"
He pointed at her with the half-eaten peach. "Your exasperation is even more winsome when you're not fully dressed."
Unable to settle on a coherent response, she threw her hands up and grabbed her skirt. "I can't believe I let you do this to me. In the middle of the day!"
"It is when I get my 'wood'."
Attempting to ignore him, she zipped up her skirt and fished her makeup bag out of her purse.
"But I s'pose I can wait 'til you're out of work tomorrow. He stays late most nights, yeah?"
"What? No! We're not doing this tomorrow!"
"Day after, then? I think I'm free--"
"No! Spike! You--" Buffy let out a sigh. She was beginning to bore herself with her repeat pointless performances. "Stop talking, okay? Just drop me off downtown and let me go on with my day. Please?"
"All right. But first," Spike tapped his cheek, "kiss me. Right here."
"I just reapplied," she said, lipgloss wand in hand.
Scarred brow arching, he gave her a come-hither finger.
"You're unbelievable." Reluctantly, she got on her knees, crawled to him, and pecked his cheek.
"Softly," he said.
Oh, for the love of... She kissed his cheek. Softly.
He tapped his neck, so she kissed that, then his chest, leaving pink lip gloss prints behind. When he tapped his cheek again, he turned his head to catch her with his mouth.
His tongue tasted like peaches and sex.
When they parted for air, he said, "God, that smells good on you."
Buffy subdued her flush. "I'll be sure to wash it off right away."
"Back to where we started," he said, and she realized he was talking to his driver.
* * *
God, that smells good on you. You deserve the best. Naughty little cheat--
"Buffy?"
Sugar spewing over her black wake-me-up coffee cup, Buffy put the dispenser down, sopped up the spill and saw the face that belonged to the voice: "Lilah!" So not the person she needed to bump into right now. Or ever.
"Don't tell me they still send you on coffee runs."
Counting to five, Buffy slowly stirred the sugar in -- there was at least a two inch overpour; how long was she daydreaming? "Oh, no." Both cups in hand, she faced her nemesis with a smile. "This is for Lindsey."
"Aw." Lilah smirked at her, flaunting her perfect hair, her impeccably tailored suit and her thousand dollar stilettos made of dolphin or endangered penguins or whatever. "You're a good wife. Give him my best, will you? And tell him the offer still stands."
Her smile hadn't budged. "Offer?"
"He'll know what I mean."
Lilah's claws broke through her skin yet again, but this time they didn't pierce any vital organs. Partly because Buffy had her own evil secret -- but mostly because she'd just had that endorphin rush of an orgasm. It was like natural Xanax. "I'll tell him."
"Is that Joy?"
"What?" Was it that obvious?
"Your perfume. Eight hundred an ounce Joy. Daddy Warbucks buy that for you in Paris?"
"Oh. No, he -- I just got scent-doused at the Perfume Outlet. But, good to know I came out smelling like money. I've got to run. Take care."
"You too." Lilah leaned in and asided confidentially, "Might want to stop in the ladies' room first. You're a little undone."
Buffy glanced at her blouse. She'd missed a button -- all the others were out of whack. "Oh. Thanks! You'd think someone would have told me by now..."
She motored out of the coffee shop as quickly as her DSW markdown pumps could propel her.
'Perfect in every way' was the phrase Spike used when she asked him how she looked.
She was going to kill him the next time she never saw him again.
* * *
"Babe, you did it again," Lindsey said with concern, touching her face.
"Mm?"
"You didn't stop. When you keep going like that, I'm gonna come."
She let him out of her mouth, smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry for me, I'm happy, it's just, what about you?"
"You've had a long day. Why can't I just take care of you sometimes?"
"Hold on. Weren't you a feminist, like a week ago?"
"I still am." She crawled up to his side. "Tomorrow you can service me."
"I can service you now."
"Honey, I love you but when you fall asleep midway, it's not so much."
He yawned and stretched on the couch. "I'm wide awake. Honest."
