Serving Pleasure (Pleasure Series Book 2)

by Alisha Rai

  Rana inhaled. That was an unexpected concession, but she wasn’t done yet. She grabbed the binder she’d spent the previous evening creating. “Here’s some ideas for what to do with the space if we go with the blue. Fabric and whatnot.”

  Leena glanced at the page Rana had opened the binder to, then came back for a second look. Her eyes widened and she accepted the binder. “Oh.”

  “Let me see?” Devi scooted even closer, craning her neck. “Oooh. Rana, this is lovely. This isn’t so different from what we have now.”

  They saw what she saw. She had to restrain her squeal. “No, it’s not so different. Our brand will be all over that place.” She used the word “brand” because she knew that would catch Leena’s attention. “It simply won’t be a carbon copy. This place is over-the-top kitsch. That place will be like...”

  “Elegant kitsch.” Leena’s eyes lit up.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “We’ll still get both colors,” Leena said, making Rana’s heart plummet. But then she beamed at Rana. “But I’m excited about the blue. I didn’t really think it mattered, what went on the wall. You changed my mind.”

  Such a tiny, silly, inconsequential thing to be excited about, them listening to her, but she couldn’t help it. Flushing hard, she pulled out a file folder from her purse. “I’ve also gone through the staff applications we’ve received. I know we agreed to all oversee, but there’s a couple in there that might make a promising manager for when we—”

  The bell over the door rang, cutting her off. The three of them turned their heads, Leena frowning. “I’m sorry, we’re closed right— Oh. Mama.”

  Devi stiffened, and Rana cast her a sympathetic glance. Since the poor girl had no choice but to keep her polyandrous lifestyle secret, Rana had noticed she was often ill at ease in their mother’s presence.

  Someone else might tell Devi that the truth would set her free or some such pap. But Rana knew better, and no matter how the lies weighed on her little sister, she hoped Devi would keep her mouth shut for the entirety of her relationship with Jace and Marcus. Rana knew far too well what it felt like to be on the receiving end of her mother’s displeasure. She’d had a lifetime of it, after all.

  Devi mumbled a greeting. Leena stood. Though she was unarguably their mother’s favorite, a subtle tension vibrated through her. Who knew why, though. “Mama. What are you doing here?”

  “You said you were talking about the new restaurant.” Short, plump, and still handsome, their mother strode to the table where they sat. “I thought I would come help.”

  Rana tried to hide her wince. After their father had died, Rana had stepped in, and for a few years before Leena and Devi were finished with school, had run the restaurant with her mother. The greatest day of her life had been the day Mama retired.

  The older woman meant well, but she also had an arch attitude that put all of them—including the customers and employees—on the defensive.

  “We’re doing pretty well,” Devi piped up, her fingers twisting in her lap.

  “We were almost finished, Mama,” Leena agreed smoothly.

  “Hmm,” their mother muttered skeptically. “Well, then, Leena, you and I can go over the plans and have some tea.”

  “I have a meeting with the contractors,” Leena said quickly. Rana narrowed her eyes at her sister, certain she wasn’t imagining her unease now. When had Leena ever turned down an invitation to chat and gossip with her beloved mother? They liked putting their heads together and giggling.

  For an instant their mother looked disappointed at this rejection from her favorite daughter, but then her face cleared. “Well, you run along, and Devi can tell me about the plans for the kitchen then.”

  With the ease of long practice, Rana kept her face neutral. Of course Devi would be able to tell their mother about the kitchens, and Leena would fill her in on everything else. Rana’s contributions were minimal, at best, so she couldn’t be trusted to report anything.

  She’d been excited about the color of the walls, for crying out loud.

  Devi slid out of her chair. “Sure,” she trilled, too eager to be convincing. “I’ll go make some chai, Mama.”

  Leena made her goodbyes, leaving the room so fast Rana could have sworn her sister’s feet were on fire.

