Whiplash
“I know exactly what Daddy Roan needs for his birthday – me,” she teased.
“Every damn day.” Roan kissed her, savoring her warmth and presence. “You’re the only thing I want for my birthday.”
“Of course I am. You’re gonna use me beyond HARD.” Clarissa started to unbutton his shirt, and he caught her hands before she could him strip further.
“Even if I don’t, you are the only thing I want for my birthday.” Roan repeated, watching her brown eyes go wide. “Just you.”
Her face never hid anything, and this moment wasn’t any different. His words had confused her, adding serious talk into where they’d kept it sexy and playful.
Yet it was what needed to be said. Not Roan and Lissa. He wanted Clarissa to see Jules in this moment.
“I’m really what you want?” She sounded wistful. “Boring nothing special me?”
“You are the most special thing in my life. Be mine.” It wasn’t the full declaration he could have given, yet it was a start. There was a name for this feeling, the one that had been growing since the moment he met her.
Love.
He wouldn’t say it today, but he wanted her to sense the shape of it.
“I am yours,” she answered.
He kissed her again, not commanding, more of a request, allowing her to meet him in the middle. Her response was a sign with a coo, melting into him. Deliberately keeping it light, he kept going, savoring the sensation of her nearness.
No hurry.
No desperation.
No demands.
They could have stopped there, and it would have been the best birthday every.
However, his sunny girl had other ideas.
“As much as I like this, I didn’t put on this raincoat for nothing.” She made space between them. “I am here to blow your mind, just like you did on my birthday.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “We can—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Mr. Birthday Boy, no more talking. Remember the singing telegram?”
Oh, she had said something about that when he’d let her in.
“Actually, I should warn you, I don’t really sing or dance. But I do other things.” She shoved him down onto his couch and unzipped the raincoat, dropping it on the floor. She kicked off the boots.
He felt like his jaw had hit the floor as he stared, high-minded ideas long forgotten
She had put on the notorious pink robe that she’d gotten for her birthday, and judging by the slight clank—yep, there was her anklet. And, mother of holy God, she was untying the robe—no bra, thong, and the belly chain.
Her grin was pure mischief as she doffed the hat too, displaying his favorite double French braids with pink ribbons.
Like the Conan Barbarian princess she’d been fond of role-playing, she cupped her breasts, peaked nipples a heathen offering to him.
“I’m yours. Always have been. Always will be, Daddy Roan. ”
She sank to her knees, unfastening the front of his pants on her way down.
“Good. Mine. Lissa.” He had enough gentlemanly sense to throw one of those pillows turquoise pillows on the carpet to cushion her knees.
“Yes, Daddy.” She freed the hard-on from his pants, parting those delicious lips. “Time to start your party.”
No man on the planet, however good his intentions to discuss making an honest woman out of his girlfriend, had the willpower to resist a birthday blowjob in his living room.
And she was quite good; he’d trained her so well. She guided his hands to her braids, encouraging him to tug at the ribbons adding a layer of forbidden, as she took his full length in her mouth.
“Fuck, hermosa, bella, quierda,” Roan lapsed into a mix of profanity and praise. Heaven was hell, and Clarissa was intent on making him see God.
He could die a happy man in this almost perfect moment.
Though death might have been at hand when his front door was flung open.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY - WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!”