"Uh huh." She circled a finger on his chest, the little cluster of fine hair there. Did Spike wax or something? He had barely any hair anywhere other than his head, come to think of it. It was unnatural.
Huey appeared at the edge of the couch and whined. Eyes closed, Lindsey pointed at him. "Don't be acting like I didn't just walk you."
"He's still miffed at me for leaving. I told you, he's been guilt-tripping me every chance he gets." Actually, she was convinced that the dog could smell her unfaithfulness. "It was only one weekend, Huey. I'm back now."
"You still haven't talked about it. Paris."
She attempted to regulate her heartbeat. Why couldn't he just fall asleep? "I know you have, you know, issues with it... so I didn't want to bring anything up for you."
"I'm not that sensitive, Buffy," he said with a chuckle. "Did you have a good time, at least? Before you got sick?"
"It was... Yeah, I mean, I love Paris. I got to see a lot of art, meet new people..."
"Yeah? Like who?"
"Well, a group of art students on the first day, they were really cool. And I met these crazy bohemian friends of Spike's..."
"Liam Angelus?"
"Y...yeah. I guess you've met him too."
"He taught me how to smoke a bowl. I was thirteen."
"I am not at all surprised by that."
"Who else was there?" he asked languidly, eyelids still closed. "Whats-his-name, Lorne?"
"Yeah! He was there. And Jasmine, and some flamenco dancer..." She thought about it and elected to put it out there: "And um, I met Spike's mom."
He froze in mid-inhale, and opened his eyes. "His mom?"
Oh. Uh-oh. What if he didn't know she existed? "Yeah. She's in Paris, and she's um, she's dying, I think. That's why he had to see her."
Lindsey finally let go of his breath, nodding slowly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He cracked his neck, then searched his jeans for cigarettes.
"You've met her, right?"
Sticking one behind his ear, he said, "I have had the displeasure."
"Oh my god, right? How beastly is she? She called me vapid. Me! Vapid!"
"She's dying for sure? He said that?"
"He said, and she looked it too. I mean, she's gotta be at least seventy now..."
"She's only sixteen years older than him."
"What? No way!" She added up the difference. "She really is sick."
Lindsey scratched his head and put on his jeans.
Dragging his tired ass to the balcony for a smoke after an orgasm? This was fairly unprecedented. Pre-affair, she would have pressed for an explanation. Now, it was easier to keep things on the shallow.
"Your phone's blinking," he said before he got to the sliding door.
Buffy reached for it on the coffee table, sat back on the couch to check her messages.
A text from Spike: I can still taste you on my tongue.
Her jaw dropped.
"What is it?"
Oh god, Lindsey was still standing there.
Trying to quickly erase it, she blurted, "Nothing!"
"That did not look like nothing." He returned to her side.
"I don't want you to see!" Her mouth worked on its own, instinctually protecting her with a deflection: "It was about Lilah, okay?"
"...Lilah?"
"I saw her today and she said something mega-bitchy, so I told Willow about it. We've been texting insults back and forth, it's totally juvenile and I already feel shame."
"What did she say to you?"
Oh, thank you, Lord. Of darkness. "You really want to know?"
"Now I do, yeah."
"Okay. Well, first, she implied that I was nothing better than a gal friday. Then she called me a 'good little wife' and told me to tell you that the offer was still open, wink wink, you would know what that means."
He frowned, and then started laughing. "Wow. Yeah. She's talking about a job offer."
"What?"
"Wolfram Hart has an opening for a junior partner."
That bitch was trying to lure him to the dark side? She really was just like Spike! "Are you interested?"
"You're kidding me, right? That place is the first circle of Hell! I'm pretty sure they sacrifice babies."
"Oh thank god. Not about the babies."
"Come on, Buff, you know me better than that. I'm not about money or prestige or a fuckin' corner office; I'm about being a voice for the powerless. The people who really need help. You seriously think I would switch teams for a few extra perks?"
"No." Buffy gazed up at him lovingly. "You're too good for that."
And you're too good for me.
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P.S. I can has commentz pleez?
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.