Happy Fucking Birthday, Baby

By: MsKathy

Prompts: envy, tease, wank

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A/N: Nina, I had no clue where to start with this. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you know just how many lives you've touched (mmm) with your involvement in the fandom. I am grateful and thankful to have you in my life, and to have gotten to know you as well as I have. Happy Birthday!!! I hope you get all the sushi you can eat today.

I'd spent almost the entire day thinking about my beautiful wife. My beautiful wife that I couldn't wait to get home and fuck.

Of course, her teasing me through phone calls and dirty pictures texted to me wasn't helping the matter. I'd already considered going into the bathroom to rub one out, but all I needed was some tech support employee finding the CEO wanking. It didn't help that I'd already lost one phone that way. Do you know how hard it is to explain that you dropped your iPhone in the toilet while you were frantically fapping to a photo of your gorgeous wife, naked and splayed out?

Gotta show her how to send video next time.

I was a slightly older than she was (far less older than people assumed from my greying temples), that was true, but people gossiped where there didn't need to be any. I had seen Rose done up to the nines, and I'd seen her fresh from the shower, no makeup, no fancy hairdo - just pure, unadulterated Rose. We trusted each other with our deepest, darkest secrets and our relationship was amazingly mutual. People who called her my trophy wife had no fucking clue. When I was a broken man, devastated after Esme's death, it was Rose that took care of me. Comforted me. Brought me back to life.

When we met, I was thirty-two. I had two small children, and no idea what to do with them. Rose was twenty-nine and my best friend's nanny. I dropped Alice and Edward off one day to play with Jasper and Emmett. It was the first time in years I could remember being attracted to someone else. My children loved her almost from the start, as well.

Rose loved me like no other woman ever had. I could fuck Rose, and make love with her. I had never fucked Esme. There was no comparing them, though; everything was different with Esme. Esme was comfortable love. Rose was passionate love. Esme was homemade cookies and milk. Rose was penne arrabiata and a rich, deep chianti. Both were lasting loves, however, and had Esme not been taken from me prematurely, I would have lived a very long, very happy life with her, to be sure.

People liked to talk because Rose was beautiful. Model beautiful. The kind of beauty that you can't buy or create. I knew the truth behind the beauty, however. I knew the pain and the cost of her beauty: that everyone assumed she was stupid, or out for money, always jumping to the conclusion that she had nefarious motives for everything. When we got married, some friends refused to attend, calling her a gold digger. I begged her to let me tell them we had an ironclad prenup, but in typical Rose fashion, she said people who would judge her so harshly didn't deserve to know the truth.

Fuck.

Just thinking about our wedding led to thoughts of our honeymoon, which made me hard again. I brought up my blog with the photos and licked my lips at the sight of her in a tiny, white bikini on the beach with the kids. We took them with us for one week of our honeymoon, allowing them to go to their grandparents' house for the second week so we could be alone. She could bear no children of her own, and I didn't want more. I realized the joys of spontaneity and freedom this brought us, assured that we would have no surprises. We spent most of our week alone fucking and making love, sucking, licking, using fingers, toys, everything and anything we could. It was the first time I was thankful for the period in my life when I solely went to work, worked out at the gym, and took care of my kids. My body was in the best shape it had ever been in.

Her final teasing text of the day was simply a photo of what I assumed was her stocking-clad foot in the highest black, patent heel I'd seen. I squinted, trying to figure out where she was. I finally gave up, packed my laptop and locked my office door, going home for the weekend. I sped the entire fucking drive. I didn't care what kind of a ticket I might get. It would be well worth it.

I parked in the garage, the clatter of the door closing distracting me from my dirty thoughts momentarily. Unlocking the door into the house, I wondered where she might be. As I walked into the kitchen, I realized the lights were off, candles lit everywhere. Rosalie was propped up on our kitchen counter, the light shining just brightly enough for me to make out her features and what she wore.

My eyes shifted quickly from the shoes she had on, both feet flat on the dark marble, up to her eyes. Her hair was soft and wavy, and my eyes fell from the curls to where they ended on her body, just above her dark nipples. She was wearing a black lace demi bra, hiding almost nothing, but enhancing everything. I thought about the dip of her belly button and what her skin tasted like as I moved lower to the black lace garter belt I would be ripping off in moments. The clips held what I was sure were silky stockings. From the angle I was at, I could only see the backs of her thighs, legs bent at the knee and spread wide for me. She had no panties on and the candlelight reflected off every part of her body I wanted to feast on.

Resting back on her palms, she swayed her head, hair swirling back and framing her shoulders. Her breasts lifted up, offered for my inspection and attention. The smile that was mine and mine alone graced her ethereal face, and she finally spoke. They were the first words either of us had exchanged since our goodbyes and I love yous that morning.

"Happy fucking birthday, Baby."

Happy fucking birthday, indeed.