Author's Notes:
According to Kiera, August 23rd is Maxon's birthday!
Maxon never liked to fuss over his birthday but when America throws him a bash, memories from the past and another woman threaten to ruin his special day. Will America's birthday present be enough to save the day?
A birthday story/present was a Guest Reviewer suggestion. I took the liberty of making this a little darker since this is what I imagined would happen in the timeline. But it's also full of sexy fun!
WARNING! For graphic sexual content. If this sort of material offends you, please go read something else. You have been WARNED! All others please continue on and...
I hope you enjoy!
~Sweetwaterspice
Maxon and America: Bedtime Stories
"Happy Birthday, Your Majesty!"
Today is your special day
And I'm going to be
Your personal Genie
Every wish of yours
Will be fulfilled, my lord
~ Maxon
"Happy Birthday, Your Majesty!"
My footsteps echo on the marble floor as I walk down the main hall steep in my own thoughts only to be snapped out of them by the smiling faces that greet me wherever I go.
"Happy Birthday, King Maxon!"
And around every corner. "Happy Birthday!"
A pair of maids stop their duties on my approach and curtsy, their eyes bright and cheeks dusted with a touch of red– they regard me with a strange awe that still makes me feel uncomfortable. "Happy Birthday, Your Majesty!" They greet in unison.
"Thank you, ladies." I paste on a smile and nod; hear their giggles soon behind me as I continue on. I sigh.
Today is my birthday.
The palace is already busy with activity and will be full of family and guests tonight in celebration but, today I don't share their joy. I should feel happy. Aren't most people happy on the day they were born? I suppose. Maybe? I feel melancholy and I know why. I've tried to shove my somber thoughts aside but it's been nearly impossible. As my birthday drew closer, the memories only became more persistent, more invasive.
"Happy Birthday, Your Majesty," greet the guards standing at the door to the gardens.
I thank them with a gracious smile. Ask them if they will have an opportunity to join the celebration tonight. They respectfully confirm they will and issue their personal thank-you's for being included. It had really been America's idea. She wanted to include as much staff as possible in the festivities.
'They are at the front lines who offer you support every day, Maxon. They are the bricks of this place...and you are the mortar that keeps it together,' she had said. God, I love that woman.
I am humbled that it means that much to them. I tell them I hope they enjoy themselves at the festivities and recalling America's words, extend a further invitation to have them introduce their guests personally to me and the queen at the affair. They're left somewhat speechless, searching for words of gratitude.
"The wife won't believe it when I tell her. I thank you, Your Majesty," says one with a bow.
"It's very kind of you, Your Majesty. I don't know how to thank you," the other echoes.
Such a small gesture that I still can't comprehend this sort of reaction. It's just me but I've gotten used to these responses over the years. Not that it washes away the uneasiness I feel. America tells me I represent hope in their eyes, something bigger than themselves and that there isn't anything wrong with feeling the way I do but either way, I must accept what I am. I am their king. And they have affection for me.
It's a strange feeling nonetheless to have virtual strangers regard one with such esteem.
I step out into the gardens, grateful for the fresh morning air I breathe deep into my lungs. I close my eyes, taking two more deep breaths; my chest expands filling my lungs. The exercise seems to calm my mind a little and ease the tension in my muscles. I open my eyes and take in the beauty around me. The roses are in splendid summer bloom, their heads full and heavy with color and scent. Their natural beauty makes the corner of my mouth lift into a smile even among my restless thoughts because they make me think of America. So delicate and beautiful yet sturdy and commanding. I left her asleep, quietly sneaking out of bed before daylight, not wishing to wake her. She's been busy these past few weeks preparing for this day and I didn't want her to see me like this. I owe her so much and I want to make her happy. I have to pull myself together.
Shoving my hands in my pockets I walk over to our bench and take a seat. This has become my favorite spot in the gardens. Memories of the night I met America flood back crystal clear as if we had met only yesterday. It's hard to believe that six months have gone by since we were married and each day just proves to be better than the last. I chide myself a bit. I should feel happy today of all days. I get to spend every day with the love of my life. I have a family and real friends who I love and cherish. I have a kingdom that although not perfect, is healing. I have a people that love me and yet, still I feel a hole in my heart. I close my eyes once more, the images that appear are stronger now than ever. The voices louder. My heart aches and I try to swallow the knot that's formed in my throat.
