Flipping on the lights, I follow behind him as he sets his keys down on the counter and walks into the kitchen. I slip out of my heels, set my purse down, and begin rummaging through his cabinets, praying for ingredients.

“Do you have any flour?” I ask as he closes the fridge and hops up onto the counter. Unscrewing the cap, he takes a sip of his water and looks to be in deep thought, his eyes staring at the cabinets. “You’re in my spot,” I say as I watch him with amusement.

“Umm, no. I don’t think I have any flour. And yes, I am in your spot. But it’s my birthday so I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” He smirks at me and I give it right back to him, turning and glancing up on a high shelf.

“Can you reach me the Bisquick please?” I ask as I open the fridge and pull out the eggs. He hands it to me with a kiss and hops back up.

“Are you making me birthday pancakes?”

I pull out a bowl and grab a fork. “Nope, I’m making you my four ingredient banana cake that I used to whip up in college. Juls and I roomed together and I would create desserts out of whatever crap we had lying around. Bisquick was always on hand because she’s a breakfast junkie.” I grab the sugar bowl and set the oven temperature. “You’ve given me little choice here. I’d be set if I wanted to make you a cake made out of ramen noodles and chunky soup.” He watches me intently as I mash up the banana and begin mixing the ingredients together in the bowl, occasionally glancing up and seeing him studying me. He always seems so fascinated by whatever it is that I’m doing and I wonder if he looks at every girl like this. Ugh. The thought makes me whip the eggs viciously.

“So you’re thirty-two today,” I state, sucking the batter that has splashed up onto my knuckle off with a soft moan.

“I am.” My eyes go to his and he winks. “I’m six years older than you now. Does that bother you?”

His question baffles me so I decide to really give it some thought. Our age difference doesn’t bother me at all. If he was ten years older than me I wouldn’t care. Scrunching up my face and thinking hard, I see his grin widen as he waits for me, a soft breathy laugh escaping him. I shake my head. “Nah, but that’s mainly because you act half your age.” His eyebrow arches. “Besides, I have a thing for older men.” Tipping the bowl, I pour the cake batter into his one and only baking dish and shuffle it to even out the distribution.

He hops down and comes up behind me, his hands spreading across my stomach. “Do you? I had no idea,” he says as he pulls my hair over one shoulder and kisses down my neck. I close my eyes and grip the baking dish tightly. Lord this man knows how to wind me up in no time.

“Well, I have a thing for you.” He growls into my ear, his hands sliding up the front of my dress and molding to my breasts. My head falls back against his shoulder and I groan. “I need to put this in the oven.” He grumbles in protest but finally steps back, allowing me to place the dish into the oven and set the timer.

“Okay, birthday boy, you’ve got twelve minutes to play with me until it’s ready.” I turn to see his wicked grin and he wastes little time, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the living room. Stopping in front of the couch, he pulls me into his arms and runs his hands up my spine as his face drops to bring our lips together. He opens my mouth with his and snakes his tongue around mine, coaxing me to move with him and I obey. My hands fumble with his tie, loosening it and dropping it to the floor as his mouth assaults mine, teasing and tasting every inch of me. I feel his arm muscles flex around me and then the sound of a loud rip comes from behind me as the fabric of my dress is torn from my body.

“Did you just, I can’t believe you just did that.” I spin around quickly and step back and out of his arms, seeing the handful of material clutched between both fists before he drops it at his feet. Are you fucking serious? “Dick. Do you have any idea how much that dress cost me?” I step into him and deliver a sharp poke to his chest with my finger. Yeah. That’ll show him.

He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes at me. “If you say more than five dollars, you got ripped off. That thing was the size of a handkerchief.” His arms wrap me up and he tosses me onto the couch like I’m some sort of rag doll. I yelp in protest as the cold leather hits my skin, but am only momentarily chilled before his body is pressing against mine, warming me instantly.

“You are ridiculous. What the hell am I supposed to wear now when I leave?” I grumble between kisses. His mouth met mine the moment he relaxed down on me. I moan as his tongue dips into my mouth, delivering long strokes against mine and filling me with his minty flavor. “Fuck, I’m so mad at you,” I grunt as he laughs against me, moving his lips down my neck and licking a trail to the top of my breasts. Stay mad, Dylan. Don’t give in. Don’t lose it. That was a $250 dress.

“I love it when you’re mad at me. You’re so fucking sexy I can barely contain myself here.” He molds his hands over my breasts and pulls my bra down, slipping a nipple into his mouth as I grab his head. “Mmmm, these are always on my mind. So fucking beautiful.” He licks and sucks me, drawing loud moans from my mouth. Brushing his nose against the mark next to my left nipple that is slightly faded, he sucks on the small patch of skin. My hands grip his hair and hold him against me. I hate that his marks are fading on me and am more than happy to let him bring them back out. Moving to my other breast, he freshens the mark there and then plants a soft kiss to it before he glances up at me. His smirk makes me grunt.

“You’re an asshole.” I groan as he moves lower, licking and nibbling at my stomach. Wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, I push him up and grip his dress shirt with both hands tightly before I rip it apart, tiny buttons flying out in every direction. My hands push it off his big shoulders and down his arms, pulling his T-shirt quickly over his head.

“Impatient much? We have all night, love,” he says as he works his belt, sitting back between my legs.

“You started it.” All night? My hands stretch out and rub his ripped chest, brushing down his stomach along the tight muscles. God, I love touching this man. My index finger plays in the patch of hair that runs below his belly button. “What do you want for your birthday?”

He reaches into his pants, pulls himself out and leans forward, rubbing himself along the length of my wet panties. I groan and dig my nails into his back. Wasn’t I mad about something? “You in my bed.” He says against my mouth. Our lips are close, our heavy breathing mixing together and I tremble against him, his words bringing out my fears. “Nothing has to change. This is still just sex. I just need to have you in there.” Seconds, minutes go by and he stills against me, waiting for my response. I don’t know what to do. I want to do this for him, for me, more than anything. Being in his bed, surrounded by his smell and imagining what it would be like to stay there with him was a thought that was constantly running through my mind. But could I do this? He said nothing had to change but could I keep it from changing for me? I think long and hard and make my decision. Yes, I could. Because this is worth it. He is worth it. I close my eyes tightly and nod, hearing a small sound escape him and I’m quickly lifted to my feet. We round the couch together when the oven alarms, causing me to dash in and pull the cake out.