Page 15 of Milk & Cookie

I rub the back of my head and lift one shoulder. “Actually, my friend’s mom was a naturopath. Ben makes a ton of his own remedies, including stuff to keep up his wife’s breastmilk supply.” I don’t elaborate on the how or why he likes to do that, but I can’t keep that kink from my thoughts when Fred’s nipples are gorgeous, thick, and noticeably erect. God, they look beautifully indecent.

“I see.” She returns to her work. “Is that the friend you’re staying with, in town?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s Daryl. It’s another friend of ours.”

“Daryl?” she asks. “The ass-fucker?”

I cough-snort while I chuckle. “I see his reputation precedes him.”

“Small towns.” She pauses mid-movement, to look me over. “Do you fuck asses?”

“Guilty by association because I’m crashing in his basement for the week?” I ask with a laugh, before I catch her dead-serious expression. “Oh. Uh… no,” I say quickly. “I mean, potentially. If I get the signal that’s a pleasure point, during a lovemaking session.”

Her eyebrows rise, and then quickly plummet, and I cut the air with my hands in a more clear-and-final gesture. “But only ever with a finger or a made-for-purpose toy,” I assure her. “I keep my dick well out of it. I’m… Nobody I’ve ever met would want someone my size in their ass, and I doubt I’d enjoy doing it enough to seek out the minority who might.”

Fred utters a soft, agreeable sound in response, and then nods. “I haven’t dabbled, so I don’t know if I like ass-fucking or not,” she says with a shrug.

She flours her hands and kneads her dough so thoroughly I’m convinced she must give a great massage. Then she rolls it out, smears it with fistfuls of a greasy herb-and-garlic mixture, and sprinkles strips of curd cheese all over it, before cutting off big sections and twisting them until the cheese is more inside than out. She fills a dozen loaf tins waiting on trays and puts them in the oven. And she does it all with a natural ease and a smile.

It’s hard to get the herbs in the cups for our tea without spilling, because I can hardly tear my eyes off her. “You’re good at that.”

“I get a lot of practice.” She wipes her hands on her apron, checks the temperature, and sets the timer before taking a couple of cookies from the cooling rack and heading straight for me. “What are you good at? Apart from reading and research, lifting heavy things, and delighting children and their mothers?”

I swallow hard and reach for the counter behind me, for support. “Not a lot.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She nibbles the edge of a cookie.

I shrug. “You’ve pretty much nailed my strengths. My job is basically all reading and research. I held a few strongman titles when I was younger, I love my mom, and I have five happily married-with-children sisters and one widowed, single-dad brother, so I’m Cool Uncle Vince to about half a million kids.”

She looks me up and down, her appreciative gaze welcome on my skin. “I like what I’m hearing, Vincent Monaghan. Enough to hope you don’t walk out during this conversation.”

She holds a cookie out, for me to take, not with my hand but with my mouth. She waves it an inch from my lips, and I nearly take her fingers in eagerness when I snap up the fucking bait. You don’t feed a man that directly unless you mean business. I fucking love her assertive flirting.

“There’s a table and chairs in the break room.” She motions toward a door with her head and bumps me away from the sink with her hip. “Why don’t you take our tea in there?”

I brush crumbs from my beard, collect our cups, and do as she’s suggested.

When she joins me, she’s ditched the apron and has two more cookies. She sets them on the table next to my cup of herbal tea. “Why’d you go with peppermint?”

“Brushed my teeth recently.” My face warms. “I didn’t know there would be cookies.”

She blows across her cup, tastes her tea, and curls her lips into a smile. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I sip mine and watch her adjust her swollen breasts. She looks like she needs Raven to feed.

“I should probably stop taking lactation herbs one of these days,” she says, gently pressing her fingers to the tops of her breasts. “Raven basically weaned herself until she regressed a few days ago, when she demanded milk for every meal, but now she’s fallen back in love with solids, so she’s brought in a ton of milk, without there being much need for it. She only really wants a feeding before bed. And I… should stop talking about?—”

“Your tits?” I ask. “No, you shouldn’t. I’d love to talk about them. They’re beautiful. I like hearing about your kids, too. Anything you want to say, I want to hear it.”

She gives me a strange sideways look. “You probably came here to hear about a few specific things, though. Right?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

“So ask.” She drinks her tea and watches me with her big blue eyes.

“Do you want more kids, Fred?”

“Yes.” Flat. Simple. Honest. No beating around the bush, then.

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