Page 15

15

EDEN

T he metal door creaks, and my eyes flutter open at the harsh light streaming in. My muscles protest from being bound to this chair for what feels like forever. The smell of my own urine makes me burn with shame.

Remy’s silhouette fills the doorway, and despite everything, the hunger gnawing at my stomach, my dry mouth, the humiliation of soiling myself, my heart still races at the sight of him.

“You left me here.” My voice comes out raspy. “I had to...” I glance down at the puddle on the chair, unable to finish the sentence.

He steps closer, and I catch that masculine scent that drew me to him at the carnival. I should be terrified, angry, trying to escape. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to lean into him.

“When can I use a bathroom?” I shift uncomfortably in the chair. “And maybe get some water? Food?”

The rope bindings dig into my wrists as I adjust my position. “Please, Remy. I’ll do whatever you want. Just basic human needs here.”

My stomach growls, a testament to how long it’s been since my last meal. I hate appearing weak in front of him, but there’s no hiding my body’s fundamental needs.

My throat tightens as Remy moves behind my chair. The ropes fall away, and I rub my raw wrists.

“That’s why I’m here.” His breath brushes my ear. “You’re moving into my trailer. I’ve reinforced it and made it special for you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, not from fear or anger like it should be, but from a sick thrill that races through my body. What kind of person gets excited about being kept prisoner? I can’t deny the way my pulse quickens at his announcement.

“Stand up,” he commands.

My legs are unsteady when I rise, partly from being bound so long, partly from anticipation. Shame burns in my chest at my eagerness. I’m supposed to investigate this carnival, exposing whatever dark operation he’s involved in. Instead, I’m practically trembling at the thought of being locked away in his private space.

“I...” The words catch in my throat. I want to protest, to maintain some illusion of resistance. Still, my nipples harden, and warmth pools between my legs.

Remy’s knowing smirk tells me he sees right through me. Remy knows how twisted I am and how much this situation turns me on. And why wouldn’t he? He’s read my journal and seen my darkest fantasies spelled out in black and white.

“Your pulse is racing,” he observes, fingers brushing my neck. “But not from fear, is it?”

I close my eyes, mortified by how well he reads me, by how much I want this. I should be fighting, screaming, trying to escape. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to press myself against him, to beg him to fulfill every dark fantasy I’ve written in that journal.

My wrists burn under Remy’s iron grip as he wraps me in a blanket and marches me across the carnival grounds. The lights from the Ferris wheel cast eerie shadows, and music from the carousel drifts through the night air. Each step feels surreal like one of my dark fantasies come to life.

“Keep moving,” he growls, yanking me closer when I stumble.

My shorter legs struggle to match his long strides. At well over six feet, he towers over my petite frame, making me feel even more vulnerable. The gravel crunches beneath our feet as we wind past empty game stalls and closed food stands.

My heart pounds against my ribs. The carnival looks different tonight—menacing rather than magical with this man beside me. Workers cleaning up barely glance our way. Do they know what Remy does? What he’s about to do to me?

His trailer has been moved from its original location. It now sits isolated at the edge of the grounds, partially hidden by shadows. The metal steps creak as he pulls me up them.

“Home sweet home,” he says, his voice dripping with dark humor. “Though you already know what it looks like inside, don’t you, little stalker?”

Heat floods my cheeks at the reminder of my break-in. The evidence I left behind, my panties accidentally left on his desk after a noise spooked me.

The trailer door swings open with an ominous squeak. Even in the dim light, I can see the reinforced locks he mentioned. The windows are covered with metal bars and black-out material—neither were there during my previous visit.

He’s prepared this space specifically for keeping me captive. The thought should terrify me. Instead, warmth pools between my legs, and my nipples tighten. What kind of person gets aroused by their own imprisonment?

I follow Remy into his trailer’s cramped bathroom, my legs shaky. He reaches past me and turns on the shower with a quick twist—steam quickly fills the small space.

“Strip.” His command is sharp, brooking no argument.

My cheeks burn with mortification. I’m filthy from hours bound in that chair, urine sticking to my skin, which is angry and red with burns, and I hate that he is seeing me like this.

Something in his eyes tells me hesitation isn’t an option. I peel off the blanket with trembling fingers and drop it to the floor.

Remy’s gaze is intense and predatory as it rakes down my naked body. His eyes track every movement as the blanket pools at my feet. I fight the urge to cover myself, knowing he won’t allow it. The steam swirls around us, making the space feel even more intimate.

