Serving Pleasure (16 page)

“I’m not done yet.”

“You said I should tell you when I’m done. I’m done.”

He finally met her eyes, though his fingers didn’t stop moving. “You’re far from done, Rana.” His voice was soft, matter-of-fact. “Look at you. You’re hurting, you need to come so badly.”

She rubbed her clit harder. “Then help me.”

He considered that, but then his eyes were drawn to her moving hand. “I can tell you what I imagined doing that first time I saw you watching me.”

She licked her lips, her nipples tightening more. “That sounds promising.”

He ripped off the paper and started a new sketch, his eyes obsessively locked on her hand between her legs. Was he actually drawing her masturbating?

She should be sickened by this. It was perverted, for sure.

But then, she’d always been a damn pervert. Guilt flashed through her, guilt for not being a good, normal girl, but she shoved it aside.

Not now. This fling was to indulge her secret, selfish soul. No room for guilt here.

“I was going to come to your bedroom. Break down your door if I had to. I was so angry to catch someone intruding on my privacy. I fantasized about yelling at you.” Before she could wince or apologize again, he continued. “I didn’t stay angry for long. I saw you the next day, walking to your car. And my fantasy changed.”

Her lips were dry, and she stopped stroking herself, more eager to hear what he had to say.

He shook his head. “If you don’t keep fingering yourself, I won’t tell you.”

That was untenable. She whimpered as she resumed the circular stroke, bringing her other hand up to clutch her breast and squeeze it, hard.

“Yes, yes,” he hissed. She froze when his hand covered hers, but it was only to adjust it so her nipple poked out between her fingers. “Keep fingering yourself, but don’t move this.”

“But I need...”

He pressed her fingers together until they formed a clamp around her nipple, and she squeaked from the pressure. “There. That way we both get what we need.”

“Keep talking.”

“I marched over and broke down your door. You sobbed, telling me you were sorry. And then I...”

He fell silent, his pencil stopping for a second.

“Then you what?”

“I made you show me how sorry you were.”

The words carried a hint of self-recrimination she hated. If she wasn’t allowed to feel it, neither should he. “I like that.” She made her strokes more explicit, to demonstrate how much she liked it. “How did I show you?”

He let out a gusty exhale. “You bent over the bed. I pulled your pants down around your ankles. And then I…spanked you.”

Jesus. Her ass clenched, as if she could feel his hand on her right now. “Micah?”

“Yes?” His voice was low, his head bent over the pad like he was ashamed to look at her.

“Did you finger me in between spanks?”

His head lifted. “Yes.” The word was hissed out.

Rana ran her tongue over her lower lip, loving his undivided attention on her mouth. “Show me how. Your fingers are so much larger than mine.”

He hesitated for a bare second. Then he dropped the pad to the side and slid his hand over her pussy, crooking his fingers so his palm could rub against her clit as he filled her. She grasped his forearm as he started fucking her, his muscles rippling.

She could barely talk. “What else did you do to me?”

“After you came, I made you get down on your knees and apologize to me.” His voice was hoarse, strained.

“How did I apologize?” She knew very well how, but she wanted him to say it.

“With your pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.”

She imagined that, imagined having his cock inside her mouth, and she couldn’t stop the freight train of lust that bore down on her. She came, loudly, her hand clutching his wrist.

She came back to her senses as soon as she heard the rip of paper. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“You’re beautiful like this.”

She’d be offended he wasn’t as undone as she was, but he couldn’t hide the effort he was exerting to control his lust. His hand shook, sweat dripped from his brow, and his muscles were locked. It wasn’t easy for him to focus on his work.

Lucky for him, it didn’t have to be easy.

She sat up, conscious of the wetness on her thighs and the heavy weight of her breasts. “I said we were done today.”

“We should...”

“No. We should definitely play. Work time is over.” She slid off the couch and onto her knees, facing him. He was mute as she took the pad and charcoal away from him and tossed it to land on the pile of other sketches he had made. She grabbed his rag and swiped at his hands before throwing that aside as well.

