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Georgie pressed her lips as “Happy birthday to you” began a few steps away. Turning slightly, she spotted their smiley server carrying a slice of chocolate cake topped with three burning candles. “Happy birthday, dear Georgie…”

Oliver joined in. “Happy birthday to you!”

The server set down the plate and two forks. “Enjoy!” She grinned and went to the next table.

“Make a wish—or three,” said Oliver.

Supportive, loving Oliver, always in her corner. Georgie smiled. “Well, one already came true, so…” Closing her eyes, she blew out a big breath, extinguishing the flames in one go.

FORTY-FIVE

OLIVER

Georgie’s grin wouldn’t quit. Sat on Oliver’s couch surrounded by torn wrapping paper and a baseball-style Leafs shirt, she placed the Depeche Mode and Janet Jackson CDs she’d just opened on his coffee table and lunged toward him. “Ollie, thank y—” Grimacing, she stopped short and reached under her dress.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Squirming, Georgie stretched back into the cushions, her expression softening as her hands, full of hosiery, reappeared. “Ohh, that’s better.” She exhaled heavily as she tugged the stockings down her legs. “Love dressing up, hate nylons. I usually tear them off the minute I get home.”

Catching a glimpse of bikini underwear as she freed herself, Oliver felt the needy ache in his trousers throb with renewed intensity, a not-so-gentle reminder of what they’d started in the cab leaving the restaurant. Georgie had vetoed post-dinner drinks and dancing at Stilife, a stylish club a few doors north of the restaurant, choosing instead to continue their celebrations at his apartment. They’d managed to keep their handsy make-out session relatively PG during the fifteen-minute journey, but now with Georgie partially naked, his semi grew thicker, harder, and impossible to ignore.

Oliver swallowed hard. “Would you like cake now or later?” Having enjoyed slices at the restaurant and the fan mail session, he hoped she’d decline and they’d take their party for two into his bedroom.

“Now?” she replied.

Well, he did ask. Stifling a groan as his full-fledged erection strained against the tightness of his underwear, he grinned and walked gingerly into the kitchen.

“I’ll help!” Georgie ducked past him in the narrow room, scooping up one of the cake’s purple buttercream flowers with her finger. She stuck it in her mouth and sucked, pulling it clean with a wet pop and a moan of closed-eye pleasure, which didn’t help Oliver’s trouser situation.

A whimper escaped his throat—dammit—and Georgie’s impish gaze swung downward, beholding the hard ridge bulging through his trousers.

“Ooh, happy birthday to me!” Locking eyes, she grasped a handful of him, and Oliver gasped. “This is what I really want.”

Thank god! He melted into a grin. “Yeah?”

Letting him go, Georgie hoisted herself up on the edge of the counter and spread her thighs, nudging the cake plate closer to the fridge. “The cake was just a ruse, silly boy…” Grasping his tie, she yanked him in tight, bringing his mouth to hers. Persistent and insatiable, her deep kisses tasted of sugar and want, and Oliver couldn’t get enough.

Neither could she. Fisting his hair, gripping his shoulders, trailing downward to his belt and zipper—Georgie didn’t seem satisfied until she’d pushed his trousers and boxers away from his rock-hard heat and closed her hand around him. She slipped her other hand into the front of her underwear, sucking in a breath. “I’m so wet.” Arching her back, she licked her lips. “Let’s do it now. Here.” Her eyes closed mid-gasp.

“Here?” Oliver reluctantly traded the intoxicating view of Georgie pleasuring herself for the toaster and coffee maker behind her. Appliances aside, the Formica countertop wasn’t the most comfortable of locations for a tryst. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her lashes peeled open. “You won’t, but a little ache feels good sometimes, right?” As if proving her point, Georgie pumped her fist up and down, pulling a gruff grunt from Oliver’s throat. He was in no position to argue.

“Fuuuck…yeah.” He grasped her soaked underwear at the hips and Georgie released him, raising her ass so he could yank them off and down her legs. She then fussed with her dress, her escape from its velvety soft confines not happening fast enough if her frown was anything to go by. Tilting her elbow at an odd angle, she thwacked it into the cupboards. “Ow!”

“I got it, baby.” Oliver gently lifted the material over her head and draped the pretty dress on the kitchen’s lone chair. He stepped out of his trousers and boxers in the process, letting them pool on the floor.

Chucking her bra onto the heap, Georgie lunged forward. She tussled with his shirt’s buttons then pulled it open, stroking his chest with wide-eyed wonder like she was convincing herself he was real and right there. “Ollie, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

His gaze snagged on the hardened peaks of her nipples. “I’m yours. Always.” Cupping her face, Oliver crushed her mouth with his, each swirl of their tongues a tease, rocketing straight to his aching cock.

She reached out to reclaim him, but Oliver sank to his knees, plunging his tongue deep inside her. Fuck, she tasted so good. Crying out, Georgie shuddered into a writhing, hair-fisting frenzy on the counter. Not ready to let her come just yet, Oliver pulled out and licked and sucked her swollen clit, each sweep and press of his tongue earning a terse moan and another yank of his hair.

“OhmygodfuckmefuckmeNOW,” she cursed and cried without pause. “Please, Ollie?”

Oliver could’ve stayed on his knees till the sun came up, but what the begging birthday girl wants, the begging birthday girl gets.

He rose to his full height, and her half-lidded gaze leapt to his swaying erection.