DAY TWENTY ONE: It's Jackson's birthday and he's been working all day long, but his wife has a welcome surprise waiting for him when he gets home.
What exactly does a successful man, half plastic surgeon, half husband, do on his thirty third birthday? Not spend it in the hospital doing breast implants, that's what.
His job is a lot more rewarding than this on a daily basis, but it just happens that on this day, his day, he has to get all tangled up with silicon and skin.
It's not that he doesn't love his job. He likes helping people, mainly the ones who actually need the help and not just those who aim to be more beautiful.
On the other end, he's never had a problem with women's breasts. What straight guy would? And his wife's are definitely the best set he's ever seen, held, worked with.
Speaking of which…
"April?" He places his keys down on the hook as he enters their apartment, searches around their living room, "Hello?" The lack of response isn't very reassuring. But he hopes that she's in the place somewhere since all he wants right now is to have a warm bath with his hot wife.
Jackson slips his jacket from his arms then, tosses it down over the back of the couch before he slips into the kitchen.
He spots a hot casserole pan steaming on the stove, a fresh bottle of red wine open on the side with an empty glass. And he almost dies at the sight of a chocolate fondant sat waiting to be divulged beside the bottle.
Where the hell was she? "April?"
"In here!" Her voice rings out from the bedroom, lower than usual with a shaky breath as though she was nervous about something.
His grabs the bottle of wine then, pours the empty glass full of the red liquid, slides his hand along the edge of the counter as he heads down the short hallway.
He smiles as he pushes the door open, grin turning to surprise when he spots her in the middle of the room, on their bed with no covers. "Hi."
April licks her lips, shifts to kneel herself up, palms pressing to the sheet, "Happy birthday!"
He approaches her slowly, brows raised as she moves, showcases her attire and appearance. "Is this for me?"
She flicks her flowing red locks behind her shoulders, rests her hands along her thighs, fingertips taping against the clasps of her stockings as she parts her legs in her knelt position. "It's all for you." April whispers, wicked look in her eye contrasted by her innocent smirk.
Jackson nods once, quickly takes a swig of his wine before placing it on the bedside table to join hers. He licks his lips and nears her closer, eyes blinking rapidly at the sight of her dressed like that.
April Kepner does not dress like this. April Kepner wears cardigans and dresses and flats. April Kepner does not wear slutty maid outfits with stockings and stilettos.
But she is.
"Can I unwrap my present now?" He asks her, waving a hand out to touch her lace-covered waist, watching as she backs away.
She moves, eyes to her own chest as she stands up, reaching his height and then gazing perfectly into his eyes. "Not yet."
He goes to talk until she places her hands on his chest, pushes him down forcefully onto the bed. He leans back on his forearms then, watching the way she reaches forward to grab his belt.
"I made your dinner, Mr. Avery." She grins, though it's hard for her to ignore the soft blush covering her cheeks. She's still her, after all.
"Yeah?" He casts his eyes down as she unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans quickly, roughly pulling on the flaps when she pops open the button. He shifts forward, upward, a small groan emitting from the back of his throat when she begins to slip his pants down his legs, tugging his boxers down too.
April nods, continues to undress him, "But I thought you could have dessert first." She teases him, chews her bottom lip between her teeth, enough to bruise, and she pushes him back down when he reaches for her side. She swats his hand away, smiles devilishly when his pants fall to his calves and she moves to throttle his waist.
"What's dessert?"
She straddles his lap, thighs beside his own and warm centre grinding against his erection. "Me." She reaches a hand behind her to grab him, place him at her entrance before sliding down onto his shaft.
He tugs on the bottom of her black and white dress then, pulling the already minuscule cloth up to her waist, realising she hadn't been wearing any underwear. "Damn, April!"
She grins, lets out a small giggle, lets out the true April for a second, running her small hands up and down his bare chest, burning his tanned flesh with her heated cream skin, leaning forward to press her lips to his neck. She swipes her tongue down his throat, nibbles his collarbone as she rides him, lets his rougher hands grip her hips.
"Jesus!" His eyes stare as she quickens her pace, reaches between them to grab his hand to rub herself, presses his fingertips against her swollen nub.
"You like this?" She pants, breathes heavily through shaky air. Her lips tremble and she closes her eyes, feeling herself nearing completion.
He nods then, green eyes wide and a sharp viper colour, unable to focus anywhere but on her, on them, "Yeah." He mutters, quietly and husky.
She climaxes a few seconds later, when his hand is moving frantically against her body, when her back curve and her muscles begin to ache. She moans, slips a curse word between her parted lips, lets him guide her to the finish line. Her eyes flicker open as she comes, nostrils flared and mouth dry as she watches him do the same.
They stop, or slow, their movements a few moments later, when her knees are weak and he's empty from spilling and she's breathless.
"When's your birthday?"