"You'll have a better chance of getting what you want if you stop mentioning my birthday," Maeve answers, pushing herself up into a more seated position on top of Steve, her hands braced against his chest. She grins, rolling her hips slowly, bearing down on him for the friction. Even through the layers they're still wearing, she loves how he feels, how the heat between her thighs only grows at the thought of what else they can spend the rest of the day doing.

It's all a lot more appealing than unpacking boxes.

"But points for being generous," she teases, stretching out on top of Steve once more, her lips grazing his when she speaks.