Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Ninteen
Twenty
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Epilogue
About Naleighna Kai
About Every Woman Needs a Wife
About Rich Woman’s Fetish
Copyright
Macro Publishing Group
Macro Marketing & Promotions Group
888.854.8823 * www.macrompg.com
The Pleasure’s All Mine ©2011 by Naleighna Kai
Second Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead, or somewhere in between, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9826829-4-4
LCCN: 2001012345
Cover design: Barron Steward of www.barronsteward.com
Editorial Team: Erica Weber, Susan Mary Malone, Sidney Rickman, Marilyn Weishaar and Christine Meister
Interior Book Design: Lissa Woodson of www.macrompg.com
Distributed by Ingram Book Group
Macro Publishing Group trade paperback second edition October 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America
For information regarding discounts for bulk purchases, please contact us at 888.854.8823.
Dedication
My mother, Jean Woodson
My grandmother, Mildred E. Williams
My brother, Eric Harold Spears
My niece, LaKecia Janise Woodson
Anthony “Green Eyes” Johnson, the man who helped me learn what unconditional love is all about.
My sister in the pen, Leslie Esdaile Banks/L.A. Banks,
your words, your smile, your laughter will be missed.
Acknowledgments
All praise is due to the Creator first and foremost. A special love and respect to my guardian angels, ancestors, teachers and guides.
To my mother Jean Woodson, to my spiritual mothers: Sandy Spears and Bettye Mason Odom; to my son, Jeremy, who is still, to this day, teaching me more than I’ve ever taught him. To the people who continuously inspire me: Rev. Renee “Sesvalah” Cobb-Dishman, Leslie Esdaile, L.A. Banks, Annie Armstrong, Teena Guterz Kwaaning, Pam Nelson, Lisa Nichols, Louise L. Hay, Carol Mackey, Avalon Betts-Gaston, Esq., Cassandra Hughes, Matthew Gabriel and Sarah Brooks Gabriel, Marisa Murillo, Ella Houston, Sheree Gilmore, Gretta Chamberlain, Debra Mitchell, Marilyn Gill, Milliletti Forrest, Quiana Williams, Ehryck F. Gilmore, MaKeva Cargill, Aisha and Janice Lusk, Dr. Yosha Yvonne “Every Woman Needs a Wife” Tolbert, Vera Warren Williams, Michelle Wade, Leslie Dishman; Melanie Caswell; Frankie, Alyse, and George Payne; Marilyn Miglin, Camylle DeLaurentis, Sue Russo, Marv Hieppas, Tammy Stewart Stuckey, Allan Greggs, Sanceau-Rae Williams, Charlotte Willingham, Geneva Arvinger, Tonda Reese, Yolanda White, Anna Moore, Kara Hallman, Santrece Ross, and Cheryl and Morris Kimbrough, and Gayle Jackson Sloan. To Barron Steward, the graphic designer who knocked the cover of this book, and several others, out of the ballpark. You are the best!
To my editorial team: Janice Pernell, Susan Mary Malone, Marilyn Weishaar, Sidney Rickman, Aimee Algas, Christine Meister and Erica Weber, to my Intender’s Circle Family, which includes: Lester Tehuti Dishman, Myra Neal, Janine Ingram, and Sheila Washington.
To my literary angels: Dee Dee (Sexy Ebony BBW), Tee C. Royal, Cindy Smith, Victoria Christopher Murray, Brenda Hampton, Constance Shabazz, Tammye Bush, Veronica Johnson, Susan Peters, Lisa Wedekind, Trice Hickman, Wandra Worthy, Mabel Tyler. To my international crew at Atlantis Resorts: Calvin Ford, Sherol Julious, Dorethea Moss; and to Dorcas Bowler--thank you so much!!
Prologue
New York
Raven Ripley wondered if she could get off on with an insanity plea. She stared helplessly at the wicked scene unfolding on the widescreen television: the intimate caresses, the sensual kisses, the feverish working of her lover’s hips to bring about an explosive climax. To her horror, one of the most private and pleasurable experiences of her life had been secretly filmed. She would kill him for this!
Both furious and frightened as she stood in the plush Manhattan office, Raven began counting to ten as her hands curled into tight fists. Making it past three was impossible. She imagined her hands wrapped around his thick neck, could actually feel the pleasure in choking the life out of him. “What do you want?” she asked through clenched teeth, unable to tear her gaze from the screen.
Dressed in a navy suit from his own clothing line, he propped a small pair of feet on the edge of his desk as a smirk played about the corners of his full mouth. “I guess a blow job’s out of the question?”
“I’d rather give you a swift kick in the nuts.”
He slapped his desk, causing her to jump. “Mmmmmmm. Fire! I like that.” Then his hungry, predatory gaze flicked over her body. “I’d tap that ass, but you’re a little too thick for my taste.”
