Voila Chapter 3:

Warning, there is a distinct rating change for the close of this chapter (M). Also, if you want to see the naughty lingerie, there is a link at the end. Thanks to Twitter's WriteRCastle_ and MuseKBeckett for the inspiration for this lovely "Kate's Birthday Fic" ride. I am forever in their debt for letting me play with the idea.

"Castle, we're going to the Hamptons."

"Correct again. You're two for two tonight."

Passing impatient and rounding the curve into annoyed, Kate scanned the shoreline below, watched as dots of light sped by, each one a beach house or condo complex.

"Castle, why are we going to the Hamptons?"

"For dinner."

"For-Castle, there are thousands of restaurants in Manhattan."

They had just been to the Hamptons, and they hadn't managed to do anything relaxing over a whole long weekend. It was already almost 9 PM on Saturday night. There was no way they would have time to enjoy the place, and besides, it was too cold for the beach.

"Oh, but there is nothing even approaching Meg Winters in Manhattan."

"Who the hell is Meg Winters?"

"She runs the premiere catering service in East Hampton. And before that she was Alexis' babysitter."

"I'm still not seeing the reasoning here."

"Remember a few weeks ago when Alexis was home for the weekend watching that Julia Child movie with Meryl Streep?"

"Vaguely."

"You told Alexis you'd never heard of that dish the woman was making for the dinner party. Boeuf bourguignon. Meg is essentially the world's expert on it-used Alexis and me as guinea pigs for months one summer while she was perfecting it. It's one of our absolute favorites, so I thought it was time you gave it a try."

"So you're flying us up to your house in the Hamptons—in a helicopter—for beef stew?"

"You make it sound so... pedestrian. This recipe combines the classic American ingredients of bacon and lean beef with French red wine and herbs and root vegetables into a marvel of culinary delight of the highest order."

Waiting a beat before turning her head to meet his eyes, she used what she imagined was one of her limited number of eye rolls remaining for the evening before the muscles just seized up from fatigue.

"Are we flying back tonight?"

Snapping out of his culinary diatribe, his eyes slanted her way, lips pursed as his head tilted in consternation.

"Oh, well, I guess we could, if you wanted to, but I sort of thought we could stay the night, give it another try. You know, since we got a little distracted from relaxing last time?"

"But I don't have any of my stuff."

"I might have taken the liberty of packing a few essentials for you."

His foot tapped against a black leather duffel bag stowed under his seat. When had that gotten there? The driver must have had it in the trunk, and then she got distracted with her harness, and Harvey had had to help her... Her powers of observation were totally off tonight. Must be a lingering effect of all those damn roses. Reminded her of Poison Ivy and her mind-control pheromones, or plant toxins, or whatever.

The sunny voice of their pilot broke in on her comic book villainess contemplation just in time to keep her from diving for the bag to see what exactly he considered to be "essentials" for a night in the Hamptons house.

"Okay, folks, we're almost there. Gonna set down in just a moment. Hold on tight."

"Hey Harvey, can you make sure to turn the right way to shine your light in the upstairs window of that white two-story with the gray slate roof?"

"Castle! That's Vinnie's house! Have you forgotten how well our last meeting ended?"

"Vinnie? Oh, Vinnie and I made up a week after we got back to Manhattan. I sent him copies of every Nikki Heat book personalized to his wife and four bottles of Napa Cabernet, and he called me to personally apologize for storming out on our dinner and invited us to his place 'whenever we were in the neighborhood.' I called him yesterday to tell him we'd be waving at him on our way in, but it was a quick trip, so we'd have to take a rain check on the dinner invitation."

Sure enough, when the headlight from the helicopter hit the balcony on Vinnie's house, their somewhat rotund former dinner guest poked his head out and gave a big wave in his red velvet bathrobe. Ugh, Kate did not need to see that much leg...

All three in the helicopter waved back, though she didn't want to think too hard about what their pilot's hand should have been doing rather than waving.

