Chapter 3: Cravings – part 1
The worst part of pregnancy, Addison decided in the middle of week 24, wasn’t the morning sickness or always having to pee. It wasn’t gaining weight or squeezing boobs into a maternity bra. Even her baby boy’s nighttime acrobatics were manageable. The worst part was the damned cravings.
Most of her cravings were typical: gelato at 1 a.m., peanut butter first thing in the morning, and the sudden need for blue Jell-o. Irksome, but tolerable. Usually.
At three in the morning Addison stood in the middle of Daniel’s kitchen frowning at the dark cherry cabinets. Sleep escaped her again, and she craved something. Two spoonfuls of peanut butter, half of a banana, a glass of strawberry milk, five baby carrots, a cup of dry Cheerios, a slice of honey baked ham, some popcorn, and a glass of lemonade did nothing to sate her.
Her son somersaulted from one end of her womb to the other. It was uncomfortable, but not yet painful. Enjoy it while you can, little prince, Addison told him fondly. She rubbed her bump, sending a pulse of love. Your bedroom will get cramped soon enough. He kicked wildly in denial.
Addison laughed softly and patted her belly. It wasn’t so round yet to block her view of her feet, but enough to be noticeably pregnant. She’d overheard rumors and unguarded thoughts speculating on the father’s identity. Most bets were on Daniel. Considering Addison’s unofficial titles of “Gibson’s Pet Psychic” and “Gibson’s Fuck Bunny,” she was less than surprised.
The amount of time that Addison spent in the spare bedroom of Daniel’s suite probably didn’t help any. To the best of her knowledge Daniel did nothing to discourage the rumors. If Addison cared about the gossip, she would have brain wiped the lot of them long ago. However, rumors were a fact of life at Triptych and those concerning her were fairly benign. Slander was a small price to pay for access to Daniel’s luxurious quarters. In return Daniel got time with his “daughter” Ashlynn.
Addison opened the canister containing Daniel’s roasted Kona coffee beans, inhaled deeply, then resealed the lid. No caffeine for her, unfortunately. Dr. Frasier was adamant. She was forbidden to ingest anything that might harm her precious cargo.
The craving reared up again, demanding to be fed. The sprog underscored it with a few kicks. “This just won’t do,” she told them both.
Addison surveyed the spacious kitchen once more. She’d gone through the cupboards three times and the refrigerator twice. Whatever she wanted wasn’t in the kitchen. Her nails rapped impatiently on the countertop while she idly rubbed small circles on her abdomen. Her little prince seemed to like that, giving little punches where her hand rubbed, then kicks of protest when she stopped. “So, what am I going to do, little one? Go completely barmy?” The baby had no answer.
Addison left Daniel’s suite for the commissary, her sights set on blue Jell-o. Strolling through the facility’s hallways in a short maternity nightie and matching robe wasn’t the wisest of ideas, but she shrugged it off. She could always blame the pregnancy hormones. It wasn’t as though anyone would dare to call Addison on her apparel. She almost wished that someone would. It would distract her from the damned craving.
The intersection of the north-south and east-west corridors was crowded considering the late hour. A stocky security officer attempted to keep his eyes off of Addison’s legs and chest as she approached. A weedy-looking kid heading east stared at Addison and nearly stumbled. There’s a mother I’d like to– He flushed red, then tore his eyes away. Shit! Did she hear that?
Addison smirked as she continued north, relishing the kid’s trepidation and both men’s leers. The craving still gnawed at Addison, even as she admired the ass of a different, fit Triptych guard. Heat coursed through her body, settling in her groin.
Addison stopped short. She didn’t crave food. She was horny.
This hadn’t happened when she was pregnant with Ashlynn, probably because of her two lovers at the time. But now Addison had no good prospects to satisfy her. It was a consequence of being a psychic in Daniel’s inner court. Men admired her, but most were too scared to shag her. She could psychically compel them to do so, but Addison didn’t see the point. She wanted someone who was brave enough to be a man.
Standing in the corridor panting wasn’t helping any. Blue Jell-o forgotten, Addison turned on her heel and headed south toward her quarters. For now she’d take matters into her own hands. Literally.
At the intersection Addison turned left, colliding with someone rounding the corner from the opposite direction. “Hey!” a male voice snapped.
“Watch where you’re-” Addison looked up into the dark eyes of an annoyed Anglo face. Myers, was her first thought. Fuck, was her second, prompting images that she really didn’t need at the moment. What the bleeding hell is wrong with me? I do not want to shag him. Addison’s body disagreed with a surge of warmth and wet.
Myers opened his mouth, and Addison’s control faltered. She lunged, kissing him hard. A distant part of her mind screamed that this was Myers, but its protest was lost when their tongues twined. His arms circled Addison as she cinched her legs around his waist. With the cool cement wall at her back, Addison savored Myers’ heat pressed against her lips, breasts, and belly.