She smiled and obeyed his tacit command, groaning as she chewed. “That sounds almost like sex, baby,” he said, leaning back against the pillows they’d propped up against the headboard of her white iron bed the way he had nearly every night since their scene at the club the previous weekend. He couldn’t get enough of her lately. And lucky for him, it was Sunday evening and neither of them had had anything else to do but be together. Other than a few breaks to shower or eat, or to feed the ever-disdainful Madame, they’d been in bed since Summer Grace got off work yesterday afternoon. “Mmm. It’s almost as good as sex,” she said, her mouth still half full. She smoothed the hand not holding her own takeout carton over her stomach, and he couldn’t help but notice the way the peach satin of her short chemise pulled against her breasts, outlining her nipples. “Okay, so it’s nowhere near as good as sex with you, but it tastes like heaven right now.
