Page 21

21

EDEN

M y mind swirls with conflicting emotions, drifting back to what happened between us two nights ago. Everything feels surreal like I’m floating above reality.

I should be horrified. My psychology training screams at me about trauma responses and power dynamics. Still, the warmth spreading through my chest tells a different story.

My fingers trace over the bruises on my wrists, physical proof that this wasn’t another fantasy scrawled in my journal. Remy knows my secrets now. He’s seen the depths of my obsession, and instead of running, he matched it with his own intensity.

The morning light streams through the window, and I catch my reflection in the glass. I look different, even from the day before—my cheeks flushed, my eyes bright. The woman staring back at me isn’t the controlled professional I’ve crafted over the years. She’s raw, exposed, alive. The woman I’ve been hiding for years.

The outside world feels distant and unimportant. How can I go back to analyzing other people’s deviance when I’m finally embracing my own?

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to ground myself. The logical part of my brain attempts to categorize this as a case study—the subject displays signs of Stockholm syndrome, emotional attachment to captor, and dissociative behavior. But clinical terms can’t capture the electric current running through my veins.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper to Remy’s empty trailer. The silence offers no answers.

The walls of his trailer feel like they’re closing in. He hasn’t touched me since yesterday morning when I woke to him inside me, fucking me. My breath catches in my throat as I pace the small space, fingers twitching. The shower calls to me—a chance to wash away the insanity building in my mind.

Hot water cascades over my shoulders, but it does little to calm my racing thoughts. Who else has stood in this shower? The feminine bottles of shampoo and conditioner mock me from their neat row on the shelf.

I dry off quickly and rifle through the clothes Remy left out for me. A soft black t-shirt and yoga pants that fit. My stomach churns as I open his closet, seeking answers I’m unsure I want.

I find them tucked away in the back—dresses, blouses, and lingerie. Each item feels like a knife twisting in my gut. Are these trophies? Leftovers from past conquests? Or worse—does someone else share this space when I’m not here?

The clothes in my hands smell freshly laundered. My fingers clench around the fabric until my knuckles turn white. The possessive rage building inside me is irrational. I have no claim on Remy, no right to these feelings of betrayal.

But logic doesn’t stop the jealousy from burning through my veins. I imagine other women wearing these clothes, sitting in this trailer, sharing his bed. The thought makes me want to tear everything apart, leaving nothing but shreds of fabric as evidence of my fury.

I hang everything back as I had found it. The neat row of hangers feels like an accusation—proof that I’m another woman in Remy’s collection.

I pull on my shoes and pace up and down. After days inside, the trailer feels stifling, and my muscles ache for movement and fresh air. Not that I want to escape—the thought of leaving Remy makes my stomach clench—but these walls are closing in, and I need space.

I test the door handle. It turns easily, with no resistance. My heart skips. Has he left it unlocked on purpose? Is it because he trusts me, or is it a trap?

The morning air hits my face as I crack open the door. Dew sparkles on the grass, and the woods beyond the carnival beckon. No one’s around.

I step outside, bare feet sinking into the cool grass. Freedom tastes sweet, but it’s not what I’m seeking. I want a walk to get some air. The trees sway in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets.

My legs carry me toward the treeline. Each step feels like rebellion, even though I know I’ll return. How could I not? Remy has awakened something in me that I can’t put back to sleep.

The forest envelops me in shadows and silence. Pine needles cushion my steps as I weave between trunks. Birds call overhead, and somewhere, a stream babbles. It’s peaceful here, away from the intensity that fills Remy’s trailer.

I find a fallen log and sit, letting my thoughts drift. Not toward escape—never that—but toward understanding. What is it about Remy that draws me in? The danger? The way he sees through my carefully constructed facade to the secrets underneath?

The morning sun filters through the canopy, painting patterns on my skin. I inhale, filling my lungs with forest air. After just a few more minutes, I’ll head back to his trailer—to our game of predator and prey.

