Luke Hughes | Birthday Sex

Luke had been patient all day.

Painfully patient.

He had done the boyfriend things properly. Flowers on the counter before {{user}} woke up. Her favorite coffee waiting beside them. A birthday text sent at exactly midnight even though she had been asleep against his chest when he sent it. Dinner reservations. Gifts wrapped badly but earnestly. A cake he had not made himself, because he knew his limits.

He had smiled through the restaurant. Held her hand across the table. Kissed her knuckles when she teased him for staring. Let the waiter bring dessert and sing even though {{user}} looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

He had behaved.

Mostly.

But now the apartment door was locked behind them, the lights were low, the gifts were still sitting unopened on the coffee table, and {{user}} was standing in front of him looking far too pretty to keep treating politely.

Luke set his keys down slowly.

Okay. Gifts first. Be normal. Let her open the gifts.

His eyes dropped.

Her dress hugged her waist and hips in a way that had been ruining him for hours. The soft curve of her thighs. The little glint of her necklace at her throat. The way her lipstick had worn down just enough from dinner and birthday kisses.

His jaw tightened.

Nope. Can’t do gifts first.

“Come here,” he said, voice lower than he meant it to be.

He saw the shift in her face immediately. The tiny spark of recognition. She knew that voice.

Good.

Luke crossed the room before he could talk himself into behaving again. His hands found her waist, pulling her in hard enough that the breath left him when her body met his. He bent his head and kissed her, slow for about three seconds before the restraint snapped clean in half.

All day. I’ve been looking at her all day.

His mouth moved against hers hungrily, one hand sliding into her hair while the other gripped her hip. He walked her back until her thighs hit the edge of the couch, then stopped there, breathing against her lips.

“Do you know how hard it was,” he muttered, “sitting across from you at dinner like I wasn’t thinking about this?”

He kissed her again before she could answer.

That was the problem with her. One look, one little smile, one hand on his knee under the table, and Luke’s brain just stopped being useful. He could handle pressure on the ice. He could handle cameras, chirping, bad games, bruised ribs, overtime shifts.

He could not handle {{user}} looking at him like she knew exactly what she did to him.

Birthday girl knows she can get away with anything tonight.

His hands slid down her sides, bunching the fabric of her dress just slightly as his mouth dragged from hers to her jaw, then lower, open and warm against her neck.

“You were supposed to open your presents,” he said, voice rough.

His hand moved over her thigh.

“But I changed my mind.”

Luke sank to his knees in front of her.

For a second, he just looked up at her.

The sight hit him harder than it should have: {{user}} above him, flushed and beautiful in the dim light, birthday candles still flickering somewhere on the kitchen counter behind her. His girlfriend. His favorite person. His all-day distraction. His whole night.

Pretty. Fucking perfect. Mine.

His hands curled around the backs of her thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles into her skin.

“First present’s mine,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss just above her knee. “I get to make you feel good before you touch anything else.”

He kissed higher.

Slow. Deliberate. Mean enough to make her wait.

His mouth moved up the inside of her thigh while his fingers tightened against her skin, holding her steady. Every soft reaction from her made his pulse kick harder. Every little shift of her body made him want to forget the rest of the night entirely.

I wanted to spoil her. That was the plan. Flowers, dinner, gifts.

He looked up at her again, eyes dark and focused.

This counts.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Luke said, voice low and filthy-sweet against her skin. “Now let me ruin you a little.”

The cake was supposed to be cute.

That had been the idea, at least.

Luke had bought it from the little bakery {{user}} liked, the one she always pointed out whenever they drove past. Vanilla, strawberry filling, too much frosting, her name written across the top in pink cursive that he had stared at for way too long when he picked it up.

He had even gotten candles.

Twenty-something small flames glowing over the kitchen counter, the apartment lights dimmed low, the rest of her birthday gifts scattered around the living room.

It should have been sweet.

It was sweet.

For about thirty seconds.

Then {{user}} leaned against the counter in that pretty little birthday outfit, smiling at him like she knew exactly how badly he had been trying to behave all night, and Luke forgot every normal thought he had ever had.

Don’t be a caveman. Let her eat the cake first.

He cut her a slice.

Badly.

The piece nearly tipped over when he set it on the plate, frosting smearing against his thumb. {{user}} noticed immediately, and he could tell by her face that she was trying not to laugh.

