“Glad you like it,” he replied, yet his expression held a bit of mischief as he added, “though you might want to take a close look, since there might be a little more to the bra and panties than you think at a glance. Or maybe I should say … less.”
She had no idea what he meant until she picked up the undies, examining an elaborate lace butterfly at the center of the front panel—and realized they were crotchless. The butterfly’s lower wings separated at the top of the opening. “Oh!” she said, taken aback.
Rogan just laughed, and Ethan said, “Hope you still like ’em. I mean, I know this makes it … not quite the same kind of gift.”
But she just smiled. Yes, maybe crotchless panties weren’t quite the classiest form of lingerie, yet the way she looked at it … “They’re perfect for this weekend, and I’m sure we’ll get plenty of use from them afterward, too.”
Then she plucked up the bra and started checking it out, as well, soon realizing that the cups were so small that … they weren’t really cups. They were more like … curving shelves that would hold her breasts up and frame them but leave her nipples freely exposed. “Wow,” Rogan said, apparently taking in the same thing. “That’s hot.”
She spared him only a glance, bit her lip, and tried like hell to do what he’d said when they’d parted ways in the woods—forget he’d said anything about his feelings. That was the only way she was going to get through the rest of this weekend unscathed.
“Of course,” Ethan said, half-sheepish, half-amused, “guess you could say this is more like a gift for me than a gift for you, but …”
“But I like looking sexy,” she told him, which was the truth. “And feeling sexy. And these will definitely make me feel sexy.”
Their gazes met warmly and he said, “Well, I’m glad you like ’em, baby.” Then he leaned over to give her a soft kiss that ran all way through her like hot liquid. Thank God. That was all it took to remind her how crazy she was about him, and how much he still aroused her, that easily. “And just so you know, that’s not your only present. It’s just the one I didn’t want to give you at your sister’s tomorrow night.”
“Good decision,” she said on a light laugh.
Then she picked up Rogan’s gift. She could see he’d wrapped it himself, and though it wasn’t as tidy as the present she’d just opened, she liked the idea of that. Although it hit her then that … “You didn’t have to get me anything. I mean, other than a little small talk, we haven’t exactly been in close touch for a while.”
“Well, after this weekend, I think it’s safe to say we’re back in touch.”
She smiled in reply, even as a light blush warmed her cheeks. Yes, she was all free and sexually liberated now, but it was still new, and at moments the reality of it continued to surprise her.
“And besides,” he added, “it’s something I wanted to give you.”
Hmm. Somehow that upped the stakes here. Until this moment, she’d imagined him just deciding a gift was appropriate and then having to go out and find something. She’d even, for a second, wondered from the shape of the box if it might be something totally shocking like a vibrator, because she knew from their past that Rogan liked sex toys. But now she no longer thought that was the case and felt almost uneasy as she removed the purple stick-on bow and slowly tore into the printed paper he’d used.
Removing the long box’s lid a moment later, she found—whoa—a memory from her past that she’d forgotten about.
“I don’t know if you remember, but it’s the coral anklet you picked out in Key West.”
“Yeah, I remember,” she said, trying not to look too stunned.
It was the only trip she and Rogan had ever taken together—they’d spent a couple of days in Miami visiting Colt, the H.O.T. member Rogan had mentioned last night, and then they’d driven to Key West for a weekend before flying home. She’d spotted the ankle bracelet on a street vendor’s table on Duvall Street—the tiny pieces of peach and orange strung coral had struck her as delicate, sexy, and a little exotic all at the same time. It had been a bit pricy, but she could still recall Rogan winking at her as he said, “Be a good little girl and maybe Santa will leave it in your stocking.” It had been October at the time, and she’d actually thought about the piece of jewelry for the rest of the trip, hoping perhaps Rogan had gone back to buy it for her. But then they’d broken up by Thanksgiving and she’d forgotten all about the anklet.
“I went back for it later, when you were taking a nap,” he said. “I was gonna make it a Christmas present. But I never got to give it to you.”
She drew her gaze from the ankle bracelet to glance over at him. “And you kept it all this time?”
