Greek Mavericks: At The Greek's Pleasure. Maisey Yates

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.”

      He growled, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, rage and relief burning through him. The very idea of another man putting his hands on Elle made him angry. He wanted her. It had been too long. Nine years. Nine long years lusting after Elle St. James, even as he hated her family. Even when he was overtaken by the desire to see their destruction, he wanted her. It was unacceptable.

      He would burn it out. He would burn it out and then it would be over. Afterward, he could discard her if he wished, but this would finally end.

      He stripped her clothes from her body as quickly as possible, nearly tearing the delicate fabric of her blouse in his haste. Definitely tearing her panties.

      She didn’t protest. Instead, she made a sweet little sound of pleasure as he wrenched the lace fabric away from her skin, as he stroked his fingers over her wet flesh, so slick, so perfect. She wanted him. There was no denying it, no faking it.

      He could feel the evidence for himself.

      He stripped all of her clothes from her body this time, leaving her completely bare to his gaze. He had spent so many years fantasizing about what she might look like. The size of her breasts, the color of her nipples. That beautiful thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

      Yes, he had woken up from a deep sleep many times thanks to a dream about Elle’s naked body. He had been—for so long—consumed with the curiosity of what lay beneath her prim clothes.

      Now, he didn’t have to wonder. Now he knew. But he had a feeling she would still haunt his dreams.

      No. Because you will have her until you are finished with her.

      Yes, he would. Even if burning it out meant reducing them both to ash.

      He stripped his suit jacked off and cast it onto the floor, spreading it as wide as he could. Then he swept her into his arms, and lay her down on the fabric.

      He didn’t have time to worry about anything. He was too needy. Too desperate. Two more things to add to her list of sins, because ever since he had made his fortune, ever since he had pulled himself up from poverty he had ensured he was never needy or desperate.

      He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh and she shuddered. Then he kissed her again, gratified to feel her tremble beneath his lips as he moved closer and closer to the heart of her desire.

      “I am desperate to taste you,” he said.

      She bit her lip, closing her eyes and turning away as he flicked his tongue where she most wanted it. “Apollo,” she said, “you don’t have to...”

      He planted his palms firmly on the soft globes of her ass, pulling her more firmly up against his mouth, tasting her deeply in response to her protest. She wiggled beneath him, and he wasn’t certain if she was trying to get away, or if she was trying to move herself closer.

      Either way, he didn’t care. Either way, he was going to get what he wanted.

      He brought his hands into play, stroking her with his fingers, thrusting one deep inside of her, reveling in how slick, how ready she was for him.

      She was sweet, like dessert. A flavor he had never realized he craved until he had her on his tongue. And now, he knew that this was the thing he had been missing. This was what he had craved all this time.

      He stroked her deeply, adding a second finger to the first. And she shattered beneath him, her internal muscles tight around him as she shuddered out her release.

      “Oh, Apollo,” she said, leaving no doubt that she knew exactly who she was with. Leaving no doubt that she wanted him. No one else but him.

      “Are you ready for me, agape?”

      She didn’t speak, she only nodded.

      He freed himself quickly from his slacks, not bothering to undo the buttons on his shirt, not bothering to move his hands any lower than his hips. And he thrust inside of her, the breath hissing through his teeth as she closed around him.

      Yes, restraint was for other men. For better men.

      He was going to conquer. Conquer his desire, his rage.

      He would seize what he wanted. The only question was why he hadn’t done it sooner.

      He brought his hips against hers, his pelvis coming into contact with her clitoris every time he thrust deep inside of her warm, willing body. And he was lost, lost in this, in her. In Elle. And he didn’t give a damn that they were in an elevator, he didn’t care that he was using her. Nothing mattered but this.

      He gave himself over to it completely, lost himself in the rhythm of her body, the slow, slick glide of their flesh, the soft, sweet sounds she made. The words that poured from her lips, hoarse whispers begging him to continue. To take her harder, faster, just please, please.

      Inside, he was begging himself to hold off on finding his pleasure. He didn’t want to go over the edge without taking her with him.

      He wanted to do more than that. He wanted her screaming. He wanted her just as lost, just as obsessed as he was. Just as desperate to burn out the flame before it consumed his entire being. Utterly. Irrevocably.

      He refused to be alone in this, in this destructive obsession. He would destroy her along with him.

      That thought crystallized, clear and sudden in his mind as his release washed over him in an uncontrollable, endless wave. And then beneath him, she arched her back, crying out her own pleasure, her fingernails digging into his back, even through the fabric of his shirt. And he relished the slight bite of pain that came with the unending onslaught of pleasure. It