The Pleasure's All Mine

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Ninteen

Twenty

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Epilogue

About Naleighna Kai

About Every Woman Needs a Wife

About Rich Woman’s Fetish

My mother, Jean Woodson

My grandmother, Mildred E. Williams

My brother, Eric Harold Spears

My niece, LaKecia Janise Woodson

Anthony “Green Eyes” Johnson, the man who helped me learn what unconditional love is all about.

My sister in the pen, Leslie Esdaile Banks/L.A. Banks,

your words, your smile, your laughter will be missed.

All praise is due to the Creator first and foremost. A special love and respect to my guardian angels, ancestors, teachers and guides.

To my mother Jean Woodson, to my spiritual mothers: Sandy Spears and Bettye Mason Odom; to my son, Jeremy, who is still, to this day, teaching me more than I’ve ever taught him. To the people who continuously inspire me: Rev. Renee “Sesvalah” Cobb-Dishman, Leslie Esdaile, L.A. Banks, Annie Armstrong, Teena Guterz Kwaaning, Pam Nelson, Lisa Nichols, Louise L. Hay, Carol Mackey, Avalon Betts-Gaston, Esq., Cassandra Hughes, Matthew Gabriel and Sarah Brooks Gabriel, Marisa Murillo, Ella Houston, Sheree Gilmore, Gretta Chamberlain, Debra Mitchell, Marilyn Gill, Milliletti Forrest, Quiana Williams, Ehryck F. Gilmore, MaKeva Cargill, Aisha and Janice Lusk, Dr. Yosha Yvonne “Every Woman Needs a Wife” Tolbert, Vera Warren Williams, Michelle Wade, Leslie Dishman; Melanie Caswell; Frankie, Alyse, and George Payne; Marilyn Miglin, Camylle DeLaurentis, Sue Russo, Marv Hieppas, Tammy Stewart Stuckey, Allan Greggs, Sanceau-Rae Williams, Charlotte Willingham, Geneva Arvinger, Tonda Reese, Yolanda White, Anna Moore, Kara Hallman, Santrece Ross, and Cheryl and Morris Kimbrough, and Gayle Jackson Sloan. To Barron Steward, the graphic designer who knocked the cover of this book, and several others, out of the ballpark. You are the best!

To my editorial team: Janice Pernell, Susan Mary Malone, Marilyn Weishaar, Sidney Rickman, Aimee Algas, Christine Meister and Erica Weber, to my Intender’s Circle Family, which includes: Lester Tehuti Dishman, Myra Neal, Janine Ingram, and Sheila Washington.

To my literary angels: Dee Dee (Sexy Ebony BBW), Tee C. Royal, Cindy Smith, Victoria Christopher Murray, Brenda Hampton, Constance Shabazz, Tammye Bush, Veronica Johnson, Susan Peters, Lisa Wedekind, Trice Hickman, Wandra Worthy, Mabel Tyler. To my international crew at Atlantis Resorts: Calvin Ford, Sherol Julious, Dorethea Moss; and to Dorcas Bowler--thank you so much!!

“I’m not letting you bully me into
anything
,” Raven growled, trying to regain her balance when he released her. “When people find out how that clip got around, it might cause me some grief, but you’ll lose the little respect of the
few
fans you have.”

He stared at her, face flushed with anger.

“All you’ve done is run your dreams into the ground. You screwed up your life and now you want everyone else to pay. He’ll always have more class than you, more morals, and certainly more balls.” She gestured to the screen. “And he’s also pretty well hung. Hell, if I were you, I’d be jealous, too.”

A fist sliced through the air, connecting with the side of her head. Blinding pain shot from just behind her eyes to every nerve in her brain. With one angry swipe he sent almost everything on his desk crashing to the floor. Thick, hammer-like hands grabbed her, threw her down on the glass, then pounded into her face.

Stunned, Raven gasped. But she swung, landing a solid right to his eye—and another to his nose.

Staggering at first, he regained his balance, then lunged forward, pinning her to the desk. She grabbed a handful of genitals and squeezed with all the power in her.

He doubled over but recovered quickly, slamming her head backward, dislodging her grip. He ripped away her blouse taking the bra with it, then yanked up the skirt, and tore away silk stockings and panties in one angry motion. The sound of a zipper cut through the air like a knife just before he positioned himself between her thighs.

Waves of nausea coursed through Raven as she struggled to keep him from making contact. She grasped a smooth object teetering on the edge of the desk, then hammered the paperweight into the side of his face.

As he stumbled backward, she lunged at him, clawed at his face, her fingers pressing toward his eyes.

Fists smashed into her face, neck, and chest. Soon she struggled to breathe.

Raven glanced up at him. Pure rage lit his face. Rape would be the minor thing; she could die right there in his office, and just like before, he’d get away with it.

Summoning her waning strength, she fought back, landing one blow after another.

Finally, he ducked under, grabbed her head, pressed it against the desk again.

This time she saw stars, stripes, and swirls.

Taking advantage of her dazed condition, he bit into the flesh around her nipples and she shuddered at the pain.

Raven kicked her legs out, trying to connect with something, anything.

With a handful of hair wrapped around his hand, he yanked with all his might.

Pain erupted from her scalp as she fought his every move. Gradually his blows became less and less effective.

Raven’s courage shot through the pain; a sense of calm replaced her anger. She looked him in the eye and said, “Then slap on a condom and do your thing. At least you’re so much
smaller
than he is, I won’t feel a thing…”

That firm erection withered like a grape drying in the California sun. He released her and looked down at his bloodstained hands. A flicker of fear flashed in his eyes—but only a flicker.

Raven still struggled to breathe. Maybe her nose had been broken, but even breathing through her mouth required a major effort.

Staggering toward the door, he grunted in pain and made only a few steps before slumping down on the leather sofa, dropping his head into his hands.

Slowly, Raven pushed herself off the desk and untangled her clothing so she could walk.

“You deserved it. No one talks to me that way.”

“You have lost your damn mind!” she shot back. “No woman deserves what you did to me.”

Raven failed in her first effort to stand tall, but tried again. Pain peppered every part of her body.
She had to get out of there while he was in a weakened state.

The glass doors seemed miles away, not the sixty feet they actually were. Raven’s chest heaved as she tried to take in air. Her lungs burned; sides felt as though someone had tried to slice her in half.

Inch by inch, slide by slide, she crossed the office until her swollen hand touched the silver rail leading to freedom.

Raven’s heart stopped as his next words cut through her: “Now you know I can’t let you do that.”