sir-thisisadndserver

Today was Jack’s birthday. You’d been up half the night preparing. You wanted to make everything perfect so you could celebrate your man in the most fitting way possible when he got home from his long shift. He deserved it. He deserved a day that was all about him, where you got to dote on him and spoil him and remind him how much you loved him.

Jack didn’t like big celebrations – which meant no surprise parties or decking the house in decorations. He did his utmost not to make his colleagues aware of the date of his birth (claiming he had a reputation for being a ‘man of mystery’ to uphold), lest they bring in a shit store-bought cake and subject him to chirpy well wishes all night (god help anyone who dared to sing at him). No, a slow, quiet day at home involving his favourite movie, a cold beer and a well-cooked steak was all he needed to consider a birthday a success. So that’s what you were going to give him. With a few… added extras. Free of charge.

He’d been so good to you lately. He was the only reason you’d kept your head above water for the last few months of grad school; a life raft when you thought you might drown in the pressure. He’d made you dinners and packed you leftovers, run hot baths and played with your hair while you trauma-dumped about your papers and exams. He’d tucked you up in bed with a kiss every night and didn’t hold it against you that you hadn’t had sex for weeks now because there was barely any time and you were always exhausted - even on days when you’d promised but fallen asleep before he could so much as think about getting his dick wet. But you were out of the deep end now. School was done, and you had some time off before you started your new job. Time that would be Jack’s and only Jack’s.

His gifts were wrapped and sitting atop the kitchen counter: the next book in the series he was reading, a sleek monogrammed leather case for his ‘readers’, a new good-quality chef’s apron and a trio of handcrafted kitchen knives from the swanky homeware store in town. Plus, the refrigerator was stocked with everything he’d need to make his favourite meal, steak with garlic butter sauce, green salad and homemade fries.

Which, on the face of it, didn’t sound much like a gift at all. Surely Jack shouldn’t need to cook his own dinner on his birthday? But Jack enjoyed cooking. It served as a way for him to decompress after a long shift, due to the time and patience it took to make every element just right. You would be his sous chef. His glamorous assistant.

Besides, you were more of a baker, and you were hiding away a batch of homemade cupcakes just as you heard Jack’s key turn in the lock.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he sighed, stepping into the kitchen and inhaling deeply. “Tell me I can smell something delicious and I’m not just delirious after 12 hours of crawling the night.”

You slung your arms around Jack’s neck, and his hands immediately found purchase on your waist. Home.

“You're not dreaming, baby. I've been baking. Heard it was somebody's birthday today.”

“Hmm. Must be a lucky bastard if he gets to come home to the smell of freshly baked cake and the pretty sight of you in this sexy number,” he murmured, toying with the apron ribbon tied behind your back and grabbing a good amount of your ass he did so.

You smiled and reeled him in for a slow, time-stopping kiss. His mouth moved against yours with firm sureness, tried and true.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you whispered against his lips. “Do you want to know what I've got planned to celebrate?”

“Sure do.”

You couldn't resist another peck of his lips.

“Alright. First, you're going to have a nice hot shower - and make sure you use the fancy soaps we got from the spa that time, OK? I don't know why you insist on rationing them, but today is a special occasion.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Second,” you held your hand up, counting fingers, “you're going to open your presents and marvel at what an excellent gift-giver I am.”

Jack chuckled. You could feel the warm mirth rumbling through him, from his chest to yours.

“Third, you're going to rustle us up a delicious steak dinner/breakfast.”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And what are you going to be doing whilst I’m slaving over a hot stove?”

“I will be delighting you with my sparkling wit and dazzling personality.”

Jack laughed and gave your ass another squeeze. “Sounds fair.”

“Fourth, you're going to eat as many of my signature lemon and poppy seed cupcakes as you damn well please.”

Jack moaned with bliss, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as if he could conjure up the taste of them already.

“Did you make them with the lemon curd?” he asked eagerly.

You scoffed. “Of course I did. It's your favourite. I topped them all with cream cheese frosting too, plus a little extra special something.”

Jack captured your lips again, his kiss seasoned with awe, happiness and gratitude.

“How did I get so lucky?”

Your cheeks warmed. You were never quite sure how to react when Jack put his adoration of you on display so openly.

You decided the easiest thing to do was to carry on with your list. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll like the fifth part best,” you said, trailing your hands from his neck to his shoulders, then flat-palmed to his chest. “We’ve both got the next day and night off, which means we can spend hours and hours in bed together. Sleeping…not sleeping…”

Jack hummed knowingly, his imagination filling in the rest as your words trailed off. “You're making me want to skip right to number 5,” he said playfully, waggling his gorgeous grey-tufted eyebrows.

