Page 82 of Manhattan Heart

I kept the guest list simple, because India would have ripped me a new one had I made a giant fuss ofthisbirthday. The previous nine I was allowed to go wild.

I pass off the glass to her and help wrap a towel around her body, otherwise we might never get downstairs to greet the guests soon.

“You swear on your dick no one is going to jump out of a cake?”

“You’d slice me open for wasting cake.”

“Damn right I would.” She points a finger, “now swear.”

I laugh. “Why does my dick have to be put on the line?”

“Because I know you love using it.”

So very true. I relent and give her the assurances she wants.

Not to say I haven’t spoiled her this year; I have and I won’t regret it.

If I can’t surprise her, then I’ll love on her in other ways that she allows.

“How do I look?” She asks an hour later, turning slowly so I can gaze at her perfect ass.

Everything on her is shined, combed and looking amazing in white and blue.

“Fuckable and mine.”

She beams at my answer and rubs my ass through my jeans.

We go down together, with the boys who are less rambunctious these days, being ten, but they’re still little assholes.

They just like to nap more, so India has doggy beds all over the house for them to fall into. They go to find the one in the den.

As it’s become a birthday tradition now to spend a few vacation days just us unplugged from the world, we’re flying to Napoli, Italy, tomorrow for eight days of relaxation at a friends’ family vineyard and I’m already planning a surprise getaway to Saint Martin just after Thanksgiving. India usually picks the locations we go to and I go along happily, what am I going to do, tell her no? That’s preposterous.

Last year we rented a luxury yacht to take us around the Mediterranean for a week. She said she wants something lessrich assholesthis year.

Coming up behind her in the kitchen, I take a hand to her waist, looking over her shoulder while she nibbles on an English cheese scone. The caterers already dropped off the food, we just have to heat it when everyone arrives.

“I thought I’d feel different, but I don’t,” she says.

The minefield of her birthday, I suck in my grin and tread carefully. “How did you think you’d feel, baby?”

“Old.”

I’ve been telling her forever that she will never be old.

“But I just banged my husband’s brains out in the backyard, so I think I’m okay.”

I chuckle, constantly delighted in her mind. “My dick and I are happy to have been of some service. If you’re ever in doubt again, we’re here for you, sweetheart.”

She turns a stunning smile on me over her shoulder. Doesn’t matter she has cheese crumbs on her lip, she steals my breath to the point I don’t recognize my own voice when it comes out of me. “We’re going to celebrate some more once we kick everyone out.”

She laughs at this. “They haven’t gotten here yet and already you want rid of them.”

Absolutely. I saw the pale blue panties she pulled on; I’m dying to tug them down her legs.

“What can I say, I love my wife’s birthday.” My lips find her temple, they linger as I inhale her scent. “And I think on her birthday… the one we’re not naming; it deserves the tongue of the man who loves her.”

“Gray,” hand to god, I love making her melt.

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