Shopping for women was fun. Of course, it probably depended what you were shopping for. He was having fun, anyway.
She stopped halfway across the floor when she saw them and said, “Oh.”
“Yep,” he said. “Happy birthday, baby.”
She said, “I’m probably going to feel bad that all I got you was whiskey stones,” and he laughed.
“Nope,” he said. “I love my wolves. And as I recall, we also had some smokin’ sex that day. That’s worth a present or two.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Makes it sound hardly at all like a commercial transaction,” but she was laughing, too. “Which one do I open first?” On her knees on the bed now, dressed in the short black nightgown with the little dots, her hair messy and tumbled, her curvy mouth unpainted. Already a pretty good day, as far as he was concerned.
“This one.” He handed her the medium-sized box. “This one reflects my higher powers, you could say. My, ah, better nature.”
She looked at him sidelong out of her golden eyes. “So the other ones are dirty.”
“Well,” he said, “I’m hoping.” And she smiled with that mouth, showing him the deep bow in the top lip, and opened her present.
“I know you don’t do much jewelry,” he said, when she’d opened the pale-blue Tiffany box tied with its white ribbon. “But I thought this would work.”
She opened the lid of the blue velvet box inside. “Oh.” It was a sigh. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It reminded me of you. Simple, but beautiful. Sort of … organic. Real. It’s called the Bone Cuff.” A wide, heavy, form-fitting cuff bracelet, asymmetrical and curving, like a wave.
She said, “It’s gold.” And put it on her arm then and there. It looked terrific. A tiny bit barbaric, gorgeously feminine and curvy, and a whole lot bold. Like her.
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought it had to be silver to go with the necklace, but the saleslady said no. Which was good, because I wanted gold. We did the one with the white jade insert, though, so it sort of … blends with the pearls. Mixing metals is a thing. I know that now.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, tilting her wrist back and forth and watching the gold shine. “It’s going to look amazing. I love that you didn’t buy me some delicate little thing. It feels like you know me, you know? The me I only half-knew was there.” She looked up at him, then, smiled with all the hidden mischief in her nature, and asked, “Can I wear the padlock tonight, too, do you think? OK to be that bold?” And he went from tender to hard in about one second.
“Yeah, baby,” he said, the lust twisting low in his belly. “You get to be that bold. You get to be every single thing you are. Open this one next.”
This box was tiny. Some more tease in her eyes as she said, “I have a feeling I might know what this is.” Then she opened it and said, “Oh. Wow.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She laughed. “It’s good. It’s gorgeous. And a little …”
“Barbaric. Yeah.”
She touched the tiny yellow gold barbell with the green stones set into the ball on either end. “So these are …”
“Emeralds. I was going to do diamonds, but emeralds are so much hotter.”
“Uh-huh. The gold matches my bracelet. Call that hidden matching. Just for you and me to know about.” And he got another of those hard twists.
She looked up at him, then. Slowly. The way that made his temperature rise. “Can I wear them both right now?”
He had to clear his throat. “Oh, yeah. You bet you can.” He shoved the final box at her. “The bracelet’s the main present,” he assured her. “This is more a present for me.”
“Gee,” she said, “I wonder what?” And once it was open, “Oh.” Pulling out one garment, after another, and holding them up.
They were silky pink fabric edged with black lace. They were filmy and delicate and pretty. They also had strategic openings, with the cups of the bra tied closed with black bows. The thong, he happened to know, was tied closed with nothing. And the black stockings were so sheer, you could barely see them.
He could tell when she realized about the thong, because her eyes went wide. He said, “I, uh, figured the garter belt still worked, because it could go … under the bump.”
She said, “You sure you want to see a nearly-twenty-one-weeks-pregnant woman in these?”
“No.” When she looked up, startled, he said, “I want to see you in these. In fact, I’m sort of dying to. You can pack them for tonight, or …”
“Oh,” she said, “I don’t think so.” She walked to him on her knees in the way that made his heart pound, straddled him where he was propped against the pillows, got her hands around his head, kissed him deep and dirty and ground into him some, which made his heart pound a whole lot more, then sat back and said, “Give me ten minutes.”
“Make it five.”
“Makeup. Messy hair.”
“Nope,” he said. “Five.” He got a hand under that nightgown, tugged on the little ring, and did some touching of his own. “You’re wet already. Five. I’m counting.”
And when she came out of the bathroom? Well, yeah. That worked. That was purely inspirational. Black lace, white skin, and curves.
And black stockings.
First, he laid her on her back, exactly the way he’d imagined, and took out the ring. Carefully. Gently. After that, he touched the hole with his fingers, and then, because there she was, right there and wide open, with his tongue. She moaned, and he said, “Yeah. Wait.”
Sliding that new barbell in took some lube. He’d known it would, because he’d studied. He had big hands, but they were clever hands. He could fix most things, and he could do this, too.
When he screwed the end of the barbell into place, he sighed. Then he gave it a rub and kept on doing it, and asked her, “How does it feel?”
She didn’t answer. She arched her back and opened her mouth. And about thirty seconds later, she was already coming.
After that, it got a little wild. He pulled out the semicircular pillow he’d bought and shoved it under her hips so she was raised up high, and she made a little noise in the back of her throat and put her hands up over her head. He untied the black ribbons over her breasts, one at a time, and took his time there, sucking her until she came again. Just from that. Just from that.
He was never going to make it. He’d meant to drag this out more. It wasn’t going to happen.
And when he said, “Turn over, baby. Get comfortable over that thing”—she did it. And Jennifer on her forearms and knees in black lingerie and stockings, her knees apart and her hands over her head … that was his birthday present.
Oh, yeah.
He did it slow, rubbing that gold ball into her as he went. He waited until she was good and warmed up—by which he meant that she was calling out, coming hard, and grabbing at a sheet that twisted in her fists—then said, fighting for control the whole way, “I’m going to … touch you a little back here. That’s all I’m going to do. That OK? Or no?”
“Uh—yes.” She had her head on one side, was lying on one cheek, and he could see her mouth open and hear her panting. “Yes.”