I smile and stand up, holding my hand out to him. “I told you wishes come true. Cinderella was right.”
He shudders. “I don’t know whether it’s hot that you’re using a Disney film to tempt me to bed.” I smile down at him, and he grins. “What the fuck am I on about? It’s you. Of course it’s hot.”
I never associated sex with laughter before Niall, but I’m still laughing as he takes me down on the bed, and sets about making his wish come true.
An hour later, I stir from where I’m lying against him, my leg draped over his thigh, his cock damp against my skin, and my arm thrown over his broad chest.
“What?” he murmurs, satisfaction rife in his voice as he strokes my hair.
“Presents,” I murmur. “And cake.”
“Can you get them without moving away from me?” His hand stops stroking.
I laugh and extricate myself from his clinging arms. “No, but I’ll be quick.”
I poke the fire to liven it up and then dash about the room gathering the presents. After tossing them on the bed, I grab the cake and the spoons and sit cross-legged on the bed next to him.
“That’s the nicest view I’ve ever seen,” he leers.
I shake my head and grab his jumper. “Don’t get used to it,” I mutter. “It’s chilly in here.” I pull the jumper on, feeling the softness of the cashmere against my skin and inhaling his woodsy cologne. I pat the nearest present. “Okay, start opening.”
He sits up, and I smile because even though he has the hard-muscled body of an adult, his face is, once again, like a five-year-old’s. “Presents!” he exclaims and starts to tear them open. He reveals the usual gifts of socks and underwear and audiobook vouchers I’ve bought him, exclaiming over every one. When he comes to a stop, I extract the final present from the bag I’ve been holding back.
“Last one,” I say somewhat nervously. “I’m not sure you’ll like it, but I wanted to give you something that’s just us.” I hesitate. “Only now I’m wondering what I was thinking about.” I pause again. “Oh my God, you’re going to hate it.”
He pulls the present from my resisting fingers and tears off the wrapper. “Milo,” he breathes, looking down into the nest of coloured paper. “Lo.”
It’s a line drawing I did with charcoal on expensive, cream-coloured paper. It depicts the two of us lying together in bed. It isn’t sexual at all. We’re curled in almost the same position as we adopted after sex tonight, but in this picture, I have my head resting on his chest looking up at him as though he hangs the moon, while his head is back and he’s laughing.
His finger caresses the paper reverently, careful not to smudge the lines. “Lo,” he says again, and when he looks up, I’m stunned to see tears in his eyes. “This is the most gorgeous present I’ve ever had.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would,” he says firmly. “I didn’t know you could draw.”
I shrug. “Of course I can. I went to art college and attended all the classes and everything. I’m not that good, which is why I don’t do it for a living, but I wanted to do it for you. I’d do anything for you,” I say earnestly.
“I love you,” he says fiercely, holding the picture in one hand and pulling me to him with the other. Kissing the side of my head, he hugs me tight while still looking at the drawing. “I love this,” he muses. “It’s so us. I’m going to frame it and hang it in our bedroom where only we can see.” He smiles. “Because the way we are is just for us. Thank you for such a wonderful birthday, Lo. I’ve never had such a good one.”
I kiss him. “It’s not over yet. We’ve got cake.”
“After,” he says throatily, setting the picture down on the bedside table and tackling me onto the bed in a tumble of naked skin and colourful wrapping paper. “We’ll eat it in a bit.”
We do eat it a few hours later — naked in bed, sharing the spoon.
The knocking on the door wakes me, and for a long second, I stretch under the covers enjoying the warmth of his body against mine in the cosy nest of sheets and blankets we’ve made. Then reality intrudes as the knock comes again.