Bonds of Attraction (Full Length Erotic Romance Novel)
Read Bonds of Attraction (Full Length Erotic Romance Novel) Online
Authors: Alana Davis
Bonds
of Attraction
by
Alana
Davis
Copyright © 2013
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Copyright © 2013
All characters appearing in this
work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.
Warning: This work contains
scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All
characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.
Table of Contents
The office was empty. I sat at my desk,
looking through a new client’s folder with idle fascination. It’d already been
a long day and I was determined to make it longer. When I thought of leaving
the office, I couldn’t think of anything to do or anywhere to go. Eventually,
I’d have to leave. But for now, I could still lose myself in my work.
As I studied the contents of the folder, I
ran my fingers across the fine wood that had been carved into my desk. I had
pushed the desk against the window when I moved the company into this office so
that I could feel the warmth of the sun against my skin while I worked. It was
dark outside and the flickering lights of Los Angeles reflected off of the
window. I couldn’t remember when the sun had set, or if I had even watched
it. An internet radio station was playing music that I wasn’t really listening
to, but through the high-quality speakers that I’d spent way too much money on,
whatever was playing sounded great. Lines of color moved across the computer
screen in geometric patterns.
I looked up from the sheet that chronicled
the client’s dating history and rubbed my eyes. My assistant, April, had gone
home for the day. A ceiling light shined down on her empty desk, cleared of
everything except for the computer that was turned off. Her chair was pushed in
and awaited her return in the morning.
April had popped her head in my office before
she left to let me know it was her time to hit the road. She had politely asked
me if there was anything else she could do for me, and I’d pleasantly told her
that I was fine. We said our goodbyes, and that was it. Our interactions were
always strictly professional. We always said our hellos and goodbyes, but the
small talk was next to nothing. We never discussed what we did out of the
office or our personal lives. For all I knew, April was married with kids or part
of some polygamist cult.
I knew that April was a good secretary. I
knew that she came into work on time, was organized, and followed all the
instructions I gave her. And that was enough.
Having had enough, I rose from my seat and
took the folder back to the filing cabinet. When I returned to my desk, I
picked up the pile of wedding invitations that April had placed on my desk
earlier that day.
There were at least a dozen invitations. Some
of the names looked familiar, others a complete mystery. I never attended any
of the weddings I was invited to. Frankly, I didn’t mind them but these people
were simply clients. I made no friendships through my work and I didn’t hold
much sentimentality. I understood that a lot of my clients held me in high
regard since they credited me for helping them find their “soul mates”.
April would place a stack of them on my desk
at the end of every week. I didn’t know why I still had her do this, despite
the fact that I always had her send them back with the unfortunate news that I’d
be unable to attend. If a client called to personally invite me on top of the
invitation, which often happened, I’d throw an extra hint of sadness in my
voice as I gave an excuse like I was going to be out of town that day.
The real reason was simple: I’d rather be
working on creating more weddings and happy customers.
I held one of the invitations in my hands and
carefully studied it. At this point, I’d received so many of these invitations
that I could’ve opened my own store that specialized in creating wedding
invitations. This invitation was exquisite. It folded open to reveal a small
bow attached to the fine paper that was lined with cursive writing. On the
bottom of the invitation, I noticed a small website URL, rachelandbrian.com.
Curious, I woke my computer up from its
slumber and typed in the address in my web browser. I couldn’t remember the
clients by their names, and when a picture of them popped up on my computer
screen, I still didn’t remember them. I studied their faces carefully, trying
to root through my brain for even the slightest hint of recognition. Nothing
came.
They were an attractive couple. Perfectly
suited for each other, I thought to myself. I let a little smile of
gratification spread across my face as I studied the picture carefully. They
were both smiling big white toothy grins. Brian had his arm around Rachel,
holding her close as they stared into the camera, their heads leaning against one
another. They both looked happy. They both believed themselves to be in love.
Just like a child is happy when he believes
Santa leaves him presents on Christmas Eve. I took out the RSVP card and marked
that I wouldn’t be attending. I placed it in the postage-prepaid envelope and
laid it next to the pile of unopened invitations.
I closed the website. I found myself wishing
that I could remember Brian and Rachel. There were just too many clients to
remember them all. But while they were my clients, they had been all I thought
about. Romantic algorithms turned over in my brain when I studied two people
that I felt could work as a couple.
Of course, physical attraction came first.
The couple had to meet each other’s standards. When you sign up for a
matchmaker, you expect the matchmaker to at least come through with a
prospective mate who is going to turn you on. But it has to be more than just
physical attraction. Simply setting up two people who were on the same plane of
physical beauty wasn’t enough to create the spark that would then turn into a
long-term relationship. I wasn’t in the business of creating hookups; I filled
a greater need. The need that everyone has felt before. The need for a partner.
I picked up another invitation and smiled
when I recognized the names on the back of the envelope. I opened it and pulled
the card out, studying it carefully. It was nice, not quite as elegant as the
previous one, but still very respectable. I remembered the groom well. Upper
management type. He was keen on meeting the perfect girl that would make a
great wife. “Old-fashioned” is what he called himself. The bride, a trust-fund
girl who was seven years his junior and had gone to college “for the
experience” rather than an actual education, was a perfect match. She wanted a
“real man” who she could be the perfect wife for as they built a life together.
In other words, she wanted someone to pay the bills and he wanted someone to
cook the meals.
Another website was written on the bottom of
the card. I didn’t bother to type it into my browser. In a few years, he’ll
grow tired of her bickering and constant expectations. The life of a
stay-at-home wife won’t be nearly the easy ride she expected and she’ll start
to resent him for depriving her of exploring her own interests, although she
didn’t have any interests outside of marrying a man who was wealthy enough to
provide her with a cushy life. Maybe he’ll have an affair, she’ll get fat, or
maybe both will happen and they’ll go through a bitter divorce. If they’re
lucky, they won’t have any kids before that happens.
