Tempted by Eden (Eden #1)

18. James

Chapter eighteen

James

T he moment I step into Eden, the noise of the outside world fades into silence. Market share, stock prices, investors—they melt away, replaced by a visceral need driving through my veins. Here, I don’t think; I simply act.

Dameon, Zac, and I stride through the entrance, handing over our phones to security like we’ve done a hundred times before. The sense of being watched isn’t new to me. Our presence is expected here, even revered. But tonight, my focus is elsewhere. The usual surge of pride I feel from the attention doesn’t land the same. I’m scanning the room for just one person.

Cora .

Dameon’s in his usual easygoing mood, chatting with Zac as we make our way through the club. I listen to their banter and can’t help but feel lucky to have Dameon watching my back. Given our families’ business partnership, our friendship was practically written in the stars, but when we discovered our shared taste for submissive women, it cemented our bond even further. Finding Eden a couple of years ago was like stumbling across paradise.

We met Zac at university. Back then he was dreaming of becoming a leading surgeon; these days he’s buried under hospital admin and rotations most of the time. We rarely see him anymore. His life is chaos, much like Carter’s, who’s off on some endless world tour again. Fame has its perks, but I’ll never understand the appeal of not being able to move freely. There’s something to be said about anonymity, about being able to slip in and out of places unnoticed. Being based in Australia the past few years has meant that, for once, I’ve flown under the radar a little more. Fewer eyes tracking my every move, fewer paparazzi following me around. Out here, I’m just another face, able to go about my life without the constant glare of the New York press and the expectation that I’m always one misstep away from scandal.

But even as they talk, my mind is somewhere else. It’s been there all week, in fact, ever since Monday morning when I saw her in the auditorium. I’ve been watching her—studying her movements, analyzing her every shift in expression. At first I tried to convince myself I was being cautious, ensuring she wouldn’t fuck me over. But deep down, I know that’s bullshit.

Dameon glances at me. “You’re wound up tight,” he comments. “Eden’s supposed to be where you unwind , remember?”

I grunt in response, barely acknowledging him. My eyes are still scanning the room, searching for her. And then I see her.

Cora.

She’s standing at the bar, her back turned to me, fingers lightly drumming on the counter as she waits for her drinks. The black satin gown she’s wearing clings to her body, accentuating the soft slope of her waist, the line of her spine. The way her hair cascades down her back makes my fists itch with the need to grip it—to wrap it around my hand and pull. Fire surges through me, tightening every muscle in my body, my cock thickening in my trousers.

Beside me Dameon chuckles, noticing the direction of my stare. “Ah, there she is.”

She commands my focus, every movement drawing me in deeper, like she’s the only thing in the room that matters.

Then, as if sensing my attention, her body stiffens. Her fingers freeze mid-drum, and she slowly turns around, scanning the room. The moment our eyes lock, it’s like I’ve physically grabbed hold of her. Her chest rises, lips part, and a delicious flush colors her throat. She’s caught in my gaze, and she knows it.

“She’s stunning when she blushes like that,” Dameon murmurs. His eyes appraise her longer than I’d like. I shoot him a warning glance, but he just laughs under his breath. He’s pushing me, testing the waters. But Cora isn’t just another toy to be shared—not this time.

Without a word, I stride toward the bar, my pulse quickening with every step. I catch the bartender’s eye as I approach, leaning in to whisper my request into her ear. She nods, casting a glance at Cora before moving to prepare our drinks. Dameon and Zac take their seats at the bar, but my attention stays solely on her.

I can sense her eyes on me as I make my way toward one of the couches at the back of the club. Taking a seat, I let my eyes drift over the room, casually scanning the crowd, but my attention keeps returning to her. She’s been instructed to serve me, and the air between us tightens, like a cord pulled taut, vibrating with unspoken tension—dark, electric, and inevitable. At last, she moves, her hips swaying deliberately as she walks toward me. She’s putting on a show, and I can’t help but admire her boldness. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s working.

Kneeling before me, she sets the whiskey down on the low table beside the couch. The sight of her on her knees triggers a deep, primal need within me. Control. Power. This is where she belongs—kneeling before me, waiting for my command. But there’s also a trace of need beyond dominance. It’s not just about control anymore. It’s her. And that’s dangerous.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” she asks softly. Her voice is demure but her eyes flash with a hint of defiance maybe, or curiosity. Either way, I’m hooked.

I let the question hang in the air, savoring the way her posture tenses ever so slightly. Silence is often more powerful than words.

Slowly, deliberately, I bring the glass to my lips, letting the burn of the whiskey settle in my gut before I lower the glass. I lick my lips and lean forward.

“Nothing.” My tone is cold and controlled, and the word drops between us like a stone, sinking into the silence.

Her eyelashes flutter, momentarily stunned. Clearly she was expecting a response—something, anything—but I gave her nothing.

Good. Let the frustration sink in.

Minutes tick by, and Cora begins to unravel. Her composure starts to slip, and when her eyes flick up to meet mine, I can see the fire in them.

“What the hell is your problem?” she hisses. Her voice is low, but the heat behind it burns hotter than her blush.

I chuckle, running my thumb over my bottom lip as I settle deeper into the couch. “That didn’t take long,” I murmur. “Breaking the rules already, are we?”

Her eyes are defiant, but she holds her tongue, waiting for my next move.

“You look perfect on your knees for me. That’s where you belong, my sweet slut.”

A sharp breath escapes her, her lips parting on instinct. Her body betrays her, drawn toward the authority of my voice like a moth to a flame. I can tell she hates how much my words affect her, and that’s what makes it all the more satisfying.

I spread my legs, extending one toward her until the tip of my shoe touches her knee.

Let’s see how far she’ll go.

