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He cups my chin and brushes a soft kiss against my lips. "You need a name for what we are," he says, sensing the confusion swirling inside me.
"I . . .” I start, but I can’t lie, so I let the words die.
He places two fingers over my lips. "We’re dating," he declares. "Does that make it easier for you?"
I feel a pang of irritation. I hate seeming needy, even though, deep down, I probably am. "Don’t patronize me."
"I’m not. I’m just giving you what you want. I don’t care about labels, but I care about what we have when we’re together. If you prefer to be called my girlfriend while I’m buried deep inside you, that’s fine by me—just know you’re mine."
I draw in several shaky breaths, trembling and deeply aroused by the possessiveness in his voice.
I could lie, deny it, but I choose honesty even though it might bruise my pride.
"Yes, I prefer a label," I admit, starting softly but determined to make him taste his own medicine. "And wouldn’t you prefer it that way, too? Knowing that when you take me, when you make me moan in your ear begging for more, I’ll be your girlfriend?"
He lets out a low growl before whispering in my ear, "Tomorrow, I’ll send my driver to pick you up at eight. Be ready for me."
"So, how did it go?" Madison asks over the phone.
"Wow, are you spying on me now? I just bathed the babies and put them to bed. I was literally walking into my room when you called."
She laughs. "I was dying to know. I didn’t call earlier because I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your ‘god.’"
"He didn’t come inside. That’s something I love about him, Madison. Athanasios pushes me almost to my limit. He says exactly what he’s thinking, doesn’t sugarcoat anything, makes my knees weak, but he knows exactly when to stop—when not to go further than I can handle right now."
"That’s the difference between dating a boy and dating a man, sis. Experience."
I scowl. "I don’t like thinking about that. At forty, he must have plenty of experience. I’ve just realized I’m jealous."
"Don’t even start! Even with my massive belly, women still practically throw themselves at Zeus in front of me. Ugh, I hate it!"
It’s my turn to laugh. Seeing Madison, usually so self-assured, in this possessive mode is something to behold. "He told me we are ‘dating.’ Said it’s what I needed."
"And is it?"
"This probably sounds dumb, but yes. I may only be twenty-one, but I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a mother. The idea of casually hooking up doesn’t appeal to me."
"It never did, did it? Look how quickly you started dating that loser."
"Exactly. I’m not modern. Casual flings don’t suit me."
"What are you thinking?"
"Athanasios said he didn’t care what I called us as long as I knew I was his."
She laughs. "Our men are still living in the Middle Ages."
"This alpha-male thing is unreal. Part of me, the feminist part, screams against the concept of possession, control . . .”
"But there’s another part that completely melts for it, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Welcome to the club, sis. Now, tell me about the weekend."
"I’m not giving you intimate details if that’s what you’re expecting."
"Ew! No thanks. But wait—did you guys ‘finish the game’?"