Happy Birthday Baby...

The rain slanted across the windows and Jon crouched to stoke the fire he had started. Cilla had wanted to come out to the Hamptons for his birthday, just the two of them before the big family celebration tomorrow.   She had something special planned she said.  She wanted his undivided attention she had said.  He couldn’t blame her he supposed.  His schedule had been as hectic as ever, and he wasn’t even touring right now.  Between his kids, the White House Council, The Soul Kitchen and writing a new record, the candle was burning from both ends and close to meeting in the middle.  

Business at the Queen of Tarts had been insane over the holidays and again for Valentines. Cilla was also supplying the Soul Kitchen with desserts at least twice a month.  Things for her were starting to slow down for now, but wedding season was right around the corner and she needed the time to recharge.  So did he.  And here they were.

Standing, he picked up his wine glass from the mantle and turned toward the window.  At least the rain had held off until after lunch.  They had no sooner climbed into the car when the heavens had opened up.  He braced his forearm on the window frame as he stared out into the gray, dreary evening.  It was still coming down and the wind whipped it against the windowpane.  He sipped from his glass.  So much for seducing her out on their chaise, their favorite spot anytime they came to the house.  He shrugged and turned to survey the room.  The floor in front of the fireplace could work.  So could the couch.

Fifty he mused as he stared out at the rain again.  He was fucking fifty years old.  He was also the last of the guys to hit that milestone.  He chuckled half-heartedly.  Davie had hit the mark just a few weeks ago.  Lexi had thrown him one hell of a party.  He raked his fingers through his hair.  He couldn’t remember the last time he drank that much.  That headache had lasted two days.

He took another sip from his glass.  He wouldn’t be imbibing quite that much tonight.  No, he shook his head slightly.  Tonight there would be no getting his drunk on.  Tonight, there was just going to be him and Cilla, a nice meal, a good bottle of wine or champagne-it was his birthday after all-dessert and a lot of cuddling on the couch, stolen kisses and quite probably a tumble or two on said couch.  He could totally get behind that kind of agenda.  He snickered quietly, or under it or on top of it for that matter.

Turning back to face the window, he caught Cilla’s reflection as she came into the room.  She was looking so damn good these days.  Even in faded jeans and an ancient hoodie, she was still one of the best looking women he knew.  Not that she hadn’t looked good before, but fighting cancer had taken a lot out of her.  Now, though, her hair hung just past her shoulders and it was the same rich brown it had been before.   Her cheeks held a healthy glow of pink again and her daily yoga routine was keeping her fit and trim.  He couldn’t be happier.  That had been one of the scariest things he had ever had to deal with and thank God there had been no recurrence.  He knew there was always a chance, but he prayed fervently every day that it would stay away forever.  He didn’t want her to have to go through that again.  Ever.

When he felt her arms come around him from behind he set his glass on the window sill and drew her around to face him, lacing his fingers together at the small of her back.  “There you are” he smiled down at her, “what have you been up to?”

She smiled lovingly at him.  He had looked so serious just a moment ago, now he was all lusty eyes and devilish grins.  “Just getting a few things ready for tonight.”  She slid her hands up his arms and across his tight, tense shoulders to wind around his neck.  “You looked pretty serious there for a minute.  Everything okay?”  Her fingertips feathered across the nape of his neck.

He kissed the tip of her nose, suddenly glad that she had wanted the night away from everyone.  “Just thinking about the day and the fact that I really am an old man now.”  He gave a dramatic sigh.  “How the hell did I get to be 50 already?”

She couldn’t stop the chuckle.  “It happens to everyone.  Some earlier than others.”  She had a few years before she hit that milestone herself and she wasn’t in any hurry to rush the days along.

He dropped his forehead to hers.  “I had to go and marry a younger woman.  What was I thinking?”

She grinned cheekily and drew him toward the couch, urging him to sit on the ottoman.  “It was the cannoli.  You couldn’t resist anymore than Richie could.”  She crawled onto the couch behind him and ran her hands over his shoulders.  “And,” she rested her chin on his shoulder and peered up at him, “you love me” she stated matter-of-factly.  “Take your shirt off.”

