Twenty-One Days (Pleasure Series Book 3)

by Amber Rayne

  “This is the only one I come to. Just a hint of cigar without all the disgusting smoke.” I suspected they had a wonderful air-filtering system, and looking at the patrons of the bar, they paid for the privilege to inhale just the light redolence of fine cigars. It made me think of my father, who would absolutely enjoy this place.

  The gentle sounds of music played in the background as people gathered around the bar and drank. We were escorted to a small table near the back.

  “You come here often?”

  He nodded. “It’s a good place to talk and have a nice brandy.” And, I figured, a good place not to be seen. Aiden had presented a black card at the door—as if the atmosphere didn’t convey exclusivity, the card certainly did. Large tinted windows dimmed most of the light, and whatever light managed to find its way in was smothered by the dark curtains. Candles and small decorative lighting fixtures maintained the dim lighting in the place. It was enough to see the people in the bar, but if you ducked off further toward the seating around it, where we were, you could go unnoticed. He scooted closer to me, his hands relaxed on my thigh. He ordered two drinks: a brandy for himself, and a dirty martini for me. I didn’t drink them either.

  “What unsettled you earlier? Bane said you were upset.”

  I brushed it off with a shrug, something he didn’t willingly accept. “Jason seems to consider getting me back his new mission in life.”

  “Exes can be that way. Shall I call him again?”

  Aiden had threatened Jason already, and I didn’t want it to escalate. He didn’t seem like a person who responded well to being ignored, and he and his father played the game of boardroom chess, their dysfunctional relationship manifesting into hostile takeovers of each other’s businesses and making an effort to bankrupt each other. “No, I’m a big girl. I can fight my own battles.”

  He shifted in closer to me, and his lips covered mine for a few seconds. When he pulled away, his teeth lightly bit into my lips. “You’re too sweet to fight dirty. I imagine your bark is worse than your bite. Mine isn’t.”

  As he settled back in his seat, the dark cast of his face seemed to have more to do with his words than with the dim lighting of the room. Once the drinks came, he watched as I bit into the olive and took a small sip from the glass.

  “You don’t like it, do you?”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine, Ella. If you don’t like it, ask for me to change it. How hard is that to understand?” His tone was cooler, rougher. His gaze was just as cold. “Why should you sit here and drink something you don’t want? Why would you do that?”

  “Because it’s just one drink. Why make a big deal out of it?” I snapped back, my tone as chilly and harsh as his. I immediately looked around and then lowered my head, but quickly lifted it to meet his gaze. He smiled, leaning forward, his lips wisping lightly over mine. He waved for the waitress.

  “We’d like to change the drink. Ella?”

  “French Martini.”

  Once the waitress was gone, he said, “I’ve become lax on many of my rules. There are some that you will continue to adhere to. If you don’t like it, then let me know. If you aren’t enjoying yourself, tell me. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I’m not enjoying getting this lecture constantly,” I mumbled before taking a drink of the water the waitress had left for us earlier.

  The smile feathered over his lips as his hands slipped further up my thigh until he reached the edge of my panties. His finger stroked over me, and a wave of pleasure rose. Several more gentle strokes, and he smiled when he found the area wet.

  “I love the way you respond to me,” he admitted against my cheek. I tried to slow my breathing, which had increased to short, sharp pants as he made little circles over the now-sodden area.

  “Do you want me to stop?” I looked around the room at the crowd of people, some glancing in my direction, and I wondered if they knew that his hand was under my dress and he was about to bring me quickly to orgasm. And I didn’t care. Remembering the unfulfilled desire he’d aroused in me earlier, I feel the heat rising. I needed to feel more than just his fingers against me. I wanted to feel him.

  I leaned into him and spoke in a light whisper for our ears only. My lips brushed against his ears as I spoke. “No, I want to fuck.”

