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“Thirty is the bordello birthday. Didn’t you know?” He crossed back over to slip his arms around her waist, and she pressed her cheek against his chest.
“I’m woefully uninformed.”
“You want your presents now?”
“I don’t know. What if they’re not up to the standards of the room?”
He pulled a few parcels and a paper bag from his panniers and stacked them up on one of the beds. The presents immediately tipped over on the slick surface, and Tom had to restack them before leading her to the bed by the hand. He’d wrapped them in what looked suspiciously like brown paper towels from a restroom somewhere.
“I forgot about wrapping paper when I was at the store,” he explained. “And I didn’t have any tape, so as soon as you pick them up, the wrapping’s going to fall off.”
“Duly noted.”
They took off their shoes and sat across from each other on the bed, legs folded, faces glowing orange in the red light. She was suddenly nervous, unsure what social script they were following. They’d been riding together for nine weeks, sharing a bed for more than a month, but Tom buying her presents still didn’t quite compute. “Which one should I open first?”
“This one.” He handed her a lumpy bundle, and the scratchy paper towel slipped away to reveal a small jar of Tabasco sauce. He gave her a sheepish smile. “That one’s because of Corvallis. To remind you of your victory.”
“Tabasco isn’t very hot,” she teased, touched.
“Cut me some slack, I had to shop at Walmart.”
Next up was a Bit-o-Honey bar, because he knew she liked them, and then a much larger package that contained a white plastic stake hammer. This one made her laugh. “You totally bought this for yourself,” she accused. “I never even do the stakes.”
“Yeah, but now if you let me borrow it, you won’t have to listen to me swearing and complaining about my busted knuckles anymore.”
“That is a pretty good present,” she admitted. “All right, let me have the last one,” she said, holding her hand out for the paper bag.
“Wait, this is going to take some preparation.” He turned his back on her and rustled around in the bag. Lexie heard paper tearing, the muted snick of a lighter, and then he presented her with a chocolate cupcake, lit candle and all. “Happy birthday,” he said, his expression amused, indulgent, possibly a bit nervous. “I don’t sing. But, you know, many happy returns.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back.
“Make a wish,” he told her.
Lexie closed her eyes and wished for Tom.
15
They propped satin pillows against the headboard and shared her cupcake, getting crumbs everywhere and not caring. As Tom pointed out, they could always switch to the other bed if this one got too messy. When she finished her half and licked the frosting off her fingers, she caught him watching her with the black, predatory look he always gave her when she was turning him on.
“What, you like this?” she asked, putting her thumb back into her mouth for a smidgen of frosting she’d missed.
He ate the last bite of his cupcake and sucked frosting off his own fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. Something about the way his lips closed around his fingertips, wet and intimate, made her want to squirm, and she had to admit he was right. The frosting-sucking thing was hot.
“Come here,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her down onto the slippery mattress. “I’ve got one more present for you.” He licked the sugar off her lips with a slow drag of his tongue, then moved it inside her mouth and kissed her soundly.
“What’s my present?” she asked when they finally came up for air.
“I’m going to help you get your kicks on Route 66.”
She laughed, wiggling her hips against the bedspread. “That sounds promising. What does it involve?”
He met her eyes. “What do you want it to involve?” One hand found the hem of her jersey and slid inside to curve around her waist, his fingers warm and familiar and not in any kind of hurry.
“I get to make requests?”
“It’s your birthday. We’re in the bordello room. Use your imagination.” He braced one hand against the headboard and pushed, sliding easily down the bedspread until his head was at her waist. He eased her shirt out of the way to trace a circle around her belly button with his tongue, making her shiver.
The implied challenge intrigued her. Tom was inviting her to explore her fantasies, to take her pleasure from him however she wanted it. It was too good an invitation to pass up. But what did she want from him but more of the same? Her gaze drifted over to the lamp, and inspiration struck. Lexie was never going to knock sex in an unlit tent, not after all the mind-blowing nights she’d spent with Tom, but it did leave something to be desired in terms of savoring the visual aspects of lovemaking.
