"I love it," he said breathlessly.
Rebekah climbed from the sofa, then took a hammer and nail from an end table. "Where are we going to hang it?"
His interior decorator would have a cow if she knew he'd hung a picture in her perfectly designed living room. They hung the picture on the wall beside a Thomas Kincaid print. Both grinned at it for a good five minutes.
"We're going to add more soon," she said.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his side. "Yeah." He bent to nibble on her ear, now wishing he'd asked her to put on that cheerleading costume instead of saving it for a later date.
Hand splayed over his belly, she shuddered. "Go wait for me in the family room," she said. "Sit at the piano."
"I'm ready for some hot lovin' now," he said.
She winked at him. "You'll probably get some."
"Probably?"
She grabbed him by the hair at the nape of his neck and kissed him until his dick was so hard his stomach ached.
She pulled away and stared hungrily into his eyes. He stroked the purple strands of hair from her face.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," she promised.
He wasn't sure how she managed to get away. He sure as hell didn't want her to escape. Not even for ten minutes. He knew by now that she had something sexy planned, and half the fun was imagining what it might be. With a sigh, he went to the family room and waited at the black grand piano. The piano's lid had been lowered and several more colorful boxes were sitting there. He would never figure out how she'd managed to put this together. She had to have an accomplice. There's no way she could have done all this by herself. They were together almost constantly.
He got bored enough to play the piano while he waited. That little melody duet that he'd written for their tattoos was starting to stretch into a song.
A pair of soft, warm palms rested on his shoulders and then slid down his chest. His hands went still on the keys. One finger caught in his nipple ring. The gentle tug made his balls tighten. Her breasts pressed against his back. Unfortunately, they weren't bare.
"Happy birthday to you," Rebekah sang into his ear in a sultry, breathless voice.
Her hands slid lower, over his belly.
"Happy birthday to you," she continued.
He turned to look at her and almost fell off the piano bench. Rebekah wore a white halter dress with a long, loose skirt. It was a replica of the one Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch. The costume didn't stop at the dress; Rebekah had the wig, the makeup. She looked as hot as hell in July.
"Happy Birthday, Mister Eric Sticks," she sang in that same sexy voice.
She slid around his body to sit on his lap, her arms around his neck, her eyelids heavy as she looked at him with open invitation.
Oh dear God.
"Happy Birthday … to … you."
Heart thudding, he lowered his head to kiss her. His hand slid up one smooth leg, under her skirt, higher and higher until he knew for certain. She wasn't wearing panties. He lifted her onto the piano and ducked his head under her skirt. Her heels dug into his back as she encouraged his exploring lips and tongue. He sampled her flowing juices, tongue dancing over slick flesh, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still as he excited her to a writhing mass of feminine perfection.
Breathless with anticipation, he emerged from beneath her skirt and tugged his shorts down to free his straining cock. He jerked her body toward him, and she slid off the slick lid of the piano onto the keys, which gave a discordant clang. Finding her opening beneath her skirt, he inserted his cock carefully and then surged forward, filling her with one hard, deep thrust. Pumping into her with a steady rhythm, he opened his eyes to look at her. He tugged her wig off and ran his fingers through her soft hair. As sexy as she was when she was pretending to be someone else, he preferred the real woman.
His woman.
She was more than enough for him. Everything he would ever need.
He captured her lips with his and slowed his pace, not seeking release any longer. Seeking something more. The connection between them. The one he only felt when he was with her. His hands slid down the bare flesh of her back, and he pressed her body close. Their hearts thundered out of control, his against hers, hers against his.
She broke their kiss, and he gazed into her beautiful blue eyes. She stared at him as if in awe. Eventually, he had to ask, "What?"
She wrapped both arms around his waist and snuggled against his shoulder. "Sometimes it just hits me," she whispered. "How lucky I am to be with you."