“What was I gonna do with it?”
She tilted her head, tried to be light as she suggested, “Give it to some other girl?”
But Rogan just shrugged. “It was yours.”
She said nothing, simply looked back down at the coral. “Well, thank you. It’s as pretty as I remember.”
When Ethan leaned over to look then, she held the box out to show him, hoping he didn’t feel overshadowed by the fact that Rogan’s gift had … history to it, and that it was … well, sort of special. It touched her to finally find out he
had
gone to the trouble of going back for the anklet, and also to know he’d kept it all this time, for more than four years, when it would have been very easy to give it to someone else.
“That’s nice,” Ethan said of the piece, and he sounded fine about it. She
hoped
he was fine about it.
“Put it on me?” she asked. But then, was that weird? Asking her
current
boyfriend to put a piece of jewelry on her given to her by her
ex
-boyfriend? Yet when she remembered why they were all here together, she decided no, it wasn’t weird at all. It even almost made a twisted sort of sense.
Ethan didn’t hesitate to pick up the string of coral as she shifted her chair back from the table in order to lift her foot onto his thigh. Slipping it around her ankle, he hooked it, then slid his palm provocatively up her leg. She bit her lip as the pleasure rose higher, all the way up. Damn, apparently it took more than guilt, worry, and inappropriate sex with Rogan to quell her desires on this particularly lusty day of her life.
“Ready for cake?” he asked.
“Oh. Yeah. Cake,” she replied softly. She’d pretty much forgotten all about it at this point.
And Ethan lowered his chin and cast a small grin, seeming to catch on to her mood. “We could always
skip
the cake if you want.”
But she bit her lip. “No, I definitely want the cake.” Both guys knew she loved cheesecake yet tried not to indulge too often, and despite everything else occupying her mind, she’d actually looked forward to it.
“All right then,” Ethan said. “Cake. Then more … presents, I guess you could say.”
Rogan chuckled and replied, “This weekend has given that word new meaning.”
Then he pushed to his feet and went to the fridge to get out the cheesecake, and Ethan got up, too, returning a moment later with small plates, forks, and a knife. When Rogan brought the cheesecake to the table, he’d poked two large candles in it—one in the shape of a three, the other a two. “I thought this made more sense than trying to jab thirty-two candles into a cheesecake.”
“I agree,” she said. “I’m not sure cheesecake is sturdy enough for that.”
Meanwhile, Ethan found matches in a kitchen drawer and lit the candles.
When she leaned over the cake, ready to blow them out, he said, “Wait,” then turned off the main light in the large space, leaving it lit by only a smaller one above the kitchen sink and allowing the candles to cast a soft, golden glow over the scene. “There,” he said.
“Happy birthday, babe,” Rogan told her.
“Yeah, happy birthday, honey. Make a wish.”
Mira looked up at the two men who now stood on the opposite side of the table from where she sat. This was her second wish of the day, and the first one, at the wishing well, had ended up feeling more complicated than she’d intended—so maybe it was the wine influencing her, but she decided to keep this one simple.
I wish for more amazingly hot sex tonight. I want more of this astounding pleasure that takes away everything else, every thought, every worry.
Rogan had been right earlier—she wasn’t ready to be done with this yet.
She blew out the candles, and as the room grew a little more shadowy, she couldn’t help thinking what an extraordinary birthday this had turned out to be.
And it’s not over yet.
Wow. In a way, that was hard to believe—yet in another, she felt as if, by accepting Ethan’s birthday surprise, she had started down some very fast track on which she had no choice but to pick up more and more momentum until she reached the end of the road. It was out of her control now. And life was nothing if not an adventure. An adventure in which … well, in which maybe she hadn’t felt very adventurous in a while. So she would just see this through, ride this out until its end, and
enjoy
the ride—every bit of it.
Mira took on cheesecake-cutting duty without being asked, knowing she had a better shot of getting three slices onto plates without demolishing the poor thing, even while a little intoxicated, than either of her two playmates. A minute later they dug in, and maybe it was just the floaty-good feeling in her head, but she couldn’t help thinking that the pinot grigio and cheesecake made a fun combination. As they ate, they all discussed how good the cheesecake was, as well as a general love for the Bridge Street bakery Rogan had picked it up from.
