If you are Zeus... you've got all the time in the world.
And, peering down at the small hand upon his knuckle, as if it being there anchored him at a spectral port in Alexandria after the Battle of Actium, with only his skyblue's he glanced back up to her, then back at the hand -- evidence that yes, there was indeed calculation in what he was going to do next. Swerving his hand out from underneath hers in such a way that it stayed by it in case it went to flee, he pinned it gently down onto the table. Society would say that Vince was an asshole, that Zeus was an asshole, but what they never fully comprehended was that he understood, with vigor, that it was never about physical pleasure. It was about the delight of the heart, the mutual confidence, the enchantment of the soul. The diving into possibility and acting on the passions of the appropriate whimsies.
Thus, the naiad having for the second time in history spurned the bed of Zeus (was it just his name in his mouth?), he moved in for the kill with the finesse of a millennium of heavenly practice, after watching her straight-away in the eyes as if, if he were to not be looking, she'd vanish. Oh, and if she hadn't darted her chin out of the way, or stole her hand back, grew a beard or turned into a cat, if all the stars aligned just so, he would've pressed his lips with ardor against hers for the briefest of moments. In such a way that felt as if it had been done in lifetimes, and lifetimes, and lifetimes.
And then he stood up as if someone pressed the eject button.
"I'm a complete jerk. I'm married. And I kissed you, and I don't care. The end. I'm going home. Hate me forever."