Birthday Girl(26)

I drop my bag, closing the door quietly and pulling my phone out of my back pocket.

I’m home. Where are you? I type and wait for the three little dots to pop up, showing me he’s replying.

But after a few moments, nothing happens, and I toss my phone down on the bed.

He has to be at work in eight hours, and he better be going. Otherwise he’s not coming with me when I save enough to get out of here.

I kick off my shoes and head toward the bed, ready to plop down and get off my tired feet, but I stop, remembering the “something” my sister said she put in my bag. Turning around, I pick up my satchel and unzip it, setting it on the bed. And there, right on top, is a pink-striped shopping bag I didn’t put there. It’s from Victoria’s Secret.

Unrolling the package, I reach inside and instantly fill my hand with fabric. I suppress a groan, my wishful thinking dying. I pull out the lacy, cream-colored panties and matching camisole that doesn’t look big enough to cover much. The cleavage is low, and the top’s not even long enough to cover my stomach.

It’s definitely pretty. And sexy. But it’s skimpy as hell. Cole would have a field day, coming to bed to find me in this.

No foreplay. He’d be on top of me in a second.

But why did she buy me this? It’s not like I don’t wear sexy underwear. I don’t need lessons in how to keep a guy interested, thank you.

But then I notice a piece of paper laying on the bed that must’ve been in with the clothes. I pick up the half-sheet and read the flyer.



Amateur Night!

Get Wet! (Your T-shirt, anyway)

May 27 at 9 p.m.

The Hook on Jamison Lane

Grand Prize $300!!



“Great.” I laugh under my breath and drop the flyer and clothes, shaking my head. My own sister is trying to turn me out. What the hell is the matter with her?

I’m not showing every old skeeze in town my boobs for a chance to win three hundred bucks. I can work at Grounders, because I do enjoy some of the people, listening to music, and having a job where I earn tips, so I have a little cash on me after every shift, but there’s nothing about a wet T-shirt contest I’d enjoy unless I was drunk. Maybe.

I make sure the blinds are closed and pull off my T-shirt and unbutton my jean shorts. Letting everything fall to the floor, I reach behind and unsnap my bra and then reach into the bureau for a T-shirt.

I stop, though, and eye the new lingerie lying on the bed. Cole might be sorry he stayed out when he comes home to see what he missed.

Pulling off my panties, I reach over and grab the new underwear and gently pull on everything. My coffee cup of pens and pencils sits on top of the dresser, and I reach over and pull out the scissors, cutting the tags off everything.

Standing in front of the mirror, I fluff my hair and comb my hands through it, adjusting the fabric on my hips and my breasts in the wireless cups. I turn around, looking in the mirror over my shoulder.

I can’t help the smile that peeks out. Cam isn’t stupid, is she? It’s the perfect color on me, my base tan already in full swing. The panties sit perfectly on my hips and even without much support in the top, my breasts sit perky and flattering. I run my hand over my smooth, flat stomach and up the curves of my waist, wishing someone was here to appreciate the view and make me smile.

A pool of warmth settles between my thighs, and I can’t help but think how a simple change of clothes can make you feel a world of difference. I brush one of the straps off my shoulder, loving how sexy I feel. The pulse in my clit starts to throb, and I’m definitely in the mood now.

Hooking the strap back on my shoulder, I grab my phone and text Cole again, noticing he still hasn’t texted back.



I kind of need you right now, baby. wink wink



I wait, but the three dots still don’t pop up. I start the Spotify app on my phone, playing Run to You, careful to keep the volume low as I fall onto the bed.

I’m wide awake now.

And turned on.

Closing my eyes, I let the music course under my skin and slowly drift through my fingertips, down my thighs, and back up the inside of my leg, tickling the flesh until goosebumps rise. Gently cupping myself between my legs, I roll my hips and rub, my blood starting to heat up and my heart pumping faster as my clit tingles.

I moan, feeling my hardened nipples chafing against the lace. My other hand takes a breast and squeezes it as I twist my head to the side, my hair falling in my face.

Sometimes I wonder if I could ever do what my sister does. When I see all the money she brings home, and I’m tired of the worry and the stress, could I just do it?

I flip over and push myself up to my knees as I lean over with my hands on the bed between my thighs. I press my arms into my breasts, forcing them together, full and about to pop out of the top. Rolling my head, my hair caresses my back as I keep my eyes closed and start to grind to the music.

No, I can’t do what she does. I don’t want lots of men watching me.

But one man? Like a boyfriend? A man who craves me and who’ll watch me with possessive eyes as I dance for him....

He’s watching me. I’m in a dark room, a glossy, white stage under me, and a soft purple light on me. I move onto all fours, crawling and biting my bottom lip as lean forward, spreading my thighs and my knees pressing into the floor as I hump the stage.

He’s in the back, so far away, but he’s there. He’s the only one there. I’m all for him. He hides in the shadows and leans his shoulder into the wall as he watches me. I roll my hips slowly, taunting and teasing him, and then move back onto my knees, grabbing the headboard to hold onto as I dance and grind.