Pull your damn self together. I concentrate on the mantra. It's an internal battle. The negative consuming the positive like a leech sucking on life's blood. But, I'm determined. Pull yourself together...Pull...
"A penny for your thoughts?"
My eyes flash open to see America standing there, a gentle squeeze on my shoulder. I swallow that infernal knot lodged in my throat, fighting the images that an instant ago choked me. I hadn't heard her approach.
"Sweetheart," I greet, pasting that smile back on my face. "What're you doing here?" I chuckle lightly, take her hand and tenderly kiss the back of it. I feel the tremble in my fingers and fight immediately for control.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks, smiling sweetly at me. She melts my heart. "I've been looking everywhere for you. You were gone when I woke up. I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday," she pouts. She's so cute when she does that.
"I'm sorry, darling," I say, pulling her to sit next to me on the bench. "You've been so busy. I didn't want to disturb you. We do have a long day ahead of us." I lean into her, pressing my lips softly against hers. Her small hand cups the side of my face and she moans, parting her lips in invitation. Her savory tongue sweeps over mine and my despondent feelings dim.
"Happy Birthday," she whispers against my mouth.
"Is this a prelude to my birthday present?" I smile, tugging her lower lip with my teeth. A grin flashes across my lips hearing her exhale a quivering breath.
America pushes against my chest. "Oh no, you don't," she smiles knowingly.
"It's my birthday. Don't I get my every wish granted? Tell me...is there buttercream icing involved?" I ask in that husky tone that I know for sure makes her tingle.
She arches one of her brows as our eyes lock and I'm confident I know exactly the images she's at this very second recalling– her naked breasts, dressed in buttercream frosting... my tongue making slow, swirling patterns on her delicious mounds. I feel myself harden at the memory. And a mischievious smile, the one that tells me we're sharing the same thoughts, parts her supple, kissable lips but she says nothing. Instead America slides her fingers in a zipper motion across those luscious lips. I smirk, adding, "Well, whatever it is," I say, taking her hand and brushing my thumb over the pulse of her wrist, "I'm going to certainly enjoy sinking my..."
"Teeth?," she interjects making me chuckle.
"That and other more...pleasurable parts of me."
"You assume, my husband that your gift is me."
"What else would I want?" My eyes fall to her mouth and I pull her to me; kiss her softly, sensually. A kiss promising so much more.
"Such a lethal weapon might weaken my resolve long enough to divulge all of my secrets." She breathes against my lips, her fingers clutching the lapel of my suit jacket.
"I must be losing my touch then," I joke. "You've kept it under such a tight lid."
She murmurs, "You have no idea."
I grin then kiss her forehead and look at her with a love my chest can barely contain; a love as deep as the ocean blue. There's a moment of silence as I take her in– every feature of her lovely face.
"What?" She asks, pulling back to examine that look I've just given her more fully.
"Have I ever told you how happy you make me?"
"Until I make you attend your own birthday celebration?" Her blue eyes sparkle under the morning light.
"My mother..." The words, my thoughts slip. I bite them back wretchedly, quickly shifting my eyes to the grass beneath our feet, trying to stifle those damn images that have haunted me, wishing she doesn't notice.
"Maxon?" So much for wishes. I can hear America's concern clearly in her soft inquiry. "What's the matter?" If anyone can see right through me, open my heart to see what laid inside, it was her.
I shake my head, dare to meet her eyes. "It's nothing, sweetheart." I cover with a kiss on her hand.
"Maxon..." The sound of my name sweetly spoken on her lips is all it takes.
I take a deep breath before I dare speak another syllable, not trusting the unsteady tenor of my voice. "It's just...I miss them, you know." Her fingers tighten around mine. She knows of whom I speak. "They were alive my last birthday," I offer, recalling that day. My eyes are focused on our threaded fingers because I don't want her to see the pain I feel etched on my face.
"My father had given me these cuff links," I gesture, tilting a wrist to show her the silver accent pinned through the buttonhole of the sleeve of my white dress shirt. "He had forgotten he'd given me cuff links for Christmas," I smile gravely. "But all the same, right? At least he cared enough to remember his only heir." I pause, take another breath. My father was a damn bastard but he was my father. "My mother on the other hand, with the Selection just weeks ahead gave me the most precious gift of all. She told me the night of my birthday, she would support whatever choice I made. Whichever girl I wanted no matter her caste. I'd like to think..." I raise my eyes daring to look at America, "that you were my gift from her."
