“I thought you’d have left by now,” Helena teased, reaching out a hand to toy with the boyishly short locks of her bedmate.

“How could I?” Dylan responded with a smile. “You were kind of like my firstwell, you were my first woman at least. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I was just thankful that this was your house and not mine.” She winked.

“What? Are you insinuating that I would leave you right after an amazing night of love making? I’m rather offended.” Helena presented, but didn’t deliver, as her familiar cocky grin spread from one corner of her mouth to the other.

Dylan chuckled lightly and gently slid closer beneath the impossibly soft sheets, wrapping her arms around Helena‘s shoulders and pinning her against the headboard of the immense bed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you ruddy should.” Helena nearly purred, voice so low it was almost a whisper, as her lips found their way to Dylan’s, pressing against them like she had so many times before.

Dylan exhaled into the kiss, devouring the British beauty’s lips against her own and feeling her nerve-endings reawaken at the feeling of skin upon skin, bringing back sizzling flashbacks of what had happened the night before. Letting off a short gust of breath, the short-haired brunette pulled back.

“If I agree with you, will you do that again?”

“Possibly,” Helena conceded, arms moving down olive skin, tracing along slightly curvy hips.

“That’s not good enough.” Dylan grinned and Helena simply leaned forward, taking hold of an earlobe.

“If you agree, I’ll kiss you like that somewhere else.”

“Tempting offer,” Dylan noted biting her lip some as Helena played the familiar game of seductress. “Maybe I should be the one doing the kissing, since well, I’ve offended you.”

Helena grinned coquettishly, causing a sea of butterflies to tickle along Dylan’s insides. She’d read about women like this, in Greek mythology. Women so beautiful they made you insane. She could see Helena as a goddess; rich chestnut locks of curls swooping over her thinly angled shoulders, pouring over a silky, creamy garment that fell to mid-shin, only to be met with the stereotypical winding gold of spotless sandals. She’d be perched up on a pedestal, a great one with an enormous pillow cushioning her, allowing all of those who worshipped and ogled to see her from across the nations. She would be larger than life, and Dylan knew she’d be bowed at her feet, asking permission to lick the sole of her sandal and feed her grapes.