You gasped with mock surprise. “No way, mister.”

You slipped out of his grasp and wiggled away before he could use his sexy silver fox wiles to seduce you into thinking otherwise. Jack needed to rest first, to leave the night behind, to shower, cook, eat and be merry. Then, over the course of the next couple of hours, you were going to seduce him. You’d keep the heat low and slow, so the air sizzled between you. Then, you were going to lay him down in bed, pepper his entire body with kisses, maybe even massage his leg for a while, and let him marinate in the feeling of being wanted, cherished and cared for before you let him sink into the molten heat of you…

“Minx,” Jack bit back playfully.

“I try. Now go shower; I'm hungry.”

Jack accepted your command with a smirk and strode towards the bathroom, but not before whipping off his shirt and using it to punctuate his exit with a cheeky whip of your ass as he passed by.

-

Anyone would have thought it was your birthday, the way the morning panned out. You got to sit back and sip wine while Jack took command of the kitchen, looking every inch the hot chef of your dreams (wearing a fresh white T, grey sweatpants and his new ochre canvas apron).

He was very impressed with his new set of knives and picked out the perfect one to chop the potatoes and salad with. His glasses sat safely in his new case, and he’d even held the new book up to his nose, inhaling the scent of the fresh yet unturned pages.

“You know me too well,” he’d said softly, by way of a thank you.

In addition to your front row seat to your boyfriend's culinary prowess, you were privileged enough to be his kitchen hand, fetching and delivering when required. It saved him from having to roll back and forth too much. Jack often preferred his wheelchair to his crutches after a long shift, and though he could manoeuvre around his adapted kitchen (with its lowered countertops) with relative ease, he appreciated help when he was tired. And you loved feeling like the two of you were a team.

Plus, you’d negotiated that Jack would give you a kiss for every item you retrieved.

“Butter and garlic as requested, chef,” you reported, giving him a sloppy salute.

Jack repaid you with one peck to your cheek and another to your lips.

“There are three cloves of garlic there, Jack. You owe me two more kisses.”

He obliged.

“I'm looking forward to handing you the salt and pepper. I wonder if I'll get a kiss for every granule and peppercorn.”

Jack snorted. “You’ll have to count them first.”

You shimmied back to your seat, swaying to the music you’d put on low in the background to accompany the sounds of Jack at work. The playlist you'd lovingly called ‘Oldies for Jack.’

He’d baulked when he first saw the title. “These songs from the early 90s,” he reasoned, scrolling through your choices, “you can hardly call them oldies.”

“Sure I can.” You read out some of the song titles and years of release. “These songs are older than me. I wasn't even a twinkle in my father’s eye when most of these hit the charts.”

“And don’t I know it.”

-

While you ate, the two of you settled into easy, casual conversation. Food had always been one of the greatest connectors for you both. It was how you met, after all.

You'd been in your first year of grad school. You’d worked for a few years after leaving college, but hit a wall with your professional development, so you returned to studying. Baking had always been a hobby of yours, so you started selling your wares at a local market to make some extra cash. And along came Jack. Once he’d had a taste of your baking, he couldn't come back for more fast enough. A few weeks later, once he’d had a taste of you, well, it was the same story.

“Are you ready for dessert?”

“Sure am.”

“Close your eyes then.”

Jack furrowed his brow. “I thought you made the lemon and poppyseed cupcakes with lemon curd and cream cheese frosting?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip quiver like a child's, as if the world might collapse if these cupcakes turned out to be a figment of his imagination.

“I did…”

“Then I know what those look like, sweetie.”

“Hmm. But I also said there was a little something extra special,” you reminded him. “So, close your eyes.”

Jack obeyed. You fetched your sweet culinary creations - already arranged on a fancy plate but covered with a cake tent. You gently placed the plate on the table and removed the cover, then adjusted a couple of the cakes so Jack got the perfect view.

“Tada!”

His eyes blinked open, and he gorged on the delicious sight before him: 12 perfectly baked yellow sponges, fluffy and flecked with black poppy seeds, made plump from oozing lemon curd. Each was crowned with a perfectly piped swirl of white frosting and finished with a curl of candied lemon rind, a sprinkle of lemon zest and the ‘something extra special’: miniature photos of Jack printed on edible sugar paper.

