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

of her, suddenly overwhelmed with his desire. He buried his face between her thighs, tasting her, deep and long, relishing the flavor of her desire as it spread over his tongue. He was insatiable for her. Desperate for her. He pushed one finger deep inside her slick channel, then another, loving the way that she bucked against his hand, the needy cries for pleasure that escaped her lips.

      She was desperate. Like he was. She was in this with him. He needed it proven. Needed to know for sure. He felt like he was losing his mind. He did not know himself now. Never in all his life had a woman made him shake. Never in all his life had a woman owned him in such a way. Never had a woman successfully erased visions of any other.

      But she had.

      He gripped her hips, holding her tightly against his mouth as he continued to pleasure her, until she shook just as violently as he did. Until she was on the verge. Until she was whimpering, crying out for release. Begging for it.

      He loosened his hold on her, sliding the flat of his tongue over her as he rose upward, tracing a line to her belly button, up farther, until he was standing. Until he could capture her mouth with his. He pulled her up against him, let her feel the hard, insistent thrust of his arousal against her stomach. Kissed until he was dizzy. Until she was pleading with him to take her.

      He rocked his hips against her, relishing the raw sounds she made, the feeling of her fingernails digging into his skin. It was always like this with her. Desire tinged with violence.

      And he loved it.

      He backed her up against the bed, and they fell onto it. He positioned himself between her thighs, pressing the head of himself to her slick entrance. He pushed into her easily, her arousal easing the way. She was so hot, so tight. She was made just for him.

      As he seated himself fully inside her he had the strongest sensation that he was home. That he was complete for the first time in years.

      A deep, strong emotion tugged at his chest, a sense of déjà vu that he didn’t want to place. This was new and familiar all at the same time. And he rejected it. Didn’t want it. But as his arousal built, as she flexed her hips beneath him, meeting his every thrust, he found he could not hold on to his control and keep the emotions at bay.

      She wrapped her legs around his hips, and as she gave herself up to her own release, as his own climax crashed over him like a wave, those feelings crashed through him, as well.

      And as he was tossed violently in the surf, he could think of one thing. Elle. That she was the port in the storm. That she was the constant. The North Star by which he had been guided for years. A star he had turned away from.

      The realization left him feeling like his chest was full of broken glass. As though he had been wounded, invaded by sharp, shattered splinters he could never hope to remove.

      He looked down at Elle, at her lips, flushed with desire, swollen from his kisses, her eyes, slumberous, satisfied. Looking at him as though he held answers.

      He had no answers. At this moment, he had nothing but questions.

      “Stay with me. Tonight,” she said, “could you stay with me?”

      And as terror tore at him like a rabid dog, he could do nothing but nod and pull her into his arms. But it did nothing to stop the hemorrhaging in his chest. Did nothing to stem the flow of pure, unmitigated fear pounding through him.

      But Elle had asked him to stay. And so he did.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      WHEN APOLLO WOKE, it was starting to turn gray outside. And Elle was curled up around him like a cat. He had no doubt, even for a moment, who he was lying in bed with. Who he had fallen asleep with.

      He had never been close enough with a woman to even contemplate letting his guard down enough to fall asleep with her. In the past, the moment he finished making love with a woman, he left. There was no reason to linger. Sex, in his experience, could be perfectly impersonal. Sleeping with someone had seemed an intimacy he did not wish to contend with.

      But he had fallen asleep with Elle, after she had asked him to stay. He had not imagined he would sleep. But it seemed natural. To hold her in his arms while they both drifted off. Bathing in the afterglow of the pleasure they had shared.

      Suddenly, panic overtook him. He had a plan. A plan to make the St. James family pay for the sins they had committed against his family. To avenge the death of his father. The loss of his family fortune. The strange relationship Apollo’s mother had been forced into by David St. James.

      And every indignity he had suffered. Every moment he had been made to feel like he had not earned his position at the prestigious boarding school he went to. Every time he had to defend his placement in the boardroom because he had come from such humble beginnings.

      She was weakening that plan. She was weakening his determination. And he could not let that stand.

      He extricated himself from her hold, rolling out of bed. He forked his fingers through his hair, looking around, before remembering he had no clothes in her room. He wrenched open the door, walking down the hall completely naked. All of the staff would have gone home. Anyway, they knew better than to stare too long if they saw something shocking in his home.

      Instead of going to his bedroom, he went into his office, taking a bottle of whiskey from the shelf to the left of his desk. He poured a healthy amount, and took a fortifying drink. Elle drove him to drink. This was the second time he’d turned to alcohol to deal with the effects she had on him.

      Most women didn’t affect him at all.

      He had been determined to keep her with him until the attraction between them burned out, but he could see that something else was heating up between them, something he had no hope of burning out half so quickly.

      Rage took him over. He didn’t want to send her away. He could imagine it, telling her to leave. Never touching her again. Never spending another night with her. Anger overtook him, completely, dictating his next action. He took the half-full glass of whiskey and hurled it at the wall, watching the glass shatter, feeling no remorse at all.

      The fact that the very thought of her leaving made him feel so helpless, so enraged was only more evidence that he had to send her away.

      If he was going to take his revenge, he would have to take it now.

      * * *

      They had forgotten to tint the windows. That was Elle’s first thought when she woke up the next morning. Her second thought was that she was alone. True to his word, Apollo had not spent the night with her. She shouldn’t be surprised, but after she had confessed to him that he was her only lover, she supposed she had expected...something.

      She supposed that she was foolish.

      For wishing that things could be different. For wishing that something had changed between them. She didn’t know what.

      She sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest. And suddenly, Apollo came bursting through the door. “Good morning,” he said, his mouth set into a grim line.

      “Good morning,” she said.

      During all of the time she’d spent here, he had never come into her room unannounced. He had never come in unless it was to make love. He did not look like he had...that on his mind. Not in the least. He looked... He looked like he had come in with demons on his heels.

      “I trust you slept well,” he said.

      “Yes,” she said, a strange, uneasy feeling settling in the center of her chest. She didn’t know why. She only knew that something wasn’t right.

      “I think it is time you left,” he said, his words cold.

      “But we... I don’t understand,” she said. “Yesterday we...”

      “That was yesterday. And this is today.”

      She thought