Santa’s Pretty Helper (Cam Show Crush)

16. Bella

Three years later

I waddle through the front doors of Sage and Salt, my husband’s wildly successful restaurant. It’s December, and the air has turned cold and brisk, and the dark clouds threaten—or promise, depending on your opinion—snow. My coat doesn’t fully do up over my belly anymore, and my ankles are swollen, but I came down to the restaurant because my husband’s cooking is the only thing that can satisfy my out-of-control pregnancy cravings.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mitchell,” says a young woman named Darcy, Gabe’s front of house manager. “Would you like a table by the window?”

“Yes, please. Is Gabe in the kitchen?” I ask, shrugging out of my coat and handing it to her. She takes it and hangs it on the elegant rack behind her.

“He should be. If he’s not, check his office. In the meantime, I’ll get a table ready for you.”

“Thanks, Darcy,” I say. My hand rests in its usual spot on top of my stomach, and I feel my son kick against me.

The restaurant is decorated beautifully for the holiday, with a gorgeous tree in the center of the space, festooned with gold and silver ribbons and twinkling lights. Jazzy Christmas music floats through the air as the last of the lunch time diners finish up their meals.

I’m so proud of Gabe and everything he’s accomplished over the past three years. Shortly after that first Christmas together, we got engaged, and by spring, his plans were in motion for Sage and Salt. We got married that summer, and Gabe opened the restaurant in the fall. I finished my degree this past spring and was six weeks pregnant when I walked across the stage with my classmates. We’ll be parents to a baby boy in January.

My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement at the thought. I’ve always wanted to have kids, and starting a family with Gabe, the man I love, is everything I’ve ever wanted.

The camming is mostly in the past now, what with the pregnancy and Gabe being so busy with his restaurant. But we still have filthy fun together. In fact, things have somehow gotten even spicier since I got pregnant, partly because I’m horny all the freaking time, and partly because Gabe’s obsessed with my new curves.

I poke my head into the kitchen, my mouth watering at the scents of garlic and butter wafting through the air. I see Gabe at the far end in his chef’s uniform, sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, frowning in concentration as he sautés shrimp.

“Hey, sis,” says Eric, looking up from where he’s chopping a cabbage at lightning speed. “Looking good.” Eric’s been working for Gabe ever since the restaurant opened. He sets the knife down and walks towards me, wiping his hands on a towel tossed over his shoulder. He gives me a hug and then gently touches my belly.

“Hey little guy,” he says. “Uncle Eric can’t wait to meet you.”

He kicks, my entire stomach jumping with the movement, and I can’t help but wince.

“He’s either going to be a soccer player or a karate champ,” I say. At the sound of my voice, Gabe looks up and sees me, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. He takes his pan off the heat and slides the shrimp onto a plate, passing it to another member of the kitchen staff before making a beeline for me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, bending down and kissing me quickly on the lips. His hand immediately goes to my stomach. “Hey, buddy.” Another kick in response.

“Babe, could you make me some mushroom risotto?” I ask, looking up at Gabe. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper now, and a few strands of white are coming in around his temples. He honestly looks sexier now than he ever has. “I have a craving.”

Gabe’s mushroom risotto has been my biggest pregnancy craving. He could make me a vat of it and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Of course. I pre-made a batch earlier, let me just finish it off and warm it up for you.”

My mouth is already watering as I nod. “Oh, thank you.”

“Why don’t you go have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you?”

I nod and give him another quick kiss before I head out to the table Darcy set up for me. It’s a small two-seater by one of the windows, and it’s my favorite spot in the restaurant. I watch the pedestrian traffic go by, people bundled up against the cold, some carrying shopping bags and parcels. A woman walks by pushing a baby stroller, and I notice that it’s the same one my parents bought for us a few weeks ago.

I people watch and day dream about the future until Gabe appears, bringing me the food he’s made. My mouth waters as he sets it down, and my mind flashes back to the night he got fired, when he’d brought the food out to our table himself. I’d had no clue he was already in love with me then.

“Miss,” he says, and I can tell he’s thinking about that night, too. “Your mushroom risotto.”

“Thank you,” I say, and dig in. I’m never not hungry lately. Gabe sits down in the seat across from me, our feet rubbing gently together, and we chat about life. About the baby and the nursery that’s almost finished. About the restaurant. About Christmas and family. About my upcoming mat leave from the bookshop I work at with Madison. The conversation flows as easily as warm water, just like it always does.

My plate is almost clean when I notice the way Gabe’s looking at me. I know that look. It’s a hungry, almost predatory expression that promises toe-curling pleasure.

“Come with me to my office,” he says, standing up and offering me his hand. I let him help me up and we make our way to the back of the restaurant, where Gabe’s tiny office is located. The space inside is taken up almost entirely with a filing cabinet, a desk with a computer on top, and a shelf lined with awards and news articles about Gabe, from both before and after opening the restaurant.

“Why are we in here?” I ask, playing coy.

“Because watching you eat my food makes me hard. Come here, wife.” He pulls me into his arms, my giant belly taking up space between us. His kiss is slow and sensual, languid and teasing. “Tasting my food on your tongue is almost as hot as tasting my come there,” he says, and I’m instantly wet. I arch up, kissing him back. I huff out a frustrated sigh because my belly’s in the way.

“I’m as big as a house right now,” I say, and Gabe slides his fingers under my chin, tilting my gaze up to his.

“You’ve never been sexier.” He kisses me again and then helps me up onto his desk, falling to his knees before me. “And I’m going to worship your gorgeous body until you know it, too.”

And he does, making me come with his mouth, not letting up until I’m a shaking, spent mess. I’m pretty sure the entire restaurant hears me scream his name, and I don’t care.

Gabe Mitchell is mine, and I’m his. Forever.