Also by Niobia Bryant
MISTRESS SERIES
Message from a Mistress
Mistress No More
Mistress, Inc.
The Pleasure Trap
Mistress for Hire
FRIENDS & SINS SERIES
Live and Learn
Show and Tell
Never Keeping Secrets
STRONG FAMILY SERIES
Heated
Hot Like Fire
Give Me Fever
The Hot Spot
Red Hot
Strong Heat
Make You Mine
Want, Need, Love
Madam, May I
Reckless (with Cydney Rax and Grace Octavia)
Heat Wave (with Donna Hill and Zuri Day)
NIOBIA BRYANT
HER PLEASURE
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
The Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The Postlude
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Niobia Bryant
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
The Dafina logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3069-5
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3069-0
First Trade Paperback Printing: July 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3071-8 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3071-2 (e-book)
First Electronic Edition: July 2021
For my cousin, Farrah Yolanda Moultrie,
who I know is in heaven dancing with my Mama.
Gone too soon. We all miss you so very much, LoLo.
Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing.
11/7/1977 – 9/13/2019
The Prelude
2016
“Breaking news. There has been an arrest in the recent shooting of Georgia Coletti. Just moments ago, Eric Hall, Sr., a prominent New Jersey businessman and philanthropist was arrested and charged with the attempted murder of Coletti. What has been revealed about the shooting is Coletti was not his intended target. His true aim was for Jessa Bell, whom you may remember rose to infamy after writing a bestselling book about her lover—who was also the husband of one of her best friends—stalking and then attempting to kill her before taking his own life. Here’s the first twist: that man was Eric Hall, Jr. We can only speculate on what motives the father had for trying to take the life of Jessa Bell, but someone close to the matter says that Bell and Hall, Sr. were contentious over his attempts to take custody of the daughter she bore for his son. But there’s another twist. Jessa Bell, after claiming to be reformed, went on to open a business—Mistress, INC—where she helped spouses catch their cheating husbands. It was at the midtown Manhattan offices of her business that Eric Hall, Sr attempted to take her life, but instead his deadly aim landed on Georgia Coletti . . . the long-lost daughter of Jessa Bell from when she just a teen. Yes, another shocker. Thankfully, Coletti has awakened from her coma and is in stable condition as she recovers with both adoptive parents and her birth mother at her side. Eric Hall, Sr. has been denied bail. We reached out to Jessa Bell and her publicist for a comment on the arrest, but they declined to offer one. We will continue to report as this multilayered story—believe it or not—continues to develop. This is Maria Vargas reporting for WCBL.”
Silence reigned as the three women—friends—sipped on fruit-infused seltzer as they sat before the seventy-inch television of the stylish media room. A commercial for a national auto insurance company filled the sizable room with a comically upbeat jingle.
“Well . . . I’m glad Jessa’s daughter is okay.”
Jaime Pine shared a look with Aria Livewell before she eyed their friend, Renee Thorne, over the rim of her crystal wine glasses.
Fuck them all.
“What?” Renee said at her disdainful expression. “Georgia had nothing to do with that mess Jessa Bell brought on our lives. She didn’t torment us—her friends—with a stupid message mocking which of our husbands were cheating on us with her and then write a book and go on tour bragging about the shit.”
Jaime took a deep sip of her drink, wishing it had the calming effect of wine instead. “And then try to sue me twice for half the estate of my sorry-ass husband for the baby she had with him,” she muttered, hating that a former friend still evoked anger at the very thought of her duplicity.
“She’s lucky they found out who shot at her because any of us coulda tried to take the trick out,” Aria said, settling her drink in the cup holder of her leather recliner before she splayed both hands on her belly, rounded with her second child with her husband, Dr. Kingston Livewell.
Jaime felt pensive as she remembered the night a few weeks ago that an inebriated Jessa Bell had returned to the Richmond Hills subdivision and wreaked havoc in their lives once more. Spilling secrets and delighting in their pain because they rebuked the olive branch she extended by revealing to Renee that her second husband was cheating on her.
Weaponizing the secrets of her ex-friends against them.
Mocking Aria for the financial troubles she and her husband were facing as his second medical practice struggled to thrive.
Exposing that Renee was cheating on her husband with her first husband—and first love—Jackson, who was raising an outside child with the woman with whom he cheated on Renee in the first place.
Also, revealing to Renee, a devoted mother, that her daughter, Kieran, was using pills to get high while her son, Aaron, was contemplating gender reassignment surgery. Things no mother wants to hear from a vengeful shrew and not directly from her children who were away in college.
