by Chloe Butler
“Are you kidding? This thing is vintage. I’m taking it on Antiques Roadshow.”
“You two are so cute I’m going to puke,” said Sierra. “On that note, who wants cake?” She flipped the box open to reveal a supermarket cake decorated to look like a Harvard diploma, with my name on it. “If I light twenty-two candles, it’ll set off the sprinkler, so how about ten?”
“Why ten?” I asked.
“That’s how many came in the box.” She stuck the candles into the cake and lit them with a red Bic lighter. I made my wish and blew them out.
After everyone was full of cake, Zach said, “If it’s okay with everyone, I’d like to give Brooke her present in private.”
Jillian laughed. “Oh, I bet you would.”
“My protégée,” said Sierra. “Okay, everyone out.” She gave me a big hug and said, “Happy birthday.”
Zach closed the door behind them and said, “I’m sorry again about being late.”
“It’s okay.” I put my arms around him. “I just figured you were having sex with Ashley. No big deal.”
He set his briefcase on the bed and opened it. “Let’s see. This one first, I think.” He handed me a small white box. I lifted the lid, and inside was a silver chain with an amethyst pendant hanging from it.
I ran my fingertip over the gem. “Zach, it’s beautiful.”
“It was my mom’s. I hope that’s not weird.”
“No, it’s so sweet. Thank you.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes and tried to blink them away. He took the necklace out of the box and fastened it around my neck, and when his fingers brushed the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, I felt a hunger throughout my body, even though I was full of nachos. I stepped in front of the mirror, and the pendant twinkled against my skin like it was alive.
Zach stepped behind me and pressed himself against me, kissing my shoulder. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and his hands went around my waist, up my belly, and over the swells of my breasts. I gasped.
But wait. “You said ‘this one first.’ What the other thing?”
He smiled and took a sheet of paper out of his briefcase. I started to make a joke about how I already knew his junk was clean. But then I caught sight of the letterhead on the paper. Could this be real?
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he began. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Get my hopes up. I was planning to stay and look after my dad, but he and Tara convinced me...”
I read the letter. Dear Mr. Hutchison: We are pleased to offer you admission to the Master of Business Administration program at Boston University.
“So you’ll be...this fall...?” He nodded. And now I really did start to cry. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—a real, honest-to-god handkerchief—and let me sob into it.
Even in the midst of crying, I had to kiss him, and we shared the weirdest, wettest, most intimate cry-kiss I’d ever experienced. And when our mouths parted and he whispered, “I love you,” I started crying all over again.
“I love you, Zach Hutchison.” I kissed him hard and practically dragged him onto the bed. His head ended up on my chest, and he dragged his tongue through my cleavage. I rolled on top of him, tore off my shirt and bra, and practically shoved my nipple into his mouth. He sucked it eagerly, and I pressed my breasts against his face until his lips found the deep hollow between them, and his beard tickled my sensitive skin, sending a shudder through my entire body that felt like a small orgasm.
I went for the buttons on Zach’s shirt, and we took turns stripping off each other’s clothes until we were both naked and panting, snuggled together, skin against skin, a thick, hard cock pressed against my belly. Zach shifted back and forth, shuttling his erection along my skin, dragging my nipples against his chest. “That feels good,” I said, “but I want you to eat my pussy. Like, right this second.”
His fingers danced over my wet folds. “I think I can do that.” He climbed down between my thighs and pushed a finger inside me, and another, and I whimpered happily as he slid them in and out of me. Then his tongue was on my clit, and I thrashed on the bed, stroking my own nipples as Zach fucked me with his mouth and his fingers.
Just when he had me rising toward orgasm, he lifted his head and looked up at me. “Everything okay?” I asked.
In a dancelike maneuver, he swung his body forward and pressed his mouth to mine. Our tongues danced, and now my mouth tasted like me and him together. “I just had to kiss you,” he whispered, and then his tongue was back on my pussy, his fingers pumping in and out furiously, and my skin felt sensitive everywhere, like I could count every wrinkle of the sheet with my back.
I raised my head to look down at Zach, his face buried happily between my legs, and our eyes met, and then the first wave hit, and I threw my head back and just let it all go, crying out Zach’s name, and the walls of my pussy hugged his long fingers. I’d had orgasms before, sure, but I felt like I was an orgasm, like this one would never end, like it would rip my body apart and Zach would have to put me back together. Even as my massive climax receded, he kept flicking his tongue against me until I had to tell him to stop, it was just too sensitive, and he rose and kissed each of my nipples before curling up against me.