“Lift your gown,” I command. “Kneel directly on the floor, knees spread apart.”

Her fingers pause, gripping the satin fabric a little tighter than necessary. There’s a slight hesitation before she moves, slowly gathering the gown and parting her knees, falling perfectly into place.

“Good girl,” I praise. Her breath hitches at the compliment, her body trembling.

Slowly I slip the tip of my shoe beneath her gown, brushing it against her bare, wet pussy. The contact is light, teasing, but it’s enough that a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound goes straight to my cock, making it weep in need.

“Shh,” I murmur, watching her intently. “You don’t want us to get kicked out, do you?”

She shakes her head quickly, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. I drag the tip of my shoe along her slit, up and down, slow enough to make her squirm, to make her want more.

“Ride my foot,” I growl, my tone as sharp as the command itself.

Her eyes widen and she frantically looks around. But she doesn’t protest. She’s too far gone for that.

“No one is looking,” I reassure her.

Her hips move tentatively at first, testing, adjusting, but soon she’s grinding against my shoe, her movements becoming more desperate, more frenzied. Her need is written all over her face.

Her eyes meet mine, silently begging for permission, for release.

“Come,” I grant, my voice just above a whisper.

Her body shudders violently, a silent scream parting her lips as she comes hard. She clings to my leg for support, her forehead resting against my trousers as she trembles.

When she finally lifts her head, her face is flushed, her eyes glassy with the aftershocks of pleasure. Embarrassment flashes across her features, but I don’t let it settle.

“Beautiful,” I whisper. There’s pride in the way I say it, like she’s a work of art I’ve crafted with my own hands. “We’re far from finished.”

I glance at my shoe, which is now glistening with her arousal, and a wicked smile tugs at my lips.

“Lick it clean,” I command. “You made this mess; now fix it.”

Her eyes widen, a flush deepening across her cheeks as my demand sinks in. But this time there’s no hesitation in her movements. She lowers herself again, bending down toward my shoe, her face inching closer. Her lips part and her tongue darts out, tentatively at first, tasting her own essence on the polished leather.

A deep satisfaction coils in my gut as I watch her on her knees, meticulously cleaning up after herself. She’s fully committed, and as she arches her back, making a show of it, a quiet whimper slips from her throat. She’s performing, knowing exactly what it does to me.

I lean back, savoring the control, the power of it all. The longer she continues, the more my body throbs with need. My cock is painfully hard, straining against my pants, but I don’t move. I let her finish, aware of the effect this is having on both of us.

When she’s done, she sits back on her heels, looking up at me with wide eyes, her breath still uneven.

Reaching down, I grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so that our eyes connect. The possessive heat in my gaze must be unmistakable because her pupils dilate, her lips parting again as if she’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Give me a taste.”

She crawls forward, leaning into me as I pull her up, our faces only inches apart. The moment our lips meet, the rest of the world vanishes. There’s nothing but hunger between us, the way her mouth moves against mine, the taste of her submission mixed with the raw ache of my own need. I deepen the kiss, taking control of it, feeling her melt against me.

But as much as I want to lose myself in her, I know we can’t. Not here, not like this. Reluctantly I pull back, ending the kiss far too soon, though the taste of her still lingers on my lips.

She’s staring at me, her eyes glazed with lust, her chest heaving.

“Mmm… Delicious.” I lick my lips, savoring the flavor of her submission.

Her eyes drop, and I follow it to my lap. The outline of my erection is painfully obvious, straining against my pants, begging for release. A small, teasing smile crosses her face.

“That must be painful,” she whispers.

“You have no idea,” I reply, my lips curving into a smirk. “But it was worth it.”

Her smile widens, and for a brief moment, there’s a spark between us that isn’t just about power or control. It’s more than just the dynamic of dominance and submission. It’s the way she looks at me, the way her eyes linger on mine, but the moment passes as quickly as it arrived.

We’re still in Eden, surrounded by others, and there are rules we have to follow. No matter how much I want to take this further, to push her even more, I know there’s a time and place for everything. And right now, we’ve reached the limit of what we can do here.

I release her chin, sinking back into the couch, my eyes never leaving hers.

“Thank you, sir.”

I dip my head, acknowledging her submission. This is just the beginning, and we both know it.

“Go,” I say. “Before I decide to break any more rules tonight.”

She stands slowly, her body still trembling. For a moment, she hesitates, as if she’s waiting for me to call her back, to pull her into something more. But I don’t.

She nods once, her cheeks still flushed, then turns and walks away. The sway of her hips as she moves has my jaw clenching, my body thrumming with desire. I watch her until she disappears through the employee door behind the bar, and even then, my eyes stay fixed on the space she occupied.

Cora Rossi.

I thought coming to Eden tonight would help me regain control, but all it’s done is stir a deeper need inside me.

This isn’t just about power.

This is about her.

Dameon and Zac settle into the couches beside me, shattering the hold my thoughts had over me. Zac raises his eyebrows, taking a slow sip from his drink. “Well, that was… intense.”

I don’t respond, my mind still lingering on Cora’s flushed face, the way her body reacted to me, the way she looked at me afterwards.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Zac says quietly. “She’s not like the others, and you know it.”

Dameon leans back with that easy smile, but his gaze is sharp, like he’s watching me more closely than usual. We’ve been through years of this—shared women, shared power—but Cora has made him curious. “She’s different,” he agrees.

I shoot him a look. I know exactly what he means, but I’m not in the mood to discuss it.

He chuckles. “Man, you’re in for it now.”

I already know that. And yet, I can’t stop myself.

I don’t want to.

My eyes drift back to where Cora disappeared, my pulse still racing. This is far from over.

Not by a long shot.