[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden

by Lauren Hawkeye

  When I press my hand against the low door, the cool night air pulses with something that feels a lot like magic.

  Before I can ruminate too much on what might be inside—bats, rats, a human skeleton—I press my weight against the door. It swings inward on loose hinges made of what appear to be braided palm leaves; I squint, and all I can see inside is darkness and dust.

  Then I enter the shack, and the sight before me takes my breath away.

  She is kneeling at the base of a large flight of stone steps. Beyond her I can see a castle, a crown atop the mountain of the island. It is beautiful, and the details etch themselves into my mind even as my eyes greedily devour her.

  Blue is what I see first—eyes of the purest, most intense sapphire, surrounded by a thick fringe of golden lashes. The amber colored half-veil that hides the rest of her face only serves to emphasize those orbs, which look up at me as though she can see into my very soul.

  She shifts on her knees as I approach her, long locks of hair the color of the sun parting to show me that she is naked. Her body is lushly rounded, feminine curves that have my blood rushing straight into my cock.

  Jeweled clamps connected by a thin golden chain decorate nipples that are the most perfect shade of pink. The sweet flesh between her legs is naked, plump, and begging for my attention.

  “Rise.” As I stalk toward her I know, inexplicably I know that she is mine. She rises to her feet, her stare fixed on me.

  As soon as I can reach her, I catch her chin in my palm, squeeze just hard enough that I would have been sure to get her attention. But I already have it. Her breath catches in her throat, and I watch, entranced, as a beautiful flush spreads over her chest and cheeks.

  “I’ve waited so long for you.” Her voice is musical, clear as the church bells that ring along the coast back home.

  “And what would you have me do to you now that I’m here?” My grasp slides from her chin to her throat, clasping her neck in a gesture of primal possession. The ends of her half veil brush against my hand, waking the nerves.

  My soul sings when she sighs contentedly and arches into the touch. When those stunning eyes again meet my own, my pulse stutters.

  “I wish only to please you.” Handing me a silk scarf she waits, utterly still, completely focused on me.

  It is what I’ve dreamt of since I first identified my need for a power exchange—a sweet submissive who wants to yield to me, and only me.

  It hardens my cock, makes my muscles tremble with need.

  More than that, it makes my soul sing.

  Gaze fastened on hers, I wrap my fingers around one of her wrists. Lifting it to my lips, I press a damp, open mouthed kiss to the place where her blood quickens. She gasps when I graze my teeth over the vein where I can feel her own pulse pick up speed.

  Slowly, teasing us both, I trail the end of the silk scarf over the heated curve of her wrist, where the pulse beat steady and true. I savor the coolness of the fabric, a direct contrast to the heat of her flesh, as I wrap the scarf around first one wrist, then the other, a perfect figure eight that binds her hands in front.

  The position of her arms makes her breasts press together enticingly. Catching a finger in the chain that links her jewels, I tug once, sharply, then swallow her cry with my mouth.

  “Turn around.” I don’t know where the whip comes from, but as soon as I want it, it’s there, a well worn coil of leather that is as familiar as my own hand, and moves like an extension of me.

  She trembles as she looks at it, then me, but when she does as I say I note the way that her blood has risen to stain her skin with a blush, the arch of her spine, as if she can already imagine the blows.

  She wants what I will give her. The sensation is heady.

  “Bend over. Place your palms flat on the third step.” She does, and I am given a view of the most luscious ass, the soft curve of her waist, the creamy skin of her inner thighs.

  My free hand drops unbidden to stroke over my solid erection, and my thumb sweeps over the moisture already gathering at the tip. The muscles of my arm ripple beneath swirls of black ink, tattoos that seem to dance, and this gives me pause.

  I don’t have tattoos. Do I?

  I can’t remember. And with this woman—my woman—surrendering so beautifully before me, I don’t much care. The vague confusion quickly fades away.