His eyebrow rose at her quiet declaration.  “I do love you, it wasn’t the cannoli-well not just the cannoli-and why do I need to take my shirt off?”  He grasped the hem and pulled it up over his head without waiting for her answer.

She reached for the bottle of massage oil in the end table.  “I can’t very well give you a shoulder rub if you have your shirt on.  The oil would make a complete mess.”

He managed to get out an “oh” before her hands were on him.  He dropped his chin to his chest.  He loved it when she did this for him.  She had the best hands.  Hands that were strong when they needed to be and soft when she wanted them to be.  Hands that gave him so much and asked for so little.  Hands that he wanted on him again and again, forever and always.   He groaned a little when she hit a good spot.  Strength and softness, just like the rest of her.  “God Sweets” he mumbled, “you are so good at this.”

She smiled to herself, glad that she could give him this little respite from the crazy that their lives constantly were.  She worked at the hard, tight muscles of his shoulders.  She had told him that she needed to get away, but really, it was him that had needed a break.  His calendar was full to bursting and she had decided that he was going to burn himself out if he didn’t take a day to just be.  That the day happened to coincide with his birthday was just a nice side benefit.

She picked up the bottle of oil and added a little more to the palm of her hand.  It was warm with just a hint of lavender to help him relax.  “You need to slow down some Jonny” she murmured.  “You’re so tense.”  She worked the oil across his shoulder blades and down his well-muscled back.

The fire crackled in front of him and her hands worked him into that delicious in between.  He floated on the haze from the warmth of the room and the magic of her hands.  He couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift.

Sliding her hands around his waist, Cilla pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and sat behind him on the ottoman.  He was finally relaxed.

His hands covered hers and brought them to his lips before tugging gently.  “C’mere” he whispered as he turned toward the couch.  Curled behind her on the wide couch he tucked her hair back and nuzzled in to her neck.  “Thank you.”  He slid his hand down her side and his fingers slipped under her sweatshirt pushing it up.  

Rising up, she pulled the sweatshirt over her head and dropped it on the floor.  “You’re welcome.”   She let him pull her back against him.  His warmth seeped through her and wrapped around her like a hug.  It felt so good to be here like this with him.

Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, he relaxed into her, breathing in her sweet scent.  His hand slipped under the soft cami she always favored, his fingertips fluttering across the smooth softness of her belly.  “Love you” he murmured against her shoulder as he drifted.

When Cilla opened her eyes again, the fire had burned down some and darkness had fully fallen outside the still wet windows.  She lay for a long moment, watching the fire and listening to Jon’s deep, steady breathing behind her.  Contentment flowed through her and as much as she didn’t want to move from their cocoon, she had to check on their dinner.

Easing out from his arms, she tucked the blanket around Jon’s shoulders and dragged her sweatshirt back over her head.  After adding another log to the fire she turned and headed out of the room.  The kitchen was calling her.

~

The thick and hearty scent of meat and gravy teased him awake.  With a not-so-quiet snort and a disappointing sigh he opened his eyes and sat up.  So much for getting a little birthday boink on the couch he thought.  She had disappeared on him.  Again. 

Pulling on his shirt, he followed the delicious scent that wafted through the house.  His mouth was watering as he pushed through to the kitchen.  “Sweets, whatever that is that you’re cooking, it smells amazing.”  He could tell from the scents his nose was picking up that this meal was anything but his normal chicken or fish.   He stopped when he came around the corner and found Cilla standing with her back to him at the counter.  She had changed her clothes.  He looked her up and down.  And done something with her hair. 

“Sweets?”

She turned around to face him and his whole body went stone hard.  He struggled to find a coherent thought in his head.  He shook his head, almost not believing what he was seeing.  She was wearing a sheer slip of a nightie in the palest pink lace.  The bra cups with their under wires pushed her breasts up in a sensual offering and had a bit of pink silk covering her nipples.  The slip hugged her trim body from breast to mid thigh.  His eyes traveled over her, the only other thing she was wearing were the sexiest baby pink shoes with the highest heel he had ever seen her wear.  “Holy shit, Sweets.”