America sucks in a breath, her eyes stunned wide at my words. Then presses her mouth to mine, her hand clasps about the nape of my neck. "I love you," she whispers, her breath mingling with mine. "I'm sorry they can't be here too."
Would it always be like this? I wondered. Would every big occasion in my life feel the void they'd left behind? I felt that loss on my wedding day. Will it be there at every holiday? Will it, the day our first child is born?
"My father would've given the birthday toast as he had every year." But not today. That honor now fell to my brother-in-law, Kota, being the closest male relative.
"I'm sorry," America laments.
"Knowing Kota, I'm sure it'll be a very lively speech." We both manage to chuckle.
"I'm twenty today, America. And I didn't have them long enough."
America slides into my arms, resting her head on my shoulder. "I know."
I close my eyes, burying my nose in her hair, letting her comfort become a part of me.
~ That evening...
My somber mood dissipates and eventually silences to something dull in the back of my head as I accept the well wishes of my guests, the handshakes, the kind gestures; the hugs and kisses from my family and closest friends. I smile, genuinely so at every one of them and I feel especially grateful for my beautiful wife. Although I had been resistant, this gathering of smiling faces makes me appreciate that life is all too short and every day we are granted to live is indeed it's own precious gift. I let that thought center me as I take it all in.
My mother had definitely been right. As I look around the elegantly decorated room, where white linen cloths draped the tables, tall vases with little white lights that seemed submerged in water serve as centerpieces and where on top of each place setting rests a small confection box tied with black and royal blue ribbons (I had snuck one earlier to find a chocolate trufle with a monogrammed "M" in white chocolate on top. Cook's talent never ceasing to amaze). My wife did indeed wish to celebrate me with a lavish bash and not wanting to disappoint her either, I make sure to enjoy myself.
"Did you see your cake, Maxon?! It's ginormous!" May stretches her arms wide. "I think it's bigger than me!"
"Ginormous?" I laugh. "You don't say?"
She crooks her finger, beckoning for me to lean down to whisper in my ear, "Don't tell America. But I sneaked some frosting from the corner. It's your favorite! Buttercream!"
"Is it, now?"
"Come on! You gotta come see it, Maxon!"
I'm hauled off by my excitable, pint-sized sister-in-law to see my birthday cake and indeed, it was one massive slab smoothly covered in silky, delicious, buttercream icing. I wondered if Cook had any left over.
The celebration proceeded with the usual faire. After the initial flow of drinks and appetizers, we sit down for dinner where my brother-in-law offers the toast and has the room in fits of good laughter at my expense. Even America is amused.
"But all jesting aside, it is an honor to offer this toast. To my brother. To my King. You exemplify everything I hope to one day be. You lead your people with integrity, with honesty and more importantly, with kindness. May your days be long. And may they be full of everything your heart desires. Happy Birthday!"
Glasses raise in my honor as the orchestra begins playing the traditional birthday tune. I am almost overcome at the love in this room and I take in America's flushed, smiling face, the hint of tears rimming her eyes.
She kisses me chastely, whispers against my mouth, "Happy Birthday, my love."
"Thank you." My words are a whisper too as I reign in my emotions. "I love you."
Once dinner is over, livelier music fills the Great Room. Couples take to the dance floor. I take my girls starting with my darling America, then Magda, next Kenna and of course May (twice), for a twirl on the dance floor. I'm in full celebratory spirits now as I mingle with guests, my mother-in-law's hand tucked in the crook of my arm. Magda, ever her vivacious self is dressed in a very flattering, sequined evening dress. My father always said that a girl would grow up to look just like her mother...and from the looks of Magda, I think Shalom could very possibly be rolling in his grave at this very moment.
America's mother is a beautiful woman in her late 40's and certainly has no shortage of eyes glued on her. When she laughs, she reminds me so much of America who currently I find in conversation with a few of the former Selected ladies. Introductions were a constant with the Selected. Eligible suitors of varying ages made no qualms to recite their worthy credentials and name dropping, of course had it's own tantalizing incentive in hopes of snaring one of these highly sought out ladies. Each suitor cast their net, vying for a coveted dance or a private stroll in the moonlit gardens with one of these ladies who had their pick of titles, money and society paraded before them.
