She showed me how to write without fear, she taught me beauty in words I never thought possible. She taught me to see when I look around me, she taught me that it`s OK to laugh at fart- humor, she taught me that my view of the world was not silly, she makes me smile more than what should be possible through mere words.
She deserves something tangible, something touchable, something that she can hold in her hands and call her own, her award for being her. And she will get that, just not today.
She also deserves a round with Jack The Devil though!
She probably has no idea what she has done for me as an author, the sense of worth she has given me or the sense of validation… None the less; this is what I have to offer in return.

Disclaimer: I do not own Jack the Devil, he is the property of Mrs. The King and Crushed Seraphim.
I do not own Mrs. The King, she owns me.
I do not own Mr. The King, he is the property of Mrs. The King.
I do own a jar of Nutella.
I do not own the Pause Button, sadly.
I do not own a pair of candy apple red stilettos either, sadly.

Happy thirty sixth birthday Mrs. The King!

Unlocking the door, she blindly searches for the light switch as she enters the foyer and stumbles in a pair of stilettos.

"Damn it!" she hisses as she rubs a stubbed toe and kicks one of the expensive- looking shoes in frustration.

"Mr. The King, what the hell are these doing in the middle of the floor?!" Mrs. The King yells and finally locates the switch, turning the light on and illuminating the hallway.

"Mr. The King ain't here at the moment, darling…" a gruff, liquid voice croons from somewhere further inside the house, sending Mrs. The King`s heart stuttering in fear and surprise.

Just as she reaches for her cell phone, intent on calling the police, she hears the sound of a few strings being tickled by skilled hands, playing some unknown melody on a Spanish guitar.

"Who-" she tries to whisper, but is at once interrupted by yet another few, soft cords and his voice: "Why don't you put them on and come here?"

A silence follows.

"Put—Put what on?" she manages.

"Look down," the voice instructs.

She does, and her eyes meet a pair of candy apple red stilettos, the same she had just stumbled on.

"Umm…" Mrs. The King hesitates, phone still in hand and logic not yet driven away by the sexy intruder.

She should call the police.

"Don't even think about it, sexy…" the guitar strings hypnotic melody are abruptly interrupted with a secure palm across each one, pressing down and causing eerie silence to settle within the four walls of Mrs. The King`s home.

The stranger`s voice has grown dangerous and seductive, and her heart speeds up as she hears footsteps from inside… her bedroom.

Before she can take another breath, or even think about turning and running, she is faced with terrifying beauty and momentary lapse in sanity as her eyes land on a man, half incased in shadow.

Bare chest, torn, worn, low- riding jeans, no shoes, no socks, a whole lot of muscles and tattoos.

Holly shit in a bucket!

"Johnny Depp?" Mrs. The King squeaks, well aware of the fact that her eyes are bugging out slightly and that her heart has stopped beating.

The gorgeous male deliciousness chuckles low and long, shaking his head slightly and smirking in a way that would make even the straightest guy question his sexuality.

She melts inwardly and hopes against hope that her obvious drool doesn't show.

"No, doll… Don't you recognize me?" he questions with a lick of very pretty, maroon lips.

"I, um…" Mrs. The King replies, not quite able to form a coherent sentence, drifting off awkwardly while discreetly moving her right hand over her left wrist to check that she still has a pulse.

Chucking again, he starts moving towards her, smirk in place, the delicious guitar abandoned now as his right hand is occupied by a half- empty bottle of rum.

With a gasp, realization hits her.

"Oh my God…" Mrs. The King whimpers, the pitiful sound drowning in a roaring laughter from the half- naked gorgeous standing before her.

"Quite the opposite Mrs. The King," he snickers and steps closer even, his beautiful face aligned with hers when he bends down to whisper in her ear, his breath washing over her face, intoxicating her senses as his nose brushes along the delicate skin of her neck.

"Marie0912 says to wish you a happy birthday, love…" he murmurs deliciously.

"Now put on those pumps and come join me in the bedroom. There is a jar of Nutella and a pause- button waiting for us and no time to waste."

She swallows thickly and Jack the devil trails a single index finger from her jaw to the column of her throat, feeling her shiver under his touch.

"I don't know if…" she starts, but before her lips can form another word, they are covered with his mouth.
It burns, his skin on hers, his tongue is fire and liquid lava, making her body tingle, her lips sizzle and her breath stutter and stop.
Abruptly he retreats, his absence felt and missed as he steps backwards.
"What…? Where…?" She blinks confused and is rewarded by his delicious laughter again.

His voice is dark and dominant and seductive and everything sinful and dangerous and delicious as he replies.

"Put. Them. On."

"Oh fuck it!" Mrs. The King decides and slips off her sneakers and jacket before bending down and putting on the red stilettos.

Hesitantly, she starts waking the path to her bedroom, hearing the clicking of her heels against the hardwood, each step accompanied by Jack the Devil`s Spanish guitar.

Swallowing hard, she pushes the door open and finds her fictional character on her four-poster bed, on top of cotton sheets and pillows, guitar in hand, rum on the nightstand and next to him lays the remote control, the Pause Button, just as she has imagined it, and a single jar of Nutella.

"So… What now?" she whispers, watching Jack the Devil as he carefully puts the guitar down beside the bed, never taking his scorching eyes of her face.

He leans over and grabs the remote from the bed, beckoning her over with a finger.

She complies hesitantly, the clicking heels resounding in the bedroom, keeping time with her labored breath.

He hands her the remote and grabs the bottle of rum from the nightstand, taking a swig and offering her the same, but smiles, as if already knowing that she would decline when Mrs. The King shakes her head.

He stands up slowly, unfolding like a predator before her eyes, capturing her stare and keeping it.
Stepping closer, their bodies touching, Jack the Devil trails his hand up her arm, stopping as he reaches the juncture of her neck and fists her hair tightly.
Leaning forward, brushing his fiery lips across her own, whispering against her mouth, he says: "Now, love, you push that damn button."

Regretting the whole "I`m a fade to black kind of girl" statement now, aren't ya MTK?

*Insert evil laughter*

Happy Birthday sweetie.