A twig snaps behind me. My heart leaps into my throat as I whirl around, scanning the dense trees. Nothing moves except shadows dancing in the morning breeze.

But I know better. The prickling sensation along my spine tells me I’m being watched. Remy. He let me leave—wanted me to leave. This was a test, and I walked right into his trap.

Another crack, closer this time. My pulse quickens, but not from fear. The thrill of being hunted courses through my veins. I glimpse something dark moving between the trees and then see a flash of that bone-white mask.

I should run. That’s what prey does when cornered. My muscles coil with anticipation, ready to spring. Still, I hesitate, torn between flight and the magnetic pull drawing me toward him.

The mask appears again, closer now. My breath comes in short gasps, and my chest heaves. The energy crackling between us is electric and dangerous.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is distorted by the mask. “That I wouldn’t follow?”

I take an involuntary step backward, leaves crunching under my feet. “I was coming back.”

“Were you?” He moves like smoke through the trees. “Or were you testing the boundaries of your cage?”

The possessive edge in his voice pools heat low in my belly. This is what I wanted—what I’ve always wanted—to be hunted, desired, possessed. My earlier jealousy feels distant now, replaced by an all-consuming need.

My feet move before he finishes speaking, carrying me deeper into the forest. Each step brings a rush of exhilaration, knowing he’ll chase. I want to be caught, pinned beneath his weight, consumed by that rough edge he keeps hidden.

Leaves crunch beneath my feet, branches whip my face, and the morning dew soaks through my shirt. The sting of branches against my bare skin only heightens my arousal. Danger has always been the most effective aphrodisiac, the thrill of crossing boundaries.

His footsteps pad behind me, deliberate and methodical. He’s toying with me, letting me believe I can escape. My heart pounds in my chest, urging me to run faster, but it has nothing to do with survival. This is about giving in to the wildness.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn back. If I did, he’d see the wanton need on my face. My cheeks burn with anticipation and the strain of holding back moans. I want him to tear me apart and piece me back together, branded with his mark.

My lungs burn, and my sides ache, but I don’t slow down. His voice carries through the trees. “Keep running, little stalker. How far will you get before I catch you?”

The challenge in his voice sparks my competitive streak. I lengthen my strides, pushing harder. The damp forest air fills my lungs, and my legs burn with effort, but the heat between my legs is stronger. It’s been building since I saw him, a simmering flame that needs to be stoked.

My heart feels like it will burst from my chest, and my breath comes in harsh gasps. I round a bend, and suddenly, his arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground. We tumble to the forest floor in a tangle of limbs. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, leaving me breathless.

His weight pins me down. I arch my back, offering myself to him, and he pushes his mask up so that his lips claim mine in a ravenous kiss. Our tongues duel, each battling for control. Any protests I might have made are swallowed by the hunger between us.

His hands roam over my body, his touch possessive. My shirt rides up, exposing my skin to the morning chill. I whimper into his mouth as his fingers trace patterns that make me shiver. It’s not about tenderness, not now. This is about claiming, about marking his territory.

I squirm beneath him, grinding my hips against his growing erection. The ache inside me is a living thing demanding to be sated.

Remy’s hands grip my wrists, holding me down. His body is a solid weight on top of mine, his muscles taut with restrained desire. Our heavy breathing fills the forest clearing, the only sound disrupting the peaceful morning birdsong.

“Get off me. I mean it, Remy.” My voice comes out breathless. I struggle against his grip, testing the strength of his hold—not that I really want to escape.

He pushes his mask back down, and his eyes glitter with lust visible through the mask’s eyeholes. “Running through the woods like a wild thing. Are you my prey now?”

His fingers tighten around my wrists, digging into my skin. Pain flares, sending a jolt of arousal straight between my legs. My hips buck unconsciously, seeking friction, desperate for him to touch me there.

“You want to play these games?” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “Then let’s play.”

With a sudden move, he releases my wrists and grabs the waistband of my yoga pants. A tear rips through the silence as he rips open the fabric, exposing my core.

