The minx.

He was already hard, but the pressure grew more urgent as her soft touches on his scrotum continued. “You’re on dangerous ground there, pethi mou.”

“Am I?” She was no longer sitting on him, but her knees were still on either side of his.

He took that as an invitation and flipped onto his back, his breath expelling in a hard gust at the sight of her naked body above him. “You are so damn beautiful.”

“You’re prejudiced.”

“You think so, glyka mou? I think you could have made millions as a model.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Did you just call me sweet?”

“My sweet. You’re learning Greek.”

“Just that one.”

foolish romantic commitment, he was a possessive guy. It was just the way he was made and sometimes, the words yineka mou slipped out. She was his, for now. Maybe he should be more circumspect. Now that she was learning what his Greek

to explode, distracting him. He gave her

went dark with passion as

not on a tight schedule, even if she wanted to visit more museums in one day than

didn’t require any more convincing, but moved into position above his bobbing erection. “You look

choked out gutturally from between clenched teeth as her

to reach for a condom and he stayed her with a hand between her perfectly shaped breasts. “Neither of us has

she’d tested every six months for a couple of years after finding out Art was such a damn

the patch for birth control, so they didn’t need

she breathed out, lowering her body so his hard length slid

always chided him for and had to fight the urge to surge upward with every ounce of selfcontrol he had earned in his thirty-five years of life. She rewarded his restraint by dropping down and engulfing his entire length in her humid heat. Damn, massaging

need. They moved together like animals mating and yet, not. Their supreme awareness of each

he didn’t have to worry. She was right there with him, her head thrown back, her pleasure falling from her lips in a keening cry that tingled

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