  He slid from the table and I followed him. His hand around my wrist, he took me to the back of the club and we slipped into one of the bathrooms. The moment the door closed, he locked it, leaned me over the sink and yanked up my dress. With several quick tugs he ripped the thong away. Moments later I heard the unbuckling of his pants and then his zipper. He pressed his cock against me, his thickness a reminder of how difficult it was to accommodate his size. He thrust into me. I moaned. His hips moved roughly against my butt. I clawed at the sink at the sensual movement of his hips stroking against me, his fingers curling into my bare, exposed ass.

  Our hard breathing filled the room. The rhythm increased. I moved back harder against him, meeting his demands. Pleasure whipped through me, a heat that couldn’t be contained. A ravenous drive that couldn’t be easily sated. He pounded into me hard. His hands slipped around me, pulling down the front of my dress and exposing my breasts. Grabbing my hard nipples between his fingers, he squeezed them as he licked the pulse of my neck. Pleasure and pain. I gasped, the summation of it crashing into me. I scratched at the granite counter as the orgasm seized my body. I collapsed onto it, the weight of his body heavy against mine. We stayed there for a few minutes. When he moved, I straightened up. At least my makeup was still intact, but I couldn’t say the same about my hair. I ran my fingers through it several times, trying to smooth it down. Then I pulled down my dress, and we both cleaned up as much as we could. The scent of sex, perfume and brandy lingered.

  “Well, these aren’t any good,” he teased, holding up the destroyed scrap of fabric that had once been my thong. I tugged at my dress, pulling it down more. The scanty piece of cloth had barely covered anything, but I still felt naked without it.

  When we got back to the table, the waitress walked up, a small knowing smile on her face as she handed me my drink. I took a long sip from it.

  “Two times,” I said, placing the drink on the table. His brow rose in inquiry. “That’s the second time I’ve had sex with you in a public place,” I said.

  “Well, Ella”—I loved the way my name rolled off his lips, like silk—“you initiated it. I was just a happy participant,” he teased.

  He was just about to lean in and kiss me when he stopped, looking at the figure that cast a shadow in front of us.

  “If nothing else, you are a creature of habit,” said a deep voice. The man’s rugged good looks matched Aiden’s, as did his expressive cognac-colored eyes, which reflected the knowledge and confidence he possessed and wore as casually as his expensive tailored suit.

  Aiden leaned in closer to me possessively as his father’s gaze trailed over my lips, to the top of my dress, and slipped down it until he reached my hands, which rested on the stem of the martini glass. My fingers rubbed over it as I absorbed the tension that always existed between the two men. Aiden’s father had slept with Aiden’s ex-wife. They’d divorced because of it, and now she was pregnant by Aiden’s father. If that wasn’t a bad enough situation, she was working as his father’s campaign manager.

  “How may I help you, Councilman Matthews?”

  His father’s chuckle was ominous, and a devious glint sparked in his cognac eyes.

  Aiden’s father kept his gaze fastened on his son, dropping it occasionally to look in my direction. No longer were they furtive glances. He looked long and hard at me, and smiled. The same seductive smile that Aiden had given me more times than I could remember. It was like looking at a photograph of Aiden taken in the distant future.

  “Your stunt today was not appreciated,” his father sputtered angrily.

  Aiden shrugged. “I was very specific about what I wanted. S
ending Elizabeth to the meeting was supposed to do what—soften me? You didn’t do as I asked—what was I supposed to do, continue the meeting? There wasn’t a reason for me to be there, so I left. My time is just as valuable as yours.” Aiden glanced in my direction. “I had more interesting things to do.” He leaned into the table and fixed his father with a hard look. “The maternity dress is a nice touch—as is the gentle act she can switch on and off whenever it suits her agenda. If she can use something to her benefit, then she will, right?”

  Mr. Matthews’s smile drew into a tight line. “She thought she could reason with you. I knew she was wrong. Even she isn’t that talented,” he offered.

