All right, that was exaggerated. Nothing was as arousing as he was.

He tipped the bottle over carefully, letting champagne stream over her chest, pooling at her collarbone and highlighting her breasts. "Where to start," he murmured, and leaning in close, lapping at the pools in her collarbone. She sucked in a deep breath, arching towards him.

"Oh, no," Max said, shaking his head. "Don't move." He lowered his head and finished with her collarbone, drifting lower, kissing a path to her breasts. Slowly...so slowly...

"Have I ever told you how much I love your breasts?" he said softly. "I do, you know." He kissed the valley between them tenderly, nuzzling the skin. "They're not too big, they're not too small. They fit my hands like they were made for them."

"Maybe they were," she said, making no effort to hide how breathless her voice was.

Max grinned and licked her right nipple, feeling it harden against his lips. "I can feel your heartbeat through your chest. It's going a mile a minute, isn't it, baby? You're so hungry, so ready." He moved over and licked the champagne away from her left nipple, capturing it between his lips and suckling gently, laving it with his tongue. "I can feel it," he said again, and cupped her breast. His eyes fluttered shut. "Right there." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Your blood is pumping faster, your heart is beating..."

He opened his eyes and poured some more champagne over her body, this time her stomach and legs. The gleam in his eyes was still there, but muted. "And I'm neglecting the rest of you," he said, shaking his head. "We can't have that."

From there, her mind went a little fuzzy. Dimly, she remembered that he used long, sweeping strokes across her stomach, occasionally darting back up to paint her nipples in champagne and suck them clean. Down the right leg and up the left, with little delicate bites at her ankles and thighs, murmuring words she couldn't make out. He seemed endlessly fascinated by the taste of the skin at her wrists, and lingered over her eyes and mouth.

Liz hardly noticed. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming for him to plunge inside her, take her hard and fast. She arched her back until it no longer touched the bed, moaning so loud she thought the neighbors were sure to complain, but he ignored her silent pleas.

Suddenly, Max sat back on his heels, looking at her. The fog from her mind began to dissipate; she noticed, not without a little smile on her lips, that he was mildly flushed. A light sheen of sweat covered his body, highlighted by the flickering flames, and he was breathing hard. And, she saw, glancing downward, that she wasn't the only one affected.

Still, she had to ask. "Why did you stop?"

Max ignored the question and shifted position slightly, taking hold of her thighs and carefully spreading her legs farther apart. Liz made no move to resist, merely stared at him, curious.

The bottle was in his hands seconds later, and he tipped it, letting the champagne flow between her thighs, trailing over her warmth. She gasped at the sensation and tugged against the scarves, her nerves now strangely silent in anticipation of what she knew was to come.

Max paused long enough to put the bottle aside and looked at her for a very long moment, lightly rubbing his thumb against her outer lips. "The only real question left," he said softly, his voice just as dark as his eyes had become, "is what tastes better -- you or the champagne?" He flicked his gaze down. "Let's find out."

And then he lowered his head, and began to lap at the slick heat between her thighs.

No, "lap" wasn't quite the right term to describe exactly what he did. "Lap" had a delicacy to it that he lost when confronted with her wetness. A cat lapped up cream; he went down on her, and if he had any control over the situation, he'd stay down there as long as possible.

Max rocked slowly, backwards and forward and back again, tenderly suckling her clit each time, murmuring words she could never make out. Surely all the champagne had to be gone. Surely.

The words were past her lips before she was aware of them. "Hurry," Liz keened, shoving herself forward, grinding against him. "You have to hurry, baby, please, I'm so close --"

Max raised his eyes to meet hers, lifting his head up just enough so that she could hear him. His mouth was glistening, not from the champagne as much as from her. "Happy birthday, baby," he growled, and lowered his head to her warmth.

There was no pause, no hesitation. He lashed his tongue against her clit once, twice, three times.

Liz shrieked and arched towards him, her body almost tearing in half. Oh God this was so good so good nothing could ever compare to this nothing nothing nothing --

And just as her orgasm was beginning to relax its grip on her, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard.

The world went gray.

====

The grayness passed, after a time. Liz woke wrapped in warm, dry sheets -- not silk, she noted idly; cotton -- and his arms, his body pressed against her back. From the position of the world around them, they were on the ground. "What --"

"You passed out," Max said softly, speaking against her neck. It tickled just a little. "I got you off the bed and into some clean sheets, toweled you off." He was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was even softer, almost -- ashamed? No, that couldn't be. "You scared me," he admitted. "I couldn't wake you up."

Liz grinned and flipped over, half-straddling his legs. "That's your fault," she teased, running a finger down the bridge of his nose and over his mouth. "Is this some insidious alien plot? Trying to make innocent human women willing sex slaves?"

He smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. "Willing sex slaves," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. "Please. If anyone's going to be enslaved, it's me."

"I don't want a brain-dead sex slave. I don't care *how* good he is. I'd rather have you."

"Thanks. I think."

Liz grinned at him and glanced down at her hands; specifically, at the claddagh. "The honeymoon's going to kill me," she muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," she said, and shook her head. "Just thinking out loud."

"Ah." Max moved his hands in slow, relaxing circles along the planes of her back and shoulders. "So, did you like your birthday present?"

"Yes, I liked it. And I love you." She leaned down and kissed him gently, snaking out her tongue to lick away the last few drops of champagne.

"I love you, too," he murmured. "Happy birthday, baby."

Liz grinned again and shifted her body, snuggling her head against his chest. Her hand fell to his side, and he linked his hand though hers, his thumb rubbing the claddagh. "I have no idea how you're going to top this next year."