I smile, hearing America's laughter over the din of voices and music. My smile fades soon enough as my eyes still on the one person I had little desire to see. Her name had been on the guest list which I supposed, made an encounter clearly unavoidable. She stood alone, near a large arrangement of flowers set on a pedestal, a glass of white wine in hand. Bringing the glass to her mouth she takes a sip, surveying the crowd. Our eyes lock when she raises her eyes from above the rim. Her head tilts to one side and she lifts her glass in salutation.
Kriss Ambers, the woman that came so close to becoming my wife.
I return her greeting with a slight nod of acknowledgement but nothing more. And although I know how deeply hurt she had been, that I had hurt her, she put on a brave face and attended our wedding and never turned down an invitation to a royal function. Few words had passed between us since the Selection and things as expected had grown even more awkward between Kriss and me. A tension had been building over these past months straining the last reserves of my patience and that taut chord snapped during our last encounter.
"I've written. You haven't answered any of my letters."
"There's nothing left to say, Kriss."
"Won't you ever forgive me, Maxon?"
"I have."
"Can't we be friends, then? You know my feelings for you haven't changed."
She had expressed them quite clearly in her letters. Letters I had burned.
"I love my wife." The words hissed from deep inside. Did she really think me so shallow?
"America doesn't need to know." Bold and desperate.
Anger bloomed in my chest and revulsion churned in my belly. Even the thought of another woman, of Kriss sharing my bed made me physically ill.
"You live among lies, Kriss. That's were you seem to be the most comfortable." I had learned in the days after the Selection ended that Kriss had been a Northern rebel spy, the plant that August Illéa had somehow managed to place in the competition.
"You have no right to condemn me and forgive her! Or do you not remember, Maxon? America's little secret? That guard in whose arms we..."
"That is enough!" I snapped, anger roiling in me, hot and ready to burn. I was not having any more of this. "I have always loved America. Always! You, on the other hand, were nothing more than a mere convenience."
The words spewed like venom; my tone dripping with disdain. The flash of pain in her eyes let me know they had hit their mark. I walked away, my fists balled in anger. Her betrayal had we married, would've torn my kingdom apart; would've been a worse blow to me personally than one given at the hand of my worst enemy. That I had even forgiven her deceitful ruse– for that kind mercy she should've let things be. But she hadn't.
My chest tightens with mixed emotions. A part of me wants to apologize for my unkind words but I couldn't do that. Encouragement was the last thing I wished to offer. And as if tugged by some invisble thread between us, she starts heading my way. She disappears in the crowd as a couple steps into my line of vision. It's the palace guard I had extended the invitation to this morning and behind him his fellow guard. Each is accompanied by a woman who after offering a bow and curtsy are introduced as their wives. The women again wear that look of disbelief as I graciously accept their birthday wishes and turn introducing them to the Queen Mother. Their disbelief ratchets up another notch when America joins us and witnessing the love my people have for her makes me forget about everything else. This woman standing next to me; this perfect woman is my world.
I catch America an hour later standing, half hidden by one of those tall arragement of flowers, all alone.
"Have I told you how nicely your ass sways in that dress?" I whisper throatily in her ear from behind. "I'm counting the minutes to get you out of it."
"Are you enjoying yourself?" She says without turning to face me but I can sense her smile behind her words.
"I am. For one, Kota's birthday toast is one I won't soon forget," I chuckle.
"Yes, leave it to my brother not to forego a minute in the spotlight. Pompous ass."
I laugh. "Don't be so hard on him, darling. He's virtually harmless."
America snorts. "I'm sure there'll be a favor he's soon to ask of you in return for his kind speech."
"It wouldn't be Kota otherwise," I agree with her assessment and wanting to move on from the subject of my annoying brother-in-law, I lay a kiss on her neck. "On the other hand, my darling," I whisper, my hands sliding to grip her hips. "I'm wondering when I'm going to get my gift?" I pull on her hips so her backside is flush against my front, thankful for the bit of privacy the obstruction of the flowers give us. "The hour is getting late and it won't be my birthday much longer."
Slowly turning in the circle of my arms, her gaze stills on my lips and then as if assessing her next words, smiles when my brown eyes meet her half-lidded blue orbs.
"Soon," she tells me.
"How. Soon?"
"Very. Soon."
