Read Online EDEN (Eden series Book 2) by Georgia le Carre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Georgia le Carre
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I’m trying to impress you here.’
‘You’re doing great so far.’
He rises and holds out his hand.
Putting a sway into my hips, I walk with him through the house into the garage. He hits the button that opens the outside garage door and pulls a plastic cover off an absolutely stunning red and black Ducati Multistrada.
‘Wow! This is some bike,’ I exclaim walking around it, my sway forgotten. It is so spanking new there is not a scratch on it. I look at him, impressed.
He is beaming like a child. ‘Great, isn’t she?’
‘Awesome.’
‘Come on,’ he says, throwing his leg over the machine.
‘What? You’re going to go like that!’ He is wearing the same faded jeans, old sneakers and nothing else.
‘Why not?’
‘No helmet?’
‘Ah, Lily. Do you need the government to be your nanny and tell you what to wear all the fucking time?’
‘What if we meet with an accident?’
He sighs. ‘There’s a helmet in the cupboard.’
He kicks the bike over and it roars dangerously into life the way a really good bike should. The smell of exhaust fumes fills the garage. He turns to look at me as I fit the helmet on my head.
He winks at me and I gingerly swing my leg over the seat of the bike and place my feet on the passenger pegs.
‘Hold me tight,’ he says.
I scoot forward until my body is leaning against his and wrap my arms around his hard midsection.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
He takes off and as he leaves the driveway and gets on the road he accelerates and I hold tighter. He rides with precision and skill as if the bike is an extension of him. When he dips I follow. We cruise along the open road, the wind in our faces, my body glued to his. We travel downhill through the labyrinth of cobbled lanes and make for the roads lined with pines, almond trees and juniper bushes that hug the coastline. Ibiza is full of goats, picturesque coves, tall rocky cliffs, lovely beaches and old-fashioned boatsheds made of wood. Contrary to what I believe about the island being the playground of celebrities and fashion models, so much of it is green and undeveloped. We pass a lonely, whitewashed, hilltop church and at the end of it an olive grove starts. I tap Jake’s shoulder and shout over the roar of the bike for him to stop. He slows down and pulls up at the edge of the road then cuts the engine.
‘What?’ he says, turning to me, his hair wind-blown, his cheeks flushed.
The whole time the tips of my breasts encased only in the thin bikini top have been rubbing against his naked back and I am feeling unbelievably horny.
‘I want you,’ I say, and taking my helmet off I get off the bike and walk into the grove.
By the time he comes for me I am lying naked on the hot orange soil, my legs spread. When his hard cock enters me, his eyes raping me, raking over my exposed body like rough hands, I hiss with relief.
THIRTEEN
Jake
F rom the open door I watch her wash vegetables in the sink. She turns off the tap and reaches for a knife. Her hair falls forward and she flicks it away carelessly. The gesture arrests me. Compels me to stay and watch. It is as if I am watching a movie. She is someone else. I am someone else. The picture of domestic bliss is so foreign. So alluring. It warms my heart.
What is it about her that makes her so magnetic? Even the simplest thing she does becomes a movement of grace and beauty. I have to stop myself from going into the kitchen, lifting her onto the counter and fucking her until she claws at me.
She leaves the tap running and turns to check on a pan of boiling water. As she puts the lid back on it she looks in my direction, sees me, and for an instant loses her concentration. The lid slips from her hand and falls to the ground, catching a ladle resting by the side of the pan on its way. The ladle pings up and falls into the pan of boiling water and splashes boiling water onto her hand.
I hear the ladle clatter to the floor as I rush to her and try to pull her toward
‘You’re doing great so far.’
He rises and holds out his hand.
Putting a sway into my hips, I walk with him through the house into the garage. He hits the button that opens the outside garage door and pulls a plastic cover off an absolutely stunning red and black Ducati Multistrada.
‘Wow! This is some bike,’ I exclaim walking around it, my sway forgotten. It is so spanking new there is not a scratch on it. I look at him, impressed.
He is beaming like a child. ‘Great, isn’t she?’
‘Awesome.’
‘Come on,’ he says, throwing his leg over the machine.
‘What? You’re going to go like that!’ He is wearing the same faded jeans, old sneakers and nothing else.
‘Why not?’
‘No helmet?’
‘Ah, Lily. Do you need the government to be your nanny and tell you what to wear all the fucking time?’
‘What if we meet with an accident?’
He sighs. ‘There’s a helmet in the cupboard.’
He kicks the bike over and it roars dangerously into life the way a really good bike should. The smell of exhaust fumes fills the garage. He turns to look at me as I fit the helmet on my head.
He winks at me and I gingerly swing my leg over the seat of the bike and place my feet on the passenger pegs.
‘Hold me tight,’ he says.
I scoot forward until my body is leaning against his and wrap my arms around his hard midsection.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
He takes off and as he leaves the driveway and gets on the road he accelerates and I hold tighter. He rides with precision and skill as if the bike is an extension of him. When he dips I follow. We cruise along the open road, the wind in our faces, my body glued to his. We travel downhill through the labyrinth of cobbled lanes and make for the roads lined with pines, almond trees and juniper bushes that hug the coastline. Ibiza is full of goats, picturesque coves, tall rocky cliffs, lovely beaches and old-fashioned boatsheds made of wood. Contrary to what I believe about the island being the playground of celebrities and fashion models, so much of it is green and undeveloped. We pass a lonely, whitewashed, hilltop church and at the end of it an olive grove starts. I tap Jake’s shoulder and shout over the roar of the bike for him to stop. He slows down and pulls up at the edge of the road then cuts the engine.
‘What?’ he says, turning to me, his hair wind-blown, his cheeks flushed.
The whole time the tips of my breasts encased only in the thin bikini top have been rubbing against his naked back and I am feeling unbelievably horny.
‘I want you,’ I say, and taking my helmet off I get off the bike and walk into the grove.
By the time he comes for me I am lying naked on the hot orange soil, my legs spread. When his hard cock enters me, his eyes raping me, raking over my exposed body like rough hands, I hiss with relief.
THIRTEEN
Jake
F rom the open door I watch her wash vegetables in the sink. She turns off the tap and reaches for a knife. Her hair falls forward and she flicks it away carelessly. The gesture arrests me. Compels me to stay and watch. It is as if I am watching a movie. She is someone else. I am someone else. The picture of domestic bliss is so foreign. So alluring. It warms my heart.
What is it about her that makes her so magnetic? Even the simplest thing she does becomes a movement of grace and beauty. I have to stop myself from going into the kitchen, lifting her onto the counter and fucking her until she claws at me.
She leaves the tap running and turns to check on a pan of boiling water. As she puts the lid back on it she looks in my direction, sees me, and for an instant loses her concentration. The lid slips from her hand and falls to the ground, catching a ladle resting by the side of the pan on its way. The ladle pings up and falls into the pan of boiling water and splashes boiling water onto her hand.
I hear the ladle clatter to the floor as I rush to her and try to pull her toward
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