The Bad Boys of Eden Read Online Free PDF

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