After unloading himself and the duffel, and then giving Kate a rather chivalrous hand down from the helicopter, Castle shook hands with Harvey again.

"I'll call you tomorrow to let you know."

"Sounds good, Mr. Castle. Hope you had fun, ma'am!"

Kate inwardly cringed as she shook his hand. She was turning 34 not 64. Did he really have to "ma'am" her on her birthday?

"I did, thank you so much, Harvey."

Turning away from the craft, Castle took her hand and marched toward the sand. A petite blonde stepped up onto the Tarmac, smile full and broad.

"Hey Mr. Castle."

"Meg, I told you to stop with the 'Mr. Castle' bit when you started catering my parties. I was 'Mr. Castle' when you were fifteen and Alexis was five."

"Fine, Rick. Good to see you."

It was a genuine, if sarcastic smile that painted the woman's face as she got pulled in for an enormous hug by her former employer.

Turning out of that embrace, she pinned Kate with an intimidatingly protective appraisal.

"And you must be Kate Beckett."

Kate smiled and reached out her hand for Meg's.

"Guilty as charged."

The woman's smile warmed at Kate's answer.

"I've heard so much about you." She side glanced Rick, then shifted twinkling eyes at Kate. "So very much."

"I hope it was all good, otherwise, he was lying."

"Oh, don't worry, he was sickeningly positive."

Castle chose that moment to wrap his free hand around her waist, tug her forcibly into his side, enough momentum in the gesture to pull a strangled chortle out of her.

"Come on, guys, let's get you home for dinner."

And somehow, despite the absolutely absurd circumstances, something clicked in Kate's head at the young woman's comment. No matter how many women he may have brought to the Hamptons, she was fairly sure she was the only one with whom he'd solved a murder. And that gave them history-it gave her "home." As much as she told herself that his past with Meredith and Gina and whomever else he had impressed with his mansion was unimportant, there was something almost tangibly relevant about the fact that now she had a past with him here-a past that someone who had known him for over a decade recognized.

They were loaded into the backseat of a golf cart and chauffeured along the beach by their chef extraordinaire, skirting the soft sand in favor of the well-packed paths between Vinnie's house and his.

Meg took them right up to his back door, ushering them in and to the table, which was set with china, crystal, and a vase full of at least three dozen roses in a vibrant orange. Oy.

"Really, Castle? More?"

His hands rose in a gesture of surrender.

"Yours aren't up here."

Meg got them settled with salads and bread and the highly anticipated boeuf bourguignon, adding a bottle of something earthy and garnet red from his wine cellar to the balloon goblets before wiping her hands and edging toward the front door.

"What else can I get you? The champagne is chilling for later, and dessert's staying warm in the oven until you're ready for it."

"Meg, are you sure you won't stay and join us? Let us give a running commentary of compliments to the chef?"

"Oh, thank you for inviting me, but I can't, M-Rick. If I don't get home soon, Alice and Dan will find a way to destroy the kitchen."

Turning toward Kate, the younger woman leaned in conspiratorially.

"My husband thinks our four-year-old is a cooking prodigy, what with coming from two chef parents and all, so he does these "creative experiments" with her, which essentially means letting her throw whatever she wants in a dish and then trying to turn it into something edible. And of course the other outcome is all those ingredients get thrown all over the kitchen, in her hair, in his hair. Have you ever tried to get Karo syrup, egg yolk and molasses out of a French braid?"

Kate smiled as she shook her head, but she was inwardly wincing at just the idea.

"It pays to keep a stock of Goo Gone next to the Johnson's baby shampoo when you have a four-year-old. I learned that from Alexis and Rick-run-in with silly putty and marshmallow creme."

Meg's eyes slanted toward the father in question. There was obviously a longer story there, and Kate couldn't help conjuring an image of Rick hauling a tiny Alexis into a tub full of bubbles, dousing her fiery hair with Goo Gone, all the while congratulating her on her latest masterpiece.