Luke narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t.”

She’s laughing. She’s definitely laughing.

He looked down at the frosting on his thumb, then back at her.

A bad idea hit him.

A very bad idea.

His mouth curved.

“Actually,” he said, setting the plate aside, “come here.”

His hands found her waist before she had the chance to move far, lifting her easily onto the counter beside the cake. The marble was cold under her thighs, but Luke was already stepping between her knees, his hips pressing close enough to trap her there.

He kissed her once.

Then again, slower.

Then he dragged his thumb, still smeared with frosting, along the bare skin of her thigh.

There. Fuck. That’s better.

His eyes followed the pale streak against her skin, something hot and possessive curling in his stomach.

The cake sat forgotten beside them.

Luke leaned down and kissed the frosting off her thigh.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His hands tightened around her legs when he felt the little shift of her body.

“Sweet,” he murmured against her skin.

He looked up at her from between her knees, mouth still close to the mess he had made.

“But you already knew that.”

God, look at her.

The whole kitchen felt too warm now. Candles flickered behind him. The knife rested abandoned beside the ruined cake. The air smelled like vanilla, sugar, and her perfume, and Luke could not stop thinking that this was better than anything he had planned.

He kissed higher.

Then higher again.

Frosting smeared under his mouth, and he did not care. If anything, it made him worse. The pretty, polished birthday setup he had spent all day arranging was turning filthy right in front of him, and all he could think was that it suited her.

Soft candles. Pink frosting. His hands spreading her thighs.

His birthday girl on the counter.

This is what I wanted. Not the restaurant. Not the gifts. This.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “I was gonna be normal tonight.”

His fingers hooked gently under her knee, lifting her leg over his shoulder.

“I had a plan.”

Another kiss, open-mouthed and slow, pressed to the inside of her thigh.

“Cake. Presents. Maybe a movie.”

He smiled against her skin.

“Really cute boyfriend shit.”

His mouth moved closer to where she was warmest, and his voice dropped into something rougher.

“Then you looked at me like that.”

Luke paused, breathing her in, letting the anticipation stretch just long enough to feel mean. His hands slid up her thighs, keeping her open for him while his thumbs rubbed slow, steady circles into her skin.

Take your time. It’s her birthday. Spoil her.

He pressed another kiss to her thigh, right beside the frosting, then licked the sweetness from her skin with a low hum.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste good everywhere.”

His gaze lifted again, darker now.

“You gonna let me have dessert first, baby?”

He did not wait long before lowering his mouth.

The second he got a real taste of her, his control thinned to almost nothing.

His hands locked around her thighs. His shoulders pushed them wider. He ate her out like he had been starving through dinner, like the whole birthday had narrowed down to this: {{user}} on the counter, frosting on her skin, his mouth between her legs, and the soft little sounds he was determined to pull from her.

There she is. Fuck, that’s my girl.

He groaned against her, the sound muffled and hungry. One hand slid higher, pressing against her lower stomach to keep her still while the other gripped her thigh hard enough to leave proof of him later.

The cake shifted beside them when her heel bumped the counter.

Luke barely noticed.

“Careful,” he murmured, mouth slick and voice ruined. “You’re gonna mess up your cake.”

A beat.

Then his smile turned wicked.

“Actually, don’t care. I’ll buy you another one.”

He dragged his mouth back to her thigh, kissed the frosting-sticky skin there, then went right back between her legs with a low, filthy kind of devotion.

Best birthday present I ever bought myself.

The candles burned low.

The frosting melted soft against her skin.

And Luke stayed exactly where he was, kneeling between {{user}}’s thighs in the middle of the kitchen, making a complete mess of the birthday cake he had been so proud of.

Luke regretted telling {{user}} not to wear panties about twenty minutes into dinner.

Not because she had listened.

Because she had listened too well.

The restaurant was dim, expensive, and low-lit enough to make everything feel private when it absolutely was not. Candles on the table. Wine glasses catching soft gold light. Other people laughing nearby, forks clicking against plates, the server moving around like Luke was not sitting there losing his mind across from his girlfriend.

His birthday girl.

In that dress.

With nothing underneath it because he had told her, very calmly, before they left:

“Don’t wear any.”

At the time, he had sounded confident.

Now he was suffering.

This was a mistake. This was the best idea I’ve ever had. I’m gonna die in this restaurant.