"You're killing me."
"Good."
I groan as her eyes intimate wicked, wicked things. She leans in for a kiss so innocent and yet the spark it ignites sets my skin afire. My eyes widen in a mix of shock and surprise as her stealthy fingers boldly trace over the rigid length of my cock.
Her crooked smile is full of knowledge– what her touch has done to me.
"Soon," she repeats. I groan.
I watch as she leaves me, hungry and near devastation. Damn. I should have hauled her into one of the nearby parlor rooms and ravished her...completely. Maybe I should lay her across my knees and swat that sweet, little ass for...
"Pardon, Your Majesty," Stavros' voice clangs through my fantasy. I clear my throat as if the action itself were like a shield to ward my wicked thoughts from his perceptive eyes.
"What is it?" I say the words harsher than I intend.
"I do hate disturbing you at your very own party, Your Majesty, but we have a small problem."
Apparently an invoice had been missed and needed America's signature to be paid. A small enough fire I could put out.
"Don't trouble America with it. I'll handle it."
"Thank you, Sir. It is waiting in your office. I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"It's a small thing, Stavros. I'll sign off on it and leave it on my desk."
With a slight bow of his head, Stavros eagerly returns to the festivities while I rush to my office.
The guards stationed at the door greet me with birthday wishes that I acknowledge as I slip into my office. I'm feeling a bit aroused, my groin lingering on the touch of America's fingers. I have a good mind to forget about the damn gift and take her hard against a wall.
Rounding my desk, the open folder is there just as Stavros said it would be. But instead of a document...an envelope with my name on it. I recognize the writing right away. I smile and pick it up within seconds. It smells of her which arouses me further. "What are you up to my darling?" I muse as my smile widens and the heat of anticipation spreads through my chest...and nether region. It dawns on me that I had been set up by my trusted advisor and my lovely wife.
I turn the envelope over, snapping the seal and eagerly tear into the content. It reads...
A birthday wish, you do not get
But three wishes if you dare
To find your gift you must return
To where your lover's heart awaits.
She lays in slumber for you to wake
Your every wish she will fulfill
Come at once! She cannot wait!
For her Master to obey.
My blood thrums in my veins at America's licentious words; heat like a raging fire burns my insides. I feel as if my very clothes are going to turn to ashes but that white heat turns to frigid ice as a voice says, "How...kinky."
I whirl in the direction of the voice. A voice I recognize. There's a quiet rustling of a dress. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
"Hello, Maxon."
My brow knits tight in recognition. "Kriss." The displeasure not hidden in my tone when I speak her name.
"They always say it's the quiet ones that..."
"What the hell are you doing in here?" My eyes flit towards the door. How did she get past my guards?!
"Relax," she says as if answering my question.
"How did you get into my office?" I ask again, harsher, regarding her with suspicion.
She cocks her head sideways, a clever smile spreading across her face. "It wasn't that difficult, really. It's amazing what you can learn in just a few months about a place you called home."
The secret passage from my office, an artery that leads to the Royal saferoom.
My back stiffens. My eyes narrow. The facade of the sweet, innocent girl she pretended to be, that girl I thought I knew stands before me now a representation of something harder, unyielding. "What do you want?" I hiss.
She takes a deep breath. "I won't take much time. I just wanted a chance to speak with you in private. Please."
The sincerity in her voice, the plea in her eyes almost make me regret my harshness. Almost.
"Then talk." I reply with rancor, remembering who it is I'm speaking with. And I'm not putting up with any of her shit tonight.
"Right," she jerks her chin at the card on my desk. "Wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
I try to calm the anger ready to strike at her like a bolt of lighting. Weighing my words, I carefully say, "You...need to leave before..."
"Look, Maxon," she interrupts before I get the chance finish. "I wanted to tell you that I was wrong. That I'm sorry. About...everything."
"You could've written a letter," I jab. She flinches. Good.
Kriss shakes her head. "No. I needed to tell you in person." A pause. "I've gone about things the wrong way. I realize that now. I don't want us to be enemies, Maxon. You've made yourself clear and seeing you with America tonight...I get it," she pauses again. "However, I would like to think that I was something more to you than a mere convenience..." she repeats the words I had said the last time we spoke...that day when she had propositioned me, boldly in person. She continues undeterred by my lack of reaction. "We did mean something to each other, didn't we?"