"Anyway, enjoy, and happy birthday, Kate."

"Thank you so much. This is just amazing, all of it, really."

"Least I can do for my favorite client. I'll let myself out."

Looking back across the amazing spread of food and wine to her boyfriend's face, an image flashed from somewhere in her subconscious. Two little brunette pipsqueaks with pigtails, one slightly shorter than the other, were double-teaming their dad in this very kitchen, and the flour was flying.

"What?"

She shouldn't have been amazed anymore at his ability to call her out on every errant thought in her head, but at that moment, it took her by surprise, and so she deflected.

"This all really is wonderful, Castle."

His answering smile told her all she needed to know.

# * # * # * #

An hour later, she was so full of food she thought she might not be capable of getting up from the table under her own power. Castle had been exactly right. Meg Winters was a magician.

"You ready for some champagne? A little dessert maybe?"

"There is no way another bite of food will fit in my stomach tonight."

"But bubbles will help with your digestion. And it's your birthday; champagne is a requirement."

He had that puppy dog look on his face. Damn it, she could not resist that look.

"Fine. Yes, open the champagne."

"How about you go get comfy, and I'll bring it upstairs?"

"Comfy? You mean I finally get my hands on the infamous lingerie."

His brow rose in challenge.

"You know what I think? I think you're intimidated by the potential awesomeness of my lingerie selection. I think you're afraid my taste in lingerie might be even better than yours."

"What? No. You're delusional. I am in no way intimidated by your lingerie. Where did you even find it?"

"Oh, a little shop I stumbled on run by this crazy Texan. She told me to bring you along next time. Pick out some things we'll both enjoy."

"Dream on, Castle."

"Oh, believe me, after visiting Dora's, dreams are not a problem."

A grunt of disgust escaped as she pushed back from the table, stood and stretched. Fine. If he wanted her to put on this lingerie with a stomach full of yummy French food, she was game. The food baby would be his fault, after all.

"Hand over the bag. Let's see it."

"Oh, I already put it upstairs."

When had he possibly-oh, she had been in the bathroom for less than three minutes. What was up with stealth-boyfriend today?

"Fine. Meet me up there. With the champagne. At this rate, I'm gonna need it."

That little paper bag was sitting cheerily on the bedspread when Kate entered the master bedroom. Snagging it and stepping into the bath, she somehow managed to resist the nearly overwhelming temptation to dump the contents of the bag on the counter straight away. Rather, she calmly freshened up, washed her face with that magical scrub she had found in the top drawer in September, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she had left in the cabinet next to his, and then calmly, well maybe not so calmly, peeked inside the little bag.

Drawing out the tissue paper, she first encountered a black lace bra, which seemed pretty tame, except for the fact that the straps were made from... pearls? Strings of lustrous, round, white pearls, as long as a full necklace on each side. She'd seen the crazy Victoria Secret diamond-encrusted bra on TV, but she couldn't remember seeing anything quite like this. Well, she had told him she liked jewelry once not too long ago. Geez. Only Castle would turn her lingerie into fine jewelry...

Digging down for the matching underwear, she looped a finger through another string of pearls. Pulling the lacy swatch of fabric out of the bag, she held it up, turned it in her hands a few times. How was this supposed to... go on... exactly?

Taking the edges of the lace between her fingers, and letting the double strand of pearls hang down, suddenly it hit her.

The pearls were supposed to go... there.

Seriously? I mean… She'd worn her fair share of teeny tiny g-strings in her life, but this? This was basically a waistband of lace with just the... pearls. Um. Yeah.

Oh, but she was not going to be intimidated by this naughty little pair of pearl panties. And let Castle think he'd been right all along? Never. Naughty was her middle name.