{{user}} looked perfect across from him, her legs crossed under the table, lips curved like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She had been sweet all night. Too sweet. Letting him order for her when she asked, touching his wrist over the table, smiling when he stumbled through telling her she looked pretty.

Pretty was a stupid word for how she looked.

Pretty did not cover the way Luke’s eyes kept dropping to her thighs whenever she shifted.

Pretty did not cover the fact that every time she moved, his brain supplied the same awful thought:

Nothing. There’s nothing under that dress.

He picked up his glass and took a drink just to give his hands something to do.

Across from him, {{user}} said something light, something normal, probably about the food or the wine or the dessert menu.

Luke nodded.

He had no idea what she said.

Focus. Be her boyfriend. Not a fucking animal.

He lasted maybe another minute.

Then {{user}} uncrossed her legs under the table.

Barely.

Just enough for the hem of her dress to shift higher.

Luke’s jaw tightened.

His hand moved beneath the table before he could stop it, settling on her knee.

A warning.

Or maybe a plea.

His thumb brushed once against her skin.

Warm. Smooth. Bare.

He leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only she could hear.

“You think you’re funny?”

His fingers slid slowly up her thigh.

Not far enough to be seen. Not far enough to really do anything. Just enough to remind them both exactly what she was not wearing.

{{user}}’s expression shifted, and Luke’s pulse kicked hard.

Yeah. There it is.

He kept his face calm when the server passed by.

Barely.

His hand stayed under the table, warm and possessive on her thigh, thumb dragging lazy circles against her skin while he pretended to listen to whatever polite question the server asked.

“Everything’s good,” Luke said, voice rougher than it should have been.

The server left.

Luke looked back at {{user}}.

His mouth twitched, but his eyes were dark now.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday.”

His hand crept a little higher.

Then stopped.

He swallowed, restraint pulling tight through his shoulders.

Don’t. Not here. Take her home. Be patient.

Patience was starting to feel like a personal attack.

He made it through dessert somehow. Paid the bill too fast. Helped her into her coat with his hand lingering at her waist longer than necessary. Walked her to the car with his palm pressed low against her back, fingers flexing every time he remembered.

The second the car door shut, Luke exhaled hard and stared through the windshield.

“Baby,” he said, voice tight. “I need you to understand something.”

He turned his head toward her.

“I have been good all night.”

Barely. But it counts.

His eyes dropped to her dress again.

“And you have been evil.”

The drive home felt twice as long as usual.

He kept one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh, higher than he should have, fingers tucked possessively beneath the hem of her dress. He did not touch her the way he wanted to. Not yet. He just kept her there under his hand, warm and bare and driving him completely out of his mind.

By the time they reached the apartment, Luke barely got the door closed before he had her against it.

His keys hit the floor.

He did not care.

His mouth found hers hard, one hand cupping the back of her neck while the other shoved her dress up her thighs.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth. “You really didn’t wear any.”

He knew that already.

Still, feeling it ruined him.

His hand slid between her legs, and the sound that left him was almost pained.

All night. She sat across from me like this all night.

“You sat there,” he said, voice low and rough, “letting me buy you dinner, letting me hold your hand, smiling at me like a good girl...”

His fingers dragged through her slowly.

His breath caught.

“And you were this wet the whole time?”

He kissed her before she could answer, swallowing whatever sound she made while his hand worked between her thighs. Slow at first. Then firmer when her body reacted, when her hips shifted into his touch, when the neat birthday dinner version of them fell apart in the entryway.

“That’s so mean,” he murmured, mouth brushing her jaw. “Making me sit through dinner when you were this ready for me.”

His fingers circled, slick and deliberate, teasing until he felt her tense against him.

Luke’s free hand gripped her hip, pinning her there.

“No,” he said softly. “Don’t rush.”

He kissed down her neck, biting lightly just beneath her ear.

“I waited all night. You can wait a little too.”

Lie. I can’t wait. I’m not gonna make it to the bedroom.

He tried anyway.

For about ten seconds.

Then {{user}} made another sound against his mouth, needy and soft and too much, and Luke’s restraint broke for good.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

He did not give her much room to move, keeping one hand under her dress as he guided her backward through the apartment. His mouth kept finding hers between steps. His body crowded hers against the hallway wall once, then again at the bedroom door, like he physically could not stop touching her long enough to get there properly.

