AN: This story is inspired by a photo on Stephanie March's Instagram, as per the icon. I have also created another Pinterest board to incorporate the pics that have inspired little stories within this 'Chocolate and Glasses/Cabenoah universe'. Also: I will be posting a 'Ch66 Author Note' with regard to a possible sequel to "Negotiating Her Life", so readers who have been following that particular story, please keep an eye out for that ;-).

As per 'Chocolate and Glasses', first POV is Olivia then the next chapter will switch to Alex's POV (which could very well ramp up to M rated). I hope readers enjoy this little two shot and take the time to let me know what they think :-)

'The New York Times' newspaper broadsheet format is perfect for spying on the unsuspecting.

No, wait... the term spying is such an ugly description. So seedy and underhanded, evoking images of private investigators with trench coats, fedoras, cigarettes and snubnosed revolvers. I don't wear a trench coat or a fedora, I certainly don't smoke, I don't carry a snubnosed revolver and I'm not a private investigator. I'm a plain clothes detective recently promoted to the rank of Sergeant with the NYPD's Special Victims Unit, 16th Precinct located in Manhattan. My weapon of choice when I'm on duty? I carry a Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol on my hip... but not today.

Why not?

That's because I'm on a relaxing weekend getaway in Amagansett.

So what's with the spy-... Hang on, what can I call it instead of that?

Hmm.

Let's call it... discreetly observing.

What's with the discreet observation?

My fiancée is on the other side of the sun room in the quaint little B 'n' B we're staying at, reclining on the day bed with nothing more than a navy blue cotton robe covering her body, her black framed glasses and the latest copy of 'Vanity Fair' in her grasp.

That's right.

No more than 8 feet away, Alex Cabot is completely naked under that robe and I'm struggling to keep my libido in check.

But the wonderful thing is: I know Alex is struggling as well because, like her, I'm dressed in only a navy blue cotton robe, my black framed reading glasses on and the Metro section of today's edition of 'The New York Times' in front of my face while I sit on the comfy sofa.

What is currently keeping our raging hormones in check is our son, Noah.

He's in the middle of the sun room playing with his various stuffed toys, blocks, books and small ball, trying his best to stay awake instead of having his morning nap. He's 15 months old now and is transitioning from having naps twice a day to just once, but I have a hunch our son is fighting a loosing battle right now. Alex and I were both so overwhelmed when Judge Linden allowed us to formally adopt Noah after 6 months of fostering him instead of her initial ruling of 12 months. After being moved from foster home to foster home, Judge Linden could see that for the first time in Noah's short life, there were 2 people in a stable and committed relationship that truly cared for him. She saw that not only did we care for Noah, but we also cared for his welfare as both of us attended each and every of his progress custody hearings since I found him in a makeshift crib within a chest of drawers. The fact that Ellie Porter, Noah's biological mother, was murdered by her pimp, and no known father could be located brought no objections from Trevor Langan to stall the adoption proceedings in any way, shape or form. Alex and I aren't sure if Noah, like myself, was the product of rape from one of Ellie's johns or perhaps another pimp. What we do know is that we love him with every fibre of our being and he will grow up knowing that he is loved and wanted.

I lower the newspaper ever so slightly and look over the top of my reading glasses for what I can only describe as for the the umpteenth time to discreetly observe the woman I love. This time, I see Alex licking the tip of her finger in preparation to turn the page of the glossy magazine. Oh my god! Doesn't she have any idea the things she is doing to me right now by just licking her finger? She reminded me numerous times last night after we finished our most recent box of mixed assorted chocolates, and again this morning before Noah woke up, just how very talented her fingers, tongue and lips are. The mere thought of last night and this morning's activities makes me have to press my thighs together yet again, while I consciously bite my lower lip to suppress a moan building in the back of my throat. Without warning, Alex begins to turn her head in my direction.

Oh shit!

Did she hear me?

Did I moan aloud?!

Surely I didn't, but I can't take any chances. I shake the newspaper loudly, feigning that I'm struggling to straighten the broadsheet before turning to the next page.

We make brief eye contact which results in a coy smile from Alex before I seemingly divert my attention back to the printed words. To be honest, I don't know how many times I've reread the same 4 pages I keep flicking back and forth between in the 20 page section since we moved to the sun room after breakfast, but I'm certainly no further advanced in the section than when we sat down. Then again, I have a feeling that Alex has flicked through that entire magazine twice and not read a single article.

"Baw!" Noah says, his voice thick with sleep as he careens into my shin.

I move the newspaper to see Noah holding out the small red tactile ball in his hand as he rubs his face against the robe covering my knees.

"That's right, Noah. It's your ball," I reply as place the newspaper down beside me.

I go to take the ball, a little larger than a tennis ball, from his grasp. Before I can do that, Noah halfheartly lobs it towards his fluffy caramel coloured teddy bear in the middle of the room, then gives me a cheeky smile to show off his 8 teeth at the front. I shake my head as he scampers after the ball, picks it up and makes his way over to Alex after stumbling over his teddy.

"Are you sleepy?" Alex asks, taking the ball from his little hand.

"No," Noah rubs his face on Alex's robe at her knee.

"I think you are."

Noah's lack of further protest tells us both that he's about to crash.

Alex prompts, "Can Mama have a kiss?"

Noah nods as he tries to climb up on the day bed, but all he successfully does is tug on Alex's robe to reveal her calf. Alex pulls Noah up into her lap and presses a small kiss to his cheek and waits for him to plant a wet kiss of his own on hers.

"Can Mommy have a kiss too?" Alex asks.

Once again, Noah nods.

After I have removed my reading glasses and placed them on top of the newspaper, I take my cue and cross the room to my fiancée and hoist Noah up onto my hip. I wait for my own wet kiss on my cheek before pressing a small kiss to Noah's forehead. As Noah begins to gently play with the Fearlessness pendant Alex gave me for our engagement while our rings were being custom made, Alex and I exchange a knowing look that we know all too well. Without words, we both know that we will resume our 'activities' as soon as I get back from placing Noah in the crib in the other bedroom. I give Alex a lopsided smile just as she lifts the 'Vanity Fair' magazine directly in front of her face. A little too directly.

I wait a moment before I turn and head in the direction of the spare bedroom.

"Liv?"

With Noah's head now resting on my shoulder, I turn back around to see Alex deliberately bend her knee so that the navy robe falls to reveal a good portion of her supple thigh.

I don't bother to try and stifle the moan this time.

"Don't be too long," Alex purrs from behind the magazine.