He let out the breath he was holding, the burn in his lungs moving to become warmth in his gut, his hands sliding from her ass up her back, one arm curving around, the other one going up her spine, her neck so he could sift his fingers in her hair as he whispered,

“Sweetness.”

“I’m glad it’s me who gets to bake your birthday cakes.”

He was happy she was glad but he reckoned he was a f**k of a lot happier he had Tess making his cakes and not just because they were the best f**king things he’d ever tasted.

He closed his eyes, shoved his face in her neck and rolled her to back, groaning, “Tess.”

“My Brock,” she whispered, her lips at his ear, her limbs moving to grow tight around him, “he’s not so wild.”

He lifted his head and brought it close, locking his eyes with hers.

“You’re wrong, darlin’, I got wild in me. And I’ll never lose it. It’s just that my wild is a safe place for you and it always will be.”

Her eyes got soft and one of her hands slid from around him to cup his cheek as she nodded.

Then her thumb moved to trace his lower lip as she asked, “Did you have a good birthday, Slim?”

He grinned against her thumb and answered, “I started it in bed with you wearin’ a sweet nightie and I ended it in bed with you wearin’ an even sweeter nightie, so, yeah, outside the drama at the hospital, I had a great birthday, Tess.”

She grinned back and asked, “So you liked your birthday present?”

His hand glided down the emerald green silk at her side as he dropped his mouth to hers and muttered, “Fuck yeah.”

Her fingers slid from his cheek and into his hair as she muttered back, “Good.”

Brock was done talking and he shared this with his wife when he slanted his head. Tess read him loud and clear and tilted hers. He put pressure on her lips, she opened hers, his tongue slid inside and she welcomed it.

And, with that, his sweet Tess made a great birthday even f**king better.