Page 68 of Unleashed By Eden

Once we reach the Seine, the sun’s high above us and the water glitters, throwing light back in our faces. Carter buys us ice creams from a cart and assaults the vendor with French so appalling I almost feel bad for the language. It’s all vowels and hand gestures that top off his bogan look.

For a man meant to be incognito, he stands out like a neon sign. But for some reason, it works. No one notices him. Not even to do a double-take.

We sit on the riverbank with our cones. The stone is warm under my thighs and I stretch out, dropping my head into his lap. His fingers drift lazily through my hair.

It’s hard not to think about his test results. About hospitals, livers, and statistics. The thoughts invade my brain uninvited and I can guarantee it’s doing the exact same to him.

The last thing I want is for those thoughts to invade this one perfect day he carved out for us. Instead, I grab the distraction that’s been needling at me for a while.

“So,” I say, staring at the sky, “for the life of me, I still can’t figure out your kinks.”

His hand pauses in my hair and he snorts a laugh. “My kinks?”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head to look up at him. “You go to Eden. Is that just for privacy and convenience? Or is there something specific you’re chasing?”

He looks down at me, mouth quirking.

“I like being in control,” he replies after a beat. “That’s hardly news, though. I like to control my partner’s pleasure. I get off on giving her as many orgasms as humanly possible and deciding when and where she has them.”

“So you’re a pleasure Dom.”

He gives a quiet, amused sound. “You could call it that. If you want.”

A warm ripple runs right down my spine and settles between my legs.

“But I also like breath play,” he continues, “and free use.”

“Free use?” My brows shoot up. “How the hell does that work at Eden?”

“It doesn’t,” he says. “I don’t go there for that. That’s . . . relationship stuff. And it has to be with the right person, right rules. It’s not something I get to do often.”

I swallow a mouthful of ice cream. His hand is still in my hair. My brain is already playing with images I shouldn’t be thinking about on a public riverbank.

“And you?” he asks. “Come on, Vi. Sharing is caring.”

“I don’t have a specific kink.”

He scoffs.

“I don’t,” I insist. “I’m down for . . . pretty much anything. In theory.”

He laughs, the sound warm and sticky. “Of course you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My tone goes flat.

“Vi.” His fingers tug lightly on a strand of my hair. “You’re curious about everything. You always have been. You pretend to be hardened and jaded, but you react to shit like someone who hasn’t explored half as much as she wants in life.”

I stare at him, stunned into silence. His accuracy annoys me.

I look back up at the sky. “I’d be down with free use,” I continue. “In the right setting.” A few scenarios flicker through my head. “It’d be difficult on tour.”

“It would,” he says easily. “But it’s gotta be the perfect time and place, and with our people around us.”

He glances down at me. Even without seeing his eyes, I feel them.

The silence between us thickens with possibility.

When I think I might actually combust from the tension, he leans down and places his sticky lips on mine. His mouth is cool from the ice cream, and I taste vanilla, sugar, and him.