The RSVP pile grew slightly. Before long, I had
filled out more and more cards until the pile was taller than the stack of
unopened invitations.
I reached the final invitation and opened it.
A magnet telling me to save the date fell on my desk. I picked it up and
studied the picture of two smiling people with a pit-bull in the middle of
them. The dog was adorable. I remember the couple vividly. They were each
clients of mine two months ago. Both were eager to marry the right person, settle
down, buy a house, have kids, and grow old with their loved one. He dreamed of
being a photographer while she aspired to start her own business. In a few
years, their dreams would go unrealized if they lasted long enough to have kids.
I licked the envelope that I put the RSVP
card into and wondered who would keep the dog when they got divorced.
I picked up the pile of declined wedding
invitations and began to straighten them in my hands, bouncing them against the
desk. My eyes wandered along the flat wood until they stopped on a photograph
of my parents swinging me between them. I studied this picture often, and each
time I stared at it, I became more and more convinced that it was the perfect
representation of my relationship with my parents. Always in the middle of the
two of them, being swung back and forth, pulled by opposite forces. They both
held my hand tightly, not wanting to let go, each bound to the other through
me.
I knew that there were other pictures in the
middle drawer of my desk. I could put up the recent photograph that my father had
sent me of him and his third wife. They’d looked just as happy as the picture
of him and his second wife. There was also a picture of my mother with her
fourth husband in my drawer, sitting in the woods with two small dogs that were
remnants of her second marriage to a stockbroker who had a penchant for small
dogs and slutty secretaries. My mother’s words, not mine.
My parents spent my entire childhood looking
for love that they’d never find. I figured out from an early age that marriage
and love were mutually exclusive. Three marriages for my father and four
marriages for my mother, and that didn’t even factor in girlfriends and
boyfriends who didn’t last long enough to become ex-wives and ex-husbands.
Now I was spending my adult life finding love
for people. The irony. Yet I couldn’t complain. I was grateful for a successful
business, and was careful to never be bitter towards my profession, regardless
of my childhood. Sure, I was selling people something that I didn’t even
believe to be real, but it wasn’t important what I believed—only what the
client believed.
I opened the drawer and pulled out the
photographs that I kept there. I sorted through them slowly, studying the faces
of my parents’ former spouses. It always amazed me that my parents didn’t burst
out laughing every time the priest said the words “until death do us part”.
I looked around the office. It was getting
late and I was long past done for the day. The clock confirmed it for me
immediately. I got up from my desk, tossed the photos back in the drawer, and
picked up the pile of rejected wedding invitations.
I closed my office door, studying my office
one more time before I killed the lights. The office was decorated with a
minimalist mentality. The art on the walls was plain, but interesting when you
studied it. Satisfied, I turned off the lights.
I felt tense and my back was sore. I’d been
sitting for too long. I tossed the rejected invitations on April’s desk as I
walked out. Outside, the night was refreshing, but the feeling of sitting at my
desk and going over every wedding which I was sure was going to end in disaster
was still on my mind. I got in my car and couldn’t shake the feeling. Rather
than let it fester, I decided to take action. I’d go to the gym and get out all
the frustration and stress of the day. Knowing that I had made up my mind on
where the rest of my night was going to take me, I already felt a little
better.
I turned up the music in my car to a
near-deafening roar and sang along at the top of my lungs. It felt good. When I
pulled into the gym parking lot, I was ready to break a serious sweat. It was
getting late and I hoped that the gym would not be completely desolate. I
normally didn’t mind an empty gym, but tonight I wanted some company while I
worked out.
Inside the gym, I walked with my bag slung
over my shoulder as I scanned my surroundings. A man covered in muscles that
were exploding with veins lay on a bench, pushing up huge dumbbells as he
grunted loudly. A young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, was next to him with
tiny weights that could have doubled as paper-weights, doing curls. A few
middle-aged men trying to combat the growing mass that had become their
stomachs were doing various exercises on the machines.
I continued on towards the women’s locker
room and looked over to the treadmills and elliptical machines. They were sparsely
populated with people watching television or bobbing their heads to their
iPods. In an adjacent room, a bunch of women and a couple of men were in a spin
class. It was a typical night at the gym, nothing interesting.
Then I saw someone who was
very
interesting.
He leaned against the squat-rack, breathing
heavily. He wore a cut-off t-shirt that was an old and battered band shirt,
probably from his younger days of bouncing around local music shows and dive
bars. He lifted a bottle of water to his lips and drank greedily as a bead of
sweat fell down the side of his face. Then he turned and noticed me. We met
eyes briefly before I turned away and walked into the locker room, making sure
to accentuate my hips as I turned my back to him.
Inside the locker room, I thought of the
unnamed man who had briefly caught my attention. I slowly peeled away my
clothes, imagining his hands undressing me. I looked in the mirror as the last piece
of my underwear fell off and I was naked. I could picture him drinking in the
sight of my naked skin and the tension in the air would become unbearable for
both of us.
I was alone in the locker room, but I knew it
wouldn’t last, so I put on my sports bra and slipped into my workout clothes.
They were tight, form-fitting clothes that accentuated my figure by not getting
in the way of my curves. I turned around and examined myself in my cute outfit
and felt satisfied. I had curves, and darn it, I felt proud of those curves. A
real man didn’t want some stick figure. I nodded my head to myself and walked
out into the gym, water bottle in hand and towel thrown over my shoulder.