That I couldn't deny. I offer a nod. "I cared for you, Kriss."
"Cared? But never loved?..."
"Kriss..." I wipe a hand over my face and sigh, exasperated.
I see the tears well in her eyes. I feel a pang of guilt that I'm the cause of those very tears but she doesn't need to know that. Kriss is a beautiful woman. She will make the right man happy. She only needs time to figure herself out.
I stuff my hands in my pants pocket. I walk to her, every bone in my body fighting the gentlemanly training I've been bred to have– to close the narrow gap. I know this confession is costing her much and I don't want to be a damn jerk. Heartless I may not be but I don't want to give her mixed signals either so I say, "I can't apologize for choosing America. And I won't apologize for...a lot of the things I've said to you."
She nods as she looks up at me. "I understand. I preyed on your trust. And I had an agenda that didn't include falling in love with you, Maxon. You have to believe that. But I did. And when I lost you...I...I didn't know what to do. I wrote those stupid letters because I didn't want you to forget me, Maxon."
"I understand why you did it, Kriss. But nothing will ever come of it. Ever." A blunt, direct approach because I'd learned no other would work with her.
"Did you tell her? About the letters?"
No way in hell was I opening that Pandora's box. "Goodbye, Kriss."
I see that cunning glint in her eye flash bright. "Happy Birthday, Maxon."
And as if the universe had tilted in the opposite direction, her lips crash against mine. My hands react of their own volition pushing her away. She stumbles back.
"What the hell?!..." I wipe my mouth, the evidence of red lipstick smeared on the back of my hand.
"Explain that away, Your Majesty!"
"You bitch." I curse, calmer than I feel. I grab Kriss by her arm hauling her ass to the door. I yank it open and toss her into the arms of a very shocked guard. "Get Miss Ambers a ride home. Now." I growl my command then slam the door not giving any further explanation.
"Damn it!" I hear myself yell. Every muscle in my body is tense. How the hell could I let that happen? I want to kick my own ass. But a voice inside me jerks me to my senses. America...Go to her. Go. To. Her.
I rush to the small lavoratory in my office, flick on the light. I look in the mirror and splash water on my face. I scrub my hand, my mouth washing away the vile taste, the sensation on my lips that is Kriss. I dry off and return to my desk where I spot America's invitation.
No way in hell was Kriss going to ruin my birthday.
By the time I reach my bedroom, I'm breathing hard. I open the door quietly as if I were a thief in the night. All I can think of is America and how much I need her right now. How much I want to lose myself in her...in her kisses, in her body. And how I need to feel myself buried inside her, making love to her, letting her know with my words and my kisses and my body that I am hers and hers alone. And damn Kriss to hell.
Our bedroom is lit with soft lights. I step inside, my anticipation on high knowing I'll find America waiting, wet and ready for me. But where I expect to find her naked on our bed...she is not.
I frown, puzzled. "America?" I call but there is no answer.
The bed is untouched and as I near, that's when I see it.
"What the...?" I ask no one else but myself since apparently my wife has decided to play a vicious little trick on me. I look around the room for her again. No sign of her. There's a note next to the small golden lamp that sits on the bed.
Whosoever the lamp holds
My Master will be
Rub me
And your desires I'll fulfill
"A lover's game," I gather. I'm all in.
America never ceases to amaze me. How in the world she manages it, I'll never comprehend. The world that felt so topsy-turvy a moment ago has tilted back on its axis. And I push every thought, every notion, everyone outside of this room and shut them out.
It's America and it's me.
There's no sound, there's no voice outside these doors that will dull the sounds that I will make her utter and moan in pleasure this night.
I know it's a game...a lover's game.
My body thrills at the prospects. So I rub the lamp with my sleeve...
"Oh shit!" I hear myself startle, almost dropping the lamp. My heart feels like it's lodged in my throat as America emerges from behind the changing screen, a shower of glitter raining down on her, her voice booming in declaration.
"I am the genie of the lamp. Whosoever holds the lamp, my master is he." I take in her sultry steps as she nears. My eyes bulge at the barely there genie costume she wears; the material so sheer I can almost see every part of her. Her flat midsection is exposed; her bottoms riding low on the sensuous curves of her hips. Her firm breasts dotted with already pebbled nipples. My mouth is already watering. Her face is covered by a half veil so only her eyes show.
