The Beating of Angel’s
Wings
There was a
light tap on his office door and Spike looked up to see his secretary opening
the door.
“Your last
appointment, sir, a Mrs. Jones,” Mrs. Morgan said in her most professional
voice.
He smiled
at her and once again thanked whoever for the arrival of this woman into his
office. She had been only one of the few applicants that had shown up in
response to his ad. Nobody really wanted to work for a one man outfit like his
but Mrs. Morgan had. She had come in and organized him, kept him on his toes
and most of all she had informally adopted Buffy after taking one look at his
wife. The two women were as close as any mother and daughter could be. So, no
matter how hard as nails as she was about decorum in the office, the woman
would never be excused.
This time
the woman had a faint smile dancing at the corner of her lips as she stepped
back and let his appointment enter. His smile stopped at the sight of the tiny
woman who stepped into his small work space. She had red hair that curled down
the middle of her back and it almost seemed larger than she was. A black suit
clung to every curve she possessed and the only thing that offset it was a
white scarf draped around her neck and tucked into the front of her jacket. His
gaze ran down her body as she posed for a moment as if to give him the time to
appreciate the beauty before him. Her legs seemed to go on forever under her
short skirt only highlighted and given the illusion of being longer by the
stiletto heels she wore.
A throaty
chuckle escaped from those scarlet lips. He stood and gestured to a client
chair on the other side of his desk.
“If it’s
all right, sir, I’m going to head on home,” Mrs. Morgan said. “You’ll lock up
when you two are done?” With a chuckle his secretary winked at him.
It took
everything he had to tear his eyes from the woman sitting on the chair opposite
him and nod at the departing figure of his assistant.
“That’s
fine. I’ll see you in the morning,” Spike replied, wondering why his voice was
so raspy.
A whisper
sound of the door closing and they were alone. It was after five and the
building was clearing out so there was no chance of interruption.
“So, Mrs. Jones,
how may I help you?” Spike asked, deciding to play along with the ‘game’
started by the woman staring at him.
Her hand
pulled the scarf from her neck, letting it caress her flesh as it revealed the
valley between her breasts. He swallowed as she shifted in her seat, leaning to
drape the scarf over the chair opposite her. Her jacket gaped open, confirming
his suspicions that she wasn’t wearing a bra and his cock stirred as he viewed
the shadowed shape of one luscious tit. The nipple was already pebbled and he
yearned to tease it with his tongue.
“I’m having
difficulties in my marriage,” she said, settling back into the chair. “My
husband is a workaholic,” her legs crossed and her skirt was drawn a little
higher on her thighs, “and I am feeling neglected.”
The last
word was whispered like sweet molasses and Spike rolled a little further under
his desk. His hand pulled at his slacks trying to give his burgeoning erection
room to breathe unlike his own constricted airway. Without needing to confirm
it he knew that there was perspiration forming on his forehead and he wondered
if someone had turned the air conditioning off.
“And how
may I help you with this problem?”
Tension
filled every corner of the room as she stood, her hands smoothing her jacket
down and continuing over her shapely rear. Something akin to fear clutched at
his bowels as his client made her way around the desk. Every step was the beat
of a drum pounding in his head; each in perfect rhythm with the movements of
her hips. Spike thought that if the world ended right then that he still
wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from those curves. She stopped right at
the corner of his chair. Her leg rested on the edge and she used her weight to
push him back. He couldn’t stop her. It had to happen. Otherwise he didn’t
think he could live another moment.
She slipped
between him and the desk. His tongue licked his lips as her hands slid down her
skirt, fingers curving under the edge, leisurely pulling it upwards. Those
creamy thighs were revealed to him, agonizing inch by agonizing inch, torturing
him with the slowness of her movements. A groan broke the silence as the hem
crawled upwards exposing her soft curls to him. With a wanton wiggle the woman
sat her bottom on the leather blotter that had been a gift to him and he pushed
the thought aside. Spike only wanted to concentrate on the feast before him.
The
impossibly high shoes were kicked off revealing toes painted in a shade that
made him think of cotton candy. Those
delicately arched feet were rested on the arms of his chair and the subtle
aroma of her musk wafted to him in sweet temptation. Letting gravity do its
work, those protective wings fell open leaving the tender pink flesh beneath
those curls visible to his hungry stare. He couldn’t help the chuckle of
anticipation as tapered fingers slid between those lips, spreading them for his
perusal.
“Do you see
anything you can help me with?”
“Oh, I
think we could file a petition for satisfaction.” His gaze flickered upwards
and collided with emerald eyes clouded with lust. “If you’re game, that is?”
“If you’re
up for the task, feel free to…file away,” ‘Mrs. Jones’ practically purred,
leaning back on her hands.
Spike
rolled his chair closer, his hand holding one thigh so his tongue could taste
the salty gleam of heat beading on the inner flesh. His teeth nipped. His
tongue licked. She moaned. And he hurried the trail to his main focus. He
sighed at the sight before him.