  Rana began gathering her stuff together as their mother slid into the chair next to her. “Where are you going? You’ll have chai with us.”

  She glanced up at her mother, surprised and pleased. Until the other woman continued. “I have some boys I want to show you.”

  Heaven help her. “Actually, today’s my day off, and I wanted to run some errands...”

  “There is no such thing as a day off when you own your own business,” her mother reminded her, something she’d been telling Rana since she was a toddler.

  Rana bit off her usual response. That she knew that, damn it, since it had been eons since she’d actually had vacation. At the very least, someone called her to address some crisis or mediate a dispute. “Right.”

  The older woman fiddled with her phone before handing it to Rana. “Look at this boy. He’s perfect.”

  Rana dutifully took the phone and looked at the man in question. Indian and handsome, with perfectly styled hair and a gleaming white smile. “A doctor?” she guessed, resignation weighing her down.

  “Of course. You know I only filter by lawyers and doctors who earn over six figures.”

  The fact that there was a way to filter by income, and that matchmaking mamas used it, made Rana’s head hurt. She handed the phone back to her mother, hoping Devi would return soon. “I told you, I think I got this handled…”

  “I talked to him. He’s so sweet.”

  She gaped at her mother. “You talked to him.”

  “I accepted his interest on your behalf. That makes my phone number visible to him,” her mother said with a touch of defensiveness. “He called, and we spent a lovely fifteen minutes chatting about his family. His parents are both doctors, Rana.”

  What that meant, Rana still wasn’t sure. That the successful gene was strong in this dude? She rubbed her forehead. “Mama. Please don’t talk to anyone for me. And please take down the profile you made for me on that matrimonial site. I don’t feel comfortable with strange men calling you.”

  Her mother frowned. Rana knew her mom wouldn’t mind her bringing home a man of any ethnicity—his profession and income level would get a far harder scrutiny—but a successful Indian son-in-law would be the holy grail. Hence, her “help.” “I’m trying to help you, Rana.”

  There it was. “I’m doing okay without help.” She took a deep breath, not eager to have this conversation. “And anyway...I’m taking a break from dating right now.”

  Her mother reeled back, looking at her as if Rana had announced her intention to be a professional mud wrestler. “What? Why?”

  Because I’m posing nude for this artist and we’re also having sex, and I promised him I wouldn’t see any other men while we’re involved. How long will we be involved? No idea. Whee!

  She lifted a shoulder. “I needed a break. It was getting exhausting.”

  Her mother leaned in, her face very grave. “Rana. I know it is exhausting. I told you in the beginning that it wouldn’t be easy. I was lucky enough to meet your father in college, but I had friends who waited until their thirties to start this search, and it was incredibly hard for them. But you must stick with it. You are already thirty-two. You have no time to waste.”

  Rana studied her hands, the goddamned pressure weighing down on her on every side. She had heard some variation of the above for longer than she could remember. She was nearing some indefinable mark which made her an old maid, a desperate spinster on the marriage market.

  She wasn’t even particularly set on marriage, though everyone had automatically interpreted her “getting serious” as needing a ring. All she wanted was to find someone who loved her desperately. Maybe someone to cuddle with when it was cold out and who wo
uld be around when she wanted sex and who wouldn’t mind her obnoxious chattering. Someone kind and dependable.

  The pressure of tears against her sinuses made her eyes sting. She knew, intellectually, her mother had a skewed vision of marriage and men. But she couldn’t quiet the little voice that told her the older woman was right. She was racing against a clock no one could hear or see, but it would sound an alarm and she’d be alone forever.

  Her mother tucked her hair behind her ear, the touch devastatingly gentle. “You are so beautiful, Rana. Any man would have you right now.”

  Rana hunched her shoulders to hide the body blow her mother had just delivered. Yes, any man would have her. Right now. Before her beauty faded.

  Because that was all she had to offer a man.

  She made her hands into fists and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from screaming. When she saw Devi return from the kitchen, a tray of steaming drinks in her hands, she stood and snatched up the papers and binders she’d brought with her.