Jaime released a short but heavy breath at Jessa Bell taking pure delight in informing her that she had lain with Jaime’s ex-boyfriend, Graham Walker. That hurt. Still hurt. How could he? Somehow, they had worked their way from her paying him for sex to falling in love.
Silly of me falling for a former manwhore that I used to pay for sex.
Her grip tightened on the glass as she imagined his tall and sculptured body atop Jessa’s, as she mocked her.
“To hell with Jessa Bell,” Jaime said, letting her anger and hurt fuel her. “Eric, Sr. should’ve had better fucking aim.”
Chapter 1
Five years later
Time heals.
For that, Jaime was grateful. And happy. Maybe for the first time.
Thank God.
She took a sip of her rum punch as she looked out at the idyllic turquois
e waters of the Grand Anse Beach in Grenada. The West Indies island, northwest of Trinidad and Tobago, with its white sand, warm climate, and scenic views was the perfect backdrop for the luxury boutique all-inclusive beach resort. As she moved to lean her bikini-clad body in the open doorway of the beachside suite, she smiled at her two friends in the distance on chaise lounges, soaking up the sun and enjoying beachside room service from beautiful Grenadians with skin bronzed by melanin and the Caribbean sun. They had only been on the island a few hours and already the drinks were plentiful and the food divine—she was instantly addicted to crab backs, the island’s creamy version of stuffed crab shells. The amenities of the Black-owned boutique beach resort were specially crafted to make you feel pampered, have fun, and explore. The island was brimming with history and culture. The music. The vibes. Beauty and light.
I love it here.
And I love him for sending me and my friends here.
Allowing herself another sip of the sweet concoction made with dark rum that was native to the country, Jaime smiled into her drink as her belly warmed at the thought of him. Her man. Her lover. Her love. Not her everything. Not her completion. They came together as two whole beings looking to add value to each other’s lives. That real shit. Grown folk shit.
For the first time, she loved and was loved back without complications. No drama or suspicions. No games. It was all good.
So damn good.
Jaime bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes with a little grunt as she remembered the heated hours they shared in his king-sized bed last night before she and her friends boarded his private jet for their week-long girl’s trip.
Shit, I almost overslept this morning.
Memories of his head buried between her thick brown thighs led her to fan her warm neck with a little sigh.
Life was damn good.
The past—the last ten years or better—was more of a footnote in her life and not the sum of it. For that she was glad. Now she could think back on her marriage, destroyed by a lack of love, respect, good sex, and trust, without a wild range of emotions. The anger had faded—at herself for not knowing she was worthy of more, at her mother for teaching her that her husband should be her everything as if a god, and at the men in her life for exploiting her weaknesses.
No more.
That silly message Jessa Bell sent was meant to taunt and torment, but it ended up being Jaime’s salvation. That day had led to a reckoning and in time she hadn’t cared which husband was guilty when faced with the truth hidden by her seemingly perfect marriage to Eric Hall, Junior.
Perfect bullshit.
For her the marriage was over regardless—his possible guilt as the lover to one of her best friends was irrelevant. She hadn’t even maintained her own fidelity. Just once. But once was enough. Especially with the one she chose to give her the pleasure her husband was ill-equipped—psychologically and physically—to do. So, by the end of that day, she packed a bag and moved out.
And then the real fun began.
Needing a diversion from that small but indelible chapter of her life during her post-Eric days, Jaime pushed off the door frame to turn and walk inside the den with the ends of her sheer pastel cover-up slightly floating in the air behind her. The décor of off-white with splashes of beachy colors was calming, but it was her cell phone on which she was focused. Setting the crystal goblet on the Sedona redwood sofa table, she dug her device out of her monogrammed designer tote.
“Jaime!”
She turned with her phone in hand as Aria came to a stop in the wide entryway with the stone terrace and beach as her backdrop. “What’s taking you so long?” she asked, pushing her rose-gold aviator shades atop her massive afro shaped curls.
Jaime slightly shook her head in wonder that Aria’s slim-thick body in a tiger print bikini had carried two children—a ten-year-old and a six-year-old. Unlike her, Jaime had not. And unlike her, Jaime wasn’t altogether sure she wanted children.
The mark her mother, Virginia Osten-Pine, left on her life—with all her rules of being a proper lady and wife based on societal pressures, religious zeal, and the judgments of others—had led Jaime into a marriage severely lacking in warmth, love, and respect while pretending otherwise. The abuse wasn’t physical, but allowing a man to not only make her feel less than in private and then standing at her side while she smiled and pretended otherwise in public was abuse all its own. It was a highly functioning lie and less than she—or anyone—deserved.
