The Bad Boys of Eden

by Avery Aster

  His eyes traveled over her body, lingering on her exposed skin, on her arms, her neck. The gown pulled across her breasts and she drew a deep breath, arching her back for him, the heat of his gaze searing her skin. His eyes slid over the satin and Leila’s lips parted as she drew another breath.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice was low, rough, his words triggering a flush of heat through her body. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on her thigh, moving up slowly, pulling the gown with his hand, exposing more of her leg. Leila slid her foot up along the sheet, her knee bending, the satin falling against his hand. Moving slightly, she rubbed her leg slowly against his arm, the warmth of his skin radiating through the cotton shirt he wore. With a start she realized it was the same shirt—or one very similar—to the one he’d given her that afternoon.

  His hand rested on her hip, his fingers tensing slightly against her body, then moving slowly toward the inside of her thigh. He slid his hand slowly across her stomach, low, brushing across the mound at the apex of her thighs.

  A deep shudder coursed through Leila’s body, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. His face was turned as he watched the course of his hand and she took in his profile, the half-closed eyes, his lips, now parted slightly. She was momentarily captivated by his beautiful neck, the strong column of muscle running from behind his ear and going down, disappearing into the open neck of his shirt. She had the overwhelming desire to run her tongue along his skin, taste him, feel the full heat of his body.

  He turned and looked at her, his eyes meeting hers, and she melted under his gaze. As he bent forward, Leila swallowed reflexively. He was going to kiss her and for a moment, she was filled with a giddy rush of excitement, like teenager awaiting her first kiss. But this was no teenager sitting beside her, not in the least.

  He drew closer and Leila closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the bed shifting under his weight as he took his hand away from her hip, resting it on the bed beside her. Her heart beat faster, her breath coming in shallow gasps, the rest of her body utterly still as she waited.

  His lips brushed against hers with a softness that surprised her, moving over hers, the pressure slowly increasing but still holding back, tantalizingly just out of reach. Leila tilted her chin up, seeking more contact and for a moment he held still, his lips barely touching hers, teasing her. Then they slid down to her cheek and she felt him smile against her skin.

  “There is no rush. We have all night.” He breathed the words against her skin and she blew out a small sigh.

  “Relax.” His lips were hot against her neck, his tongue slipping along the curve of her jaw. Leila realized she was clutching the sheet with her fingers, her body almost rigid with anticipation. She drew a breath and let it out, relaxing her hands, letting the tension seep out of her body.

  “I want you to kiss me.” Her own words surprised her. She’d never asked for anything sexually from any man. But the power in asking sent a rush through her.

  “I will. Believe me, you’ll be kissed.” His words were murmured against her shoulder, something she felt more than heard. He raised his head, his face catching the light of the candle.

  “You’ll be kissed like you were meant to be kissed.” He reached up to cradle her face with one hand. “Like you’ve never been kissed before.”

  He held her gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with passion. Heat rushed through Leila, settling low in her belly. She reached for him, her hand caressing his cheek. At her touch he turned his head, gently nipping at the palm of her hand with his teeth.

  The sensation was immediate and intense, an electric tingle running down her arm. She gasped and he looked at her again.

  There was no hesitation this time, no gentle teasing. His mouth came down on hers hard and fast, his lips crushing hers in a kiss that took her breath away. She arched up, her hand sliding around to cup the back of his head. Her fingers dug into his thick hair and she held him against her. It was pointless; he obviously wasn’t going anywhere.

  The only part of him touching her were his lips, moving over her, consuming her. Leila responded, parting her lips, her tongue darting out, playing along the sensuous curve of his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth, sucking and nibbling as if he were a ripe piece of fruit.

  The kiss deepened and his tongue joined hers, at times sharp, pointed, probing the depths of her mouth, other times soft, sliding against hers, teasing her gently into a duel. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth, repeating her gesture, sucking briefly, releasing her before plundering her mouth again with his tongue.