  Stepping back, I let the whip fly once, twice, practice strikes that flick against the stone steps. She jumps each time, a quick movement that makes those lovely large breasts sway and jiggle in a way that makes me glad I’m naked, that my hard to the point of pain cock isn’t trapped beneath tight layers.

  How did I get naked?

  Who cares?

  The whip sure in my hand, I send it flying again. The lash swipes over the smooth skin of her lower back, leaving a stripe of red in its wake.

  She jolts again, shudders beneath the blow. But she doesn’t cry out, and this makes my lips curve in a slow smile.

  I’ve trained my submissive well.

  I lash out again, and again, raining practiced blows down her back, over the curves of her ass. She continues to jump, her body tense, fighting against the pain.

  I can tell the moment that she begins to embrace it, the tension melting, softening her body like warm wax from a candle.

  “Good girl.” To reward her, I flick the tail of the whip up between her legs. Finally she cries out, the sound a mix of joy and pain, and raw need slices through me.

  I need her. I need my woman now. Striding toward her, I grip her hips, intending to mount her from behind, to slake my lust in that slick heat between her thighs. But suddenly there is a flower in my hand, something bright and tropical and sweet smelling.

  Without thinking, I stroke the soft, cool bloom over the scarlet ribbons that paint her back. She tenses, moans, and I know even without turning her over that she is taking the long, sweet slide into subspace.

  With my free hand I slide between her thighs. I growl with satisfaction when I find her hot and wet, knowing that I am the one who did that to her.

  Sliding two fingers inside of her, I begin to pump them in and out, all the while running the soft bloom over skin that I know is on fire. Her hips cant back, and soon she is rocking against me.

  My own need rises, a furious, demanding creature, but I shove it away and focus on the woman beneath me.

  Bringing her pleasure will bring me pleasure. And so giving her a release that makes her weak is my only objective in the world.

  Deepening my thrust, I crook my fingers, find that tight bundle of nerves buried inside of her.

  “Oh! No—I... wait!” Pressing against me, she squirms, bucks, not sure if she wants me to stop or wants more.

  Grinning to myself, I add the slide of my thumb over her clit. She cries out, her pussy clutching at my fingers, her sweet arousal dampening my hand.

  I want to wait. Want to bring her back up again, and then again. But now that I’ve found her, this creature who is mine, the need is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

  Turning her quickly, I hook her knees over my arms and slide into her impossibly tight sheath. I grunt as I thrust, gaining an inch, pulling back, then working forward again.

  Fuck me, but she’s tight. All swollen with arousal and need. But the utter surrender in her eyes tells me that she won’t accept anything less than all of me, so I continue to work forward until I am hilted inside of her, her pussy squeezing my cock tight.

  Her eyes blur with pleasure as I slowly, gently tuck the flower behind her ear. This—this is what the games of dominance and submission are about for me. About giving the power to someone else so that you might lose yourself completely.

  “You’re perfect.” I reach for her veil, but she shakes her head at me. In another situation, I might press, not allowing my submissive to say no.

  But even here, in this dream that isn’t a dream, I understand that that veil is something my own mind has conjured, a reflection of my own need to
hide away.

  “I want to see you. All of you.” My voice is gritty with desire as I slowly pull back, then work my way back inside of her. Oh, she just feels so fucking good, her slick heat easing my passage bit by bit until I am thrusting inside of her with all of my pent up need, hilting completely with each press of my hips.

  I want to make her come again, but I am lost, lost in her. Sighing with pleasure, she lifts her hand, clasps my cheek in her cupped palm.

  And then I remember. Remember what I look like—that half of my face is horribly disfigured.

  “Don’t!” I flinch away, even as the pleasure draws tight at the base of my spine. I groan as my release causes every muscle in my body to tighten, the wave building.

  I can’t, I can’t. I can’t let go, not while she’s looking at me. Not while she sees me the way that I am.

