Page 18 of Possessive Greek Chef

“I just wanted to say that I like it when I can tell I’m making you feel good.”

“Oh yeah?” I smirk. “What does it do to you? Does it make your pussy wet?”

Her cheeks turn pink and she nods her head.

“Good. You should get wet when you touch me. Hell, my dick gets hard just thinking about touching you.”

She smiles and I press my lips against hers. She’s so innocent yet so sexy. She’s the kind of girl a man could go crazy over.

9

BACK TO REALITY

ARIA

Our magical trip to Atticus’ hometown ended too quickly for my liking, but running a restaurant is a huge commitment and he can’t afford to be gone too long. I lay my head against the car window as we drive the last few blocks to my place. He’s given me the night off from work, but he has to go in to check on things.

“I’m coming up to check the door and windows,” he says as he pulls up in front of my place.

“You really don’t have to.”

“Don’t argue, princess. I told you that this is for me just as much as it is for you. Humor me.”

“Okay, Daddy,” I grin.

“Be careful with that kind of talk. I don’t have time to ravage your sexy ass.”

He collects my bag from the back seat and carries it up the stairs for me. We stop at my door and he watches as I unlock it. I go inside but he hovers in the doorway, investigating the latch and the door jamb. He looks up at me and shakes his head.

“One good shove or kick and I’d come straight through this door, locked or not.”

“Yeah, but other people aren’t made like you. I bet you can do a whole lot of things that other people can’t.”

“I’ll bring a new lock tomorrow and fix this. Now, let’s see the windows,” he walks from window to window lifting the coverings and checking the integrity of the locks. “These look alright. Sometimes the landlords put so many coats of paint on them that they barely latch.”

I smile and say, “I’m glad that you care but I don’t want you to worry. This is a safe neighborhood.”

“I’ll be back in the morning with a new lock,” he reaffirms and kisses me goodbye.

As the night rolls on, I start to wish that I had gone to work. I’ve never had a problem being alone until Atticus. Now, when I’m alone with my thoughts, they’re all about him. It seems absurd to miss someone when they’ve only been gone a few hours, but I do.

Unable to sit still, I decide to go outside and take a stroll through the neighborhood. I’ve done it at least a dozen times before. This time, as I descend the hill that leads to the harbor, a cold chill runs down my spine. The roads are empty and quiet, but it feels as if a thousand eyes are on me. I consider turning around and running back up the hill toward home, but my gut tells me that this feeling started in that direction and I’d be walking into trouble so I continue forward, jumping at every noise I hear.

My usual route takes me in a complete circle starting and ending at my front door. Normally, I slow down as I pass the water so I can watch the ships, but this time, I rush right by. My heart is pounding and I’m looking in all directions.

Maybe it was how adamant Atticus was about changing my lock. Perhaps his concern permeated into my subconscious and caused a touch of paranoia. I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m overreacting when a man steps out onto the sidewalk and I nearly fall into his arms. I scream bloody murder and the man takes two steps back.

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t see you there,” he says, holding his hands up and backing further away.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just…” I shake my head and swallow hard. “Sorry.”

I move around him and quicken my pace again. I feel like an idiot, but still, I need to get back home behind the faulty lock on my door.

I’m so close now that I can see the gaslight on my front stoop. Jogging, I lean back so gravity doesn’t pull me off balance and roll me down the hill. I spin to a halt and take the steps two at a time. I open the entry door and push my body against it as it closes. Peering left, then right, then straight ahead, I let out a sigh when there’s no crazy beast coming to break down the door. In fact, there’s no one out there at all.

Once safely inside my apartment, I lock the door and then prop a kitchen chair under the door handle. I laugh out loud thinking that it’s overkill, but I leave it there anyway. Better safe than sorry.

My phone rings and I practically jump out of my skin. I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa and have no idea how long I’ve been here. A smile crosses my lips when I see Atticus’ number on the screen.

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