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I had him, Berkley.
You just turn and look at me with those dark, dark violet eyes of yours, and glower at me. As usual. You don't quite understand what I said, as usual.
I had him, Berkley.
And you're perfectly still.
I wasn't sure. He was. I didn't hound him. He came to me. And we undressed quickly then laid down slowly. I had him.
And you didn't, but I don't say that out loud.
My hands gliding between his thighs and over his stomach. My lips brushing kisses over his shoulders and my teeth nipping at that soft juncture of neck and collar bone.
Mine. Not yours. But I don't say that out loud, either.
We filled each other completely; intense doesn't describe. And I couldn't give a damn about our competition, yours and mine. I didn't care. His perfection wiped away my own flaws, and for a while I was incapable of being petty.
He cried out for me, and I was there for him.
Me, not you. But even now. There's no jealousy between us anymore, is there, Berkley? There's nothing there. Because I love him, and you don't, and you know it.
Yeah, well. I just wanted to rub it in.
