The Greek's Nine-Month Redemption

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him in such a way. If one ever had. But then, he had never been in a situation quite like this. His partner had never looked at him with lust and rage burning from her eyes all at the same time. She’d never looked quite like she wanted to strangle him and have her way with him in the same moment.

And, he had never been with Elle.

“I didn’t realize you were a dirty talker, Elle.” He scraped the edge of her ear with his teeth. “If you had been negotiating this way all along you might have been a lot more successful.”

“You’re a bastard,” she bit out, turning her head and tracing the line of his jaw with the edge of her tongue. “A complete and utter—”

“And you want me,” he said, releasing his hold on her and drawing his face back, pressing the tip of his nose against hers and meeting her fierce gaze. “So what does that say about you?”

“Oh, I know that all of this is the final nail in the coffin of my decency.” She grabbed the end of his belt buckle and yanked it through the loops, then set about working on the closure of his slacks.

“Go out with style, I say.” He slid his hands down her slender waist, to the full curve of her hip, and down farther, gripping the hem of her skirt and shoving it up roughly over her hips. No surprise, her panties were the same red lace as the bra.

Not that he was complaining.

“I took you for a white cotton kind of girl,” he said. “Who knew that you had so many secrets?”

“You’re never going to know my secrets, Apollo,” she said.

“So venomous,” he said, his lips touching hers now as he spoke the words. “And yet, you’re dying to have me.”

She put her hand between them, pressing her palm against his hardened arousal. “Same goes.”

“I’m tired of talking.”

And then, he crushed his mouth to hers, claiming the kiss he should have taken years ago.

* * *

Elle had no idea what she was thinking. She wasn’t thinking. She was feeling. Feeling everything. Rage, need, arousal like she had never known existed.

She would like to be confused about this. About how this could happen. About how she could be doing this with a man she hated so very much. But lust and anger had always been twisted up together where Apollo was concerned. Well, maybe not always. But in the past few years. And that was when her desire for him had turned from a girlish crush into a woman’s need.

She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She knew what men and women did in the dark. She didn’t need her own hands-on experience to be aware.

But somewhere, during all of that, Apollo had gone from being someone she trusted and admired—a member of the St. James family—to their bitterest enemy. And somewhere, as that change had taken place, her desire for him had changed, as well.

And now it was this strange, twisted thing that she couldn’t begin to untangle. And there was no other man who made her feel anything near what he made her feel.

It didn’t matter that it was sick. It didn’t matter that it was wrong. What Apollo made her feel was pure adrenaline. Pure excitement. Even if it wasn’t all good.

He made every other man she had ever gone out with seem like a bland, beige substitute.

That was why this was happening. Really, it was why it needed to happen. When this was over, she would finally be cleansed.

Her need for him would go down in one fiery ball of pleasure and rage. And when she looked at him she would feel...nothing.

Oh, she wanted that more than anything.

She kissed him back with all of that. All of the anger, all of the lust. His tongue swept against hers, his hold on her hips firm, blunt fingertips digging into her skin. Then he shifted his position, putting his hands between her thighs, stroking his fingers over the thin lace that concealed her desire for him.

She gasped, everything inside of her shaking. She had never been this intimate with a man before, and yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t experiencing any virginal nerves. She was more than ready for this. It was the combination of years of fantasies. An explosion of... Well, of everything.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, gliding through her slick flesh. If he’d had any doubt about how much she wanted him, he couldn’t doubt it now.

“Yes,” he said, the word a growl.

The way he said that, the absolute, incontrovertible evidence of how much he wanted her in return radiated through her. Spurred her on. She grabbed hold of the waistband of his pants and underwear, tugging them down his lean hips. There was no place for tenderness here, no place for hesitation.

She reached between their bodies, wrapping her hand around his hardened length. It was her turn to shudder, her turn to growl. She had never touched a man like this. She had no idea he would be so very big. She was nearly weak with wanting him. This was why she felt hollow. This was what she needed to be filled.

He slipped one finger inside of her and her breath hissed through her teeth, the unfamiliar invasion shocking and immensely pleasurable.

She took hold of his arms, clinging onto his rock hard biceps as he continued to tease her with a preview of what she really wanted.

She looked up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He was beautiful. There was no question. And she wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her entire life. It was important that she know it was him. As if it could be anyone else. As if anyone else could ever make her feel this way. This exhilarating mixture of destructive anger and impossible need.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, tracing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. He moved his hand from between her thighs, lifting it, grabbed hold of her bra and pulled it down, revealing her breasts to his gaze. He lowered his head, drawing one tightened nipple deep into his mouth.

Sensation shot through her like an arrow, hitting her low and deep. A low, harsh sound escaped her lips and she let her head fall back as she laced her fingers through his hair, tugging hard as he continued to pleasure her.

“Please,” she whimpered, “please.”

He moved away from her, then bent down grabbing ahold of his pants, pulling his wallet out of the pocket before producing a condom.

Her breath gathered up in her chest like a ball and held there, a heavy weight she couldn’t move. She could only watch him. Look her fill at his beautiful, masculine form. He was even more beautiful than she had imagined.

He returned to her, his bare chest pressing against hers as he flattened her against the wall. She looked at his face, his gorgeous, thoroughly despised, utterly beloved face.

She grabbed hold of him, bracketing his face with her hands and tugging him forward, kissing him hard and deep. He put his hand back between her thighs, this time pushing two fingers into her, stretching her gently. She was so ready for him. Beyond ready.

“Do it,” she said against his lips.

He moved his hand, gripping hold of her hips, sliding one hand down her thigh and lifting her leg, opening her to him. He tested her slick entrance with the blunt head of his arousal. Then he thrust deep inside.

The pain was sharp, swift. Tears stung her eyes, and she shut them quickly because she didn’t want him to see. She didn’t want him to know. She had felt powerful a few moments ago, but this made her feel a lot more vulnerable. Vulnerable was not what she wanted. She wanted pleasure, she wanted her desire satisfied. She wanted to rid herself of this toxic, intense feeling she had for him once and for all.

But, she hadn’t anticipated this. Not just the pain, but the feeling that she was breaking apart. The feeling that they were connected, closer than she had ever been with anyone.

Somehow, she had imagined the fact that she hated him might buffer against any other emotions.

But it didn’t.

So she kept her eyes closed.

If Apollo noticed, he didn’t comment. Instead, he fused his mouth to hers and flexed his hips, a flash of pleasure slowly overtaking the pain.

Slowly, all the discomfort began to recede. And she just wanted him. There was nothing else. There was no ugly history between them, there was no anger, no hatred. Nothing but an intense, burning need to be satisfied. She clung to him, to his shoulders, her lips pressed to his as he established a steady rhythm, pushing them both toward the brink.