  When he broke away, it was with a deep gasp, bordering on a growl, an answering whimper coming from Leila. She tried to pull him back but he shook his head, his mouth curved into a smile she recognized instantly, the smile she described in her written pages.

  Sensuous, with a hint of dominance…no, much more than a hint. His smile told her all she needed to know; that she was his and there was nothing she could do to change that fact.

  That realization hit her deep, a thud of arousal blooming low in her belly. The words she wrote flashed through her mind, what the hero had done to the heroine—to her—in her scenes. If this fantasy was being concocted to match her writing, then she knew exactly what he’d do next.

  But nothing was as she’d written so far. Nothing at all like her own words.

  He bent his head, his lips moving along her collarbone, dipping lower, sliding along the edge of her gown for a moment, then kissing the valley between her breasts. His hand rose, cupping one breast, kneading her flesh with firm fingers. Leila gasped with pleasure as he slid his thumb across her nipple. The exquisite sensation as it drew up hard changed her gasp to a low moan. There seemed to be a direct line between his circling thumb and a very specific spot deep between her hips.

  She made a small noise as his thumb stopped its erotic circle around her hardened nipple and she heard an answering chuckle, low and deep. His lips moved from her skin, his breath hot through the satin.

  Leila cried out as he slowly licked her nipple and she clutched the sheets, not out of tension, but in ecstasy. At the touch of his wet tongue over the satin, the friction of the material against her sensitive skin, she arched against him, her hips rising from the bed.

  The wet satin molded to her as he repeatedly licked her nipple, occasionally nuzzling his cheek against her breast. Her body moved on its own, hips undulating from side to side, her back arching against his mouth. When he slowly pulled the wet satin aside and blew across her damp skin, she cried out, her nipple puckering even more, a wash of goose bumps prickling her skin.

  He pulled her breast into his mouth, sucking hard, almost greedily. Leila felt his body moving in time with hers, the hip resting against hers pressing against her as she rose.

  His hand moved to her other breast, pulling back the gown, fondling her briefly before he moved to suck that breast.

  Leila’s body was suffused with a liquid heat, coursing through her, pooling deep inside her. Her fingers found their way back to his hair, winding through the thick strands.

  Finally he looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. He sat up, took her hands, and pulled her upright.

  “This comes off.” His voice was rough with passion and he tugged impatiently on the gown. Leila rose to her knees and he helped her slide the gown over her head. Before she could lie back, he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face between her breasts, turning his head, kissing her softly. He held her and she held his head gently to her body.

  After a moment, he let her go and she sat back, hands reaching for his shirt. He watched her in the dim light as she undid the buttons with trembling fingers. As she reached the last button, her hand brushed across his lap, across the bulge of his erection. Leila hesitated, resting her hand on him, feeling the heat and hardness his jeans concealed. He drew in a sharp breath, grabbing her hand.

  “Lie back.” He stood, removing his shirt, dropping it to the flo
or as she lay back on the sheets.

  His eyes never left hers as he undid the button and zipper on his jeans. Leila tried to hold his gaze, but her eyes slid over his chest, past the flat stomach and taut navel, then lower as he began tugging his jeans over his narrow hips. This was exactly what she’d described in her assignment, every detail—almost every detail. He was perfect.

  As his jeans slid lower, the dark line of hair she’d written about appeared, the line that extended below his navel, growing thicker as he lowered his jeans. Leila’s breathing was shallow and fast, practically panting, eyes widening in anticipation. He tugged the jeans a fraction of an inch lower and Leila’s breath stopped. Slowly, he leaned over Leila, rested a hand beside her, and blew out the candle.

  For a fraction of an instant, there was silence and then Leila cried out in frustration. He laughed from somewhere nearby, and she heard the sound of his jeans hitting the floor. The mattress dipped with his weight and she felt the heat of his body a moment before his hand slid across her stomach. He leaned close and she drew in his scent, rich and spicy, deeply masculine.

  There was no moonlight, and for an instant Leila cursed the darkness. But the hand on her stomach moved lower and she forgot about what he looked like, only able to focus on where his hand was going.

