Page 8 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

I slide my hands into the pockets of my suit pants and lean against a streetlamp, my eyes lazily roaming over her as I wait. She’s a mother, and this only works in favor for her figure, as far as I’m concerned. The flare of her hips, the curve of her breasts—which look like a solid handful each, and my hands are large—both of these only accentuate the nip of her waistline, and I itch to feel her softness beneath my fingers. She’s wearing a simple white T-shirt tucked into her high-waisted ‘mom jeans’, and I can’t wait for her to turn around so I can see if this is the pair that hugs her plump little ass to perfection, riding up in the middle just so…

“Horsey!” My eyes dart from Grace down to her son, whose excited squeak easily carries over the few yards left between us, as he points at me. “Mommy, look!”

I take my hand out of my pocket and wave.

Grace’s brows rise in surprise as she clocks me, but she lets her son drag her over, and I bounce off the lamppost at her approach. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good afternoon,” she says, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear. I like her hair just fine when it’s up like this, but she always inevitably lets it down when I appear, I presume to show off how pretty it looks when it tumbles down her back. It’s one of the cutest things she does, and I begin mentally counting down the moments. “It’s not morning anymore.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask thoughtfully. “It’s hard to keep track, since time stills whenever I see you.” She immediately rolls her eyes, which only makes my good humor lift. I know she’s dismissive of my corny lines, but I also know she likes them. She smiles every time, and it always reaches her eyes. Just like it does now.

“Oh, my god,” she huffs, those pretty blues of hers sparkling with amusement. “Do you have a list of these prepared, just waiting for the right moment to use them?”

“Of course not,” I smirk. “The mere sight of you inspires me.”

“Good afternoon, horsey!” Lucas says with a little hop, waving his hand in greeting to get my attention.

“Good afternoon, little goblin,” I reply, and he immediately bursts into a fit of giggles.

“I’m not a goblin!”

I crouch to his level, and boop his nose. “Well, I’m not a horse. And I know you know that.”

His gin immediately turns mischievous as he giggles evilly, doing nothing to take back his nickname. Cheeky little goblin…

“You should come to lunch with me,” I tell him, sparing Grace a quick glance but making it clear I’m waiting for Lucas to make the decision. “There’s a cafe just down the road with a great kids’ play corner.”

“Uh, well…” Grace begins, but Lucas pays her no attention.

“Yay, let’s go!” He immediately begins jumping up and down, and I scoop him around the waist and prop him between my crouched knees, so I can look up at Grace with his face right beside mine.

“What do you say, Mom?” I ask, as I squish her son’s cheek against my face. “Keeping in mind that I have your boy hostage, so you don’t actually have a choice in the matter.”

“Please, Mom! Please! I’m staa-aarving!”

“You manipulative freaking minotaur…” Grace mutters, her eyes narrowed, but the smile on her lips is only stretching as she stares down at the pair of us. “Don’t you have work?”

“I’m on my lunch break.”

“PLEASE, MOM.”

“Alright, alright!” Grace throws her hands up in defeat. “Lead the way, horsey.”

***

I hold the door of Bitter Sweet open, letting my eyes trace down the back of Grace’s curves as she enters ahead, catching on the seam of her denim wedged right between two round curves. Beautiful.

My cock immediately twitches in interest, and I have to look away as I enter behind her. Now is definitely not the time.

The cafe is bustling at this time of the day, as it almost always is, since they have the best coffee and desserts in town. Gold-framed landscapes clutter the walls, glossy wooden tables with worn, plush chairs fill the floor, an extensive play corner brimming with old-fashioned wooden toys and a few brightly spinning fae contraptions sits to the side—and of course, a gleaming glass display of their famous home-made sweet treats that runs long their service bar by the till.

“This place is so nice,” Grace murmurs as she looks around. “Why has Ella never brought me here?”

“I guess she doesn’t care for you like I do.”

She sends me a deadpanned, unimpressed look which I don’t believe in the slightest, since her lips are twitching upwards. I grin as I lead us to my favorite table by the window looking out over the street, and we order. I don’t mind the midday bustle, as it means I get more time to talk with Grace until the food arrives. We eat lunch, and Lucas finishes in record time before being allowed to rush off to the play corner.

As the waitress clears up our plates, I order us coffees and dessert, and Grace lifts an incredulous eyebrow.

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