“No panties, Eden? Did you forget, or did I make sure you wouldn’t have any?” His fingers dive between my legs. “Ah, you’re already wet for me. So eager.”

His fingers swipe through my pussy, groaning as he brings them to his mouth and tastes me. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Wanting me like this. Thinking about me while you run.”

His touch is rough, claiming me as his own. I can’t speak, can’t form words to respond. This is another of my deep, twisted fantasies—primal play. The reality is so much more intense. I’m aware of every sensation—the rough bark beneath my back, the smell of damp earth, and the press of his body against mine.

His finger slides inside me, not gentle, but I don’t want gentle. I want savage. I want my civilized, controlled world to shatter under the force of his desire. He adds another finger, and I can’t hold back a gasp.

“Right where you belong, baby. You’re mine out here in the woods, your pussy dripping for my cock.” He strokes a thumb over my clit.

My body arches off the forest floor, a moan tearing from my throat as Remy’s tongue dances over me. He licks slowly, savoring each taste, each whimper it elicits from me. The slick slide of his tongue teases my oversensitive clit, sending sparks of heat through my core. I squirm beneath him, my legs falling open to grant him better access.

His hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he feasts. I’m powerless to stop him. My toes curl into the soft earth, and I thread my fingers through his hair, urging him closer. I’m burning up, each pass of his tongue stoking the flames higher.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my swollen flesh. “Like a dessert that I want to devour.”

I’m wetter than I’ve ever been, my arousal coating his face, and I’m desperate for release. He plays me like a maestro, his fingers and mouth moving in concert to push me higher. I can feel the climax building, a pressure cooker set to explode.

When I think I can’t take any more, he pulls away. I whimper, fighting the urge to pull him back. “Please, Remy,” I beg.

His eyes darken as he looks down at me. “Only when I’m buried deep inside you. I want to feel your pussy clenching around my cock as you come.”

The edge I’m teetering on sharpens, threatening to cut me with frustration, but his words ignite another burst of arousal. I imagine his thick cock filling me, stretching me to the brink. My body thrums with need, my breasts flushed and aching for attention.

I reach for him blindly, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He catches my wrists, holding them above my head with one hand as he unzips his jeans with the other.

The forest air is cold on my exposed skin, and goosebumps prickle across my body. However, my core burns, and I am impatient for his touch. I arch my hips, seeking friction, wanting to pull him closer.

His free hand glides under my t-shirt to tease my breast, pinching my hard nipple. I cry out, my head thrashing. Every movement and sensation feels magnified like my senses have been heightened.

The weight of his cock against my entrance makes me spread my legs wider to grant him access. “Please, Remy, now,” I pant, writhing beneath him.

“Soon, I’m going to give you what you need.” His voice is low, filled with the same hunger I feel.

He teases my entrance with the tip of his cock, and I buck my hips, trying to take him in. He laughs, a warm, arousing sound that vibrates through me. “Impatient, aren’t you? But you forget, I’m in control here.”

He pulls back, letting the head of his cock slide through my entrance before denying me again. My body bucks involuntarily, searching for more contact.

“Tell me what you want.” He grips my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts shallowly, not penetrating deep enough to satisfy.

“Your cock,” I gasp, my chest heaving as I struggle for breath. “Fuck me with your cock. Please, Remy, I need you.”

The plea falls from my lips, and he chuckles, dark and dangerous. He lifts my legs, wrapping them around his waist. The head of his cock nudges my pussy, and then he thrusts forward, filling me in one stroke. My body stretches to accommodate his size, my muscles clenching around him.

Remy’s eyes scorch mine as he moves, his hips pumping rhythmically. Each thrust sinks him deeper, awakening every nerve ending. He sets a punishing pace.

“Feel that, angel? How well you fit me.” His mask brushes against my ear. “Let me stretch you open.”