“Thank God for that minor detail.” She stood strong, heels pressed into the carpet, trying not to show an ounce of fear. “Besides, the fact that he has thirteen solid inches more than you might not make it worth your time anyway.”
In an instant, he was around the desk, yanking her head back by tendrils of hair. “I’ve had enough of your mouth.”
Anger dulled the spider webs of pain shooting across her scalp. “If you don’t release me right now, I’ll beat the cow-walking bullshit out of you!”
He hesitated, but only a moment. She towered over him by four inches, but more importantly she had thirty pounds on him. Raven could take him if she tried hard enough. Unfortunately, she still had to find out just how much harm he planned to do, especially since he had threatened her son as well.
“I’m not letting you bully me into anything,” Raven growled, trying to regain her balance when he released her. “When people find out how that clip got around, it might cause me some grief, but you’ll lose the little respect of the few fans you have.”
He stared at her, face flushed with anger.
“All you’ve done is run your dreams into the ground. You screwed up your life and now you want everyone else to pay. He’ll always have more class than you, more morals, and certainly more balls.” She gestured to the screen. “And he’s also pretty well hung. Hell, if I were you, I’d be jealous, too.”
A fist
sliced through the air, connecting with the side of her head. Blinding pain shot from just behind her eyes to every nerve in her brain. With one angry swipe he sent almost everything on his desk crashing to the floor. Thick, hammer-like hands grabbed her, threw her down on the glass, then pounded into her face.
Stunned, Raven gasped. But she swung, landing a solid right to his eye—and another to his nose.
Staggering at first, he regained his balance, then lunged forward, pinning her to the desk. She grabbed a handful of genitals and squeezed with all the power in her.
He doubled over but recovered quickly, slamming her head backward, dislodging her grip. He ripped away her blouse taking the bra with it, then yanked up the skirt, and tore away silk stockings and panties in one angry motion. The sound of a zipper cut through the air like a knife just before he positioned himself between her thighs.
Waves of nausea coursed through Raven as she struggled to keep him from making contact. She grasped a smooth object teetering on the edge of the desk, then hammered the paperweight into the side of his face.
As he stumbled backward, she lunged at him, clawed at his face, her fingers pressing toward his eyes.
Fists smashed into her face, neck, and chest. Soon she struggled to breathe.
Raven glanced up at him. Pure rage lit his face. Rape would be the minor thing; she could die right there in his office, and just like before, he’d get away with it.
Summoning her waning strength, she fought back, landing one blow after another.
Finally, he ducked under, grabbed her head, pressed it against the desk again.
This time she saw stars, stripes, and swirls.
Taking advantage of her dazed condition, he bit into the flesh around her nipples and she shuddered at the pain.
Raven kicked her legs out, trying to connect with something, anything.
With a handful of hair wrapped around his hand, he yanked with all his might.
Pain erupted from her scalp as she fought his every move. Gradually his blows became less and less effective.
Raven’s courage shot through the pain; a sense of calm replaced her anger. She looked him in the eye and said, “Then slap on a condom and do your thing. At least you’re so much smaller than he is, I won’t feel a thing…”
That firm erection withered like a grape drying in the California sun. He released her and looked down at his bloodstained hands. A flicker of fear flashed in his eyes—but only a flicker.
Raven still struggled to breathe. Maybe her nose had been broken, but even breathing through her mouth required a major effort.
Staggering toward the door, he grunted in pain and made only a few steps before slumping down on the leather sofa, dropping his head into his hands.
Slowly, Raven pushed herself off the desk and untangled her clothing so she could walk.
“You deserved it. No one talks to me that way.”
“You have lost your damn mind!” she shot back. “No woman deserves what you did to me.”
Raven failed in her first effort to stand tall, but tried again. Pain peppered every part of her body. She had to get out of there while he was in a weakened state.
The glass doors seemed miles away, not the sixty feet they actually were. Raven’s chest heaved as she tried to take in air. Her lungs burned; sides felt as though someone had tried to slice her in half.
Inch by inch, slide by slide, she crossed the office until her swollen hand touched the silver rail leading to freedom.
Raven’s heart stopped as his next words cut through her: “Now you know I can’t let you do that.”
One
Six months earlier, Chicago
“Trust me. She’ll never know we had anything to do with it.”
As much as she loved Eric Ripley, his wicked little smile didn’t sit well with her. For the fifteenth time since Ava Davidson had walked through the door of the lakefront condo, she shifted in the dining room chair, wondering how to dodge whatever bullet he was aiming her way.
“Come on, Aunt Avie. How could Mom believe we’d hook her up with a dude in New York City?”
“I just don’t have a good feeling about it.” Ava maneuvered her fleshy frame around the smoke-tinted glass table and into the spacious, well-organized kitchen to get a few more spoonfuls of the delicious chili that Eric had made in hopes it would sweeten the deal. “Let Raven find her own man.”
