I'm trying not to laugh, but I think this is the third egg Alicia's ruined and the kitchen is so filled with smoke that I worry the fire alarm is going to go off and send panic through the entire building. She's trying to impress me with a nice, Saturday morning breakfast, and while I appreciate the effort, I think we should just go out to eat. Why not let someone else cook for us?

She walks back over to a bowl of heavy cream sitting on the counter and she places the hand mixer into the liquid and turns it on high speed. Specks of the cream fly onto her face and she winces.

"I never thought cooking could be so hard!" she says. "But I think if I keep this on high speed, I'll have made homemade whipped cream, and when I do, I just may want to paint your body with it."

I raise one eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Her playful tone dies down, and a frown forms across her face. "But it's not thickening up."

"I think your bowl needed to be chilled."

"Since when did you become an expert in the art of making whipped cream?" she laughs.

"I'm definitely not an expert," I say laughing. "You know where I stand on all of this … I prefer to let someone else do the cooking."

Cooking is just too much of a hassle … and too time consuming. Time is money, and I certainly wouldn't spend it cooking for myself.

"Oh no, not again!" she says, her attention diverted. She rushes over to the stove and grabs the frying pan by the handle and walks it to the sink. Something is burning. I watch as she scrapes burnt pieces of our breakfast into the kitchen sink. She isn't listening to me, and the frying pan looks like its seen better days.

I look over and see bits of broken egg on her spatula, and black specks of burnt bread. I walk over to her and wrap one arm around her waist. I kiss her neck gently, and reassure her that everything's going to be okay.

"When was the last time that you cooked? Let's just go to Balthzar," I suggest. I can tell she's flustered, and disappointed, but I'm trying to make light of it all.

"But I've been working so hard on this," she pouts. "I can't believe it's not working out this morning!"

"Warm croissants, champagne, fresh berries, an omelet—let's have someone else make our breakfast today. Doesn't that sound nice?" I say, pleading my case.

"I like Balthazar, but we're always eating out," she says. "I just wanted to cook for us for a change, Derek."

"And your effort speaks volumes, babe," I say, kissing her again, but this time on the corner of her mouth. "But get dressed. I'm treating you, and that's final."

It takes her a moment, but she finally agrees to go out for breakfast.

"You win," she says. "But next time, I'm cooking."

I don't understand why she's so adamant about cooking for us, but that's fine.

"Deal," I say.

"Speaking of deals," she says, growing serious all of a sudden. "Have you made any new business deals lately?"

"What do you mean?" I ask. "That's a strange questions to ask. My business is always evolving. I'm sure I've brokered something new."

"Well, I was just curious. I realized that I still don't know a whole lot about what exactly you do."

"It's complicated … and boring," I say, trying to change the subject.

"Do your global holdings include business in Russia?" she asks, and the question takes me by surprise.

"That's specific," I say. "What do you care about Russia?"

"Oh, it has nothing to do with the country really," she says. "I'm just curious. Do you also have holdings in North Korea and Iran?"

I can't help but laugh. Where is she going with this? Russia? Iran? North Korea?

"This sounds like a game of 20 questions," I laugh. "Are you planning on doing global business with someone?"

But when I ask this she gets quiet. She's not sharing in my laughter. She's not looking into my eyes, and seems to be focused on something else.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I walk up to her and run my fingers through her hair. I try to draw her close to me, but she seems distant.

"It's nothing," she says.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? Because this doesn't seem like 'nothing' to me," I say. "You're holding something back."

But as soon as I begin to probe, she changes the subject.

"My curiosity just got the better of me. It's really nothing," she says walking over to the dining room table and sitting down. We're both sitting at the table now, directly across from each other, and just as I'm about to tell her that I don't believe her, and that I think she's still holding something back, I feel her foot near my cock.

She's dragging her foot up my leg and has it nestled in between the crevice of my thighs. I look over and she has a devilish smile on her face. She then reaches under the table and grabs my cock ... not a soft grab, but like she means it. It's now hard as a fucking steel pipe and twitching in my pants.

I no longer care about her global holdings questions because I'm too focused on the throbbing in my pants. So, I decide to drop the subject.

"How can one woman be so sexy?" I ask.

She just smiles and squeezes a little harder. "How can one man be so delicious?"

If she keeps this up, we may never make it to Balthazar. I'm tempted to bend her over this dining room table and take her as my main course.

"So, what do you say? Would you like to spend the weekend with me?" I ask.

"Let's see … considering that I already expected to, I'd say so," she says as her fingers wrap themselves tighter around my cock.

I smile.

This is going to be a better morning than I expected.