Page 60 of Eden's Joker

She smells so good, and she feels even better. All I really want to do is taste her. But that’s another desire that’ll burn the mission if I let it.

Better to just give her what she wants.

I slide two fingers into her tight hole, expecting her to yelp and retreat. Instead, she moans and spreads her legs wider. So I give it to her. Hook my fingersand fuck her with them as hard as I’d love to fuck her with my cock. She throws her head back, exposing her milky white neck to me as she leans her whole weight against me. I can’t fight kissing her neck. In a lot of ways, it’s like tasting chocolate for the first time.

Pretty soon she’s not just moaning but yelping, melting into my hand, opening for me, making me wish we’d done all this before I showed her my true intentions. Before I brought her here. Before I decided that any of this way a good idea. Back when she was just mine for the taking.

Her smell is all around us, sweet and strong, peaches on a warm, peaceful, quiet summer evening. A part of another world, another life. One that will never be mine. Or ours.

She comes so hard her whole body shakes from the strain. I’ve never made a woman come this hard before. Not even when they were faking. She’s not faking. Nothing about her is fake. She’s more real than anything I’ve ever held in my hands. And I don’t ever want to let her go.

The sound of bikes approaching the house tells me in no uncertain terms just how dumb all those other thoughts actually are.

The sound of engines is still echoing as thudding footsteps come into the dining room. It’s Brick, Sonny, and Trip. Figures it’d be those three come to complain first. They hate the Devils with a rabid passion.

Eden tenses again and moves to stand, but I wrap my arm around her waist. “Stay.”

“What’s going on here?” Brick asks. “Cherry said you were letting her loose in the house, but I didn’t fucking believe it.”

“So you thought you’d come and check?” I say menacingly.

“Yeah, we came to check,” Brick says. “This wasn’t the deal.”

“Who’s the president of this MC?” I ask.

They all look at me dumbly.

“Who is it?” I ask again, even more sharply.

“You are,” Trip answers.

“And who calls the shots?” I ask.

“You do.”

“Good, so you didn’t forget,” I say. “Now, I want you out of this house. And I never want to see you here again. Or it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

I’m a scary guy. My bite is worse than my bark. They all know that. Which is why none of them say anything. But they’re not leaving either.

“Everything is under control here,” I say. “Now get.”

Luckily, I still have enough power for them to do as I say. But I lied. Everything is not under control. And I don’t just mean Eden and the way she’s messing with my head.

If these three dared come up here to challenge me,more will do it soon. I gotta figure out how to get my head back on straight and fuck how good Eden smells and feels. My life depends on it just as much as hers.

33

Eden

He sent me to my bedroom after those angry men left last night. Didn’t use quite the same commanding voice as he did with them, but it was close. Then he locked up the whole house except my bedroom door—I could hear his footsteps on the creaking wood going from one window to the next, slamming the wooden shutters and latching them. He didn’t come to see me before he left the house and locked the front door too.

I felt like I was inside some cocoon rather than a prison. Kind of like being inside the house that gets swept up by a tornado—where everything is bright and sunny in the eye, but all around it, the world is whooshing by, getting destroyed by the horrible wind and rain. That’s how it feels when we’re alone too.When he’s making me come like nothing I ever imagined possible.

Is that only because I know I’ll die soon so I’m making the best of it?

My mom always said that was the best way to live. She spent a large portion of her life as a club whore, not getting treated well at all. My dad agrees with her, although he spent a large part of his life a prisoner and not getting treated very well at all either.

I wish I could speak to them. I wish I could call them and tell them I’m just fine. That I’m making the best of it and that I’m sorry for being stupid enough to trust a strange biker in this time of war. I should’ve known better.

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