And then the plates were empty and the lights were still low and an old band, Exile, sang a rather seductive song called “Kiss You All Over” on the radio—and Rogan changed the mood by saying, “You gonna model that for us?” He pointed to the box containing the naughty lingerie from Ethan.
She just grinned. And felt a little wicked inside. “I … suppose I could. If you want to see.”
“That’s why I gave it to ya, baby,” Ethan said, just as Rogan replied, “Of course we want to see.”
So after one more sip of wine, she stood up, plucked the two pieces of lace and chiffon from the tissue paper, and walked toward the bathroom.
Her limbs felt almost liquid as she stripped off her shorts and top, her undies and bra, and slipped on the crotchless panties and lavender shelf bra, hooking it in back, then putting her arms through the straps and adjusting the garment until it held up her boobs to make them look plumper, rounder, and perkier than usual. She tilted her head as she peered in the mirror, liking the tightness of the lingerie. The wide opening down the center of the thong seemed to almost circle her pussy, hold it in a way that made her
aware
of it simply by having it on. And the bra was snug, the straps taut, also somehow stimulating her by its mere presence on her body.
She’d worn plenty of pretty lingerie in her adult life. But this, with its combination of lace and missing parts, was both pretty … and dirty. Sweet and sinful. And she enjoyed feeling both ways at one time. In fact, she realized, everything about this weekend had, in ways, accomplished that already, so these particular bits of lingerie, again, seemed all too fitting.
Stealing one last glimpse of her sexed-up self reflected in the mirror, she took a deep breath, ready to face whatever the evening held, then opened the door and walked out, padding across the cabin’s old hardwood floor until she stood before Ethan and Rogan, both still seated at the table.
It dawned on her then that she didn’t really know how to model something, how to be sexy in that way, so she offered up a simple, “Ta-da,” and struck what she hoped was a cute pose, pointing one toe next to her other foot as she held her hands out in the manner of a girl presenting a fabulous showcase on
The Price Is Right
.
“Jesus,” Rogan murmured, voice as low as she’d ever heard it.
“Damn, honey,” Ethan said. “You look … absolutely amazing.”
She bit her lip, put on a slightly bashful air. “Glad you like,” she said softly.
“By which he means ‘fuckable,’” Rogan added. “You look absolutely, amazingly fuckable, babe.”
She just let out a breath. Waited for something to happen—but it didn’t. For some reason they were waiting for
her
to make the next move. So she said, “Then I guess you should. Fuck me, I mean.”
“I guess we should,” Ethan echoed gently.
And then Rogan said, as if suddenly deciding to take control, “Stand up on the chair.” After which he got to his feet and motioned to the same chair beside the kitchen table where she’d been sitting before.
“Why?” she asked, casting a soft, uncertain smile.
And though he returned the smile, his was much more … sure. “Just trust me.”
“Um, okay,” she said. And she did trust him—in terms of making her feel good, she trusted them both. So she gave Rogan her hand when he offered his and let him help her step up onto the chair.
She immediately felt a bit self-conscious looking down on them, maybe partially because of what she was wearing—but at the same time she had the sense of being … kind of powerful. She’d experienced that feeling at other points today, too, but right now, as they both peered up at her, she thought it was because she felt like … the center of the universe. The center of
their
universe. At this moment anyway. And not only sexually now, but also because … yeah, she might be trying not to think about this, not to feel it—but because she knew they both loved her.
Of course, maybe it was too bold to call Rogan’s emotions for her love.
Yet there were a lot of different
kinds
of love, different levels, that everyone experienced in their own unique way, and she believed with her whole heart that Rogan had indeed loved her once upon a time—so it didn’t seem like such a fantastic stretch to think he might love her now, too. Again. Or still.
Whatever the case, the look he wore now was the same as out in the woods—it was feral, filled with a slow and intense heat but also laced with something that went deeper, something that made the animal lust … hold meaning, something that gave it substance.