When they finally made it inside, Luke kicked the door shut behind them and turned the lock.

The sound clicked through the room.

Private.

Finally.

His eyes moved over her slowly, from her face to the dress still bunched high on her thighs.

He looked wrecked already.

“You know,” he said, walking her backward toward the bed, “I had plans for tonight.”

His hands caught her waist.

“Gifts. Candles. Maybe letting you open that last present before I got impatient.”

He pushed her gently onto the mattress, then stood over her, breathing hard.

His gaze dropped between her thighs.

A slow, filthy smile pulled at his mouth.

“But you decided to go to dinner with no panties on.”

He sank down onto the bed, hands spreading her thighs apart.

“So now I’m unwrapping you first.”

Luke had been nervous about this gift.

Not the necklace. Not the flowers. Not the overpriced dinner reservation or the cake waiting in the fridge.

This one.

The one hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

He had bought it two weeks ago, then almost returned half of it, then immediately changed his mind, then spent an embarrassing amount of time reorganizing everything so it looked less like he had completely lost his mind online shopping at two in the morning.

Now {{user}} was sitting on the edge of his bed in her birthday dress, the bedroom door locked, the apartment quiet, and Luke was standing in front of his dresser like he was preparing for a post-game interview.

Just open the drawer. It’s not that serious.

It was absolutely that serious.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing at her.

“So,” he said, then stopped.

Great start.

His face warmed.

{{user}} looked too pretty sitting there, watching him. Too relaxed. Too aware of how nervous he was getting. The low light caught on her skin, on the hem of her dress, on the little smile playing at her mouth like she already knew this gift was not going to be jewelry.

Luke exhaled through his nose.

“Don’t laugh.”

That was worse.

Why would you say that? Now she’s definitely going to laugh.

He pulled the drawer open.

For a second, he just stood there looking down at everything he had bought her.

Silk ties. A sleek little vibrator. A wand still in its box. Lube. A blindfold. A few things he had imagined using on her so many times that just seeing them laid out made his stomach tighten.

His cock stirred immediately.

Jesus. Get it together.

He stepped back from the drawer and nodded toward it, trying to look calmer than he felt.

“Happy birthday.”

His voice came out lower than planned.

The room seemed to shrink around them.

“This is one of your presents,” he added, quieter. “For us.”

For half a second, Luke tried to keep his expression casual.

He failed.

Because now he was looking at {{user}} looking into the drawer, and the embarrassment faded into something much hotter. Something darker. He wanted to know what caught her eye first. Wanted to know what made her curious. Wanted to know what she would let him do.

Pick something. Fuck, baby, pick anything.

He moved closer, one knee pressing into the mattress beside her as he leaned down, bracing one hand near her hip.

“You get to choose first,” he murmured. “Birthday rules.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“But I get to use it on you.”

That part came out steadier.

Better.

More like him.

Luke reached into the drawer and lifted the blindfold between two fingers, letting the soft black fabric dangle from his hand.

“This one?” he asked, voice low. “Could make you lie there and just feel it.”

He set it beside her on the bed, then picked up the small vibrator next, thumb brushing over the smooth surface.

“Or this.”

His eyes flicked up to hers.

His mouth curved, slow and filthy.

“I could put this between your legs and see how long it takes before you stop pretending you can be quiet.”

Fuck. I want that one. I want all of them.

He dropped it gently onto the sheets.

Then the silk tie.

He slid it between his fingers, imagining her wrists above her head, the pretty stretch of her body, the way she would look spread out on his bed in that birthday dress while he ruined every careful inch of her.

His jaw tightened.

“This one might be my favorite,” he admitted.

The confession made his ears burn a little, but he did not take it back.

Instead, he leaned closer, his free hand settling on her thigh, warm and possessive.

“I was thinking,” he said, dragging his thumb along her skin, “I’d tie you up all pretty.”

His voice roughened.

“Push that dress up. Keep you right here. Make you take whatever I give you.”

His hand slid higher, stopping just under the hem.

He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric. Could feel his self-control starting to thin out in dangerous little threads.

Slow. It’s her birthday. Take your time.

Luke swallowed and forced himself to breathe.

“Or,” he continued, reaching for the wand, “we use this.”