She hadn’t known how it felt to live her truth in those days.
For the first time in years, she longed for a cigarette and licked her lips to help curb the urge.
“Nothing,” Jaime finally answered her, still holding her phone as she shifted her temporary waist-length braids behind her back before grabbing her drink and crossing the space to step out into the Grenadian heat.
“This is paradise,” Aria said, replacing her shades before she spread her arms wide and tilted her head back as they crossed the terrace and walked under the brief shade of a towering palm tree.
“Yes, it is,” Jaime agreed as a cooling wind caressed her body.
“I needed this,” Aria sighed.
Jaime eyed her, knowing her friend spoke the truth. Of the three marriages tested by the silly message of a vixen, Aria and Kingston’s had survived. Not even the serious financial woes of Kingston opening a second medical practice six years ago had shaken their foundation irrevocably. As far as she knew things were better. But she could only know what she was told.
She opened her mouth to ask if all was well on the home front but paused, wanting to be sure the question was from true concern and not just curiosity. Daily she checked to make sure the selfishness and pettiness of her past were gone. In the past, she used to be so miserable she took joy in others’ pain and plight to feel better about her own mess. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Aria’s pause was noticeable.
Jaime assumed she too was assessing whether shadows of the old Jaime lingered.
“Just some work stuff,” Aria said, sounding vague.
Jaime forced herself to release the annoyance that rose at the thought of her friend still not trusting her after so many years. I left the stain, and I must allow time for it to fade.
Aria used to be a freelance writer who had snagged interviews with celebrities for top African-American magazines, but after her debut fiction novel failed to thrive—no matter how brilliantly written—her option for another book was not picked up and the couple’s money troubles led to her taking on work as an editor of a successful magazine that transitioned to a digital-only platform. So many times, she had admitted that her desire to write was fading in response to the duties of her full-time job.
“Well appreciate the break from it all... even my godchildren,” Jaime said with a smile.
Aria slightly nodded her head in agreement. “You owe your guy one helluva blowie,” she said with a wink just as they reached Renee lounging on a citron chaise lounge with her eyes closed as she luxuriated in the sun that was deepening her already caramel complexion to golden and made her ultrashort hair glow like a halo.
“Swallow and all,” Renee agreed, briefly opening one eye to look up at them.
“Cum up and then clean up,” Aria added with her signature brash and bold style.
The old Jaime would have blushed in shock and embarrassment. Felt disrespected even.
She’s long gone.
“Done and done,” Jaime admitted as she removed her sheer wrap and lay it over the back of the orange lounge chair. She removed her gold metallic slides and dug her toes into the heated white sand for a few moments before claiming her seat and crossing her ankles.
“Don’t make me miss Kingston,” Aria said with a little moan as she stretched her form across the middle chaise.
“And both of you stop rubbing your men in my lonely face,” Renee said. “My shower head does not match up.”
Aria gave her a consoling pout
. “It’s consistent as fuck though,” she offered.
Renee smiled broadly. “There’s that. For its purposes, it never disappoints.”
Jaime glanced over at her, ever amazed that although Renee was older than them by almost a decade, she didn’t look it except for the flashes of silver in her close-shaven hair. Although she wore a more modest one piece and had a slight pudge in the middle, she was still a stunner. She knew if her friend wanted to claim a man—whether as a lover or more—finding one was no issue. After two failed marriages where her heart was broken by infidelity, Jaime could understand Renee’s reluctance to try love again.
Been there. Done that.
“I understand protecting your heart, but other body parts?” Jaime asked.
“Let that thing live before it dies, girl,” Aria added, picking up her glass of rum punch from the clear serving table beside each lounge.
Jaime chuckled as she looked up and down the length of the beach. The stretch of it near the resort was more private but still, people lounged nearby relishing the clear turquoise waters with blue skies and emerald green hills in the distance. “And what better place than heaven on earth,” she said as she eyed a tall, muscled man walking out of the water. “Look at what God has created.”
The women all eyed him. This stranger with skin as dark as blackberries that glistened from the sun and water dripping down every hard contour of his body barely covered by white trunks that came to his muscled thighs. The wet material clung to his inches, leaving no doubt he was built to please.
“Well amen to that,” Renee sighed with a slight bite of her bottom lip.
“Let him bless you,” Aria said.
Her Pleasure Page 1