  She can’t possibly be seeing me that way, or else she wouldn’t still be sighing with pleasure. How could I have forgotten? Even the most well trained of submissives wouldn’t be able to hide their disgust at my hideous face.

  “Eyes down.” I snap, searching her face for a hint of that revulsion. The part of me that has come to feel less than human curls into a ball inside of me, even as my body rockets towards climax.

  “No. I want my eyes on my Master.” Her hand strokes softly over my cheek, her fingers finding and tracing the raised lines and shallow grooves of my scars. The tender touch is what undoes me, and I gasp, then shout, pushing into her once, then again and again as the pleasure shoots from the soles of my feet, through my entire body, into pulsing waves of release from my cock.

  I ride the shudders of bliss, my arms straining, my breath heaving. Sweat drips from my temple to her breasts.

  Slowly, suddenly unsure, I wipe it away, then carefully release her nipples from their clamps. She gasps as I palm the soft globes, rubbing in slow circles designed to drive us both crazy.

  “I’m a beast.” I know this to be true. And yet here, with her, I feel like a man.

  Pushing her breasts into my hands, she writhes beneath me, and though I’ve just spilled inside of her, I can feel myself growing hard again. Her face is flushed with pleasure, but when she clasps her hand in my hair and forces me to look down into her eyes, I don’t object.

  “I will know and love every part of you.” This woman is submissive to the core, I’d have bet my fortune on it, but strength radiates from inside of her. With her free hand, she pulls the sheer fabric of her veil down, and I am blinded by the sheer perfection of her smile.

  “The island knows what you need.” Her lips curve into a smile as she takes the flower from her hair, presses it into my hand. Her lush curves undulate beneath me, her movements synchronized to my own, but as she moves she fades away, vanishing before my eyes.

  “Wait!” I reach for her, my fingers swiping through air. “What’s your name?”

  She smiles at me, trails her fingers over my scars one last time.

  And then she is gone.

  Chapter Four

  Bright sunlight slanting in through the gaps between the branches wakes me in what feels like early morning. I’m disoriented as I open my eyes, pull myself to a sitting position.

  I’m lying on the dirt floor in the tiny shack. Through the cracks in the crude walls I can see the forest, can hear the humming of insects, the whisper of the breeze through the trees.

  What the fuck just happened to me?

  Furrowing my brow, I let the images tumble over me, each one coming faster and faster. I’m dressed in the clothes that I wore to sleep in last night, and when I hold out my left arm, I see only the raw skin of my scars—not swirls of dark ink.

  Disappointment is a crushing wave of depression that threatens to flatten me. It can’t have been a dream. I won’t let it be.

  The woman—the castle—the magic.

  It was too real—too right.

  “Face reality, Vardalos.” Wincing, I crawl to my hands and knees, struggling to fight back the encroaching clouds.

  The dream, or visions, or whatever it was... it was probably just my body and mind’s way of getting rid of the extreme stress that I’ve been under for the last six months. I feel safe here, in the middle of the southern Atlantic ocean, and so my subconscious has gone for broke.

  Sitting back on my heels, I inhale deeply and try to get a handle on myself. And that’s when I see it—the flower, still miraculously fresh and whole, lying on the ground.

  The flower that I tucked into the golden ribbons of her hair.

  With a whoop I grab at it, clutching it tightly in my palm, not even caring that I’m crushing it. Part of me wonders if I’ve become completely unhinged when I scramble to my feet and hightail it back to the beach, and the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit.

  I know now. I know she’s coming.

  Running past the stacks of my supplies, I race straight into the water. The plane is more or less where it was last night, rocking back and forth on the rippling surface of the water.

  “Joely!” I bang on the door with enthusiasm. “Open up! We’ve got to go!”

  I rap once more for good measure, then dunk beneath the surface of the water, clothes and all. When I surface, a sleepy, owl-eyed face is blinking out at me.

  “Mr. V?” Joely looks puzzled and sleepy and kind of like an adorable kitten. Everything looks better today, I think with a smile. Even irritating know-it-all pilots. “Mr. V, what happened? Are you okay?”