“Get in.” Another clipped command.

I step into the shower, the hot water hitting my skin. After being cold for so long, it’s almost painful, but I welcome the heat. At least now, I can blame the redness in my face on the steam.

Remy’s eyes never leave me, watching through the glass door as water sluices over my body. I’ve never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. Even so, his unwavering attention is intoxicating, even in these humiliating circumstances.

“Turn around. Face the door.” Remy’s voice is rough.

I swallow, my throat dry as I obey. My heart hammers in my chest like it wants to break free and run, but my body stays put, my feet anchored to the shower floor. Desire wars with fear, but my knees don’t weaken, and I don’t turn and bolt.

Through the fogged-up glass, I see his hand going to his belt and notice the bulge in his pants. I know what he’s doing without needing to see, and my mouth goes dry.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “But don’t you dare come.”

Without waiting for a response, he starts to stroke himself. My breasts feel heavy, and my nipples pebble as I slowly caress my breasts, brushing my thumbs over my rigid nipples. The heat in his gaze reflects the flames licking up my stomach, and my palm glides down to cup my pussy, my skin aching for his touch.

I want to touch him and feel he’s real, but my knees almost buckle at the sight before me. His impressive length is in his hand, and his eyes never leave mine as he strokes and teases. I drag my fingers through my aching pussy, my breath catching as he adds a slight twist to his wrist.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands.

My cheeks flame, and my lips part, but no words come out. My brain short-circuits, overwhelmed by an onslaught of sensations, barely able to process that this gorgeous man is giving me orders while pleasuring himself.

He groans, his eyes glued to my fingers as they circle my sensitive clit. “Say it,” he commands.

“I want you.” The words are wrenched from my throat, spoken without hesitation, but absolutely true. I close my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his dark gaze on me any longer.

“You want me to fuck you?” His question sends a spike of lightning straight to my cunt, and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath. “Answer me,” he growls, his hips rolling in a way that tells me he’s imagining fucking into me. My walls pulse, desperate to be filled, and I whimper.

“Yes!” I want it now, on the floor, up against the wall. An image flashes of me on my knees, my face pressed to his thighs, looking up at him as I suck him.

The shower door flies open, the cold air a shock to my heated skin, and I turn with a gasp to face him. Remy’s gaze is molten as he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and drags me against him. My body fits perfectly with his, and a bolt of fire burns from my core to the tips of my toes as I feel his thick length against my belly.

Lifting my chin with a finger beneath my jaw, his eyes burn into mine. “Soon, but not yet.” His lips claim mine in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth.

My knees nearly buckle when he pulls away. I can’t breathe, can’t think, my body burning with need as he backs me against the wall, the water cascading around us. His hands grab my thighs, and he lifts me, pressing my back to the cold tile as he steps between my legs.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs approvingly, his hips moving against me as his hands roam everywhere. “Mine to play with.”

I know it’s a game. I understand the rules. I agreed to them. Hell, with my journal, I all but wrote them. Remy pushes, and I push back, but not too hard. This dance between us is intoxicating.

The shower’s still running, but he shuts it off and pushes me to my knees. My legs buckle, but my body screams with arousal at the dominant move.

Dripping wet, I’m right where I belong, on my knees before him. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back, and I gasp as my neck is exposed. I try to imagine what I look like from his perspective—naked, kneeling, his hand fisted in my hair.

He’s in control. I’m at his mercy, yet I can’t force the word past my lips. The safe word, the one that would instantly stop this, remains locked tightly away.

His hardening length presses against my closed lips, and my pulse quickens. I want to open my mouth, to taste him, but I hold back. I know he wants me to beg. This game we play, this erotic struggle for control—it’s a delicate balance.

His hands tighten in my hair, the head of his cock pushing against my lips insistently. I resist, keeping my lips firmly clenched. My heart hammers in my chest and a whimper escapes me as the pressure on my scalp intensifies, but still, I don’t give in.

He growls in frustration, a deep sound that reverberates through my body. His hips jerk once, his cock prodding at my mouth. It’s the ultimate test of wills.

How far is he willing to go?

How far do I want him to go?

The pressure on my hair eases, and the tip of his cock breaches my lips. My mouth widens in surprise, and he takes advantage, pushing deeper into my mouth, forcing me to brace my hands instinctively on his thighs for balance. The saltiness of his pre-cum infiltrates my taste buds, making my pussy clench in greedy response to the dominant act.

