[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden (13 page)

Noelle Davis coming on my fingers is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. And suddenly I can wait no more.

“Hold on,” I warn before positioning myself at her entrance. She’s still trembling, aftershocks wracking her flesh, and she’s so wet, and pushing back against me, and then she’s clamping down around me, her wet heat milking my cock.

“Noelle.” I pull back, then hilt myself once again. And again. I’m on the edge in seconds, the spanking bench skidding forward beneath the force of my thrusts. Her cries spur me on, and I have just enough presence of mind left to reach between her legs, to pinch and rub the tight bundle of nerves there.

“Master!” She screams, her own movements bordering on violent as I slam home the last few strokes. She clenches around me in another release as I spill liquid heat inside of her, our cries mingling in the thick air.

After, I unbuckled her legs, gather her in my arms. I want to carry her upstairs to my bed, but my legs won’t hold me steady just yet. So I pull her to the plush carpeting of the floor, rolling so that she’s sprawled on top of me.

One day. One day was all it took to change my destiny. This woman can have her story, but I’m never letting her go.

Sighing contentedly, she runs her fingers over my face. I wonder why it feels so good, and then freeze.

“You...” She tracing my scars. Which means that she can see them. Muscles tightening, I sit straight up, arms still around her.

“You can see my scars?” I can’t help but wince. Despite what we’ve just shared... I feel more naked than I ever have before. “But you... you never... they never bothered you?”

She looks at my with confusion, then reaches out to run her fingers over the deepest furrow.

“You thought I couldn’t?” She seems amazed. And I’m amazed that she is.

I’m silent. I don’t know what to say.

“My research told me that you mostly disappeared ten years ago. I figured it must have been something pretty major.” She presses a kiss to my scarred cheek, softer than I’ve ever seen her. “But if you’re asking if they bother me...”

I tense, holding my breath. I know they must bother her. But I won’t be able to handle it if they do.

“I don’t really see them. Not the way you thought—I
see
them... I see all of them. You were horribly hurt, and I ache for you. But... they’re just part of you. Theo.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Master.”

I’m undone. Before I can stop myself, I crush her in my arms, then carry her back to the bench. She squawks as the cool leather presses against her skin.

“Speedy recovery time, huh?” She leers at my already hardening cock. I smirk in response, and slowly buckle her down, savoring the way her eyes go liquid as I do.

“I’m going to keep you here, bound and having release after release. Until you agree to stay.”

E-MAIL FROM NOELLE DAVIS TO KIT DAVIS, WEEKLY MAGAZINE

Hi Dad,

When you want more from me, and you will...

I live on Eden now.

Best,

Noelle

THE END

Certifiable genius Mari Hart has spent her life focusing on school and getting ahead. Freshly out of school at age twenty, with two doctorates in hand and no idea what to do next, Mari decides to allow herself one night to be young, something she’s never done before. She’s smart, and she’s responsible—what could go wrong?

But at Florida’s hot, kinky new nightclub she sees something that she shouldn’t, and even her incredible intelligence can’t save her—but billionaire Alexios Kosta can. One of the world’s richest men—one with dark secrets of his own—Alexi has the power to make all of Mari’s problems go away.

The catch? To obtain full protection, Mari must become Alexi’s wife. And it isn’t long before their public displays of affection spark something far hotter than either could ever have imagined...

This is book two of the A Virgin, A Billionaire and a Marriage series. It is a category length novel that stands alone- no cliffhangers!

Copyright 2015 Lauren Hawkeye

B
ang.

Smack.

“Oh my God,
yes!”

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop!”

“You are the
king
!”

Rolling my eyes, I sit straight up in bed. The pillow I’ve been holding over my ears gets tossed across the room in an uncharacteristic fit of anger, allowing the previously muffled sounds to penetrate straight to my eardrums.

Penetrate.
Bad choice of words. Because unless my ears deceive me, there is a whole lot of
penetrating
going on next door.

Bang.

Squeal.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.

“Noooo.” Covering my face with my hands, I slide over to the edge of the bed. I can’t handle this...
this
going on next door.  I just can’t.

Raising a fist, I briefly contemplate knocking on the wall... not loudly enough to be rude, although clearly they’ve thrown that convention out the window. No, just loudly enough to point out that maybe, possibly, some of their neighbours are trying to sleep.

Instead, I let my hand fall back into my lap, but no matter what I do, I can’t block out the sounds. The
sex
sounds.

It shouldn’t be such a big deal—shouldn’t bother me so much. I shouldn’t be straining, trying to overhear. I should just buy some earplugs and go back to sleep.

I can’t. And it’s not logical to lie to myself, so I admit—within the confines of my own skull—that I’m actually fascinated because I’ve never been this close to... to such
shenanigans
before.

The thumping stops momentarily, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Surely this can’t continue forever. This is my third night in my new apartment, and I’ve endured the nocturnal party each evening. But surely my new neighbours aren’t that...
avid
. Right? It’s not possible to have that kind of stamina. Surely there would be fatigue involved at some point. Possibly some chafing.

I chose this apartment building after extensive research because it was clean, in a new neighbourhood, and represented the ideals that I wished to embody as I embarked on my career. It wasn’t cheap, but I had a substantial amount in my bank account. The funds deposited by my mother before she’d deemed me an adult and sent me out into the world were largely untouched, since I’d received full funding for school. And now, at twenty years of age, a doctorate in each hand, I had numerous lucrative paths to pursue.

Point being, I do not find it acceptable to have to listen to the cat-like yowls of my neighbors fornicating at three in the morning, every morning. A human needs seven hours of sleep to perform at maximum capacity.