Her smile was wide and more than a little evil.  “Happy Birthday, Jonny.”

He moved in on her, crushing his mouth to hers.  “Fuck dinner” he growled as he hoisted her up and set her on the counter.  “It can wait.”   His mouth was hot and hungry on her, tasting her everywhere from her lips to the swell of her breast.  He had to have her. 

Had to.

The disappointment cut like a knife when she pulled back. 

“Wait” she breathed in his ear.  “Jonny, stop.”  She had to get things back on track.  No that this wasn’t a delicious detour, but she had a plan for the night and sex on the kitchen counter wasn’t anywhere on the agenda.

With his hands still at her hips, he pulled her forward on the counter so she was pressed up against him.  Her warmth and softness cradled his aching cock and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to find some semblance of control.  “Why?”

“Because” she started before grabbing his roaming hands, “dinner is getting cold.”  She motioned to the table with her head.

He dragged his gaze from her to the table.  Candles were lit, the food was still steaming but the table held only one place setting.  “You’re going to make me eat my birthday dinner alone?”

The evil smile came back.  “Let me down.”  He helped her off the counter and she took his hand.  “Come here”  she pulled out the chair for him “sit.” 

With his cock still protesting loudly, he crossed the kitchen with her and sat down in the chair.  “Now what?”

She filled two champagne flutes.  “Stop pouting.”  She handed him one of the flutes “happy birthday.” 

He lifted the glass to his lips and she proceeded to sit on his lap.  He nearly choked on the champagne.  “Christ Sweets, you’re gonna kill me tonight.”

She chuckled and picked up the fork, “I hope not.”  She lifted the fork to his mouth, “hungry?” 

He looked down at the fork and got a close up view of her breasts.  He lifted his hips against her ass.  “Starving.” 

The tip of her pretty pink tongue snuck out and wetted her lips.  “We’ll get there, Jonny.  I promise.  Now, eat your dinner.”  Her bottom lip poked out in a sexy pout.  “Please?

He opened his mouth and let her feed him, if only to appease her, but his appetite lay elsewhere.   He managed to eat the meatloaf and mashed potatoes she fed him but when she took a green bean and offered it to him from her cleavage he thought his cock was going to explode.  “If I don’t get inside you soon” he growled against the swell of her breast, “I’m gonna die a very ugly death.” 

Her chuckled turned to a moan as his clever tongue worked its way under the pink lace and wrapped around her nipple.  “Dessert” she whispered as she dragged his head up, “we need to have dessert.”

He dropped his head back and cursed the ceiling blue.  “I don’t fucking want dessert Sweets.  Now, you’re just being mean.”

Quickly, she set all the dinner dishes on the counter and moved the candles out of the way before pulling open the refrigerator.  “You’ll want this dessert, trust me.”

He bit his tongue against a curse and waited, nearly ready to take matters into his own hands if he didn’t get some relief soon.

She came back to the table with a small plate of cannoli and cream puffs and a bowl of something he couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked like the cream she used to fill the pastries.   He watched her take the plastic wrap off the goodies and then stick her finger in the bowl. 

She held out her finger to him and straddled his lap.  “Want some?”

Taking her finger into his mouth he pressed his hips up hard against her as he sucked her finger clean.  He wanted all right, just not the cream she was offering him from the bowl.  He lifted her and set her on the table in front of him.  “That was good, but I know something that will taste a whole lot better.” 

With the flat of his hand he pressed her back so she leaned on her elbows and her sexy shoes rested on the arms of his chair.  He pushed the slip up, cursing softly when he discovered there were no matching panties.  Pressing her legs further apart he just stared at her lush, pink wetness for a long moment.  She was spread before him in a veritable buffet of sexy wantonness.

Just when she was going to ask if he was going to do something or just look at her all night she felt the warmth of his lips on the inside of her thigh, moving higher, leaving a wet trail up, up until she thought she would cry if he didn’t hurry up already.   She looked down to find his blue eyes, blazing, trained on her. 

“You tortured me through dinner Sweets, now, I’m gonna take my time with dessert.”