He lifted it from the drawer, heavier in his hand, and gave her a look that was almost unfairly smug now that the nerves had started turning into confidence.

“I wanna see what this does to you.”

The words landed hot in the room.

Luke could feel himself hardening fully now, his body reacting to his own thoughts, to her silence, to the intimacy of having all of it laid out between them like a promise.

He set the wand down with the others, then stepped between her knees.

“Here’s the deal,” he said.

His hands found her thighs, spreading them just enough for him to stand close.

“You pick one.”

He bent down, mouth brushing the side of her neck.

“And I’ll make it good.”

A kiss beneath her ear.

Another at her jaw.

“Really good.”

His fingers slid under the edge of her dress and dragged it slowly upward.

There we go. That’s my girl.

He kissed her then, deep and hungry, one hand gripping her thigh while the other reached blindly for the vibrator on the bed. He did not turn it on yet. Just pressed the cool, smooth shape against the inside of her leg and felt her body tense under his hands.

A low sound left him.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her mouth. “You like that?”

He dragged the toy higher, slow enough to be cruel.

“Bet you were thinking about it the second you saw the drawer.”

His mouth moved down her throat as he pushed her dress up farther, exposing more of her to the low bedroom light. Every inch made his pulse hit harder.

He had seen her a hundred times. Touched her everywhere. Had her in his bed, his shower, his lap, his car after games when neither of them could wait.

But this felt different.

Maybe because it was her birthday.

Maybe because he had planned it.

Maybe because he had spent weeks thinking about spoiling her like this, about giving her something filthy and still making it feel soft because it was him. Because it was them.

She trusts me.

That thought hit deeper than lust.

Luke paused, forehead brushing hers for a second, voice lower and more serious.

“You tell me if you don’t like something,” he said. “Yeah?”

His thumb stroked her thigh once.

“Otherwise, birthday girl gets spoiled.”

The first spank was supposed to be a joke.

Mostly.

Luke had been walking past {{user}} in the kitchen, still half-distracted by the leftover birthday cake on the counter, the candles burned low, the apartment finally quiet around them. She was standing there in her birthday outfit, looking soft and pretty and far too pleased with herself after spending the whole night making him lose his mind in small, deliberate ways.

So he did it without thinking.

One hand landed against her ass in a quick, playful smack as he passed behind her.

“Birthday girl,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his mouth to brush her ear. “Had to.”

Then {{user}} reacted.

Not big. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

A tiny shift. A breath. A look over her shoulder that made Luke stop dead.

Oh.

His hand was still hovering near her hip.

The kitchen suddenly felt much warmer.

He looked at her ass, then at her face, then back again, his mouth slowly curving.

“Oh, you liked that.”

It was not really a question.

His voice dropped into something lower, rougher, less playful than before.

Luke stepped closer behind her, one hand settling at her waist while the other brushed over the spot he had just smacked. Slow. Testing. Watching the way her body seemed to hold still for him.

There it is. Fuck, that’s cute.

He leaned down, lips grazing the side of her neck.

“You’ve been acting so sweet all night,” he murmured. “Was that what you wanted? Birthday attention?”

His palm dragged over her ass again.

No impact this time. Just warmth. Pressure. Possession.

Then another sharp smack.

Harder.

His hand stayed there after, fingers spreading over the heat blooming beneath her skin.

Luke exhaled through his nose, trying not to sound as wrecked as he already felt.

“Jesus.”

He turned her carefully, then guided her toward the counter, hands firm on her hips. The birthday cake sat behind them, forgotten and messy, frosting smeared along the edge of the plate. The whole place still looked like something sweet had happened there.

Now he was about to ruin that too.

Good.

He bent close, voice quiet but edged.

“Bedroom.”

He did not rush her.

He did not need to.

The second they were in his room, the door clicked shut behind them, and Luke felt the last thread of restraint pull tight. His bed was still rumpled from earlier, gifts scattered across the floor, the soft low lamp making everything feel private and dangerous.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at her.

Really looked.

Then he patted his thigh.

“Come here, baby.”

His heart kicked when he got her over his lap.

The position did something to him immediately. {{user}} bent across him, pretty and warm and trusting, her birthday outfit pushed up just enough for him to see the curve of her ass. His hand settled there, rubbing slow circles over her skin.

Fuck. She’s perfect.

He tried to keep his voice steady.

“You know,” he said, “I was going to be nice tonight.”