"You hold the lamp."
"Yes. I guess I do." I look at the object in my hand.
"Master."
"I am."
She curtsies, her eyes never leaving mine.
When she stands again, "Three wishes I will grant. Your heart's desire...your fantasies." Her voice is a siren's song, full of promise and pleasure. It's hypnotic.
I throw the lamp over my shoulder and hear it thud behind me. I can see the smile shining in America's eyes. But I need contact and I need it right now. So, I tug the veil. It comes away easy and I suck in a breath at her sensual beauty. Her lips are full, tantalizingly succulent and damn it, when she lifts those sparkling blues at me, "Kiss me." The only words I can muster.
"Is that your first wish, my Master?"
I nod simply at a loss for words.
"Your wish is my command."
Her hands crawl up my arms, to the curves of my deltoids. She angles her head upwards. I run a thumb over the specks of glitter on her cheek. She looks ethereal; the most beautiful woman on this earth. I'm in awe of her as I lower my mouth to hers. Our breaths mingle, lips barely brushing soon to softly press unto the soft cushion of her mouth. It's a sensual, probing kiss as we open to each other. Not hard but romantic, soft yet deep, the sort of lover's kiss that has my head spinning. My fingers loosen her hair and as it tumbles down, twine in her hair.
We kiss like that for a bit and my body protests when she ends it. She steps back out of my reach when I attempt to pull her against me. After a kiss like that my control is nothing but a frayed string ready to snap.
"Was that to your liking, my Master?"
I can barely eek out a hissed, "Yes," as I shed my jacket, my tie.
"To please only you, my Master... my duty is."
My heart's set to implode at those words. I untuck my shirt from my pants making quick work on the buttons. I'm pleased when her eyes graze over my muscular torso and she bites on her lower lip.
I can't stand the distance between us. I need to touch her. I need her pressed against my body.
"You will grant my second wish now." I'm amazed that my voice doesn't quake in time with the tremors assaulting my insides.
"As my Master wills it, I shall grant it."
"Another kiss. I wish for another kiss."
She looks puzzled. "Another kiss?" Her hands meet her hips in a show of protest and defiance. "But…"
"As I am your Master you will grant my wish."
She sighs. "Very well. It is your wish." I like the flustered look she gives me. I smile at her and she gives into it.
She approaches silkily, her gaze softened, concentrated solely on me. America snakes her arms around my shoulders, her fingertips tickle the base of my neck. I take a deep breath when she raises up on her toes, grazing my jawline with her nose and I feel the heat of desire swirl around us. Her eyes fall to my mouth and as she steadies to grant my wish, lips puckering…
"No. Not there. The kiss I wish you'll give me on your knees."
My eyes fall between us, down to my protruding appendage. Her eyes follow suit.
I can see her bite back a smile. "As you wish, my cunning Master."
Slowly dropping before me, she settles on both knees and starts with my belt. My stomach muscles tighten in response. My breaths are labored and I groan when she unzips me. She nuzzles the tip of her nose between the opening, and she moans as she takes in the scent of my arousal. I help her push my pants down over my thighs to my ankles. Her attention is torture making me twitch against feathery kisses she's now dotting across the elastic band of my boxers.
"America," I utter, my body taut with pain. Her mouth nips at my stiff cock through my boxers. I bury a hand in her hair, urging her to taste my flesh. She gets the message and tugs the material over my engorged manhood. It springs proudly from it's restraint. She takes a moment to admire, licking her lips. I tilt her chin up to look at me, my cock an inch from her mouth. I can already feel myself sliding through the soft barrier of those pretty lips; sliding into the warmth of her mouth.
I fist my cock, running a slow hand over my length and feed it to her.
I hear myself utter a long string of curses as she takes me slow at first, her lips wrapped like a vice in the shape of an "O" around me. I leave her to pleasure me, her lips gliding smoothly over the veins of my erection. It's wondrous...the sensation of her mouth clamped around me; the little sounds I hear her make while feasting on me. And as she continues, her head moving forward and back, I discard my shirt; my cuff links tossed somewhere on the floor.