Her head dropped back and she sank to the table, an inaudible groan escaping her lips.

Jon pressed a kiss to her belly just above her mound, his breath fluttering the slight bit of hair she had left.  “What was that, Sweets?”

She picked her head up and looked at him “and you call me evil.”

He chuckled against her and dipped his head once again, sliding his tongue along her slit to where she was overflowing with wetness for him.  He slipped his tongue inside, holding her hips while she rocked against him.  She was sweet, so sweet and all of it for him. 

“Jonny, Jonny, Jonny” she sobbed, but still he ignored the throbbing knot of nerves that would send her into the sweet abyss.

He pulled his mouth from her and looked up and nearly came in his pants.  She had lowered the top of her nightie and was touching her breasts, kneading the pale flesh and pinching the pebble hard nipples as she writhed on the table.  It was one of the sexiest sights he had ever seen.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her.  She let her hands fall to her sides.  “Jonny?”

He picked her hands up, “don’t stop.”  He lowered his head as he watched her, waiting for her to keep going.  When her hands moved he dipped his tongue inside her again before dragging it up to wrap around that woefully neglected bit of pink flesh.  He tugged slightly, and felt her shudder.  Taking that nub between his teeth he flicked his tongue across the tip as he bit down lightly.  She screamed and writhed above him as her orgasm consumed her.

Standing above her he waited, watching as she found her way back to him.  When she opened her eyes and a sated smile crossed her lips he opened his pants and let his painfully hard cock free.  “I’m not done with you yet Sweets.”

“Oh God” she groaned as she felt him slip inside her.  She was sure she wasn’t going to survive this go-round.

~

She wasn’t sure who moved first or if she was even really still alive.  She could be dead after that.  She slid her fingertips up and down the sweaty back that still had her pinned to the table.  If she was dead, that was a hell of a way to go. 

She opened her eyes and tried to survey the damages.  The chair had gotten knocked over.  The silverware had landed on the floor and the tablecloth, well that would have to be laundered or maybe laminated.  She wasn’t quite sure yet.  Turning her head she found one blue eye staring at her from under a shock of blonde hair that had flopped over his forehead.  “Hi there birthday boy.”

He smirked.  “Are we on the dining room table?”  He seriously couldn’t remember where he was at the moment.  His brain was still slightly scrambled.

Cilla nodded.  “Yep.  We are.”  She stroked his back once more and pressed her lips against his cheek.  “You know, I’ve seen you dance on stage, but I didn’t know you could move your hips quite like that.”

He snuffled a laugh against her shoulder.  “I am a man of many talents.”  Slowly, he pressed away from her, peeling himself from her body.  He vaguely remembered there had been a chair behind him and as he made to sit, he fell on his ass.  “Fuck!”  His sex addled brain was clear as a bell now.  “Damn it what the hell, how did the chair get knocked over?!”

She couldn’t help but laugh.  “Somewhere in between the eating and the fucking you kicked it out of the way.  I think.”

He started laughing along with her.  “Jesus.  I think I broke my ass.”  He crawled up the wall and stood, “is there a bruise?”  He turned so she could see his very fine ass.

She levered up on her elbows, “no” she laughed “and I’m not kissing your boo boo either.”

His lip came out in a pout as he dragged his jeans up and over his hips.  “You’re no fun, Sweets.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, “from where I’m sitting, I’m plenty of fun.”

He leaned over her again and she lay back on the table, “best birthday ever” he told her as he kissed her senseless.  He eased back, took her hands and tugged her up.  “Come on, let’s clean up and then we can go upstairs and you can give me my other birthday present.

She raised her eyebrow at him “other birthday present?”

He nodded, his eyes gleaming.  “Isn’t something supposed to get blown on a birthday?”

The fit of giggles nearly had her falling back on the table.  “You are so bad, Jonny.  I think maybe birthday spankings are in order instead.”

He helped her to stand, “that could be fun too.”

She took his hands, “leave the dishes, bring the bowl of cream and let’s go celebrate your birthday, Jonny.”

He grabbed the bowl and followed her out of the kitchen.  Fifty wasn’t looking so bad after all.

***