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.”

his woman. It might sound like he meant something more than he did, but even if their sex wasn’t based in some 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

distracting him. He gave her his best

passion as he’d known it

tight schedule, even if she wanted to visit more museums in

any more convincing, but moved into position

choked out gutturally from between clenched teeth as her slick

of us has been with anyone else in almost two years. I’ve had two

months for a couple of years after finding out Art was such a damn tomcat and wasn’t surprised when she said,

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

she breathed out, lowering her body so his

that word that she 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

with arousal and her inner muscles clenched at him in undeniable need. They moved together like animals mating and yet, not. Their supreme awareness of each other could be

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 at the

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