As if they have a direct line to my thoughts, the thumping starts up again. At first it’s just a few soft bumps that could possibly be construed as the bed settling under the weight of their inhabitants.

But then the thumping starts again. And the yowls.

“Hold on to the headboard. If you move your hands, I’ll spank your ass.” The male voice is so clear, it could be right there in the room with me, and my mouth falls open with disbelief.

Did he really just threaten to
spank
her? Is she in trouble? Should I call for help?

But within moments her mewls of pleasure answer my question. She’s not in trouble. Not even a little.

A sense of melancholy descends into my chest, and at the same time an ache appears between my thighs. Surely it’s just a primal response to the sounds of mating. That’s what my intellect tells me.

My body says something entirely different. If a twenty year old virgin body is to be trusted.

Virgin
. Yes, I’m twenty years old, and have never been touched. And when I say never, I do mean never. I’ve never had sex, never been kissed, never even held hands or gone a date with a boy. Starting college at fifteen hinders one’s opportunities, after all. Plus, I’ve never deluded myself—my purpose in this world is in the ranks of academia. Not in the pleasures of the flesh.

But listening to grunts and groans of ecstasy... it’s more than I can handle.

I’ll go knock on the door. I’ll just request that they keep their... ahh... amour to a quieter level.

Just a few deep breaths to calm myself first. I would never survive if my new neighbours knew that my body had grown aroused from listening to them make love.

Wiping damp palms on the thighs of my pajamas, I slide my glasses onto my nose and make my way across the hall. The ruckus is even louder out here, and I feel blood rushing into my cheeks.

What must it be like, to not care who knows that you’re doing...
that
?

None of my business. Steeling myself, I walk the few steps to the next door, and knock. If anything, the sex noises just get louder. Starting to become irritated, I knock again, harder. Still nothing.

Finally I give in, in a way that I never do, and pound on the door with my fist. It feels good, slamming my hand into the wood, frustration dissipating with every smack.

The noises stop, replaced by heavy footsteps. I school my face into a polite smile, ready to be a friendly little neighbour, even though that’s not at all what I feel like. I
feel
tired, irritated, and aroused.

But if we all went around acting on unrestrained emotions, we’d be no better than a bunch of monkeys. And in my current circumstances, the word
monkey
makes me think of a slang term I once came across—
monkey sex
.

Hot, sweaty monkey sex.

Dear God, my brain is broken.

“Do you know what time it is?” The door before me swings open, revealing...

Oh. My. God.

Revealing a greying man, probably in his later forties, given his physical appearance. He’s decently attractive, if you ignore the thirty some year age difference between us.

He’s also sweaty and absolutely, completely naked. And absolutely, completely aroused.

I have doctorates in astrophysics and medicine. I have an IQ of 182. But I have absolutely no idea how to deal with the sight in front of me.

The man grins as my eyes stray to his throbbing member, then snap back up to his face. His own eyes rake over me, lingering in the area of my breasts, causing my hands to clutch at the lapels of my pajama top.

“Cute.” The man smirks at my sleepwear. I feel a steel rod snap into place in my spine.

Get a grip, Mari. Surely that big brain of yours can find a connection to your tongue!

“What the fuck’s going on?” A sulky female voice emanates from the apartment behind the man, and then a woman is peering around him. She’s naked too, though I’m saved from that visual by the sheet that’s clutched to her breasts.

Her hair is long and blonde, and in quite the disarray. Slumberous blue cat eyes regard me thoughtfully, lips twisting into a smirk, and I will myself to hold still.

“Oh, it’s you. The brain trust.” Her smirk widens.

“I... yes.” I’m surprised she—Jenny—recognized me. I taught two of her freshman classes, despite the fact that she’s a couple of years older than I am, but she skipped half of them, and was more interested in the boys sitting around her than my lectures when she
was
there. And even then, it had been hard not to notice that the boys were interested in her right back.

Blonde, popular, sexy—Jenny was all the things that I was not. And now I’d seen her naked.

Awkward.

“What do you want?” As if just realizing that her man is naked in front of me, she shoves the sheet in front of him, which only causes her perky breasts to be revealed. I roll my eyes skyward, trying not to look at either of them.

“I... I’m wondering if perhaps you would mind keeping it down.” I swallow thickly when silence greets my request. A silence that drags on until I can’t help but look back down.

“What, you have a hot date tomorrow?” Jenny looks like she’s channeling Regina George, her face is so mean. “Need your beauty sleep?”

“No.” What does that have to do with anything? “But a human woman my age needs an average of seven hours of sleep to maintain her health and mental well-being.”

“What?” The man stares at me, incredulous, before turning to Jenny. “Did she really just say that?”

“Yeah she did.” Jenny turns to her lover with an eye roll directed at me. Looking down his body, she fastens her gaze on his erection and runs her tongue suggestively over her lips. “Come on. Let’s go take care of that little problem for you.”

“But she’s so sweet. It’s adorable.” The two of them examine me as though I’m a kitten, the man with something I surmise must be lust, Jenny with more than a hint of aggression.

And then the door slams in my face. I could knock again, demand that they honor my request...

This encounter has told me that I’m not likely to get very far. I have no choice but to turn back to my apartment and, given the late hour, return to bed.

Alone.

Always alone.

If my mother was still in my life, she would have reminded me that people who spend their nights fornicating are little more than animals and that I am far above them. I have a loftier purpose.

But she wouldn’t have said it with love, just her belief that the genes she selected for me—hers and the ones belonging to a carefully chosen, anonymous sperm donor—were superior.

Right this moment, I can find no comfort in that. I should be celebrating, with my doctorates in hand and life before me.

But I’m not. Right this moment, I want to be normal. I want to a fornicating animal. I don’t want to be the girl that the neighbours look at like a freak.