“I'm calling them my ‘Lemon Snack-a-Jacks” you said proudly.

Jack laughed, the sound rosy and full.

“I love them.” He leaned closer, examining the little pictures. They’d all been taken by you during your relationship, and each one sparked warm nostalgic chatter about the memories they contained.

Throughout the course of reminiscing, you ended up on Jack’s lap, gently scratching at his neck while his hand rubbed comfortingly at your thigh.

“Which one is your favourite?” you asked.

Jack picked up the cupcake with a picture of him in a smart dark suit. He was in the process of putting on a tie, getting ready for Whittaker's wedding.

“This one.”

“You look so handsome,” you cooed, caressing the greying stubble on his cheek. “And happy.”

“Happy because of who I was looking at when the picture was taken.”

Your cheeks warmed. He'd been looking at you. And he was looking at you the same way now. The soft adoration in his gaze almost made you cry. But you cleared your throat and selected a cupcake of your own.

“This is my favourite.”

It was a photo of Jack shirtless. You’d taken it unawares whilst he was dressing for work one evening, early on in your courtship. He looked a little bemused, as if he couldn't quite understand why you'd want a photo of him at that precise moment, not realising that you wanted a photo of him in every moment, so, long into the future, you could always look back at the man who had made you so gloriously, incandescently happy.

“It’s my favourite because you’ve got your tits out and they're your best quality,” you teased.

Jack gave your hip a firm squeeze of warning.

You nodded at the cupcake in Jack’s hand. “Go on, baby,” you urged. “Taste it. I know you're dying to.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

You both took bites at the same time.

“Fuck me, that’s so good,” Jack moaned. Your chest swelled with pride. Everyone always says food is the way to a man’s heart, but knowing that your food was the way to your man’s heart was the most gratifying feeling on earth.

Jack reached out to swipe a smear of crumb-covered icing from the corner of your mouth and couldn't resist cupping your jaw and drawing you in for a kiss. He hummed with satisfaction, like you were another delicious morsel of lemony cupcake goodness.

It only took him two more bites to finish his cupcake. The first few times you’d baked for him, Jack did his best to savour things, out of respect for the effort he knew you’d undertaken, but your lemon and poppyseed cupcakes were just too good. They were a revelation, he’d said. He apologised for wolfing his first one down so fast, but there was no way you’d accept his apology. You were flattered. You loved that he loved your food. “I baked them for you, Jack. You can have as many as you want.” Now, he knew that you’d always let him have another one, and another one, until he was satisfied.

You finished your cupcake too but saved the miniature photo for last. You caught Jack’s eye, then stuck out your tongue, placing the tiny topless image of him to it, letting him interpret the gesture however he pleased. Much to your delight, his response was to wrap a hand around your jaw and flatten his tongue against yours, dissolving the sugar paper; then he sucked your tongue into his mouth and turned the occasion into a deep, dizzying, drawn-out kiss.

Despite your original intentions for the morning, lowering the current temperature never crossed your mind.

Soon, one of Jack’s hands found its way into your shorts and under your panties. A whimper passed your lips as his fingers slipped amongst your silken folds.

“Jack,” you whined. “You're spoiling my plans. I was supposed to be seducing you.”

“You are seducing me, sweetheart. You seduce me every moment of every fuckin’ day.” His voice had grown deeper, gravellier, like it always did in these kinds of moments between you. He shifted his hips. “Can you feel that? Can you feel how seduced I am right now?”

You could. You could feel the solid length of his thick cock under you, demanding and urgent, just like Jack could be sometimes.

He was kissing you again, infusing your mind with thoughts of nothing but him. You melted into his touch, and your cunt pulsed needily around the fingers he pushed into you, but he pumped them only a few torturous times before pulling away and gathering the slick wetness that oozed from your core.

“Fuck, sweetheart. All of this, just for me?”

All you could do was nod dumbly as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and smeared your desire all over his lips. He slipped his fingers into his mouth, using the last drops to coat his tongue.

“You wanna taste?”

His voice was rough, his breath heavy, and his eyes were dark, burnt from desire.

Your whole body quivered with longing. “God, yes.”

His lips sealed over yours. The flavours of lemon and lust exploded on your tongue and burst like fireworks behind your eyes. This time, Jack kissed you slow. You were something to be savoured.

“You’re the real snack here, sweetheart,” Jack whispered against your lips. “Juicer than a steak and sweeter than all the cupcakes in the world. Can't wait to dine on you for the rest of my life.”

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