Maisey Yates - Greek Mavericks - At The Greek's Pleasure

He had nearly acted on it back then.

He could well remember the time he’d come home from university to see her getting out of the pool. Sleek curves barely concealed by a hot pink bikini that should have clashed terribly with her red hair, but rather was all the more enticing for how incongruous it was.

And he’d gone over to her, and she’d said something snotty, as she usually did. Then he’d grabbed hold of her arm, and pulled her to him. Her green eyes had gone wide, those pink lips parting gently. Begging to be kissed.

But he hadn’t. He’d watched the water drops roll over her bare skin, over her breasts, had imagined lowering his head and slicking up the slow-rolling water. But he hadn’t done that, either.

He’d waited. Waited until her eyes had darkened with desire. Until he’d seen her breath speed up, the pulse in her neck beating at a rapid rate. He had held her arm until he’d been sure he’d turned her on. Until he’d been sure the little ice princess was hot all over.

Then he’d let her go, and turned away, hard as iron and fantasizing about what he might have had.

And now... Well, now he’d had her, hadn’t he? He had answered the question he’d never meant to ask.

He looked at her now, at the sleek ponytail that begged for him to grab hold of it, to wrap it around his hand. Her long, elegant neck. The soft curve of her pale lips. His stomach tightened. Clearly, his lust for her was not so easily dealt with via one quick screw up against the wall.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said, pressing the button that would take them to the floor that housed her office.

“Do what?”

“I wish you wouldn’t stare at me.”

“I’m trying to unlock the mysteries of your mind,” he said. “Or rather, I’m attempting to remember what you look like underneath your clothes.” He knew that taunting her was the wrong decision. Knew that it would only push them back to the place he was so desperate to stay away from.

You don’t want to stay away. You want her naked and panting in your arms again.

“Stop it,” she said.

“You’re so desperate to forget what happened between us.”

“Nobody likes to remember rock bottom, Apollo. I consider having sex with you my own personal walk through the valley of the shadow of death.”

“I’m honored, I’m sure.”

“Honored isn’t what you’re supposed to be.” She arched one finely groomed brow, her lips twisted into a sneer. She was so self-righteous when she was just as guilty as he was. So sure she was above this attraction that burned between them when she was just as enslaved.

He wanted her. The angrier he got with her, the more he wanted her. Whatever this thing was, the sick, twisted desire that was exploding between them, he couldn’t measure it or assign a number to account for it. He couldn’t parse it the way he could a business acquisition. It wasn’t the simple desire he felt for the sort of woman he usually picked up to spend a few hours of fun with. It was much, much darker.

It was forbidden. Something he had told himself he couldn’t have.

Perhaps that was why it was coming to bite him in the ass now. He didn’t typically practice restraint. Maybe by creating forbidden fruit, by placing it in the middle of his personal garden and telling himself he could not eat it, neither could he touch it, he had created temptation.

That made the most sense. Since Elle looked like original sin. A brilliant, shining apple he wanted to bite into.

And why shouldn’t he? His reasoning for resisting her didn’t matter now. He didn’t want to honor her father. And he still wanted to kiss that puckered expression off her face. So why the hell not?

“You don’t like me,” he said, that darkness compelling him now. “And yet, you do want me.”

“Come now, Apollo, don’t tell me you like every single one of your bed partners. We both know that sex isn’t love,” she said, tilting her chin upward, a faint blush spreading across her cheekbones, adding a kind of dissonance to her bold words.

Elle was certainly playing the part of experienced woman. She had gone up in flames in his arms, an equal participant in the conflagration. And yet, it didn’t all ring true. Didn’t quite piece together in a way that made sense.

He wasn’t sure he cared to analyze it. It wouldn’t change his actions either way.

“Perhaps. But sex and hate don’t typically go together,” he said. “And you claim to hate me.”

“I do,” she said, green eyes flashing. “I hate you for what you’ve done to my father. To me.”

“Not enough to leave the company.”

“That would be abandoning it altogether. What he built. What he’s trying to keep hold of, in spite of you. I won’t do that.”

“I do admire your dedication. Your loyalty.”

“Why do you admire my loyalty? You don’t possess any of your own.”

“We admire the things in others we struggle with ourselves, do we not?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I certainly don’t admire anything in you.”

He chuckled, turning to face her, closing some of the distance between them. Her eyes widened and she backed against the wall. It reminded him a little bit too much of what had happened the last time they had been alone in an enclosed space together.

“I think there are a few things you admire about me,” he said, moving in a little bit closer. Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding, the green in her eyes reduced to a thin ring. Her mouth dropped open, soft and round, and begging to be kissed. To be explored. “You most certainly admire what I can do to your body. I think we both know that.”

“I do possess some restraint,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice sounding rough, ragged even to his own ears. “Perhaps we should test it.”

He reached out and hit the stop button on the elevator, his stomach tightening, feeling as though a fist had closed around it.

He reached out and took hold of her arm, mimicking that day out by the pool.

“You want me,” he said. “Admit it.”

“I will not,” she said, reaching out, shoving him. But then her hand lingered on his chest, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, terrified.

“You want me even now,” he said.

And it felt imperative he make her admit it.

She tapped against his chest with her fingertips before slowly curling her fingers around the material of his shirt.

Then she pulled him to her, kissing his lips hard, deep.

He tasted anger, and a hint of shame on her tongue. And he knew just how the two mixed together, because he felt it, too.

She groaned, pushing away from him suddenly, but he wrapped his arm around the back of her head, holding her steady, working his fingers through her thick, red hair. “You want me,” he growled, “don’t deny it.”

“Wanting isn’t the same as having.”

With his other hand, he opened the top button on her blouse. “It’s the same for us.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said, sounding desperate.

“I think it does,” he said, his voice rough. He didn’t know himself. Not at all.

She reached between them, pressing her palm over his hard length, stroking gently through the fabric of his dress pants.

“I dreamed about you,” she said, her voice hushed, her words rushed. “About this.”

“So did I,” he said, placing his hand over hers and increasing the pressure of her touch. “Every night.”

“Have you had another woman since you had me?” she asked, her tone fierce.

“No.” He suddenly thought of her touching some other man like this. “Have you had another man?”

She shook her head, curling her fingers around his arousal. “No.”