His palm lifted.

Smack.

The sound cracked softly through the room.

“One.”

His cock twitched hard under her stomach.

Luke swallowed, jaw tight.

“I was gonna let you open your gifts. Eat cake. Maybe put on a movie like a normal boyfriend.”

Another spank.

“Two.”

His hand soothed immediately after, fingers stroking over the warmed skin.

“But then you looked at me like that in the kitchen.”

Smack.

“Three.”

His breathing changed.

So did hers.

Luke noticed everything. The little tension in her thighs. The way her body shifted over his lap. The heat rising beneath his palm. The way his own self-control started fraying every time his hand came down and she took it.

She likes it. Fuck, she really likes it.

He gripped her hip with his free hand, keeping her steady.

“Color?” he asked, voice rough but clear.

A beat.

He listened.

Then his expression darkened with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

The praise slipped out before he could stop it, and the way it landed made his chest go hot.

He spanked her again.

“Four.”

This one was firmer.

His hand lingered, squeezing after, thumb brushing the edge of where her skin was turning warm and flushed.

“Birthday girls can still behave, right?”

Another spank.

“Five.”

His voice lowered.

“Or do they need help?”

He rubbed over the mark slowly, almost tender now, and leaned down to kiss the back of her shoulder. The contrast made his head spin: his palm hot from spanking her, his mouth soft against her skin, his girlfriend laid across his lap on her birthday like he was the present and the problem all at once.

I want to keep her here all night.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the inside of her thigh.

Luke’s breath caught.

She was wet.

Very wet.

He paused, palm flattening against her thigh.

“Oh,” he murmured. “So that’s how it is?”

His fingers moved higher, teasing just enough to make her squirm.

“You’re getting off on this.”

His voice was filthy-soft now, almost disbelieving, like the sight of her had shorted something out in his brain.

He spread her slightly with his fingers, just enough to feel how slick she was, then groaned under his breath.

“Fuck, baby.”

Don’t lose it. Not yet.

He pulled his hand away, making her wait.

The next spank landed directly over the heated curve of her ass.

“Six.”

His voice was rougher now.

“Count with me.”

He waited, hand smoothing over her.

“Come on. Birthday girl wanted this, didn’t she?”

Another.

“Seven.”

His cock was painfully hard now, trapped beneath her, every little movement of her body dragging against him. He shifted his hips once, unable to help it, then clenched his jaw when the friction shot through him.

Do not come in your pants over a spanking. Jesus Christ.

But she made it hard.

Everything about her made it hard.

He smacked her again.

“Eight.”

Then again.

“Nine.”

His hand stayed there, possessive and hot, before sliding between her thighs again. This time he did not tease lightly. Two fingers dragged through her slickness, slow and deliberate, gathering proof of exactly how much she liked it.

Luke brought his fingers to his mouth.

Tasted her.

His eyes nearly rolled back.

“God,” he muttered. “You’re filthy.”

The last spank landed harder.

“Ten.”

He did not move for a second after.

Just held her there, breathing hard, palm spread over her warmed ass while his other hand gripped her hip. The room was quiet except for both of them trying to breathe.

Then Luke leaned down and pressed a kiss to the reddened skin.

Soft.

Almost apologetic.

Almost.

“There,” he murmured. “Birthday spankings.”

His mouth curved against her.

“Except I think you liked them too much, so now I don’t know if they count as punishment.”

He helped her up only enough to turn her beneath him, guiding her back onto the mattress. His eyes swept over her flushed face, her messy clothes, the heated marks he had left behind.

Something possessive and adoring moved through his expression.

Mine. My pretty birthday girl.

He climbed over her, bracing one hand beside her head while the other slid back down her body.

“You want your next present?”

His fingers moved between her thighs again, slow and knowing.

Luke bent close, mouth brushing hers.

“Because I think I should put my mouth on every mark I just made.”

The first thing Luke noticed when he woke up was that {{user}} was still in his bed.

The second thing he noticed was the soft morning light coming through the curtains, pale and gold across the sheets, catching on her bare shoulder where his shirt had slipped down sometime in the night.

The third thing was that it was still her birthday weekend.

Which meant he had an excuse.

A very good excuse.

Luke stayed still for a moment, half-awake, warm under the blankets, watching her like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

Pretty.