As she stripped off her clothes, the thought crossed her mind that she was glad she had let Lanie talk her into being a bit adventurous at the salon that afternoon. This "underwear" was going to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and she supposed the fact that she was a little more bare than usual in that general vicinity might be a good thing. Give him a little surprise of his own, as Lanie had said.

The bra was really no big deal, but as she shimmied into the underwear, slid the lace into place over her hips, she suddenly realized exactly how intimate apparel could get. Well then. That was... interesting.

And then she took a step, headed for the door, and all those pearls shifted. Oh. My. Goodness.

Girding her loins, quite literally, and grabbing the satiny robe conveniently hanging off the back of the door, she covered herself up and faced the music.

There was music, actually. Something playing just low enough that she couldn't quite make it out, but a nice background nonetheless. Was that "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend?" Never mind, she didn't have time to contemplate the man's music selection when the man was looking absolutely yummy, nearly naked, hair artistically rumpled. How did he do that, anyway? Her hair just looked rumpled if she ran her hands through it...

Rounding the corner of the massive headboard, her thoughts snapped back into focus at the sight of bare-chested, biceps-flexing male. Castle was backlit by the roaring fire, surrounded by candles and stripped down to just his boxers, royal blue silk boxers. Casually leaning back into the edge of the extra tall mattress, he set the bottle of champagne back in the bucket, arm muscles taut and in stark relief against the orange glow of the flames. Two flutes already filled with the incandescent, bubbling liquid were resting on the bedside table.

Meeting her eyes as she crossed to him, he took a glass in each hand, offered one to her with a smug little smirk, the candlelight playing off his features giving him the look of pure, unadulterated trouble. The single eyebrow slowly rising only reinforced it.

"So, what do you think?"

Reaching out with his free hand, he caught her around her waist and pulled her in close. Without really intending to, she sort of landed with one leg on either side of his thigh, and when he dragged her in tighter against his chest, suddenly the apex of her thighs was pressed into the thick, hard muscle of his, and holy shit, she barely bit back the moan. She needed to do that again. Maybe several times, repetitively.

"I'll take that as a positive sign."

His smirk had grown, if that that was even possible, at her reaction, but he took a sip of his wine, reminded her she should probably do the same as a distraction from the extremely compelling press of his leg against... Ugh, maybe more alcohol was not the best idea after all. Inhibitions were dropping like flies.

And then, lips still chilly, painted with that golden fizzing liquid, he nuzzled into her neck, attached himself to that one perfect spot just below her ear, lit up every nerve with the combination of cold lips and hot, wet tongue. How many more ways could her brain say "unfff?" And just when she thought the molten lava that had taken up residence in her insides couldn't get any hotter, he flexed his quad.

This time there was no combating the pathetic, wanton little whimper-her vocal cords had a mind of their own.

Barely breaking contact, he leaned to the side to set down his glass, took hers from her embarrassingly shaky hand and set it beside his own. And then somehow her robe was untied and sliding down one shoulder, chased almost immediately by the heat of his tongue as it traced down the strand of pearls from the peak of her collarbone to the swell of her breast.

Oh mother of... pearl. She was not going to last long at this rate. Rolling her hips against his leg, she felt herself flush scarlet at the absolute overload of sensation, what had seemed intrusive only moments ago now not only welcome, but damningly addictive.

Her other shoulder felt the cool rush of exposure to the air of the bedroom as his tongue made its lazy way across the curve of each breast. Reaching the other shoulder, he replaced its slippery softness with the nip of teeth, and damn. Really.

Hands never idle, he had her robe completely off before she could even slow him down, and then he was tipping her body back, holding her away so he could run his eyes down over her, see exactly what this birthday present looked like in the flesh.

It was obvious when he got past her waist; his eyes widened, pupils blew out to huge, black saucers, jaw went slack.

Now it was her turn to smirk.

"Wh-when did you-"

"Salon today. Lanie's idea."

"Have I mentioned-" he had to stop and clear his throat because that last syllable had come out as sort of a squeak, "-how much I love your best friend?"

