Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 38 – Second Date

I twirl my fork in my linguini, sorry to see that it’s the last bite. It was delicious.

“So, did you like your meal?” Edgar asks.

“Yes,” I say, emphatically, scraping the plate with the side of my fork to get the last of the sauce. “It was ama-“

As I raise the fork to my mouth I look at Edgar, seeing him smirking at me, his plate still half-full of his lasagna. I laugh and he joins me. “Well.” I say. “I guess you could tell.”

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling indulgently. “I like to see a woman who eats. Do you want some of mine?”

I bite my lip, eyeing his pasta, and he spoons some onto my plate. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s really kind.”

“No worries,” he returns. “We had a really solid lunch today, I’m not even that hungry.”

“I was starving,” I said. “I feel like I’m always too busy to eat – I just get whatever I can grab when the boys are sitting still. A bowl of cereal or a granola bar. A spare fishstick.” I shrug. “Whatever’s around.”

One side of Edgar’s mouth lifts in a smile as he takes me in. “Well,” he says. “We’ll just have to get you out for some quiet time more often.”

I feel heat in my cheeks as I return his smile. “I think I’d like that, Edgar.”

The restaurant which he picked for us is really adorable – a small Italian place that you can tell has been around for generations. Checked table cloths, candlesticks in wine bottles, a little grey-haired lady rushing around with a ladle in her hand, making sure everything’s in order. Everything you could want for authenticity.

Edgar likewise impresses. I check him out while he returns his attention to his food. The candlelight picks up the depth of his cheekbones, the light stubble growing on his cheeks and his chin. Edgar is brawnier than most Betas – broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. No wonder he’s Victor’s go-to guy.

As I consider him, the grey-haired woman bustles over to our table. “My Edgar!” She says, her Italian accent thick, wrapping her arms around his shoulders for a warm hug.

“Mia Nonna,” Edgar says, laughing and giving her a kiss on each cheek. I watch, surprised and delighted when they start speaking to each other in fluent Italian.

person,” Edgar says, turning and gesturing towards me.

very good boy,” she says, shaking her finger at me. “You will

into two little crescent moons as she looks down at him and

my side of the table with her arms open and wraps me in a warm

say, laughing lightly. “You scared me there!” She kisses me on the head, mumbling “Bella donna,” and

a teenager. Nonna and her husband were very good to me

love that have that connection,” I say, smiling broadly. “And thank you for bringing me here, to this place that’s

hand. “You’re important to me, Evelyn. That is, of course,

me a toast. I sip from my glass as Edgar launches into a story from his youth, about one morning he didn’t get up early enough to knead the dough and Nonna’s husband

touching, all the things you’d want, but as Edgar talks I find my mind drifting. I stare at his handsome face, his green eyes flashing as he tells his story. My own eyes drift to his full lips, wondering what it would

off at my doorstep, kissed my cheek, and walked away without asking for more – a complete gentleman. Part

the other part wants someone who wants to throw me down on the back porch, rip off

was like that. Our connection was instant and fully carnal. We met at a children’s birthday party, of all the inappropriate things, when the twins were invited to tour a

remember being drawn to him instantly, and resisting because – duh – there were kids everywhere. But the moment a clown came and all the kids sat in a

the men kept their uniforms. He slammed the door and kissed me, pushing me against it, and in an instant, I was moaning, ready for him, reaching for the c**k

through the coarse fabric, breathing “f**k, I’ve been hard since the moment I saw you.” Then he turned me around, pulled my skirts up, and f****d me right there against the door, hard, with

Edgar peers at me, calling me back. “Are you

laugh lightly. “Sorry,” I say, blushing at the memory. “I think…I’m sorry, Edgar,

a hand, silently asking for the check. “Let’s get you

box of cannoli on my lap that Nonna

I look at him I do wonder…do we have the kind of passion that I’ve had

away the thought, unwilling to go there as we pull

climb out of the car, Edgar comes around to take my hand and walk me to

time,” he says softly,