  “Never better.” Grinning up at her, I shake like a dog to dry my hair. She shrieks when droplets spray across her, then crosses her arms and scowls.

  “This better be good. I am not a morning person.” She mutters crossly as I grab hold of the plane and hoist myself in, dripping wet. “Especially not after the night I had. Jesus, Mr. V. What the hell’s gotten into you, big guy?”

  “I need to get back to Miami. Just for a few days.” Just long enough to make some calls, to set the wheels in motion.

  This island will be home to a resort after all... it will just be a little bit different than I’d originally intended.

  I know, though I have not a shred of rational proof—I know that this is meant. It wasn’t a fantasy, it was a revelation. An awareness filling me, a knowledge I can’t explain and don’t need to. My life has a purpose now.

  The island knows what you need...

  Blearily Joely rubs her hands over her eyes, studying me, probably debating whether or not I’ve gone crazy or have been replaced by one of her Bermuda Triangle aliens. I grin as, finally, she crosses to the cooler in the small cargo area of the puddle jumper. Fishing out a can of cola dripping with condensation, she cracks the top and chugs.

  “I need fifteen to do my checks, then we’ll fly.”

  She’s true to her word. Fifteen minutes later we are soaring out of the lagoon and into the bright blue morning sky.

  We fly in silence for a few minutes. I don’t mind—my mind is racing.

  “What happened last night?” She asks finally, turning her attention from the sky for a brief moment. “What changed?”

  I’m not going to recount my night. It’s personal. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  Joely laughs softly and I see something in her expression that makes me wonder if she didn’t have her own epiphany last night. The way I’m feeling now, I’d believe it.

  I stretch, settle back in my seat and watch the island shrink in the distance.

  “Eden. I’m going to call it Eden.” My own paradise.

  She chuckles again. “Okay, boss. Not super original, but I like it anyway. It fits, I think. Definitely looks like an Eden.”

  Boss...

  I watch her handle the plane with utter confidence, thinking about how comfortable I feel around her. Like I know her, like I always have. I owe her. I trust her in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been able to trust anyone else, even before everything changed. Hell, I’m not sure this would have happened, if I’d have ever made it to Eden without her. Suddenl
y I have another one of those gut feelings I’ve decided never to question again, and the words fall from my mouth, sounding right as I say them.

  “Joely? I have a proposition for you...”

  Master of Pleasure

  Chapter One

  THEO

  My muscles bunch and pull as I cut through the water of my private pool. As I finish my last lap, I come up at the end of the pool and look out the large bank of windows. The sky is just starting to turn pink, telling me it’s close to dawn.

  I love this time of the day. I can walk along the stone paths of my island without fear of running into any guest. It’s a time I don’t have to hide. I can go out without the protection and security of my mask.

  Climbing out of the pool, I cross the marble tiled floor to the glass doors. The water beads off my body and I shiver. I could towel off but I prefer to let the warm, salty tropical breeze coming off the ocean to do that for me. Opening the doors, I walk out onto the cliff that overlooks the island.

  My island. My Eden. A place that has become both my sanctuary and my prison.

  I have been here for over a decade, running this island paradise, a place for those to realize all their hopes and desires—for me to experience through these people what I cannot.

  And still she hasn’t come. The woman. The woman from my dreams. She is the reason I built this resort. She haunts me to no end.

  She is why I am up at five a.m., working out my frustrations, pushing my body past all limits. Only when I feel that burn can I forget my fear that she may not be real.

  My sleep was, as always, filled with erotic dreams of her. Dreams so vivid I awoke hard to the point of pain. Even now as I remember her in that vision, on her knees, her wrists bound, my cock hardens in anticipation.

  Joely, the only person who knows of the vision I had so very long ago, would say that I am a man obsessed. Perhaps she is right. But with a face such as mine, the idea of love...