A sign of how far gone she was—her lust was outpacing her desire to poke at the drawings he had done of her. He hadn’t let her see them yet. Her curiosity was killing her.

“Stand up,” she said softly. “And let me apologize for spying on you.”

“I told you...”

“Stop being boring, Micah, and let me suck your cock.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he finally stood and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pushed his jeans and underwear down low enough for his cock to emerge, and she almost sighed over the beauty of it. She wanted to grab him and drag him toward her. She wanted to be greedy and forceful. But that was his role to play.

“Make me suck it,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. A trickle of sweat worked its way down his temple. “You’re killing me.”

“Do it. Show me how you did it to me in your dreams.”

He stepped closer, until the tip of his penis brushed against her mouth. His hand was shaking when he wrapped it around his cock and traced her lips with the fat tip.

“Cotton candy,” he murmured.

“What?” His cock jumped at the puff of her breath on it.

“Your lipsticks. I like how you’re always wearing a different shade. I imagine the color ringing my cock.”

She splurged on mega-last lipstick, but she’d invest in some less kiss-proof varieties, if that floated his boat. She slipped back into his fantasy and made her voice slightly higher pitched to account for manufactured fear. “Micah. Please. I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

His shudder was full body this time. “Fuck me,” he whispered, and ran his fingers through her hair. When he palmed her skull, some of the strands pulling painfully, she had to clench her thighs together to stop herself from pushing him down and climbing on top of him. “Show me how sorry you are.”

She kept her lips resolutely closed until his thumbs dug into her cheeks, forcing her to open. When his cock forged in, she whimpered, only half acting. He felt huge in her mouth, the thick shaft dragging over her tongue. He worked in an inch or two and then stopped, his fingers gentling in her hair.

“Take more,” he growled. He wrapped one hand around his shaft and stroked the part she hadn’t managed to fit in her mouth. “You were so bad, weren’t you? Watching me like you did.”

Her body trembled. What was it he’d said when they met? They brought out something wrong in each other? She had been bad. She’d been bad to watch him, bad to pose for him, bad to fuck him.

God, but it still felt so good.

M
icah bit
off a curse when she carefully nodded and thrust a little harder, his cock glancing against the back of her throat. If he’d had a hint of rational thought and muscle control left right now, he would grab his pencil and paper and sketch her from this vantage point. Her eyes were wide and dark as she stared up at him, playing the worried supplicant to the hilt. Her mouth was passive around him, as if she were merely allowing him to use her at his will—a fantasy he hadn’t even been aware he fostered until this moment.

They were only a few days into this amazing arrangement of theirs, and he was learning all sorts of things he’d been ignorant of needing before. Her lilting laugh. Her chattering. Her sharp wit and intelligence. The way she pulled words out of him he found difficult to say to everyone else.

The way he felt when she was around him. Lighter. Calmer. Better.

Hotter.

He tightened his grip on her hair and used his thumbs to press against her face, shuddering as the smooth inner skin of her cheeks met his cock. “Suck. Hard.”

She tightened her lips around him and sucked immediately. He pressed forward, fucking her shallowly, then harder when she seemed eager to take it. He picked up speed, his hips swinging, hammering his cock into her warm, wet, willing mouth.

He allowed all his most barbaric fantasies to surface: her, attached to a chain in his studio, watching him while he painted, servicing him when he needed it. Her, dragging him away from his work because she was too aroused to wait a minute longer.

Her, here. For as long as he could keep her.

He shoved the dangerous thought away. She gagged, and he jerked back to reality. He pulled back instantly, letting her breathe. Tears had trickled from her eyes, making her eyeliner run.

Alarm pierced through his lust. “Are you okay?” As soon as he said the words, he knew she was. Her hand was working fast between her thighs, her cheeks high with color. “This is turning you on,” he growled, his lust kicking up another notch.

She panted, her eyes on his cock. She looked wrecked, her pink lips wet, her makeup smudged. The debauched party girl, after the party.