  “Dad, we’ve discussed this. It was your idea to run for Congress. I think it’s a poor choice, but I’ll play your game. Let me purchase Blakely at the price I’m asking, and I’ll sign your silly little nondisclosure agreement. Until you’re ready to do that, don’t send Elizabeth or any of your little minions in my direction. Do we understand each other?”

  Aiden’s father had mastered his anger. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood up taller, taking a sip from his glass. The gentle cool mask reasserted itself as the light smile returned to his lips. “Your offer is lower than market value—ridiculously low.”

  “Just as ridiculous as your request. But here we are. Either you agree or you don’t. I really don’t care. Please excuse me, I would like to continue enjoying Ella’s company.”

  His father gave me another roving look, then flashed me a devious grin. “Well, from the looks of things, I do believe you’ve enjoyed her already today.”

  A fire rose over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, and I knew my face was tinted a horrible strawberry color. I pulled my eyes from his and focused on my drink before taking a sip.

  “I see why she holds your interest for longer than most.”

  Feeling both of their attention on me, I waved the server over and pointed to my glass, asking for another.

  After a few more uncomfortable moments, his father left.

  “What’s Blakely?”

  “A house,” he offered.

  “People don’t name houses.”

  “It’s a chateau that we used to visit when I was younger. My mother always liked it. It’s something she wasn’t able to get when they separated. I plan to give it to her.”

  Minutes later, we were walking down the street and Aiden was considerably more relaxed. Out of sight, out of mind seemed to be the platitude by which Aiden lived. Just minutes after his father had left, he’d calmed down. Curiosity always got the best of me when it came to him and his father, and especially what had happened with Elizabeth. Had their marriage already been in trouble, and his father had used that to his advantage? Or had their marital troubles been a result of the affair between her and his father?

  Once again, his fingers had interlaced with mine when we left the cigar bar. He gave me a wry smile each time I looked down at our interlocked hands. It was something so simple, yet something he railed against, and I didn’t understand why. Was it something he denied himself because he didn’t want disingenuous feelings to emerge? Perhaps we were fooling each other, and others who looked at us. I looked at our hands again as we started toward the small white building. The bronze statues in front of the building moved into different positions every few minutes. I knew we were going to see another exhibit.

  I loved art in any form, including writing, performance, and music. It had become my way of rebelling against a mother who considered it only as a means to becoming a more “well-rounded” person, not something that should be pursued as a career. I had taken dance classes and played an instrument because that’s what you did in the land of suburbia to ensure that you got into college. As far as my mother was concerned, this had given me the knowledge I needed to be able to discuss it with others and not sound like a total novice, but it was just an adjunct, never to be considered anything more.

  That belief was only confirmed when my parents refused to pay for college after I announced I was considering art history as a major. I still had an appreciation for it despite not being able to pursue it in college.

  We entered the building and were met with small crowds of people, some dressed as we were, a few more eclectic in their appearance, bright-colored shirts with a tapestry of color. Some woman wore formfitting dresses and looked as if the exhibit was just a stop off before a night of partying and drinks.

  After a few minutes of exploring the displays, I was so consumed with the art that the increasing number of people in the room faded away. I’d released Aiden’s hand and walked through the room, aware of his intense gaze on me. He studied me as I studied the art.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he finally asked from behind me.

  I nodded.

  He paused, a long, weighted one. His tone was flat and dry when he spoke again. “This can’t be more than what it is, okay? I say this not to be cruel but to ensure that I don’t have to be when this is over.”

  I glanced in his direction and returned my attention to the canvas in from of me. “Twenty-one days and we go back to our lives. I get it.” I did get it. Sleeping with him in his bed, holding hands, the gifts and everything in between was still reduced to its barest essence. It was just about pleasure and fulfilling a physical need. I wasn’t the first, and it was doubtful that I’d be the last. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off mine.

  “Is this another one of Kieran’s shows?” I asked, hesitating to move, my thoughts flashing to him in the bedroom with us. Aiden had mistaken my appreciation of his best friend’s looks as a hidden desire for him to join us in the bedroom. He was wrong.

