“Since it’s my birthday,” I say, the words tasting foreign on my tongue, “it’s only fair I get to come as well.”
I step forward, grab her ankles, drag them off the countertop and wrap them around my waist.
Once I’ve tugged her arse to the very edge, I grasp my cock and stroke it a few times before lining it up with her opening.
She’s still tight, and so fucking snug, but she takes all of me like a champ.
I’m still being reckless and not using protection.
I haven’t from the start, or even brought the subject up.
I’m also not comfortable asking her if she’s on birth control for two reasons. I don’t want to plant the idea in her head, or spark a conversation that might make her think too hard about what we’re doing. Because if she starts thinking, she might realise she’s not there yet, and may never be.
I don’t want to know that. It’s not that I’m afraid of the answer, but because I know it will gut me.
Somewhere along the line, I went from not wanting kidsto yearning for them. I want to see her with my child in her arms, wrapped up in a life we build together. Something that doesn’t have to be earned with violence or fear. Something good. Pure.Ours.
I know she’d be a great mother, and I know what a shitty parent and absent father feels like, and I’d never want my offspring to feel even a fraction of what I did growing up.
I want to break the cycle and be the kind of parent I never had.
My eyes roll back in my head as I bury myself to the hilt in her heaven.
I immediately draw back and thrust back in. I can’t get enough of her sweetness.
Leaning down, I place my lips on hers. “Thank you for my cake,” I whisper against her mouth. “You’re not going to sing happy birthday to me, are you?”
“Of course, I am.”
I groan as I move to bury my face in the crook of her neck, but I can’t seem to stop the smile that curves my lips.
“I have presents too.”
“I don’t need presents, babe. I have you, and that’s enough.”
Her fingers thread through my hair, tangling in the short strands as she tugs my lips back to hers.
My hands grip her hips, anchoring her in place as I ramp up my movements, pounding into her at a feverish rate. She can handle everything I give her, the rougher the better.
She lets me be the person I’ve spent years hiding from the world. She doesn’t just accept it, she welcomes it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
The deeper I go, the more I push, the more she rises to meet me head-on. No hesitation, no fear. Like she was made to withstand the storm I bring.
It doesn’t harden her; it just draws out more of her strength. More of that fire I love.
Every time I lose control, she shows me just how unshakable she really is. She’s not afraid of my darkness. If anything, she pulls it into the light. And for a man like me—someone who’s spent his life holding back—that kind of trust is everything.
When we were done fucking on the breakfast bar, I sat there and watched Lucia add the final touches to my cake, her focus so intense you’d think it mattered more than anything else.
To her, maybe it did.
I’m not used to people doing things for me without wanting something in return. No angle, no expectation. Just her, showing up for me in a way no one ever has.
She told me the cake was for later, so after we ate breakfast, we showered and got ready for the day. It’s still early, and this birthday has already been the best one I’ve ever had.
“Sit,” she orders, guiding me over to the bed.
As soon as I’m seated on the side of the mattress, she moves into our walk-in closet and comes back out with a small pile of wrapped presents in her hand.