He ran his hand over his dick, making it slick and shiny from the combination of his pre-come and her saliva. “I want to watch you fuck yourself,” he rasped, giving himself over to his filthy fantasy entirely. “And after you do, you’re going to drink me down, is that clear?”

She watched his fist stroking his cock. “And then you’ll believe how sorry I am?”

Her words were pleading, but her tone was a demand. His erection pulsed. “Yes.”

Her fingers picked up speed, in time with his own jerks on his cock. Her body flushed a charming red, her breasts shivering as her orgasm rushed over her. Her eyes closed, a series of breathy moans falling from her lips. “Oh, oh, oh.”

He waited for her to look at him before he directed his cock inside of her slack mouth. She gasped but quickly got on board, sucking him while he set the motion, fucking her face harder than he had dared the first time.

When he felt the orgasm spilling over him, he tugged at her hair, trying to do the gentlemanly thing, despite his earlier demand. “Rana. I’m coming.”

She only tightened her lips around him and sucked harder. Unable to resist the invitation, he came in giant shudders, spilling down her warm, willing throat.

He staggered when he was done, his cock leaving the seal of her mouth with a pop. Unable to stand, he collapsed backwards, landing on his ass, and stared at her.

What kind of spell had she cast on him? He’d never had trouble maintaining professionalism in a model’s presence, his thoughts no more prurient than a doctor’s would be upon seeing a naked patient.

Rana wasn’t like any other model, though.

She made a show of wiping off her mouth. His cock stirred as she licked her thumb deliberately and smiled a confident, seductive smile. “Well. I would say this session was highly productive, wouldn’t you?”

He glanced at the pile of sketches. He’d never worked so slowly before, but he spent a good chunk of their sessions talking to her. What had started out as a way to get her to relax had become a nearly vital part of his day. He wanted to hear about the TV shows she liked or the fights she had with her sisters. He wanted to know her, inside and out.

At this rate, she would be his model for a hell of a long time. Funny how he didn’t mind that.

He cleared his throat, fearful that the rasp in his voice would give away his feelings. Feelings he was nowhere close to understanding. “Highly productive.”

“
R
ana
?”

“Huh?” Rana looked up from the pad she was doodling on to find both of her sisters watching her. She blinked at them, remembering where she was. “Oh. Sorry. Daydreaming.”

“As usual,” Devi teased with a fond smile.

She internalized the dig that wasn’t meant to be a dig. She couldn’t help being a space cadet today. If either of her sisters had spent the last week naked in front of Micah Hale in one capacity or another, they would be daydreaming too.

Rana cleared her throat. “What were we talking about?”

“The decor,” Devi said.

“Can you call the people who made the couches for us, Rana?” Leena inquired. “We can order two more.”

Rana took a deep breath. “Actually, I thought maybe we could revisit my idea from earlier in the week. To change things up in the color scheme.”

Leena was already shaking her head. “We know what works. People like the way this restaurant looks. We’ll keep it the same.”

Show your work.
“Just…hang on a second.” Rana leaned over and pulled out a book of paint samples from her giant bag, flipping to the page she had tagged. “Look at it again.”

Leena accepted the book Rana passed her. They were sitting at an empty table in the restaurant, which was currently closed to the public, since it was between the lunch and dinner shifts. Officially it was Rana’s day off, but this was the only time and day all three of them had been able to get together to talk and make decisions.

Leena was frowning down at the paint swatches. Devi scooted her chair closer, so she could see. “That blue is pretty, Rana,” Devi said, “but I think Leena’s…”

“It’s a smaller place.” Rana had always felt vaguely awful over her tendency to chatter, but she used it now, eager for her voice to be heard. “Red and gold will be overpowering. Plus, we’re targeting a more upscale market. We need to go less kitsch.” Rana pointed to the light blue she had picked out. “On the walls, this is soft. Calming. It won’t overpower the small space.”

Leena pursed her lips and flipped to the reds. She found a red similar to the color currently on their walls and tagged it. “Okay. Let’s get samples of both these colors and take them over tomorrow. See how they look.”

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 would 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?”