Julia James - Greek Mavericks - Seduced Into The Greek's World

She pressed her hands against his chest, reveling in the feel of him, in the hardness of his muscles, the evidence of his strength. Before she could think it through, before she could stop herself, she was working the buttons on his shirt, separating the fabric, brushing her fingertips over his bare skin.

She had been struck by his beauty the day he had walked into the library without a shirt. And now she was touching him.

Her fingers shook as she pressed them against his skin, as she traced the definition of his muscles, his coarse chest hair abrading her fingertips as she continued to explore him. He was everything a man should be. But then, of course he was. Her desire for men was shaped around him. Her needs had never been generic. Her need had always been for him. Always and only.

He held the back of her head with his hand, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving deep as he tasted her slowly, leisurely. His other hand slid low to cover her bottom, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh. It was a possessive hold. It was not a hold of a man who was unsure of what he wanted. He wanted her.

It didn’t matter what he had wanted in the past. This was now. And he was choosing her.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, pouring everything into the kiss.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She had no practical skill in the art of seduction. She had nothing more than her passion. And she doubted there was a woman alive who felt as passionately about Leon Carides as she did. She doubted there was a woman alive who felt this passionately about any man. This was nearly fifteen years in the making for her. And what she lacked in practical skill she more than made up for in desire.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, marveling at the way he was constructed. She doubted there was a man alive so perfectly formed. At least, there was no other man alive so perfectly created for her. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, did so in order to keep the tears from falling. Nerves, emotions, threatened to strangle her. This was desire like she’d never known existed. In the abstract, wanting him was something she could control.

Late at night in her bed, when she imagined being with him, when she imagined him touching her skin, she dictated the movements. She controlled how fast things went, how quickly she brought herself to completion.

In reality, she controlled nothing of what he did. And her need was a blazing wildfire, burning out of control. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. It was so much more than she had ever imagined it could be.

But it was moving far faster than she had anticipated. The hand that had been resting on her bottom had now dipped down between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, ramping up her need until she could hardly breathe. If he moved his hand just a little bit higher, he would push her over the edge completely. With nothing more than a simple touch, a simple kiss, she knew that she would lose her control.

And so what if she did? She was past the point of caring. In fact, she embraced it. This was what she wanted. Wild. Beyond desire. Beyond shame.

It was as though everything between them had been burned to the ground. As though they had been given a chance to start again. No one else was given this chance. They were. This was for them. This was for her. This was her chance to make a new memory of herself. Even if he did remember everything in the past, he would remember this, too.

In this moment, she could create a new image for herself. He would finally see her as a woman, because he could no longer remember her as that plain, bookish girl she’d been.

If it was that that stood between them, if it was his affection for her father, whatever it was, that was lost here. Obliterated. Gone.

There was nothing but Leon. Nothing but Rose. Nothing but the need that was sparking between them, hot and out of control.

He growled, sliding his hand down to her thigh, hooking her leg up over his hip, then the other, bringing the damp part of her up against the hardness of his arousal, sending a streak of pleasure through her body. She gasped, and he began to carry her out of the room, carry her toward the bed.

“The bath,” she said, feeling dazed.

“I suppose we don’t want to cause a flood,” he said, depositing her at the center of the mattress and abandoning her as he went to turn the water off.

She had a moment to rethink then. A moment to gather her thoughts. A moment to flee.

She stayed where she was.

He appeared a moment later, filling the doorway, his broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest and narrow waist so utterly masculine, so completely captivating, it stole her breath.

And then there was the hard press of his erection against the front of his jeans. The absolute and complete evidence that he truly did want her.

She bit her lip, nerves threatening to swamp her.

“There’s that look again,” he said, his tone gentle. “Please don’t be afraid of me, agape.” He came to stand beside the bed, his hands on the snap of his jeans. “I only want to make you feel good. I want to make this a memory we share. I want... I want you to feel close to me.”

She tried to speak. She tried to say that she wanted that, too. But she already did feel closer to him than she ever had. But she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t make her voice work. Couldn’t force anything through the tightness of her throat.

“Sometimes I wonder if you have lost your memory, as well,” he said, undoing his jeans then drawing the zipper down slowly.

Her heart nearly stopped. “I haven’t. It’s just that... You’re different. This is different.”

“I am sorry.” He pushed his jeans down his narrow hips, exposing his rigid arousal. He was so beautiful. So rampantly masculine. So...large.

“For what?” She managed to scrape the words past her dry throat.

“For the way I was.”

He joined her on the bed then, closing the distance between them, drawing her naked body up against the length of his. His erection was hard, so very hot against her skin. It was unfamiliar. It was wonderful. He ran his hands over her curves, warm, large, soothing. She found that she wasn’t as nervous now.

She just wanted. She was filled with a restless, overpowering ache that was threatening to unravel her completely. If she didn’t have more of him. More of this.

“What do you like?” he asked, his voice a rich, deep whisper that whisked along her veins.

“You,” she said, the deepest and starkest truth there was.

“Surely you must like something specific.”

“Everything you do. Everything you are. That’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The admission poured from deep inside of her. From deep within her soul. And she couldn’t be embarrassed.

“You are too easy on me, I think. I think you should perhaps make me grovel. I think you should perhaps make me beg.” He leaned in, pressing a hot openmouthed kiss to her neck.

“I’m the one that’s about to beg,” she said, her voice breathless.

“There’s no need. I am at your mercy,” he said, “your willing slave.” He kissed a line down her neck, down to the curve of her breast, his breath hot across her sensitized nipples. Then he traced the outline of one tightened bud with his tongue before sucking her in deep. She gasped, arching up off of the bed, sensation shooting through her like an arrow, hitting its target unerringly.

“You are very sensitive,” he said, his voice rough. A smile curved his lips. “And do not ask how I know you are particularly. I simply do.”

She had not been about to ask him anything, if only because she felt as though her voice could no longer form words. Her brain certainly couldn’t muster up the amount of cells required to say anything. Indeed, sentence formation was beyond her. He had transformed her, transformed her into a creature of feeling and needing. Who could do nothing but simply wait for the next sensation to bombard her.