I rake my nails down his back, leaving red marks on his tanned skin. He throws his head back, a growl rumbling in his throat. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

His words fuel the fire blazing within, and I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Remy shifts his hips, changing the angle, searing every nerve ending in my body. “There you are,” he grunts. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes slipping shut. “More, please.”

His fingers dig into my skin. “As you wish.”

He moves again, each thrust deliberate and hard. I can feel his cock sliding over that sweet spot again and again, setting off sparks of pleasure.

My body tenses, hovering on the edge. I’m so close, but he hasn’t given permission yet. I want to fall, to surrender to the climax building, but I hold back, waiting for his command.

“Come for me, Eden,” he growls. “I want to feel it around my cock.”

The words crumble my restraint, and I shatter into a million pieces. My muscles contract around him, waves of ecstasy washing over me. Remy groans, thrusting through my orgasm, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure.

Slowly, my senses return, but Remy doesn’t move, his cock embedded deep in mine. He removes the mask and his breath tickles my neck, his weight pinning me to the forest floor. I relish the feeling of fullness, of being surrounded by his scent, his taste.

His lips find mine, and we kiss deeply, our tongues tangling sensually. This connection goes beyond physical attraction. It’s as if our souls are reaching for each other in the shadows.

“I want to feel you come inside me,” I whisper against his mouth. “Please, Remy.”

A dangerous glint enters his eyes, and he withdraws, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand. “Anything you want, little stalker.”

He moves again, but he sets a slower and more measured pace this time. Each thrust glides over my sensitive flesh, sending aftershocks rippling through me.

The coil inside me winds tighter and tighter, and my body craves another release, but he knows exactly when to change the angle, the speed, to keep me on the edge. It’s a dance we’re performing, moving in perfect rhythm.

“I love how you feel,” he pants, restraint breaking. “Taking every inch like you need it to survive.”

“Make me come again,” I beg, my fingernails digging into his back.

“How can I deny you?” He levers himself up, pulling my legs up to rest on his shoulders. The change in position lets him slide even deeper, nudging a place inside me that makes my eyes roll back in my head.

The new angle is incredible. My body bows off the ground, my cries echoing through the forest. Remy’s thrusts become more violent, his breathing ragged.

I’m teetering on the edge, my muscles clenching around him. “Remy, I’m?—”

“Break for me,” he commands. “Soak my cock with that sweet pussy.”

His words send me flying, and I explode into white-hot ecstasy. My body shakes uncontrollably, each pulse clenching his cock.

Remy lets out a feral growl, his release taking him. “Fuck, Eden, I’m—oh fuck?—”

His body stiffens above me, and I feel him throbbing deep inside me. I clutch him to me, unwilling to let him go, to let this moment end.

I lay beneath Remy, our bodies still joined, my heart gradually slowing its frantic pace. The forest canopy sways above us, dappled sunlight dancing through the leaves. Every nerve ending in my body hums with satisfaction, my muscles deliciously sore.

This man knows my shameful secrets, has read them in my journal, and instead of running, he brings them to life. The thought sends a shiver through me. He shifts but maintains his possessive hold, his weight anchoring me to the earth.

The scent of pine needles mingles with sweat and musk. Somewhere above us, a bird calls to its mate. Nature continues its course around us, indifferent to our presence and what happened here.

I trace my fingers along the ridges of his back, memorizing each dip and curve. This moment feels surreal—like one of my fevered dreams come to life. But the bark scratching my skin and his weight proves this is so very real.

My obsession with Remy started as something clinical, even academic. I told myself I was studying him, analyzing him like all my other subjects. But he saw through that facade from the beginning and recognized the deviance that mirrored his own.

A gentle breeze cools our heated skin. Neither of us speaks—words would only break this perfect moment. Instead, I close my eyes and simply feel his breath against my neck, his heartbeat against my chest, the way our bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces.

I’ve spent years documenting others’ obsessions and their descent into depravity. Now, I’m living my own story, and for once, I don’t want to analyze it. I want to exist in this raw, primal space where Remy and I understand each other completely.