  Fingers slid between her legs as his mouth found hers. He claimed her again with a powerful kiss, and she instinctively wound her arms around his neck, holding him close. Her legs moved on their own accord, hips rising, thighs falling open at his touch.

  And then his touch moved lower, further, feather-light strokes deepening as his kiss deepened, fingers probing deeper as his tongue took possession of her mouth. Her moans were muffled against his lips, his throaty growl against hers.

  He shifted his weight, one long leg moving over the top of hers. His hip pressed against her body and she felt his erection, hard and hot, rubbing against her skin. But that wasn’t enough contact. She craved more, much more. Wiggling beneath him, she pulled and guided him until he rested between her legs, his hips pinning her to the mattress.

  Lifting his head, he broke their kiss. She felt his breath against her cheek, his open mouth brushing against her neck. He shifted his weight again and she drew her legs up his body, over the hard muscles of his thighs.

  He brushed against her, hotter than she could have imagined, and his hips shifted slightly, the muscles of his thighs tensing beneath her legs as he braced himself. Leila moved her legs further up his body, bringing her hips up to meet him, opening herself to him.

  There was a long moment where he held himself, poised, just touching her, moving slowly, lightly, teasing her with a hint of what was to come. She bit her lip, aching to feel him inside her, the anticipation almost overwhelming. With one movement, she knew, he’d be there, filling her completely, totally. All she needed to do was wait. Waiting was agony, but a delicious agony nonetheless.

  He lifted his head and she wished for light, to see the look on his face, the passion in his eyes, the passion that matched what raced through her own body. His hips flexed as he pulled back slowly, just a little, enough to let her know he was ready. And she was more than ready for him.

  Then he was there, thrusting into her, slowly, seemingly forever. Leila let out a long, low moan as he drove himself forward, her hips rolling upward, her body accepting everything he had to give her.

  Finally he stopped, exhaling against her neck, holding himself inside her for a moment. Raising his head, he braced his forearms on either side of her, his fingers playing over her face, finally coming to rest in her hair, tangling themselves in the long strands. His breath moved across her forehead, and then his lips pressed against her skin.

  Her hands skated over the hot skin of his back, playing over broad shoulders, down the ridge of his spine, lower, to the small of his back, and then up the sharp slope of his buttocks. She dug her fingers into firm flesh and as if spurred on by her touch, she felt the muscles beneath her hands clench, his hips driving forward even further, as impossible as that seemed.

  And then he was moving, hard and fast, Leila matching him stroke for stroke, as if all the anticipation and pent up longing had been released. He buried his face in her neck, his breath rasping harshly against her skin.

  Leila tipped her head back, sounds she never realized she could make coming from her parted lips as every thrust drove her toward some unimagined plane of pleasure. Every inch of her body was alive like it had never been before. The core of her, where he lay claim to her, where they were joined, felt like a molten pool.

  She lost track of time, focusing only on the movements of their bodies. At some point he slid a hand beneath her ass, fingers digging into her flesh, lifting her, his body flexing and twisting, as if there were some way he could consume more of her, or she more of him.

  His sounds had deepened, moans becoming growls, growing louder, more urgent. Leila’s arms were flung wide now, fingers twisting in the sheets, her body speeding toward what could only be oblivion.

  He drew back from her, his chest rising from hers, and her body instantly arched upward, taking on a life of its own as his hips drove into her at a relentless pace. Something deep and powerful welled up inside her and she writhed beneath him, head thrashing from side to side. The world went soundless for a moment and then she heard herself, from a distance, then louder, clear, cry after cry as her body shuddered and twisted in his grasp. Finally the tremors slowed and she drew a shaky breath.

  His arms were still wrapped around her, holding her loosely, and he thrust slowly, but not as deeply. She relaxed in his arms, letting his momentum carry her for a moment.