“That’s the problem. She won’t even look! If we leave it up to her, she’ll never find anyone.” Frustration was evident in Eric’s voice and in the downward turn of his lips. He paused before adding, “That’s why she has all those funny little toys.”
Ava almost choked on her chili. “How do you know about her…toys?”
“Man of the house, the one who flips the mattresses, remember?”
“You can never let her know that you know about those…things.”
He grimaced at her worried expression. “I’ve kept them a secret all this time, haven’t I, Aunt Avie?”
Eric wasn’t really Ava’s nephew, but a seventeen-year-old client who, just the week before, had made waves in his hometown of Chicago when he’d hit the New York Times bestsellers list—the youngest male in the fantasy/sci-fi genre to attain that honor. The woman in question, Raven Ripley, known to her readers as Raven Armand, was also one of Ava’s literary clients. The possibility of being caught in the middle of two clients made Eric’s request for help in his romantic plans for his mother unsettling—yet intriguing.
As his agent, Ava should have known something besides chili was cooking when Eric invited her to dinner. He would have told her about a new novel or a new deal over the phone. The boy could be downright tenacious when it came to matching up his mom with Mr. Somebody. But then again, that was one of the reasons she loved him.
Eric had been trying unsuccessfully to find his mother a husband since he was twelve. Raven was attractive, spirited, and solidly single, but that didn’t seem to matter to Eric. He wanted her to be happy and well cared for after he went off to college. Eric simply didn’t want to believe that Raven was perfectly content to spend the rest of her years single, with her fictional male characters—and her…toys—as the perfect mates.
What Eric didn’t know was that Raven had a particular inclination that sometimes sent men sprinting for the first available exit whenever she mentioned that she wanted something other than a “traditional” relationship. That, more than anything, explained her single state. But Ava knew Raven certainly couldn’t clue the youngster in on that point, as it was sure to prompt questions that even Raven herself couldn’t answer. How did a woman tell her son that she preferred an open-door relationship, and one where the door didn’t swing in only one direction?
And how could Ava get Eric to realize that more and more women today were perfectly all right without snaring Mr. Right, Mr. Wrong, Mr. One-Night-Stand, Mr. Heavy-Handed, Mr. I-Just-Can’t-Get-a-Break, or Mr. Perfect-at-the-Beginning, Fizzled-at-the-End? After nosing out another set-up attempt from Eric and Ava, Raven had made things crystal clear. “I want to keep my options open. And marriage is outdated anyway. If—or when—I need a man, fornication will work out entirely too well, thank you!”
Ava had been happily married for twelve years to her best friend and high school sweetheart, wasn’t so sure. She respected Raven’s choice, even though she didn’t understand her preference for an “open-door” relationship. Nevertheless, on several occasions she had succumbed to Eric’s pleas for help, hoping to have the pleasure of finding the perfect man and telling Raven, “I told you so.”
Eric was determined and brilliant, had a 4.0 grade point average, and was devilishly handsome with wavy, jet-black hair, caramel skin, and the softest brown eyes she had ever seen. As Ava brought the spoon to her mouth, she grimaced, thinking, And the boy could cook! Her traitorous stomach had led her straight into trouble.
Eric’s lips began to turn up just a bit at the corners. “I know for a fact that Pierce Randall will work out
much better than the others.” He nodded confidently, as though trying to convince himself. “She admires him.”
“Is that all?” Ava relaxed. “Eric,” she said, patting one of his long, tapered hands, “admiration is like a cute, cuddly kitten; love is like a full-grown tiger.”
He was silent for a moment. Then something in his expression crumbled. Eric closed his eyes, then pursed his lips as though trying not to cry. He opened them, releasing a long, sad sigh. “But he’s the first one.”
“First what?”
“The first man I’ve ever heard her say she respects.”
Ava chuckled, breaking open a piece of jalapeño cornbread. “She’s never even met the man.”
“She didn’t have to.” He moved over to the chair beside hers, brown eyes dancing with excitement. “She saw him a couple of times on that reality television show. You know, the one about finding a new music group? He was one of the producers. Sometimes he’d pop in to see how the contestants were shaping up.”
Oh, Lord! “Being on television doesn’t make for husband material!”
“It’s not because he was on television. It was how he carried himself. I think he’d be perfect.”
“You don’t count,” she said, resisting the urge for another bowl of chili. She’d loosened her belt after the first one; unzipped her pants a little for the second. She’d have to take them off if she went back for thirds—probably not a good idea, given the present company.
“He’s really cool people.”
Ava froze, another spoonful midway to her mouth. “That’s why you took that internship in New York.”
Eric’s smile could’ve thawed frozen vegetables. “Yep. I got to see the man up close and personal, as the sports guys say.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on a denim-clad arm.
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