"I'll be sure to tell her you said so."

So far off his game that he didn't even come back with a witty retort, Castle just seemed mesmerized by the sight before him. Taking one finger, he traced the pad along the edges of the rather scandalously diminished patch of curls, then traveled up the strings of pearls, setting off sizzles of need that she was not capable of battling back even for pride's sake at this point.

"I wasn't kidding with that tweet earlier. If you keep getting hotter like this, my heart is just finally going to stop beating all together."

And then his mouth was on hers, and his wide palm was pressed to the small of her back, and it was a good thing he had a steady hold on her, because with everything lined up and pressed tight, her legs completely went to a very happy state of room-temperature Jell-O. As all her weight fell on to the spot where she was straddling him, she let out a surprised little yelp into his mouth and didn't even try to hide it as she circled her hips hard against him. Breaking the kiss just enough to let her lips move against his, she gasped.

"Oh, fuck. Castle I'm..."

Close. She was close. So close she couldn't fully get the words out before she just had to rock against him again. She'd barely moved; he'd barely touched her, but this frakking magical lingerie was going to do her in. Who was this "Dora," and where had she been all her life?

Her body was an arc of electricity fed by the connection between their bodies, bending and sparking with every promiscuous pulse of movement from him, every licentious undulation of her hips.

Still being held up mostly by his arm, wrapped in a vise grip at her waist, her own limbs were nearly limp around his neck, just keeping her balance as he found yet another spot to worry with his lips at the angle of her neck and shoulder. They'd been at this for six months; where the Hell did he find these spots?

And then she felt his free hand slide down past the small of her back, over the curve of her ass, and he slipped a finger around the two strings of pearls, then tugged on them gently, making them slide through her center, each round bead nudging against her swollen bundle of nerves as it slipped past.

Her climax came on a scream, so sudden and sharp that she lost her senses for a moment, everything collapsing around that one point of light and heat and glorious contact.

As her fuzzy hearing settled, she felt him huff a little laugh against her ear. His voice came out low, gruff, with just a hint of a tease.

"I think you might actually like your naughty birthday lingerie, Detective Beckett."

Breathing still ragged, she managed to get her weight back on her own two feet, stand back from him to pin him with narrowed eyes and a saucy, if somewhat breathless, smile.

"Maybe just a little."

Stepping further away, she took her glass in hand and sipped calmly at her bubbles, raised an eyebrow in seeming disinterest while conveniently ignoring the scarlet flush to her chest, the heave of her breasts as she tried to control her breathing.

Pushing off from his spot against the mattress, he grabbed his champagne and took a long draught, then hooked a finger in the lace at her waist.

"I think you should get your naughty-lingerie-covered butt in this bed before I have to pick you up and toss you there."

Tapping one finger firmly against his sternum, she stepped closer.

"Oh, you wouldn't dare. And maybe you haven't noticed, but this lingerie covers exactly none of my ass...ets."

"Oh, I definitely noticed. Somewhere between the robe coming off and you, well, c-"

Stopping that train of thought with a thorough kiss, she lost the wine again and edged him back toward the bed. Apparently unable to resist the temptation once he'd said the words aloud, Castle did grab her by the waist and haul her up off her feet just far enough to fling her over on to the middle of the mattress.

Landing with a laugh, she glared at him, because she knew he loved pointing out that he had arms big enough to haul her around if he really wanted to, and because she secretly enjoyed the fact that he could, but only if she deigned to allow it. In retaliation, she grabbed him by the waist of his boxers and pulled him on top of her, under the covers.

When he disappeared under the comforter with a flurry of noisy, sloppy kisses down her belly, she giggled again, but the laughter stopped when he found his target, settled there and blew out a breath against her over-sensitized flesh.

