Greek Mavericks: At The Greek's Pleasure. Maisey Yates
for her soul.
He swept her into his arms, lifting her as though his arms were created to cradle her close. As though she was the perfect weight and size for him. As though this moment had been fated from the beginning.
He carried her up from the pool, striding right into the house, clearly just as unconcerned as she was about being seen. She had a feeling his staff was paid to look the other way when he was conducting affairs in his home. She shoved that thought to the side. She wasn’t going to think about other times, other women.
Right now, she was the only one. That would have to be enough.
He started up the stairs, and she put her hand on his cheek, tracing the fine lines on his face. Additions to his features, new and fascinating. She remembered his face so clearly as a teenage boy. Smooth, pretty. Full perfect lips, amusement in his dark eyes, a kind of irreverent quirk to his brow.
He was no longer smooth. Dark stubble covered his jaw, his chin. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, marred his forehead. The face that had once been pretty was now more rugged, more distinguished. The laughter in his eyes was gone, replaced with a kind of intensity that burned her from the inside out.
The irreverence was still there, though. It was one of her favorite parts of him. That dry, sardonic humor that would make her laugh in the strangest moments. That would take her from anger to entertainment in only a few moments. That would see her kissing him instead of screaming at him thanks to one well-timed comment.
He was one of the few men who had ever stood up to her. Who had gone toe to toe with her and made her feel like she just might lose.
Not for the first time she wondered at the ground they had covered since then. Wondered about what had happened.
But she didn’t have time to turn it over anymore, because they had reached the top of the stairs, and only a second later, her bedroom.
He set her down, water dripping down her body, pooling down around her feet. “I’m going to get the carpet wet.”
“I can’t say I am very concerned about that.”
“Well, it’s your carpet.”
“Yes, it is,” he said, one side of his mouth curving upward.
He regarded her for a moment before taking a step toward her, tracing the line down the edge of her bikini top, the tip of his finger only barely delving beneath. “This is the stuff of my darkest fantasies.”
“A fluorescent bikini?”
He chuckled. “You. In this bikini. So much of that beautiful, pale skin on display. Your hair... It should look ridiculous with this color. Instead, you’re simply everything bright. I wanted you then. I consider this my reward for good behavior.” His smile turned wicked. “You know, I only wish I had known you were a virgin.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Had I known you were a virgin I would have relished my prize all the more. I was obsessed with having you first. With teaching you about pleasure.”
“You did,” she said. She had held the words back from him two weeks ago. Because she had not been ready to share that with him. Had not been ready to confess just how much he had meant to her. What it had meant that he was her first lover.
Or why he was.
But there was no use in protecting herself now. She didn’t want to.
“It was always you that I wanted,” she said. “That was why even though I said I hated you, even though I was so angry at you the first time I kissed you, it went as far as it did. Because it was always you for me, Apollo. No matter how many years have passed, no matter what ugly words were spoken between us, it was always you.”
* * *
Apollo knew he did not deserve the words that Elle had just spoken. He was using her. For these past two weeks he had been using her. To satisfy his need for her. Biding his time until he could get his revenge, filling the hours with the pleasures of her body knowing that in the end he would betray her.
There was nothing else to do. This thing between them could not last. And he could not deviate from his course of revenge against his stepfamily. Not now.
He had made up his mind. There would be wreckage.
Collateral damage.
But he wouldn’t think of it now. Instead, he would take that unearned compliment. Savor it. Hold it close. He would consider this the satisfaction of a desire born years ago. The revenge would be a satisfaction of a different desire, but it was a separate issue. In his mind, she wasn’t a St. James. Not now. Now, she was his lover. As he had long fantasized.
When he was finished he would end his association with her and continue on, viewing her again as the daughter of his enemy, rather than his mistress.
He could barely tear his gaze away from her, away from her pale, delectable curves, so effortlessly displayed by the flimsy material of the bikini.
That she had done this for him... It was strange. It created a shifting sensation at the center of his chest, made him feel as though the earth had tilted slightly. This shared memory that they had of this time when they had wanted the same things... It was strange to have it here in the present.
Just take it. It is a gift.
He would. Whether he deserved it or not. Because, as he had already told her, he was the villain here. Nothing would change that.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he untied the top of the bikini, peeling it away from her luscious breasts, baring them to his gaze. She was pale everywhere except for here. Here, she was pink. Pink and perfect and everything he desired. He leaned in, tracing the edge of her puckered nipple with his tongue before sucking her deep into his mouth.
“So sweet,” he said, his voice rough and unrecognizable to his own ears. “Better than honey.”
She shivered beneath him and he recognized his pleasure coursing through her body. He was learning to read her. Learning to understand what made her moan, what brought her close to the edge. Had learned how to tease her. How to hold her on the brink of climax without giving it to her completely.
He had never kept a lover for this length of time before. Always, he was finished with them after a couple of nights. A couple of weeks was unheard of. There was something...intoxicating about it. Something singular. To know one particular woman’s body in such an intimate fashion. Of course, he was well-versed with the female body, but that was different. This was...
Well, this was Elle.
He imagined it would never be the same with another woman, no matter how long he was with her. Elle was a fiery, living fantasy come to life, everything he had ever imagined she might be and more.
It was a damn shame. He wished she was a disappointment. Wished that she was something he could despise. Wished that she could have done something, anything to confirm that he was right to carry out this revenge plot, and use her as he’d planned.
He wished he had left her as the brittle, buttoned-up woman she had seemed in his mind only a couple of weeks ago.
But now he knew her. Knew her body. Knew her soul.
That’s ridiculous. You cannot know someone’s soul. You haven’t one of your own.
He pulled her close, taking hold of the tie on her swimsuit bottoms and tugging the thread roughly, then the other side, letting it fall to the ground. Trying to break the spell that she had cast over him with this bright, insubstantial piece of fabric. It was insane. And yet it was so...
He had advanced no further with her than where he had been nine years ago. He was still a slave to his desires. And now he was old enough to know that going out and getting any redhead at any bar would not suffice.
Now that he had had Elle, he knew that there was no substitute. Ever. There had never been another woman like her, and there never would be again.
He