  “No. We will not be going to any more of his shows together.”

  I nodded and attempted to take his hand, but he stepped closer and offered his bended arm. I looped my hand through it.

  It might not have been Kieran’s show, but it was heavily influenced by his adoration of sexuality being depicted through art. This wasn’t as overt. Kiran’s showing had consisted of canvases of woman leaning over chairs, the skin of their exposed bottoms freshly blushed from being spanked, naked bodies painted into art standing motionless in the room, performance art of people moving in eloquent synchronized movements as the onlooker tried to figure out if they were having openly having sex, or just simulating it.

  This showing was different. Besides the people in the front of the building, there weren’t any bodies painted to emulate art. On the walls were blossoming flowers, and a man looking at it showed his appreciation in a manner that bordered on obscene. A woman eating fruit, provocatively posed, her clothes hanging loosely off her, the shirt hanging low enough to expose her full breasts, concealing only her nipples. Each depiction I liked and appreciated for the artistic eroticism.

  Aiden positioned himself behind me, his hand resting around my waist, his thumb rhythmically running up and down my back. “What do you think?” he asked against my ear.

  “I think they look at an apple and see cunnilingus, while I look at one and see a snack,” I offered, smiling.

  He laughed.

  “Why can’t it be both?” Both Aiden and I turned toward the familiar voice behind us. Kieran’s, Aiden’s best friend, stood just a few feet from us, his arms wrapped around a woman who looked familiar to me. She moved closer to me, sinuous and lissome.

  I focused on her face. The full lips, their deep brown coloring a contrast to Kieran’s fair skin and the men I’d seen her onstage with, her body wrapped around one while the other had enveloped her from behind. That evening she had been naked, her lovely body exposed to anyone who’d decided to stay for the show. Now she was clad in a satin dress that clung to her curves and hit the top of her thighs, displaying her long, toned legs. Kieran split his attention between us and her, appreciating her for nothing more than living art.

  “It can be both, which is why I enjoy these displays. It allows you to appreciate things differently,” Aiden said. He looked over the art in
the room, then his friend’s guest and then Kieran.

  “I thought you weren’t coming. If I’m not mistaken, your exact words were, ‘I’d rather be tortured than go to see that hack and his unimaginative followers,’” Aiden said.

  Kieran smiled, slinking behind his walking art, his arms curled around her as he inhaled her scent, which brought such a pleased look to his face that I had to fight the urge to lean in to smell her myself. She simply smiled at the attention.

  “Angela decided our playtime would take place out in public. I am essentially being punished at her hands. A change from our typical games.” He was just a few inches taller than his sultry partner, who was close to five feet ten. His bottle-green eyes held the same naughty mystique as her brown eyes. Their exotic looks and slender frames simultaneously contrasted and complemented each other, more than the men she had been paired with for the performance art.

  I looked over at her. She said nothing, just gave a genial smile. All that was dismissed as my focus quickly went back to Kieran, the devilish smile on his face a reminder of him in the bedroom with me, his kisses, his touches. It made me uncomfortable. I tensed under Aiden’s touch.

  “They’re having a live show later. Do you all plan to stay?” Kieran asked.

  Why was he being coy? People were going to have sex on a stage, or simulate it and call it art.

  “We’re going to leave now.” Aiden grabbed my hand and quickly escorted me out.

  Once we were several feet away, he said, “I didn’t know he would be here.”

  “It’s okay,” I managed to croak out, but I wasn’t sure how since my mouth was so dry.

  He studied me and frowned before looking away. “The only thing I ask is for you to be honest with me.”

  I paused for a moment, considering my words carefully. “He doesn’t make me uncomfortable. He is oddly interesting, but…”

  “But?”

  “I don’t like the fact that when I look at him, I know he’s seen me intimately, kissed me, and touched me because of you. I hate that.”