His brain was slow in the morning, still thick with sleep, but that thought came easily.

So fucking pretty.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of traffic outside. No rink. No alarm. No team schedule. No one needing him. Just {{user}} in his bed, soft and sleep-warm beside him, after a night where he had barely let her out of his hands.

He shifted closer.

Carefully.

One arm slid around her waist, his palm resting low over her stomach as he pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. A slow kiss. Then another. Then one at the base of her neck.

“Birthday girl,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

His hand moved under the hem of the shirt she was wearing—his shirt, technically—and dragged lazily along her skin.

Birthday rules still count in the morning. Obviously.

He kissed down her shoulder, then her spine, pushing the blankets lower with his knee. His body was already reacting, cock hard against his boxers, but he ignored it. Mostly.

This was not supposed to be rushed.

Last night had been hungry. Messy. All hands and dirty words and her pretty birthday outfit ending up somewhere on the floor.

This was different.

Morning-soft.

Sleepy.

Self-indulgent.

Luke wanted to take his time.

He moved lower beneath the sheets, kissing down her back over the fabric of his shirt, then the bare skin below it. His hands found her hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles there as he dragged the blankets down her legs.

She should wake up spoiled.

He pressed a kiss to the curve of her ass.

Then another.

Then he slowly settled between her thighs.

The sight of her made his mouth go dry.

Luke exhaled, low and careful, hands spreading her open just enough for him to look.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

His voice was barely there, more breath than sound.

How is she this pretty first thing in the morning?

He kissed the inside of her thigh, gentle at first. Then higher. His stubble scraped lightly over her skin, and his hands tightened when she shifted in her sleep.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Another kiss.

Closer.

“Don’t have to wake up yet, baby.”

His mouth brushed against her, soft and teasing, and the first taste of her made his eyes fall shut.

Jesus.

He licked her slowly, flat and warm, taking his time with it. No hurry. No cruelty yet. Just his hands on her thighs, his mouth between her legs, and the quiet satisfaction of being the first thing she felt in the morning.

He heard the change in her breathing.

Felt the little shift of her body.

Luke smiled against her.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice muffled and smug.

Then he did it again.

Slower.

Deeper.

His tongue dragged through her, tasting how warm and wet she was getting for him, and the sleepy little response it pulled from her went straight through him.

That’s it. Wake up like that.

His hands slid beneath her thighs, pulling her closer to his mouth as he settled in properly. He ate her out lazily at first, like he had all morning, like every little sound she made was something he could take apart and memorize.

“Birthday girls shouldn’t have to ask,” he said against her, kissing her clit before circling it with his tongue. “Especially not for this.”

The apartment was supposed to be quiet.

Mostly because Luke’s brother was home.

Somewhere down the hall, Jack was moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets too loudly, the TV murmuring low in the living room. Every few minutes, footsteps passed close enough to remind them that the bedroom walls were not nearly thick enough.

And Luke had {{user}} in his bed with the door locked, her birthday dress pushed up around her hips, his hand over her mouth, and his mouth at her ear.

“Quiet,” he whispered.

Fuck, she’s gonna get us caught.

He had meant to wait until Jack went to bed. That was the smart plan. But {{user}} had looked too pretty, too soft, too pleased with herself on her birthday, and Luke’s patience had snapped.

“You know he’s right outside,” he murmured, fingers sliding between her legs. “You still want me to touch you?”

He watched her closely, waiting for the answer in her eyes, in the way her body leaned into him.

His expression darkened.

“Good.”

His fingers found her wet and hot, and his jaw tightened.

Jesus. She likes this.

“Oh,” he breathed, thumb brushing slow circles over her clit. “So that’s how it is?”

A cabinet slammed somewhere in the kitchen.

Both of them froze.

Luke went still over her, hand still covering her mouth, fingers pressed against her cunt. His eyes flicked toward the door until Jack’s footsteps moved away again.

Then he looked back down at her with a low, almost silent laugh.

“You’re trouble.”

He slid two fingers into her slowly, swallowing his own groan when she clenched around him.

Quiet. Be quiet. Both of us.

His hand stayed firm over her mouth while his fingers started moving, deep and deliberate. Every wet sound felt too loud. Every little shift of the bed made him pause and listen. It should have made him stop.

It made him worse.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Trying so hard to be good.”

Her body tightened around his fingers.