  Gradually his thrusts became shaper, harder, more aggressive, each one accompanied by a deep grunt. Leila drew her legs higher along his body, wrapping them around his waist. Her movements triggered something in him and his arms tightened around her again, his body wrapping around hers.

  With a sudden powerful thrust, he sank himself deeply, completely, holding himself still inside her. Every muscle in his body was taut, his arms like iron bands around her. She held her breath, not wanting to break his concentration, waiting for him, for what she felt certain would be his climax.

  Then beneath her hands he began to move, his hips pumping hard and fast into her, each thrust accompanied by a noise so primal it sent a shiver through Leila’s body. She was unprepared for the intensity of his climax, for the power of his thrusts, the animalistic noises.

  Leila was swept up in his passion, in his release, her body responding to his, a fresh cascade of sensations sweeping through her. She found herself answering his cries with her own, her body alive again with ecstasy.

  They held each other for a moment, arms and legs relaxing, slowly moving apart. He rolled onto his back next to her and she curled against him, hand on his chest as his arm encircled her. The soft breeze from the window played across her skin, a delicious counterpoint to the heat that spread across her body.

  Leila had never felt so complete. Not just happy, but as if for the first time, something clicked inside, some connection had been made. It went beyond the physical sensations in her body. Granted, he’d saved her life, but it went deeper than that. She’d had sex before, had even had what she’d considered making love, but there had never been this connection with those men, even men she thought she’d been in love with. And yet this man was a stranger.

  Leila was content, drifting into sleep, her head on his shoulder. Almost asleep, she roused herself to ask the one question she had of the man beside her.

  “You never told me your name.”

  He shifted on the bed, his arm pulling her close, lips brushing across her forehead.

  “I can’t, Leila. You haven’t given me one yet.”

  * * *

  Leila woke with a start, heart racing. The room was dark, and for a moment she lay blinking, confused.

  And then it all came back in a rush, the memory of the man in her bed, what he’d done to her…all of it.
And she smiled.

  She turned, reaching across the bed, seeking his warmth, his broad chest, already breathing deeply, trying to catch the scent of him, of them together.

  The bed was empty, the sheet cool beneath her fingers. Sitting up, she fumbled for the matches and managed to light the bedside candle with a shaky hand. Its yellow glow spread across the bed.

  The bed was empty and she was alone. More than empty, the other side of the wide bed appeared undisturbed, the second pillow full and plump, the sheet smooth. Nothing at all like a bed where two people had made wild passionate love.

  Leila sat up and it was then she realized she was wearing the red satin nightgown. But he’d pulled it off of her body, dropped it somewhere out of sight. She didn’t remember getting up, pulling it back on. The last she remembered, she’d been curled against him, her bare skin against his warm body.

  She shook her head. No, the last thing she remembered were his words, the answer to her question.

  “You haven’t given me one yet.”

  Leila lay back, pulling up the sheet, wondering briefly if she was losing her mind, if she’d dreamed the entire thing. She certainly felt as if she’d made love; her body was wonderfully relaxed, her muscles humming slightly as if she’d done something strenuous but wholly enjoyable. And there was no mistaking the residual heat that lingered deep inside. No, she’d definitely not dreamed it.

  She wondered just how far Cheryl, or the owner of the island, was willing to go to carry out this…whatever this was. Or if the man who apparently was so diligently playing a part really was that good, to so totally inhabit the role of her hero down to not having a name and being able to make love to her so thoroughly before simply walking away.

  After a long time, she leaned over and blew out the candle. For much longer, she lay in the dark, listening, hoping for the sound of her door opening again, the footfall on the stone that meant he was back.

  Chapter Six

  Leila woke slowly, sunlight flooding her room. The bed was as she’d discovered it during the night, the second pillow still full, undented by her lover’s head, the sheet unwrinkled by her clutching hands. She sighed, climbing out of bed. At least she’d have Cheryl’s critique to look forward to. Maybe she’d mention to Cheryl that the intense workshop was getting a little too intense, especially if the actor they had hired had decided to recreate the love scene from her novel.