“I love you,” he said, and I turned his head toward mine and kissed him. His face was positively soaked, and I liked it. He kissed my nose. “Can I tell you a secret?” I nodded. “After I go down on you I can smell you on my mustache for hours. Best reason for having facial hair.”
I laughed. “You’re an enigma, Zach Hutchison. You seem like mister innocent and polite, but get you in bed and you’re kind of...”
“Dirty?” said Zach. “I think you bring it out in me.”
“Good.” I’d never felt this comfortable with anyone, and it scared me. What if things didn’t work out in Boston? BU and Harvard were on opposite sides of a river, and surely there were plenty of smart, beautiful women on the Boston side. Zach still seemed a lot more handsome than I deserved, and it wasn’t hard to imagine some hot BU chick offering to teach him things you don’t learn in business school. I rolled the pendant of the necklace between my fingers.
Zach must have sensed my agitation, because he kissed my forehead and pulled me against him for a warm, naked hug. The best kind. I wanted to talk to him about my fears, but I kept my mouth shut. No one wants to be asked, “Will you still love me if...?”
I felt him harden against my thigh, and I whispered, “Hey, tell your penis this is supposed to be a tender moment.”
“Sorry,” said Zach. “I’m not the boss.”
“You up for another—”
“Hell yes,” he interrupted.
“Then come over here.” I stood up and walked over to my dresser, a low chest of drawers with a mirror mounted on the wall above it. Zach appeared behind me and kissed my neck. He put his arms around me, and we both watched him caress my breasts in the mirror. I tilted my head back for a kiss and felt his cock nestle between the cheeks of my ass.
I leaned forward, propping my arms against the corner of the dresser, and Zach looked down and said, “Jesus, Brooke, your ass...” I grinned and waggled it at him, and he drew back just far enough to fit the tip of his cock to my entrance and slide into me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, gripping the wood of the dresser. Goddamn, it felt like he was designed to fit my pussy, and I felt wet and hot and opened up and full. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I watched the look of intense concentration as he pulled out almost all the way and then filled me again.
“Faster,” I urged, and he started fucking me in earnest, and I couldn’t even tell who was screaming over the unmistakable sound of naked flesh slapping together. “Do you like the way you’re making my boobs jiggle?” I asked.
“Yes!” He reached around to squeeze them. “But I like this even better.”
I could see on his face when he was getting close, the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “Do it,” I urged. “Come.”
“Oh, fuck!” he
cried, and his hands went to my hips as he erupted, pulling himself hard against my ass so he was buried as far inside me as he could go. Honestly, after his earlier performance I was amazed he had anything left, but if the intensity of his sharp groans was any indication, this orgasm was even bigger than the last. Finally, he slipped out of me and whispered, “Holy shit.” I spun around and embraced him, kissing his neck, his broad shoulders, his beard (which, yes, smelled like me), and finally his lips.
“I love you,” I said. My eyes were drawn by something on the desk. “Now, am I the only one who could use another piece of cake?”
23
“Brooke, are you getting enough AC back there?” asked Tara Radford.
“I’m fine, professor.” It was the first hot day of the year, and sun poured down out of the cloudless sky.
“Please, call me Tara. Zach, next time, you should let Brooke take the front seat.”
“I offered!” he protested.
Tara pulled the Camry onto State Highway 17, and we drove south from campus, through downtown Cutlip, before turning off into the parking lot of the Three Cedars Retirement Home.
When Zach told me he wanted me to meet his dad, I wasn’t sure what to expect. “He has good and bad days,” Zach had said. Don’t we all? But I didn’t know if he’d be hooked up to IVs and respirators, and I didn’t want to ask.
We signed in at the desk and waited in the cafeteria. Lots of elderly people were sitting at tables, eating and chatting. It wasn’t too different from the Cascade dining hall, if you multiplied the average age by four. I picked out two pairs of residents that seemed to be couples, and I felt a pang of jealousy.
A nurse led a distinguished-looking gray-haired man out into the dining room. His face said he was in his sixties but moved like he was older. He was clean-shaven, but I recognized Zach’s cheekbones.
“Dad!” said Zach, and they embraced. I stood up. “Dad, this is Brooke.”