His hands tighten again, guiding the pace as he thrusts gently into my mouth. It’s not rough enough, not what I crave, and my teeth graze him lightly, wanting more. I want to feel his hands bruise my skin, for him to use my hair to control me, to thrust deep and hard into my mouth.

His hold on my hair pulls the follicles painfully, forcing my head back. I look up at him, my lips still wrapped around his impressive length. He’s in complete control, owning me, and seeing his hunger for me pushes me closer to the edge.

“You like being on your knees, don’t you?” His voice is rough. “Admit it.”

I want to say yes, to confess how much this arouses me, but the words won’t come. I shake my head in defiance, even as my pussy pulses in response.

He growls low, gripping my hair tighter, forcing my mouth down onto him. It’s too much, and I gag, tears springing to my eyes as he shoves himself deeper. I whimper, struggling now, but he doesn’t stop, using his grip on my hair to hold me in place.

The pressure in my mouth increases as he thrusts with more force, and I love it. My pussy is hungry for release, and I rub my thighs together, seeking more friction.

“Yeah, little stalker. Suck it.” His deep voice growls, his hips rolling. “Wanna feel that mouth of yours milking my cock. Gonna coat your pretty lips with my cum.”

His words send me over the edge. My pussy clenches, and a moan tears from my throat around his cock. I suck harder, desperate for the release he’s promising, eager to taste him.

But he wrenches his cock from my mouth, and my eyes fly open as I whimper. Confused, I blink up at him, trying to form words, but they die in my throat.

Anger blazes in his eyes, darkening their depths, and my heart stutters at the dangerous glint. He yanks hard on my hair, forcing my head back and baring my neck. Pain zings along my scalp, and tears spring to my eyes.

“You ruined it.” His voice is deceptively calm, belying the storm in his eyes. “I was going to reward you. Let you swallow my cum like a good girl.”

I shake my head, keening softly at the sensation of his fingers twisting tighter in my hair. My scalp burns as he pulls harder, and I can’t stop the involuntary movement of my legs rubbing together. This potent mixture of pain and pleasure delights me, and I’m ashamed of my body’s response.

He twists my hair, forcing my neck to the side. A soft cry tears from my lips, and my body arched in submission. “Then, I was going to paint your pretty face with it, so you could see how beautiful you look covered in my cum.”

My pussy clenches at his graphic words, and I can’t stop a soft, needy whimper. His other hand tangles in my hair, and he tugs, holding me firmly in place. The sting on my scalp and the stretch of my hair excite me, pushing me closer to the edge. I hate that I love this.

“But you couldn’t control yourself, could you?” His voice is harsh and full of condemnation. “So impulsive. I hadn’t even finished, and you had to ruin it by coming without permission.”

The anger in his eyes has transformed into something else, something wild, and my breath catches. He yanks on my hair, forcing me to bite back a moan. I close my eyes, picturing what he described, and my body betrays me with a fresh wave of dampness.

“Little slut,” he snarls. “Open your eyes.”

My eyes snap open, but his hand entangles further in my hair. Helplessness washes over me, and my mouth falls open with a soft gasp.

The first hot burst hits my face, and I cry out hoarsely, caught between humiliation and arousal. I’m disgusted with my reaction, my body practically trembling with need as the second spurt paints my cheek, some of it landing on my tongue.

I try to tell myself I hate this and that it’s disgusting, but I’m lying. I love it, the power he wields over me, the twisted desires he awakens.

He releases his grip on my hair, cupping the back of my neck, holding me gently now. “Look at me, Eden.” His soft command sends a shiver down my spine.

My eyes, blurred by tears, flicker open. His intense gaze captures mine, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Arousal, anger, and something I might interpret as regret darken his features. The look in his eyes makes my heart pound in my chest, and the tears spill over, trickling down my cheeks, mingling with his cum.

He swipes his thumb gently over my cheek, gathering his cum. “Such a waste.” He brings his thumb to my lips, and I open my mouth, tasting him. “I wanted to watch you swallow every drop, but you do look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your face.”

His jaw clenches, and he yanks his thumb from my mouth. He swipes the rest of his cum from my face, smearing it over my lips. “Lick them clean,” he orders gruffly. “Taste me.”

My lips part, and he smiles, using his thumb to push my mouth wider. I comply, my tongue darting out to lick my lips, tasting the salty cocktail of tears and cum.

He steps back, his eyes scanning my face, taking in my flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and tear soaked eyes. God knows what I look like to him, and for some fucked up reason, I don’t care. All I want is to please him.