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

He pushed his pants down his narrow hips, exposing himself to her. He was everything. Absolute perfection. Everything she had wanted a man to be and then some. No, there was no chance of him ever becoming commonplace in her eyes.

      Slowly, he made his way to the pool, climbing down, the water rising up and concealing his body from her.

      “You took my show,” she said, just as he leaned forward, his sleek, athletic body slicing through the water effortlessly.

      “I thought I would bring it to you,” he said, approaching her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her up against him.

      “Oh,” she said, “I guess I can appreciate that.”

      “I think you can more than appreciate that,” he said, looking pointedly down at her breasts, at her tightened nipples, pushing up against the thin fabric of the bathing suit.

      “I make it too easy for you,” she said, not sounding even remotely regretful.

      “I’m not complaining,” he said, sliding his hand down her waist, resting his hand on her butt.

      “Of course you’re not. You’re so certain of yourself, and all I have done is make you even more certain.”

      “I was named after a god. I came into the world with a rather inflated view of myself.”

      “Of course you did. How could I forget?” She lifted her hand, resting her palm on his chest. “I ordered this bathing suit for you.”

      Heat illuminated the darkness in his eyes. “I thought you might have.”

      “We have a chance to make a different decision.” She traced the water droplets that were trailing down his chest, rolling into the grooves of his muscles. “I wish that I had done something differently then. Been a little bit bolder.”

      “You were young. You shouldn’t have done anything. I shouldn’t have done anything.”

      “I was young, but I knew what I wanted. And it hasn’t changed.” She looked up at him. “I still want you. I wanted you all this time, even when I was angry at you.”

      He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, lifting her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Yes, I know you did. Believe me when I say the feeling is mutual.”

      Those words, those husky, delicious words, sent a little shock of pleasure through her. It wasn’t strictly physical. It went deeper than that.

      Unfortunately, all of this went much deeper than the physical. Much deeper than she wanted it to go.

      “I do.”

      A smile curved his wicked mouth. “Listen to us. We have managed to converse for several minutes without fighting.”

      “A miracle.”

      “Perhaps. Though, I imagine we are skirting the edge of sacrilege assigning anything divine to the nature of things between us.”

      “Perhaps.”

      He had a point. What they shared was carnal, lustful.

      No, not only that. Beautiful. Altering.

      Impossible.

      He was her stepbrother, he was her enemy. Truly, it was the enemy part that made it most impossible. The stepbrother issue would hardly mean anything. They hadn’t been raised together. They shared no blood.

      There’s no affection, either. Not from him.

      She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him while she had thoughts like that. He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers. And she just let it wash over her, warmer than the sun, more refreshing than the water they were standing in.

      Desire assaulted her, her stomach tightening, a pulse beating low and hard at the apex of her thighs.

      It had been just over a month since their first encounter in his hotel room in New York. Just over a month since she’d been with a man for the first time. It hadn’t taken long for her to grow accustomed to it. For her to know exactly what she wanted. For her to learn his body, and to learn what hers desired of him.

      He slipped his hand beneath her bikini bottoms, taking hold of her with his large palm. She loved his hands. Loved the feel of them on every inch of her. Loved looking at them. Spent a great deal of time fantasizing about them.

      But then, it was like that with every single inch of him.

      So many things did not live up to the promise. Did not live up to the hype. Apollo was not one of them. He took her every fantasy and superseded by leaps and bounds. In comparison with the reality her fantasies of what sex with him would be like seemed childish. Simple.

      She had known it would feel good, she had known she would find him attractive. She hadn’t realized it would be so raw, so exposing. Hadn’t realized it would strip her bare of everything, not just her clothes. She had thought it would just be physical.

      That was such a simplistic thought. His body was the missing piece of hers. He was everything she ached for in the dead of night, the reason that she felt hollow sometimes. It was because she was desperate to have him inside of her. Only him.

      She parted her lips for him, expecting him to conquer, expecting him to invade. Instead, he was gentle, his tongue sliding slowly against hers, the slick glide sending a sharp pang of need through her. So acute it was almost painful.

      She forked her fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss, pressing her body as firmly against his as she could. She knew that if any of his staff members walked out now they would get a bit of a show. But honestly, her brain was too foggy with desire to really get a handle on that reality. She couldn’t care. Not for her modesty, not for anyone’s sensibilities. There was only this. Only him.

      She lost all sense of propriety, all sense of loyalty, all sense of...everything when she was with him.

      She became a new person. A different version of Elle.

      She had to wonder what might have happened if she had taken the steps to close the distance between them nine years ago. If they would have forgotten about decency back then.

      It didn’t matter. They were doing this now. She tried to shove aside the thoughts of everything else that had happened in the ensuing years. The wedge that had been driven into the family.

      Her father, his mother and her, all on one side of the gulf, with him on the other.

      She didn’t want to think about them. Not now. Didn’t want to think about the father she could never be good enough for. The father who had preferred her stepbrother to her.

      Probably still did, in truth. Even though Apollo had taken a chunk out of David St. James’s empire, he probably privately celebrated his stepson’s ruthlessness.

      Apollo might have betrayed them. But Apollo never acted like he wished she were someone else. Apollo never made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. He gloried in her body, in the attraction between them. It was more than she had ever had from...anyone.

      The thought filled her with a sudden, intense swell of emotion. Whatever they had, whatever this was, it fed her soul in a way nothing else did. Because it was about her. It wasn’t about the business. It wasn’t about performing to his satisfaction. He cared about performing to hers. They were in this together. They wanted each other.

      For once she wasn’t striving for approval. Wasn’t trying to live up to an expectation she simply never could.

      Her father had seen Apollo as his hope. The son he never had. The heir she could never be.

      Then he had trusted Apollo to bail him out, never speaking to her about anything. Never consulting her. He had always trusted Apollo above her.

      And Apollo had betrayed him.

      But that didn’t stand in the way of her and Apollo. He didn’t look at her and see the unfulfilled promises of someone else. He wanted