"So good…so damn good, baby," I encourage. "Suck it…just like that." I angle my head to one side to watch her, my hand fisted in her hair. She comes up for breath and a heartbeat later runs her flat tongue over the underside from base to the crowned tip. I watch America twirl the sensitive, rimmed edge with her tongue in nothing but pure fired lust. I groan at the sight and push past her lips once more. She takes me deep this time and it's nearly close enough to bring me to my own knees. I withdraw…near breathless, my cock glistens with the kiss that fulfills my wish.
I take her by the elbows to stand. Her lips are swollen from labor and damn if she's not a sight to behold. Flames of red hair frame her face, her shoulders. Her chest heaves. And with each breath, her bosom rises, the light catching more specks of glitter on the swells of her breasts.
I shed my shoes, the rest of my clothing and grabbing her, hoist her up by her bottom. The paper thin material of her costume does nothing to hinder the feeling of those round hills nesting in my palms. She wraps her legs around my waist. I turn with her to the bed.
"Wait. You must wish your last wish, my Master. It's bad luck to leave a wish unwished on your birthday."
"Is that so?" I give a wry smile.
"Mmhmmm. It's in the genie handbook. I checked."
"Well then... be it far from me to go against that rule..." I kiss her neck, her bare shoulder. "My lovely, genie." I lean my head to a breast, tug a nipple between my lips through her skimpy top.
"Ohhhh..." she whimpers, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Please...wish it...wish it...please." Her body undulates against me.
"Be still or I will not."
Her protest comes out in a whimper, one that tells me I'll probably pay for this later. But she manages to rein herself. "Good. Calm. Breathe," I direct. She's shaking in my arms, fighting for control. "Tonight, I am your master, America." I assert. "You will submit to my last wish."
I pause. Her eyes widen in anticipation. Hell, she's scorching. I can smell her readiness.
"I wish to make love to my Queen. Throughout this night. And every day of my life."
She asks weakly, breathy, "Is that your final wish, my Master?"
"To make you happy, America...that's my final wish."
America whimpers when my mouth clamps over hers. But this kiss isn't soft or sweet. It's hungry. It's demanding. Ravenous.
We tumble on to the bed where I make short work of her skimpy wares. And proceeding with my hands and my mouth and my body I make love to America. I taste her and when she spills herself on my tongue, her sweet essence only fuels a deeper hunger. And at last, when I enter her, she submits to me as I take her repeatedly, giving me full control of our lover's bed.
Her nails bite into the flexing muscles of my back with each and every thrust of my hips into her sweltering channel. I growl at the mix of pain and pleasure. She knows exactly which buttons to push to take back control but not tonight. I cuff her hands up above her head and open her further apart with my knees. Full submission, that's what I want.
She comes undone with my name on her lips as I control her, pinning her so hard that the mattress is singing. Our bodies are slick with sweat but I hold off my climax and unhinge myself from her. My body curses. I grip her hips and roll her over. She immediately knows what I want. And on her elbows and knees, slants that sweet ass in my direction and I take what I want, my position dominant as I cover her body with mine. Finding that golden path between her neck and shoulder, I mark her. "Mine." She lets out a sex addled cry into the pillow. Her walls quiver around me and I grab on to one of her hips while my elbow and forearm form a bracket to hold my weight. The sheer force of her climax catapults me into non-existence as I spill white ribbons of love into her.
"Happy Birthday to me," I tease in her ear once I've emptied myself inside her. She laughs. And that sweet laugh makes my blood thrum instantly.
America doesn't get much sleep as I thoroughly bed her three more times.
And on the fourth round, I say, "This is the best birthday I've ever had. And you, my darling genie, are the best gift I've ever had."
Dawn greets me. We lie in bed tangled together. America sleeps in my arms exhaustion claiming her. I feel an incomparable joy as I listen to her quiet breaths so grateful for our love. So thankful that she chose to be mine.
I wonder when I should tell America about what happened in my office. I know I have to tell her. Keeping the letters from her had been my mistake. But, nothing is worth me losing her.
She shifts in my arms, a sigh and then a smile, one that looks like contentment spreads over her countenance. She settles against my chest, slumbering peacefully.
I nuzzle my face in her hair. Inhale her scent into me.
"I love you, America. I will always love you."
Okay reader's and faithful "Bedtime Stories" followers, now it's your turn to contribute!
This story almost didn't see the light of day. I hit a wall of no motivation and nearly gave up writing anything this month. So just a reminder that your reviews are IMPORTANT!
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Stay tuned for the next Bedtime Story! Hopefully coming in September!