Page 1 of Allure
Syra sat in a large conference room with big windows that allowed an abundance of natural light to brighten the place. The sun warmed her too-cool skin. Her nerves were making her antsy, and she could barely sit still in her seat. She looked around the room, trying to give her mind something to focus on. She took in the deep mahogany furniture. It filled the space with a welcoming masculine energy that she tried to lean into to keep her grounded. The conference room smelled of pine and wood, reminding her of the outdoors, and it made her feel less trapped and further eased her anxiousness.
Just breathe.
You, Delilah, and Katrina planned for this.
This meeting is just a formality for Garrison Inc to say yes.
Syra mentally repeated her mantra over and over again, knowing the more she felt it, believed it, the better her chances were that her and her two friends would walk out of here owners to one of the empty buildings on Bleecker—well, not official owners yet. They were leasing the place out with the option to buy later down the line, but there was no question in Syra’s mind that she and her friends would own the building eventually. Once the remodeling was done and they opened the doors, Sirens Pleasure Club would be a success and a new staple in Lockwood.
Sirens would be the only pleasure club in the area, and it would be the only female-owned business in Lockwood to boot. Sirens would cater to everyone with certain kinks and to those looking to explore a sex life outside of their bedrooms and their partners safely. Syra watched her friend, Raven Wright, do it in Ivywood with Lush, and she believed she and her friends could have the same success here.
And hopefully this will help find your way back to yourself and back to your art.
Syra glanced down at her hands, wondering if her gifts would ever come back to her. She used to be a highly in demand and successful artist. Her paintings ranged from the abstract to erotic self-portraits, but she hadn’t been able to put anything on a canvas in what seemed like forever. Her hands couldn’t connect with her mind or with her heart. There was a blockage she couldn’t move past or figure out how to dissolve no matter what tricks of the trade she looked up for artistic blocks. Every time she stared at a blank canvas, frustration and sadness seeped into her bones and she felt like a fraud.
Had her art deserted her?
Had she only been allowed her fifteen minutes of fame? Was that time in her life a fluke?
Was it nothing more than a moment in time she would never get back?
You painted six months ago.
The thought made the back of her neck heat, remembering exactly what sparked the need to put something on paper in the first place—a multitude of orgasms from the last man she’d ever thought she’d see again.
Six months ago, Syra, Delilah, and Katrina had gone out to a club in celebration of Kat getting a new job. The energy had been so potent it teased Syra’s senses—whispering a chaos that demanded attention. She felt that same allure to peek behind the chaos she always had when she painted. It was the taunt to let the emotions and energy she felt inside of her take over and bleed out of her.
She thought that first hit was the little breadcrumb she needed to find her way back to her art, but what she found instead was a man she had never expected to see again.
Marco Cabrera.
The man had swept her off her feet six months ago. His gruff voice and demanding touch had brought her to so many climaxes she couldn’t keep count. She had expected nothing less from him; their history had shown how good they were together. They had spent three years together, and in those three years they had great sex, explorations, a lot of laughs, and a connection that still made her heart beat like a stampede.
Her hand flew to her heart, willing the damn thing to calm down. Even thinking about him had sent it into a tailspin. If she closed her eyes, she could practically still feel his touch against her skin, hear his whispered praise, and see the longing in his eyes that told her he wanted more than she’d been willing to give. They’d spent all their time together, wrapped up in each other until she left him for her ex, Joel Hernandez.
“You knew what this was, Marco. I never came to you asking for more when I knew I couldn’t give it to you.” Syra’s voice broke, hating that she was hurting them both. “I’m sorry, but you always knew there was someone else.”
She felt sick, watching him regard her like some stranger as the words spilled out of her mouth. She had seen the hurt fill his features, but he didn’t utter any words, put up a fight, or try to change her mind. He just watched her walk away, and the farther she got from him, the more she could feel his anger toward her deepen.
Syra never expected to run into him again after she left him, but six months ago they stumbled into each other at the club. While a normal person would have avoided him—especially when she could still feel his anger and see it come to life behind his green eyes—she found herself in his orbit as if he pulled her in himself.
“You good?” Kat’s soft voice made her shift in her seat. “You look a little flushed.”
Syra brought her hand to her neck, almost wishing her nerves had come back to cool her overheated skin. Her mind and body were trapped in the night she spent with Marco. He was still a man who possessed and knew her body and mind better than she did some days.
One touch of Marco’s lips on her skin along with his well-placed whispers and heated gaze brought the fire he started inside of her to a raging inferno. There had also been the added audience of Marco’s neighbor. He sat on his living room couch one building over with his own cock in his hand watching the way Marco touched her, and it heightened the experience for her. She had liked watching his neighbor just as much as she liked feeling his eyes on her when Marco was touching her.
Syra waved a hand in front of her, trying to clear her thoughts of the images that were torturing her. Though she could feel her body opening up, her thong was wet and her pussy throbbed as if Marco was in the room with her, taunting her still.
“I’m fine. I think it’s the sun. It’s right on my back.” She chuckled weakly, hoping Kat would leave it alone. She willed her mind to stay in the present, but she was right back to that night and the morning after.
As soon as she got home, she spent the entire day drawing Marco from memories they shared in her past. She drew both of them on the blank canvas, trying to recreate the passion and fire that night had invoked in her. It was the first drawing she’d done since she stopped painting and stopped taking commissions for Raven and her friends.
Syra’s hands twitched at the memory of what felt like a rebirth. The creative block had finally disappeared and she was on to her next cycle of her artistic expression, but one well-timed argument from her ex-husband, Joel, and it shriveled up and died like it had never come back to life in the first place. If not for a canvas she kept rolled up and hidden in a box of things that were too painful for her to look at, she would have thought that painting had been a fever dream.
Syra didn’t like to place blame on anyone, but in the last six months she often wondered what her art would have looked like if not for her ex-husband killing pieces of her.
He’d be an ex-husband if he ever signs the damn divorce papers.