A shiver seized her whole body when his tongue made languid contact. Outlining the path of the pearls with soft, gentle heat, he had her curling her toes and fisting her hands in the pillowcase above her head until her fingertips started to go numb. The noises she was making had ceased to make sense, ceased to be words, even, and her hips pulsed up without her consent, trying to find more contact, more pressure, more friction.

Focusing in on her center with slow, tight circles of his tongue, he clamped his hands around her hips and tugged them lower, making the strands of beads tighten against her, outlining the path of his caress with the contrast of the constant pressure of the tiny spheres.

That combination of stasis and motion, cold and heat, soft and firm was maddening enough, brought beads of perspiration to the valley between her breasts, her brow, made her breath start and stop on harsh, stilted pants. But then, then, two thick fingers stroked deep and found her sweet spot, used the angle to trap the strands tighter still against her.

Knowing exactly how to make her writhe on an average night, without wine or lingerie or pearls or her birthday, his touch was sure, confident, steady, creating a rhythm, a cadence she could build on, respond to, without needing to shift or guide or adjust or think at all. In this swirling whirlpool of want, she could simply float, react, trust him enough to be pleasantly…surprised.

And as he escalated with lips and palm and fingers and tongue, everything inside her coiled again, warmed to a simmer and then a rolling boil. This was what she'd never had with a lover-the faith that no matter the night, no matter how tired or stressed or ornery either of them was, this pursuit of pleasure was a shining, unwavering constant. He would always find a way, and she would always give it back.

When his lips closed around her and his voice hummed a hungry, vibrating note that stirred absolutely everything inside her, she got one quick breath in before all that heat convulsed, expanded, shone like beams of light from her fingertips and toes. She was falling hard, and he kept her there, in suspended animation, held to earth only by his mouth and hands for what felt like an eternity. Finally unable to stand any more, she choked out a plea.

"Enough. Enough, I can't... Castle!"

Gentling and then withdrawing all contact, he climbed up her body, over loose limbs and sated, quivering muscles, until he was fully on top of her, using his mass to anchor her floating form to the reality of the softness of their bed.

Using more strength than she thought she had left, Kate leaned up to capture his lips, tasted herself there, moaned as he slid a hand around to cradle her head, keep her tucked up against him. Tongues twirled together, each one battling for dominance. How had she still not tired of kissing him after so many months? He could drive her mad with just this one act, his single-minded determination, his gripping passion to possess her mouth completely overwhelming her until she was caught up again, wanting him again, needing to feel him inside her.

As he let her sink back into the pillows, hands trailing down to the lace at her hips, she caught his wrists.

"No, leave them on."

In the flicker of candlelight, his eyes went two shades darker, if that was even possible.

Reaching behind her, she unfastened her own bra, let him drag the straps down and off, finally freeing that bit of neglected skin. His mouth immediately attached, swirled, suckled as if his very life depended upon the contact. Arching her back, she offered herself up, and he met her with escalating demand, pulling more of her flesh into his mouth, dragging the curve of his tongue along the puckered flesh, then taking her lightly between his teeth, using just the perfect amount of pressure so that she had no choice but to cry out, expletives tumbling from her mouth uncensored.

Never one to ignore symmetry, he paid the same attention to her other breast as she flexed her hips up and into his, pulled one knee up until it settled just above the crest of his hipbone. The move was both invitation and insistence, and he didn't ignore it. Two fingers finding their way down between them, he slid the now-slick strands of pearls apart, making room for himself and sweetly, evilly tormenting her in the process.

Nosing up her chest and neck until his lips found hers again, he positioned himself at her entrance, his eager and long-ignored arousal insinuating itself between swollen folds, bracketed by the unyielding lingerie.

The thrust of his tongue, deep into the recesses of her mouth, mirrored that of his body inside hers. In that moment of spreading, stretching, filling, she let out a moan that reverberated back from the hollow of his cheeks, was answered by his own resonant note of fulfillment at their merging.

