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The kids decide this is a perfect time to practice their jabs. “Oh!” I double over and grab the back of the chair at the table this Stirling character is sitting at.
He jumps to his feet and guides me to the bench where he’d been seated then holds my elbows and my weight as I lower myself.
“Thank you.” I press my palms over my belly, firmly enough to let the hooligans know I’m not impressed. “Sir, when your wife was pregnant, did she have cravings? Can you please make an exception?”
He shakes his head. “No wife. No kids. And not my call.”
The young man who’d taken my order stands with my drink in a tall glass.
“Shall I take it to your table, Ma’am?”
“Leave it here,” Mr. No Wife, No Kids instructs.
As soon as the glass touches the table, I reach for it, bringing the cool metal straw to my lips and taking a long, slow, heavenly pull. I might have moaned. Okay, by the look on Stirling Cox’s face, I most definitely moaned. I don’t care. Another long sip, another long moan of pleasure.
“There. You happy now?” I say, patting my spawn on their wee heads—or maybe their butts or their feet. All the bumps feel the same.
“How long have you been drinking these things?” Mr. ‘Staring at me like I’m insane’ asks. Now that the karate drills in my belly have subsided, I can finally see clearly enough to appreciate the man who managed to gracefully lower my 212 pounds with such ease. For a flash of a second, I wish I’d met him before I chose an anonymous sperm donor. I would have definitely asked this hot restaurateur for the honor of cracking open my eggs.
I push the straw from my lips but keep the glass close to my face. “Every day for the last seven or eight weeks.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me while I take another sip. “What do you do on Monday when the restaurant is closed?”
“I suffer. And experiment. Try to recreate this nectar of the goddess.”
He reaches his hand toward my drink. “May I?”
I clutch the glass closer to my chest and shake my head.
He chuckles. “I just want to smell it. Maybe I can help.”
“You can help by changing your dumb rule and letting me have these delivered to my home until my clam addicted babies are born.”
“It’s not my dumb rule. I don’t own the place anymore. But I might be able to tell you what’s in it.” He looks up and around. “Just don’t tell Cecilia. It would put both of us in a difficult position.”
CHAPTER4
Stirling
She looks at me with suspicion. I laugh.
“I promise I will not drink it. All I want to do is smell it.”
This enchanting woman holds my gaze while she takes another long sip. Then she closes her eyes, lays her head against the bench and moans again, forcing me to concentrate on not imagining my talents—culinary or otherwise—as the source of that sound.
Something about a pregnant woman gives them a certain attractive quality, but this one is making my balls firmer than chestnuts. She tentatively holds the glass out. I wrap my hand around the bottom to take it from her and my index finger settles against her baby finger. A zing of energy runs up my arm when we touch.
She doesn’t let go. Instead, she guides the glass toward my face while her tongue plays on her top teeth, as if trying to stay connected to the straw. I can’t stop looking at her mouth and for a heartbeat wish my cock could deliver the flavors that were in this glass.
I close my eyes to concentrate on the smell of this apparently orgasmic drink my old restaurant now makes. As I inhale for a third time, my hand moves up the glass and covers hers—not an act of intimacy, though it did have that feeling, but to block the scent of her skin cream, which is interfering with my analysis.
“I think I have it.”
She pulls the glass straight back to her body, slips the straw between her lips and sucks. Since her eyes are closed, I don’t avert my gaze from her rising breasts, feeling envious of the two mouths that will soon be buried where I could easily imagine myself spending all the hours of my forced early retirement.
She moans. It’s the sound of pure ecstasy. Her expression is the holy grail any serious chef seeks to induce from their culinary creations.
I realize this isn’t a recipe that can be found online and I can’t divulge the secret of this unique flavor combination without breaking an unspoken professional courtesy to the chef who created it.
