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“How about you wait until later, and I treat you to a special birthday night?” Her mouth opened, her tongue slicking along her lips in a circle, her cat-green eyes flaming with promise. I registered the appeasing tone in her voice, and fuck, I was not above a sympathy blowjob or, as she called it, “cock swallow.”
Releasing my hands from her waist as I stepped back, I said, “Sounds good. I’m calling Mom to see if I can get my birthday meal to go.”
“I swear, Jake, get out!” she shouted, shaking her head and letting a chuckle escape her mouth. “You could make yourself useful and get the salad from the fridge packed up, along with the special cookies I made.”
“Cookies?” The only cookies I really liked were Laura Bush’s Cowboy Cookies and Trisha Yearwood’s Glazed Limoncello Cookies, and she didn’t know that. Plus, I’d never known her to bake.
“Yep, I made some walnut carob chip cookies. They're wheat-free, no dairy or sugar. I used pureed carrots to sweeten them…they’re actually kind of good for you.”
“Shit, they sound like deer treats. Those don’t count as cookies. Let me get this straight—I get no sex, and cookies made from what…rabbit food?” What the hell? Carrots as a sweetener? Fuck, this Austin health-conscious bullshit was sucking all the fun out of good ‘ole Texas grub.
She picked up the curling iron from the counter, jabbing it in the air toward me like it was a sword. “You’re impossible. First, you're getting sex, a lot of it—later—and second, the cookies are for Cameron. Melissa’s trying to watch his sugar and wheat intake. I didn’t know this, but a lot of kids with autism have gut-related issues, so I told her I’d make him something special, something I could eat, too. They’re really not bad. I snuck a smidgen of the dough.” She said that last part like it was a confession.
This girl, shit, every time I felt dejected or wondered if all the work to get through her walls was worth it, she did something like that, as if it was the most natural thing to make sure my nephew, who even at an early age was left out of a lot in life, got to have a special treat on my birthday. Also, I couldn’t deny how much I liked it that she was in touch with my sisters.
“So go, let me finish. I’ll detail my plan to take advantage of that hot football physique after your party…on the way to your parents.”
Turning to walk out of the bathroom, I snorted. “Great, so I get to go through my family birthday dinner with a rock-hard boner. Sounds fun.”
On the drive to my parent’s house, she turned to me, her finger pinching the top of the zipper that traversed from her breasts to her crotch along the front of her army-green romper that I told her reminded me of a super sexy fighter pilot I’d like to fuck. “Sooo…do you want to see what I have under this for later?” she teased with her eyes, doing that jig thing that I had come to associate with taunting me into a frenzy.
My eyes darted from the road to her. “Anything is too much.”
“Wait for it, wait,” she snipped, unzipping the romper to just below her breasts, exposing a sheer lace and black leather one-piece teddy.
I took in that visual for a few too many seconds. Feeling the truck swerve, I shifted my eyes to the road. “Shit, okay, if you have to wear something, I’ll take it, but that’s going to make it impossible for you to go to the bathroom.”
She laughed while zipping the romper back up. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Don’t worry, there are snaps on the crotch for easy access,” she said, and the double meaning was not lost on me. “It’s from the Leather and Lace collection…they just renewed my contract. I’m going to do more TV commercials for them and a few billboards, so that means more time in Paris,” she added, her voice racing as if she was just going to sneak that in, letting me know she’d be spending more time in Europe in the near future. I wasn’t going to address that now. We had under a week together.
“So what do you think about my birthday outfit?” she clucked. My eyes scooted sideways to see her finger trailing down her torso to her crotch. “Snaps,” she said, her eyes taunting, “brilliant design, don’t you agree, mate? I could preview it for my boyfriend before the world sees it.”
“Damn, you’re bad, and yes, I love it. I need to screen everything before the world sees.” When her head snapped toward me, I realized the last part sounded way too much like a directive. I shifted to a more playful tone, “Tell me more about my present.”
She detailed what she was going to do to me using a fake, sultry voice. I laughed, shaking my head at her description, then, fuck, as she described how she would start by sucking my cock while I sat on the couch before spreading her legs and riding me until I came. “Then, when you're ready, repeat,” she purred, in that wanton, husky voice that she absolutely knew traveled between my legs, stroking my dick. Damn it!
I pulled into my parents' driveway, shaking my head as I turned off my truck. “You go in. I need to sit here for a few minutes…” I uttered, my gaze falling between my legs. “I'm going to try to imagine myself ice fishing with a bunch of offensive linemen in Speedos. That should take care of this.”
She groaned, then snorted. “Ugh…that visual is enough to turn me off for a while.”
“Good. I think we’re ready to go in.” I jumped out of the truck. “Still wanna spank you for being such a bad girl, but I’ll let you make it up to me later,” I mumbled, helping her out.
She smirked, then stepped toward the walkway leading to my parents’ front door. I thought I heard, “Didn’t know you were into that, Skyler,” but when I asked her to repeat it, she just shook her head.
We walked into a noisy house, my mom playfully yelling, partly in French, at my dad about getting the grill going, Cassie running through the living room singing, “Happy Birthday, Uncle Jake,” and Cameron twirling in frenetic circles with his arms out, screaming “Jaaaa.” My grandpa from France, who’d been staying with my parents since January, beamed when he saw Rakell. His large frame lumbered toward her. “Belle Fille,” he bellowed as he enveloped her. Then his arms opened up to me, and even against my 6’ 2” frame, my grandfather still seemed big. While slightly shorter than me, his upper torso was massive, muscles and fat resting on large bones. He whispered gruffly into my ear, loudly enough for her to hear about how smart and beautiful she was, that I should hang on to her, I was lucky. “Vous avez de la chance,” all said in French, which I was pretty sure he remembered she understood from my Super Bowl party when they’d conversed.
I caught her smile, then she winked at me before turning to hug my mom, asking if she should put the salad in the refrigerator.
“Grand-père, you’re not helping me here,” I grunted, lightly slapping my grandpa on the back.
“Jake, can you and Joe get the table set up? Pull three tables together and cover them with the red checked tablecloths in the party cabinet,” my mom barked over her shoulder as she picked up a crockpot and walked outside.
“Wow, Mom, I love you, too. I sure appreciate that sweet speech about how the best day in your life was the day I was born,” I chided.
She laughed. “Saving that for later. Right now I’m busy making my baby boy’s favorite junk food. The fact that I made both your garbage foods and your heart attack in a bowl speaks to my love,” she said, walking past me. My mom often referred to the macaroni and cheese and the chicken fried steak that I love as my garbage food. I was pretty sure she meant the Velveeta queso when she said ‘heart attack in a bowl’ because that’s what Melissa called it.
Walking behind her, I asked, “Score! Is that my queso? Did you add the Jimmy Dean spicy sausage?” Then I scooted in front of her to open the sliding glass door of their sprawling ranch home so she could walk through it.
“Stay away until I can get the appetizers out,” she demanded, swatting the air in the direction of the buffet table, like I was six.
