Page 77 of Eden's Deliverance

At least, that’s how I like to imagine it.

I squirt another dollop of conditioner into the palm of my hand before fisting my cock. Starting from the beginning of my fantasy—the one I conjure every time I’m in the shower—I close my eyes and concentrate.

She kneels at my feet on the ceramic floor of the tub, staring up at me with those hypnotic pools of caramel while I stroke my cock, working it up for her.

Her hands come up to grip each of my thighs, and when she leans forward, I almost feed my dick into her mouth until I realize she has something else in mind. She dips her head lower than expected and sticks her tongue out to lick my balls.

Holy. Fuck.

My head slams against the shower wall when the sensation makes me jump, but she just fucking giggles at me.

I’ve never had anyone do that before—not that anyone’s doing it now, either—but it’s where my imagination goes.

For a while, she just runs her tongue along the sack like she’s familiarizing herself with the territory.

Normally, I’d hate it if a chick switched maneuvers in the middle of something I was really enjoying. But just when I’m reaching the precipice of my orgasm, she pulls my sack into her mouth and starts sucking on one of my balls, massaging it with her swirling tongue. I lose it then, right on the spot.

I don’t want to open my eyes yet…because there’s nothing worth seeing. She’s not really here, and she didn’t just suck my soul out through my balls. She’ll probably never give me the chance to find out if it’s something she would actually do.

Skylar ensured that; both inside and outside of Eden.

The only consolation is knowing I’ll still get to see her at the tattoo studio. I have an appointment today, in fact. That’s why I’m getting my jerk-off session in early before I have to fucking look at her all day.

It’s been torture. Not enough for me to consider switching what day I schedule my appointments for, but enough that I leave feeling more pain than the sting on my back.

Making a pitstop at Café Noir on my way to the studio, I grab some coffee and pastries for Jason, Scarlett, and myself. Gifting treats has been one of my only successful forms of peacemaking with her—aside from sharing our smoke breaks.

She’s not at the desk when I arrive, so I pop a squat on the couch until someone comes to get me. It’s unusual for her to be anywhere else but the lobby, so my first thought is that she must be off today. I have no idea what’s going on in her life anymore. I barely cross her path on campus, and she stopped coming to Eden’s Deliverance altogether.

Skylar also doesn’t get any check-ins from her—not since he caught her with Dario, three weeks ago. I really thought we had proven our point when we stole her on New Year’s, but the guy is dramatically persistent.

Now that he knows where she lives, we have a real problem.

He didn’t show his broken face for the following two weeks while he nursed his bruised ego, but I know for sure he made a grand reappearance at Eden last weekend. I guess Sky made a pretty convincing argument this time, because Dario finally started a new hunt.

You can imagine my surprise when Scarlett finally emerges from the back of the studio, strutting right past the lobby and out the front door, with DariofuckingBasile following at her heel like a puppy dog.

Neither of them see me, so I have just enough time to send a quick text before stepping outside.

The force of me barreling through the door startles Scarlett so much that she screams, turning to me with her hand pressed to her chest. “Jesus! Julian,” she pants, crouching down with a laugh as she gathers her breath. “You scared the shit out of me. Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

“It’s no problem,” I assure her, but my eyes are locked on Dario’s. “I brought your favorite from the coffee shop. It’s inside.”

She audibly sighs in relief, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, you’re the best. I really fucking need it. I’ll be right back!” she squeals before rushing through the door.

Dario and I don’t say a word—there isn’t enough time to say what either one of us really wants to—but his mouth curls into a little smirk.This slimy fuck.Can’t take her home from the bar without getting beaten half-to-death, so he comes to her work.

Wearen’t the same; I didn’t follow her here. I came looking for work before I even realized she was apprenticing, so it’s only been a bonus.

Looking down at his arm, I see the familiar sheen of ointment spread across the skin of his forearm. Some of the stencil remains unfinished, and it looks like the tattoo is supposed to be a crown intersected with the blade of a sword. The lines don’t look as clean as you’d expect for the standards of the guys at this studio, but that’s when it clicks for me—she’s the one tattooing him. He fucking weaseled his way in by offering his skin up for practice.

Get in line, fuckface.

Scarlett comes back outside with the coffee cup pressed to her lips, already draining the contents of it. Setting it down, she takes a seat on the bench and pulls her cigarettes from her jacket pocket before tossing me the lighter—like she always does.

I couldn’t stop watching Dario even if I wanted to. I don’t trust him for even a second to risk taking my eyes off him. Pulling my own cigarettes out, I light one before tossing the lighter back in Scarlett's general direction.

“Oh, sorry. Julian, this is Dario.”I know who he is, but why do you?“My boyfriend,” she explains, gesturing towards him with her lit cigarette.

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