Page 12 of Tempted By Eden

I release a shaky breath and obediently meet his gaze, staring into the dark eyes that mirror my son’s so perfectly—except these eyes are cold, devoid of the warmth I remember.

His eyes sweep over my flushed face, taking in every detail, assessing his possession. “Let’s go, goddess,” he commands, his brow arching with a self-assured smirk.

There’s no hint of recognition in his tone or his eyes.

He doesn’t recognize me.

Not every one-night stand leaves a lasting impression, but ours certainly did. The way he looked at me that night, the way he touched me as if I were precious. How could that same man look at me now as if I were nothing more than another hole to fill? As I look into his eyes, there’s nothing—no spark of familiarity, no trace of recognition, just a blank stare. Maybe I overestimated the significance of our connection. Or maybe he’s slept with so many women that none of them embed in his long-term memory.

My heart sinks, and a hollow sensation blooms in my chest, each beat dragging with the painful realization that this moment isn’t unfolding as I had imagined over the years. I force myself to breathe, to push down the disappointment threatening to swallow me whole. This isn’t the time to wallow—this is the time to stand tall. For Leo. For the future I’ve clawed my way toward.

My gaze hardens, and I straighten my back, the fire of determination burning away the lingering disappointment.

“Yes, sir,” I say softly, with a calculated smile.

He fastens the black leash around my left wrist and commands, “You may walk.”

I’m gonna make sure you never forget me again.

Chapter eight

Cora

We step into oneof the bedrooms off the long hallway. The room is bathed in soft light, an intimate warmth that softens every edge. I’m suddenly very grateful for mood lighting. Jonathon drops the leash without a word and strides to the bar on the opposite side. The sound of liquid splashing into a crystal tumbler slices through the air. Unsure of what’s expected of me, I remain by the door, my eyes flicking around the lavish space.

The room is luxurious, designed for pleasure. Plush couches in deep red and black fill a cozy sitting area, while a massive bed dominates the center, elevated on a platform that feels almost like a throne. A floor-to-ceiling mirror spans the wall opposite the bed, reflecting every angle of the room. It exudes a sophisticated, almost regal feel—fancier than any five-star hotel I’ve ever seen.

Jonathon brings the tumbler to his lips, eyes locking onto mine with a gaze that’s unhurried, piercing—like a hawk watching its target. Physically he hasn’t changed much in the five years since I last saw him. His black hair, tousled yet somehow perfect, only enhances his features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jaw dusted with light stubble. He’s more than handsome—he’s captivating.

Standing with his legs spread wide, he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair near the bed. He rolls up his sleeves, revealing veined, muscular forearms, and my eyes eagerly trace the lines of his body, snagging on the hard planes of his chest. His hands slide into his pockets with the easy confidence of a man who’s always in control, accustomed to having the world yield to his command.

But it’s his eyes—dark, fierce—that draw me in. They see everything. Every wave of emotion, every shift in my stance. He catches the shiver that runs through me, the heat that rises to my cheeks, and the way my breath stills in my throat. His smirk says it all. He knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.

“Come here,” he commands. The deep rasp of his words sends a jolt straight to my core, making my knees wobble.

God, was his voice always this hot?

I lower my eyes, breaking the connection, and pad toward him. Each step is measured, careful, one bare foot in front of the other, as though I’m walking a tightrope. I stop just short of touching him, close enough to share the same breath but not quite close enough to bridge the distance.

He unclasps the leash from my wrist and his fingers glide up my arm. My breath stutters, each inhale shallow and uneven. He’s barely touched me and already I’m coming undone, my composure slipping through my fingers like sand.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that vibrates in the space between us. Of course he finds this amusing. Heat flushes my cheeks, but any embarrassment is quickly doused by the hypnotic pull of his dominance.

Why can’t I fight this?

My body responds to him instinctively, but my mind races. This isn’t just lust; it’s a deeper need, one I know I shouldn’t crave. But I do. God help me, I do.

His hand circles my throat—not squeezing, just resting there—a promise of power held in check. It’s a warning, a reminder that control is his to give or take. But even in that grip, I find a strange comfort. His dominance is a weight I can lean into, if only for a moment.

His tilts my chin up with his other hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those dark, intense eyes hold me captive, and I’m trapped—caught in the current of his will.

“Kneel,” he commands. The thrum of my pulse beats loud in my ears. He releases my throat and I sink to the floor as if I were nothing more than a puppet on his strings. My fingers reach for his belt buckle, but he’s quicker.

“No… hands by your side,” he snaps.

I obey, letting my hands fall as he undoes his belt. He lowers his suit pants just enough for his cock to spring free, thick and rigid. I never imagined a man’s cock could be beautiful, but his is—hard, long, with a perfect mushroom head and a strong vein running along the underside. A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and my mouth waters. I raise my hand to touch him, but he swats it away.

“Ask permission.”

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