“Mr. Hutchison, it’s so nice to meet you.” I extended my hand, and he clasped it in both of his.
“Thomas,” he said. “Zach’s told me so much...” His voice trailed off, and I wondered if we needed to call the nurse over. But he turned to Zach and said, “Jesus Christ, son, this girl is beautiful. Don’t screw this up.”
Zach laughed. “I won’t, Dad.”
“And keep her away from Larry over there. Guy claims he can’t control his hands, but he’s just a dirty old man. Tara, you need a boyfriend?”
She turned to look at Larry, who gave her a toothless grin. “I’m good, thanks.”
I sat between Zach and his dad. “Mr. Hutchison—Thomas. I promise I’ll take good care of Zach in Boston.”
He waved his hand. “Yeah, I know you will. Zach thinks I need him, but I just need him to grow up. Now, you kids go bring me something to eat. I’m hungry!”
That night, we ordered pizza at Zach’s house. I’d imagined it as a farmhouse sitting on the edge of acres of cropland, but it was just a regular two-story suburban house with a two-car garage.
Zach’s room was upstairs overlooking the backyard, and he apologized as he let me in. “I haven’t really bothered to update it since high school.” The first thing I saw when I entered the small bedroom was a Ferrari poster over the bed, and I laughed. Zach drove a Chevy station wagon.
I sat on the edge of his bed and pointed up at the poster. “Once you’re making MBA money, you’re going to buy me one of these, right? Answer carefully.”
“His and hers, matching.” He sat next to me and put his arm around my waist.
“Do you have any baby pictures? I bet you were cute.”
“Yeah, there are some albums in the living room.”
While Zach went to look for them, I did a quick investigation of his room. His closet was full of dress shirts and sport jackets and slacks, all neatly pressed and hung on wooden hangers. Of course. Under the bed I found a few Transformers action figures, in their original boxes. “You still play with these?” I said when he returned.
“Every day.” He set a photo album down on the bed. “Hey, careful, those are worth something on eBay.”
“I can’t believe I’m just finding out now that you’re a nerd.”
I cuddled up next to him and we flipped through the album together. Zach and his parents on Christmas. Zach at age five with his first bicycle. “You were cute, but it’s weird seeing you without a beard.”
He laughed. “Yeah, it made life hard in elementary school, so I shaved it.”
I kissed him. “Zach, I know this is nothing compared to what you’ve been through with your parents, but my dad left us when I was seven, and my mom did her best to take care of me and my brother, but she was never really there anymore. We hardly talk at all now.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through my hair.
“I guess I still haven’t really learned how to trust people,” I said. “But I do trust you now. I do. I won’t make that mistake again.” He nodded and kissed the top of my head. I could tell he was feeling frisky, and I was, too, but there was something else I wanted to say. “You lied to me before, didn’t you?”
“About what?”
“About why you’re studying business. It’s not really about getting rich, is it?”
He shook his head. “It’s just a reason people can understand. I want to work for small businesses like my parents had, doing bookkeeping and accounting. Taxes. If someone like that had been there for them...”
“Zach, you can’t—”
“I know.” He seemed to shake off the dark moment, and ran his finger around the neckline of my shirt, then up my cleavage to the pendant of the necklace. “Brooke, I don’t know if this is too much, but when I gave you this necklace, it meant...” I leaned in until I could feel his breath on my face. “It means forever. If you want it to.”
I kissed Zach, a slow, sexy kiss that built until our lips were wet and a little puffy. “I want it to.” He leaned me back onto the bed and started to unbutton my shirt. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
I unzipped my backpack and took out a purple box. “Nothing. I just happened to bring Mr. Eggplant with me, and I thought I might give him a try. Want to help?”
Thank you!
Birthday Girl is my first novel. Would you please do me a favor and write a review on Amazon? It’s so important for authors to receive reviews, and a few minutes of your time will go a long way toward helping people find my book, and that means I can write more. I truly value your opinion and would love to know what you liked about Birthday Girl...and what you didn’t!
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See you soon!
—Chloe
About the Author
Chloe Butler was named “most likely to join a convent” in her high school yearbook, but instead, she writes steamy romances over a steamy mug of Irish breakfast tea at her local cafe. She loves hot fudge, fall weather, ferry rides, and heroines with attitude. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her cat Pico and her husband Mr. Butler, who vie for her attention.
Copyright © 2016 by Chloe Butler
Cover design by CL Smith
All rights reserved
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