  “You’re leaving?” Devi asked, a hint of betrayal in her voice.

  “Yup,” she said, as cheerfully as she could. Devi was still young, and as far as their mother knew, involved in a committed relationship with Jace Callahan, a successful, attractive attorney. Her baby sis could handle herself.

  Rana wasn’t sure that she could.

  “Rana,” her mother called out after her as she scurried away. “Think about what I said.”

  As she drove home, Rana wanted to release a hysterical laugh. Of course she would think about her mother’s words. How could she do anything but think about them?

  Any man would have you right now.

  Her looks wouldn’t last forever. And then what would she have to offer a man? Her stimulating mind? Her stunning academic background? Her innate classiness?

  She was breathing hard when she entered her bedroom. Feeling stifled and repressed, she stripped out of her shirt and pants before sitting on her bed in her bra and panties. Since it was her day off, she had things to do, but she needed a moment to get her temper and her emotions under control.

  So overemotional, that Rana. She pressed her lips together to stifle her cry of pain. No. Old Rana had been overemotional. New Rana was composed. She wasn’t about to fly off the handle or fling stuff around or destroy a pillow in rage.

  Even if that was exactly what her body was clamoring to do.

  Rana took a few deep breaths, counting to a hundred, and then again, slower. She didn’t have time for this. She had promised Micah she would come over today when it was still light out so he could see her in the sunlight.

  Her heart automatically calmed, thinking of her neighbor.

  After their third night together, he had brought in a timer and set it for two hours, explaining to her that he didn’t trust either of them to get any significant work done if they started pawing at each other not long into every sitting.

  That hadn’t kept either of them from getting aroused though. The second the timer went off, she pounced on him, or he on her. Except the night before, when thanks to the space heater and the comfortable position he had asked her to hold, she fell asleep.

  She had awoken to Micah carrying her home. He had somehow dressed her in a T-shirt of his and then bundled her robe around her, all without waking her.

  She’d snuggled in, enjoying the novelty of having a man making her feel small and breakable, only protesting when he eased her into her bed and tried to move away.

  She clutched his shoulders and puckered her lips. “No. Stay.”

  “You’re exhausted,” he said in that clipped, fantasy-inducing voice.

  She was, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Admit it, and refuse his penis? Never. “No.” She tugged harder on his shoulders. “Need you.”

  He hesitated, and then he was over her, his fingers sliding over her wet pussy. He shushed her when she protested. “Relax. God, how wet you are. I make you like this? My looking at you?”

  “Mmm.” She jerked when his finger entered her. “Fuck me.”

  “I think you need this more than you need me rutting on you.” His fingers found her clit and squeezed. “Relax. Let me give it to you.”

  The memory made her thighs clench, and she dragged her hands over the bedspread. She remembered the orgasm he had given her, but vaguely, like it was something in a dream. When she’d woken this morning, she’d been alone, still wearing his massive T-shirt.

  She hesitated. They never set a time for her to come by. He had said he was almost always home, so she’d assumed it was up to her schedule. She glanced at her closed curtains.

  She stood abruptly and made her way to the windows, yanking open the curtains and the blinds. Ah. Yes.

  There he was, standing in his studio, a huge stack of papers in his hands. He hadn’t actually started painting her yet, so these were probably sketches of her.

  She tapped lightly on the window. He didn’t turn around.

  Of course not. He wouldn’t hear her. And though he knew today was her day off, she hadn’t said she would be home at mid-day.

  She stroked her finger over the glass, thinking. And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she strode to her discarded jeans and fished out her phone, finding the number she had programmed into it. She hit send and held it to her ear, returning to the window.

  She knew it was ringing on his end because his head came up, and he cast a glance at his worktable. Then he returned to studying the sketches in his hand.

  He was ignoring her...for her.

  She huffed a sigh of annoyance, hung up, and dialed again.

