[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden Read Online Free Page B

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