“Hurry,”
she pleaded, her hips curling closer to him.
It was the
nectar of the gods and he indulged his overwhelming hunger. There wasn’t a part
of her perfect pussy that wasn’t tasted and pleasured. His tongue thrust deep
into the dark cavern of her, curling against those walls, and fingers were
wrapped in his hair holding him there. But he teased her, retracting and
traveling to nip at the center of her pleasure, fingers slipping in to stroke
the center of nerves and she keened, falling backwards, flung across his desk.
Spike hoped
there wasn’t any irreplaceable paperwork beneath her because it was ruined by
her quaking form. His cock screamed for its own release and as she fell over
the edge, he stood. With a smile, possessive and still hungry, she wrapped her
legs around his waist barely leaving him room to undo his pants and free
himself.
“Oh, sir,
that is quite impressive,” she cooed, fingers stroking it and leading it to her
still quivering channel.
It was an
effortless slide into that heat, the overflow of her orgasm coating him and
easing him into her tight passage. Once buried, Spike froze for a moment,
enjoying the combination of chills and fever that possessed his body. There was
only one more thing that he needed and with a quick flick of his fingers, her
jacket fell open. His mouth latched onto one pink nipple and he sucked as his
hips found their own rhythm. This was heaven sent. Their bodies moved together,
pulling apart and slamming together again in a need that only grew with each
thrust. She would slide and he would pull her back, his fingers digging into
her hips that were in constant motion.
“More,
harder, oh god, fuck me, harder,” she begged.
Fingernails
raked across his back tearing at his attention. There was too much going on at
one time and he gave in leaving his mind a blank as he followed the needs of
his flesh. Kisses became impossible as they tried to keep breathing and in one
moment they crashed. Screams echoed around him and his cock poured his cum deep
inside of her. His muscles failed and he collapsed on top of her petite body
hoping he didn’t crush her. She wrapped her arms around him. Her hands soothed
him as he found his bearings again.
Spike rose
up on his hands, staring down into the languid eyes that were half closed as
this exquisite creature let her hands drift over his hips.
“Well,
well, I think that you have given me much to think about,” she whispered.
Her ankles
released him and he reached for tissues on the corner of his desk. He cleaned
her up, and smiled at the hitch of breath when he lingered over her clit. Their
eyes locked before he pulled her to her feet. Hands straightened and fastened,
stumbling over each other as they returned to being ‘decent’. Her feet slipped
back into heels while he held her steady.
‘Mrs. Jones’
kissed his cheek and moved away. She draped her scarf around her neck and
picked up her purse.
“Thank you
for your time,” she said as if they had done nothing but discuss her situation.
“If I need any further assistance I will be sure to call you.”
And with
one last look, she sashayed out of his office, leaving him sated and smiling.
The smile never left his face as he straightened his desk and prepared to go
home.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was
funny that over time he had learned to appreciate the music that Buffy listened
to and she had learned to appreciate his. His CD’s were always being borrowed
but he never minded. His wife always took care of whatever she had because they
had worked so hard for it. They had been married for almost five years now and
just in the last six months or so did they feel that the wolf wasn’t constantly
nipping at their heels.
And on this
chilly autumn evening, Buffy was playing his Billy Paul CD while she fixed
dinner. Spike hesitated at the door watching her as she danced across the floor
toward the stove. Dressed in denim shorts and a sweatshirt she still looked
like a teenager. Somehow she had formed a system and could cook and study at
the same time. Her notes from her college courses were always taped on the wall
above the stove and he sometimes found himself learning things when he took his
turn at fixing their meals.
“Hey,
Baby,” Spike said, opening the door and putting his briefcase down. “What’s for
dinner?”
“Excuse me
but ‘I love you’ comes before the dinner question,” Buffy retorted, smiling as
he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“I love you
more every day,” he whispered before burying his face in her neck.
“Love you,
too and remember that when I say, mac and cheese.”
“Oh.”
Giving a
giggle she moved her bottom over his crotch suggestively. “It’s homemade
though. I even made the cheese sauce and if you want to be a good husband you
can make a salad.”
Spike
squeezed her and kissed her cheek. “Let me go and change and I will be the best
husband I can be for you.”
“Promises,”
she called to his retreating form.
He laughed
as he moved down the hall to their bedroom. They had been lucky to buy this
small house near the campus and his office. It had needed work but that was
something he and his wife knew how to do. Four and a half years of sobriety for
him, two years of therapy for his wife, and lots of compromises had given them
this; a growing practice for him, a college education for Buffy, a small house
and two cars in the driveway. Life still wasn’t perfect but it was real good as
long as they kept holding onto each other.
Knowing
that Buffy was waiting for him, Spike pulled his suit off throwing it in the
pile for the dry cleaner before pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. Whistling, he
headed back to the kitchen, pausing only long enough to run his fingers over
the wig with the curly red hair discarded on the dresser.
The End for Now…