  This time, he was the one who was sighing. He strode to the worktable, tossed the sketches down, and picked up the phone. She held her breath as he looked at the display.

  Her heart leapt when he instantly answered. “Rana.”

  Now that she had him on the line, she felt silly, like she wasn’t sure what to say to him. “Hey.”

  “Hello.”

  She licked her lips, amusement at herself making her smile. “Nice shirt.”

  His head came up, and he turned to look out the window. His eyes widened, and he came forward to stand in front of the glass. “I like your lack of shirt.”

  Oops. Rana looked down at her body, clad only in her bra and panties. In her emotional upheaval, she had forgotten about her instinctive response to feeling stifled—going pantsless.

  Well. At least her underwear matched. She looked damn cute in the mint green. “You said you wanted to see me in sunlight.”

  “That I did.” His voice had grown hoarse as he studied her body.

  Confidence made her shoulders straighten. Prettiness might be all she had going for her, but Micah didn’t make her feel pretty. He made her feel like a goddess. Like he was starving in a desert, and she was the only thing that could save him. She shook off the fanciful thought and ran her finger over her cleavage. Distraction. That was why she had called him. “What are you up to?”

  “Organizing sketches.”

  She traced a heart over the window. Realized what she was doing. Dropped her hand. Distraction. “Do you like what I’m wearing?”

  “Yes.”

  His immediate response was like a balm to her soul. “Do you want to see me in less?”

  He grunted. “Always.”

  She placed the phone on the windowsill and reached behind her to unhook her bra. She teased him for a second, holding the cups over her breasts, and picked up the phone. “Take your cock out. You know I like to see it.”

  His breathing had roughened. With one hand, he unzipped his pants, the bulge of his cock immediately filling the open vee of his pants. He released it from the prison of his boxers and stroked it from root to tip.

  “Mmm. Have you been hard all day thinking of me?” She wanted his answer to be yes. Wanted him to confess that he spent the day in constant arousal, waiting for the few hours a night when she lay stripped in front of him.

  “Yes.”

&n
bsp; It wasn’t the grand statement she was hungry for, but it would do. She let the bra slide down her arms. He moaned, helpless.

  “Lick your hand. Get it wet. Now stroke your cock for me, Micah.”

  He did just that, spitting in his palm, then wincing when he grasped his dick. He always touched himself far rougher than she could, and she worked him over hard when she had him in her hands, letting the calluses on her palms rasp over his sensitive skin.

  “Come over,” he gritted out.

  She pressed her breasts against the glass, needing the bite of cold to stop her body from finishing this game before she intended it to end. “Later.”

  * * *

  He was dying. She was killing him, and Micah didn’t care.

  He wanted to close his eyes and focus on the harsh feeling of his cock in his hand. He hadn’t masturbated much over the past week. His own palm simply wasn’t as good as her hands, her mouth, her pussy.

  What are you going to do when this is over?

  He shut out the cloying, annoying voice in his brain, the voice that got louder every time they were together. “Lick your finger for me, then,” he bit out. “Rub your little clit the way you like it. I won’t be the only one losing my goddamn mind.”

  “You never are,” she purred in his ear. She did as he asked, sucking on her finger and popping it out of her mouth. She stroked her hand down her body, teasing them both, until her fingers slid under the waistband of her light green panties.

  He wanted to tell her to lose them, but something about watching her hand moving beneath the silk was erotic as hell. “How does that feel?”

  “So good.” Her head tilted back, and she closed her eyes.

  “No. You watch me,” he snarled. He tugged on his cock viciously. “You watch what you do to me.”

  She opened her eyes, and even from this far away, he could see they were blurry with need. “Micah.”

  “Come over here,” he cajoled, “and I’ll put you on my face. You can ride my mouth. I’ll rub my tongue against that spot you like deep inside you.”

  There was no hiding the shudder that ran through her. With her breasts rubbing against the glass, she was certain to have lewd imprints there later. “No. Like this.”