Anne
Three Months Later
He slept so peacefully, looking entirely innocent beneath the French sunrise.
He thought this trip was our autumn break.
Ethan was great at giving and a terrible receiver—my dream of pegging him had died a quiet death.
He hadn’t budged even when I’d promised to treat his virgin arsehole with the greatest of care.
So here I was, sneaking away to get everything ready in our rented villa. The luxury property sat close to a cliff in the French Alps—a great place for unforeseen accidents.
God, I wished I could raise his mother from the dead just to kill her all over again. Fucking Ethan on her grave hadn’t seemed like enough. Perhaps grave-digging and a few golden showers would have been more fitting. There were options for her skeleton.
Hmm. Maybe for his next birthday.
“Anne,” he shouted.
“I’m downstairs,” I called, standing to light the candles.
A few sat wonky, but fuck it—I’d run out of time.
I surveyed the decorations, all black, gold and cream. The gifts lay on the table beside the cake. His footsteps hit the stairs.
“In here,” I called, smiling when I heard him grunt.
The door creaked open, and I was about to shout happy birthday when my eyes landed on his semi-hard cock. He stood buck naked, rubbing his eyes, trying to comprehend what was happening.
The candles flickered.
And I began to sing happy birthday to him.
He glanced around the room before his gaze settled on me, tongue sweeping his lip when he registered that my lavender bra and French knickers were completely see-through.
The song ended, and Ethan ambled across the room. My eyes dipped as his cock bobbed in approval.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he grumbled, but his voice was thick with emotion.
Neither of us had known many happy birthdays or holidays—which was exactly why I’d become hyper-focused on giving him the best damn birthday of his life.
His hands settled on my lace-clad arse.
“Yeah, good try,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders. “You’d have gone all out for mine in a few months just to make me feel bad for doing nothing on yours.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest before the rich, deep sound of it filtered out.
“I’m not used to this,” he said, drawing me closer. “Thank you.”
“Great. You open your presents, and I’ll grab us some coffee,” I said, trying to push away—but his arms locked around me.
“Birthday cake for breakfast?”
“It has berries and cream. That’s close enough.”
He turned to study the cake’s inscription.
“Happy birthday, my beautiful monster?”
“Yes, beautiful. Look at these eyelashes. Gorgeous,” I said, brushing my palm along his cheekbone and up into his hair. “Oh damn—quick, make a death wish and blow out the candles before we’re eating wax.”
He reluctantly released me and bent to blow them all out.
“Did you make a death wish?”
“Of course I did,” he scoffed.
I patted his head and darted away before he could stop me.
He was a little overwhelmed.
He needed a moment.