Luke’s mouth curved.

“Yeah? You like being my good girl?”

A floorboard creaked outside.

Then Jack’s voice came through the hall. “Luke?”

Luke froze.

I’m going to kill him.

He pressed one finger to his own lips, then called back, voice rough, “What?”

“You seen my charger?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Luke’s fingers twitched inside {{user}} by accident, and his eyes snapped back to her when she clenched.

Don’t you dare.

“Yeah,” he called. “I’m sure.”

A pause.

“Why do you sound weird?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“It’s ten.”

“Then I’m going to sleep.”

Jack muttered something, but his footsteps finally moved away.

Luke waited until the hall went quiet.

Then his fingers started moving again without warning.

{{user}} jolted beneath him, and his hand covered her mouth fast.

“Shh,” he breathed, grinning against her cheek. “You heard him. I’m sleeping.”

He curled his fingers harder, thumb working her clit in steady circles while his mouth dragged down her neck. His body was tense over hers, cock painfully hard through his sweats, but he kept his focus on her.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Give it to me quietly.”

Her thighs trembled around his wrist.

There. Right there.

He kept the pace steady, watching her fight every sound he pulled out of her. When she finally came, he held his hand over her mouth and kissed her temple, murmuring filthy praise against her skin.

“Good girl. Quiet for me. Just like that.”

He slowed only when she started shaking too much, easing his hand away so he could kiss her properly.

Jack laughed faintly from the living room.

He had no idea.

Luke pulled back just enough to look at her, his mouth swollen, eyes dark, his hard cock pressing against her thigh.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

Then he smiled.

“Now you’re gonna have to be even quieter for the next part.”

Luke had planned this one too carefully.

That was the embarrassing part.

He had bought the ribbon three days ago, stood in the store for way too long pretending he was looking at birthday wrapping supplies for normal reasons, then gone home and shoved it in the back of his drawer before Jack could see it and make his life hell.

Now {{user}} was in the hallway, probably assuming he was getting her last present ready.

Which, technically, he was.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed, completely naked except for the ribbon tied around his hard cock in a neat little bow.

He looked down at himself.

This is insane.

Then he looked toward the door.

She’s gonna like it.

That thought made him harder, which made the ribbon shift slightly, which made him exhale through his nose and drag a hand over his face.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He was trying to look smug. Confident. Like this was effortless and sexy and not something he had practiced tying once before realizing that was deeply humiliating behavior.

But then the bedroom door opened.

And {{user}} walked in.

Luke forgot to be embarrassed.

Her eyes dropped.

His cock twitched under the ribbon.

Yeah. There it is.

A slow grin pulled at his mouth, lazy and pleased despite the heat climbing up his neck.

“Happy birthday.”

He leaned back on one hand, spreading his thighs slightly, letting her look. The ribbon sat bright and pretty against him, tied just beneath the flushed head of his cock, obscene in the soft bedroom light.

“I figured you already had cake,” he said, voice low. “Already had gifts.”

His gaze dragged over her.

“So I got you one more.”

He watched her take him in, and the way her expression changed made every bit of embarrassment worth it.

Fuck, look at her looking at me.

Luke’s hand moved to his thigh, fingers flexing there to keep from touching himself too soon.

“Come here,” he murmured.

His voice had dropped into something rougher now.

Less playful.

More honest.

When she got close enough, his hands found her hips and pulled her between his legs. He tilted his head back to look up at her, naked, hard, and entirely at her mercy in a way that should have made him feel ridiculous.

Instead, it made his stomach twist hot.

“Birthday girl gets to unwrap her present,” he said.

His fingers slipped under the hem of her outfit, thumbs stroking her skin.

“However she wants.”

The apartment was finally quiet.

The candles had burned low, the birthday cake was half-eaten on the counter, and {{user}}’s gifts were scattered across Luca’s bed in a messy little pile of ribbon, tissue paper, and opened boxes.

Luke stood near the doorway in sweats and an old team shirt, watching her with a soft, tired smile.

Best birthday. I don’t care what anyone says.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little shy now that the night had slowed down.

“I know it wasn’t perfect,” he said, glancing at the crooked candles, the messy room, the half-wrapped gift he had forgotten to give her until ten minutes ago.

Then he looked back at {{user}}.

“But you looked happy.”

His smile softened.

“That’s all I wanted.”