Wanting him as deep as she could possibly take him, she lifted her other knee to angle just above his hip, making perfect parentheses at his waist and drawing him further into her body.

As he drew back, pulling nearly out of her, and then sank again, the meeting of their bodies brought home exactly how high her lingerie had managed to ride up during their love-making. Another firm thrust, and she let out a gasp into his mouth.

"You like that?"

Oh, my, yes. Not that they hadn't played around, a well-placed, well-timed fingertip here and there, but she certainly had never had underwear involved quite so directly in such a sensitive area.

With his next thrust, this time advancing farther, using more force, she half-sobbed out in the affirmative.

"Yes."

Picking up on exactly what part of their movement and contact she was responding to, he planted his hands on the mattress on either side of her shoulders and used his forearms to leverage her knees higher, then pumped his hips again.

"Harder."

His eyes narrowed at her low, strangled whisper. Her fingers dug into the firm muscle of his ass, pulling him tighter against her. Forcing her lips to form words again, using every bit of mental effort she had left, her tone was decisive, unwavering, raw, sex.

"Do it harder and I'll come."

That was the only invitation he needed. His hips snapped upward as he rocked the full weight of his lower body into hers, using the same methodical rhythm that he knew would eventually push her over the edge.

As he stroked deep, hitting every lettered spot inside her and maybe a few that had yet to be named, her inner muscles clenched reflexively, held on to him when he withdrew. Two more heaving strokes and she was drawn up, a taut, straining band, ready to snap.

"Kate."

That was the desperate rasp she heard only when he was afraid he might lose control before he had gotten her there with him.

"Don't you dare stop. Don't you dare."

So close she could feel the quivering tension in her body seeking release against the counterpoint of his motion, she forced her eyes open, focused on the concentration in the set of his jaw, the crease between his brows, the desire in the dark depths of his eyes, the abandon that radiated from the flush of his skin, the beads of perspiration coalescing, demarcating a lucid trail over the arc of his cheekbone.

The inevitability caught her, held her on the precipice, and as she felt his body finally, irrevocably surrender, stuttering and spilling and pulsating inside her as his voice cried out an incoherent roar, it pushed her over the edge. Her whole body quaked in time with his, persisting until she could no longer keep her eyes open, had to succumb to the lightness of her limbs, the soaring of her heart.

Probably minutes later, muscles trembling with the fatigue of sustained effort, she wrapped her arms solidly around him, dipped her fingertips into the ridges of muscle outlining his spine, let her legs fall to the bed. The blankets long gone, she began to feel the chill of the wintry room, despite their raging fire and the heat of his body still slack and heavy atop hers. Her fingers found the edge of the sheet, just above the curve of his ass, and she tugged it up to cover them both, rousing him from his post-coital haze.

"Mmmmm."

His voice vibrating off the tender skin over her collarbone provoked a huff of laughter from her semi-squeezed lungs.

"Happy Birthday, Kate."

His voice sounded half-drunk, laced with sleep and lust and love. She knew exactly what her wish would be, blowing out all 33 candles.

"And many, many more."

# * # * # * # * #

Lingerie: Just Google "Bracli" and you will get the idea, or look at these 2 specific images-

nylonparadies dot com slash images slash product_images slash original_images/ slash 1391_0 dot jpg

OR

scene1 dot barenecessities dot com dot edgesuite dot net slash is slash image slash BareNecessities slash thongbra4?$Main375x440$&wid=375&hei=440

Was this naughty enough for you? ;)

Hope so.

Thanks for sticking with it.

If you want to get to know Dora better, try my story, "Enlightenment." There's plenty of the lingerie-pushing crazy Texan there, once you get past that awful Victoria's Secret scene. Blech!

And as ALWAYS, thank you to JOY for being my uber-beta and expert word repetition safety net. I would fall flat on my writer's bum without you to catch me!

-Kate

Twitter: Kate_Christie_

Tumblr: KathrynChristie dot tumblr dot com