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The sounds of Van Morrison filtered through the house as Molly rolled over in Andrew's bed. Rare sunlight came through the windows above her. Yawning, she sat up and stretched her arms over her head. She could hear Andrew humming in the kitchen so she grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it over her bare skin. He was busy cooking, lost in the music. She hoisted herself up on the island behind him, crossing her legs.

"And I shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry," he sang softly. He stopped when he turned around and saw her.

"Happy new year," she said, grinning.

He hummed and kissed her softly. "Happy new year," he said. "Hungry?"

"Starving," she answered. "What are you making?"

He turned back to the stove. "Pancakes," he said, waving his spatula.

"Mmm. My favorite," she said.

"I know," he winked. "Anything for the birthday girl."

"Andrew I said I didn't want to do anything for my birthday," she sighed.

"And we aren't," he answered. "I'm too hungover to drive anywhere," he laughed.

"Making pancakes is doing something," she intoned. "Last night was more than enough celebration."

They'd gone to Andrew's manager's house for New Year's Eve and stayed until two in the morning. Caroline had been lovely, but by the time they'd gotten a car home (several beers and cocktails later), neither one of them had the energy to do more than shower before bed. So she was surprised he was awake enough to make breakfast the next morning.

He turned to look at her. "Darling, today is all about you."

"Okay, so if its all about me, does that mean I get to decide what we do?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Okay, I don't want you to make a big deal out of it," she replied smugly.

He turned off the stove and wiped his hands off. "That's a shame. Because I kind of thought you'd want what I planned next."

"Mmm? And what might that be?" she asked, unimpressed.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, tugged her hips to the edge of the counter, and parted her legs. Molly yelped slightly as she slipped back on the cold stone, but when she felt his tongue on her clit, the yelp turned into a moan. He sucked gently, rolling his tongue along her core.

"Holy fucking hell," she cried, her fingers scraping across the stone. Heat built up in her body, eclipsing the chill of the stone underneath her.

He chuckled. "I thought you didn't want to do anything?" he asked, rubbing his nose against her inner thigh.

"Andrew, you can do this all fucking day," she sighed, bringing her hand to the top of his head.

"As you wish," he murmured, running his tongue along her core.

Molly stared at the high white ceiling, enjoying the waves of pleasure Andrew was bringing down on her. She felt him drag his finger up her leg before bringing it to her clit. He bit her inner thigh hard as his fingers danced across her core.

"Jesus Ch-r-iis-t," she stammered softly. She was breathing raggedly, gasping for air. "Please d-don't st-op."

Two of his fingers found their way inside of her and her hips bucked involuntarily. He chuckled softly as her back arched.

"You like that?" Andrew purred.

"Yes," she gasped. "Jesus, Andrew."

He sped his fingers up, draping one of her legs over his shoulders. Molly whined and arched her hips. He reached up and held her pelvis down with his other hand. His tongue returned and she cursed, her hands scrabbling across the counter. A loud crash sounded as a plate fell off onto the floor.

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