A Night Of Rapture and Pride, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Alisha Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of quotations in a book review.
For more information, please address: alishawilliamsauthor@gmail.com
Book Cover Designer: TRC Designs
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
DEDICATION
AUTHORS NOTE
CONTENT WARNING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
BOOKS BY ALISHA
THANK YOU
ABOUT ALISHA
DEDICATION
To all my MM spicy book lovers! Hope you enjoy my first MM romance!
AUTHORS NOTE
This book is a part of the Vice and Hedonism series. This is Sebastian and Tanner’s story from the anthology A Night Of Sin and Corruption. The anthology piece was co-written however, I have taken over the full length story. I still hope you enjoy!
This is a steamy MM billionaire office romance.
CONTENT WARNING
This is a MM romance. This book has a lot of descriptive sex scenes. This is a billionaire office romance. Although there might be some BDSM content, this is not a BDSM book. This is meant to be a short, steamy read. There is plot, just not heavily.
Things that you can find in this book:
*Cum play.
*Oral
*Anal
*Age Gap
*Light Degradation
*Praise
*Daddy Kink
Chapter 1
Sebastian
Bourbon glides down my throat without resistance. The rich caramel and vanilla notes linger on my tongue as a satisfied groan leaves me. The crystal tumbler clinks against my solid oak desk as I place it beside my never-ending stack of mail.
It’s been a hell of a day. A long fucking day.
I swipe a hand through my inky black locks and give a little tug. The knot securing my tie is stifling. It feels more like a noose.
Sliding my hand down my face and over my stubbled jaw, I slip my fingers behind the knot, tugging until it falls apart. If I never have to be present for another board meeting in my life, it’ll be too soon. Thomas’ monotone voice and endless agendas are the banes of my existence. Right up there with my grandfather’s loathsome demands and the board's expectations for my life.
At thirty-nine years old, you’d think I have full control over my life and choices. Wrong. I’m stuck on pleasing my grandfather by following the path he’s paved for me since birth. I need control and it kills a part of me that there are certain things that I cannot change. Duties that I desperately wish I could avoid.
I wrap a hand around the back of my neck and squeeze to release some of the tension tight in my shoulders and head. My attention snags on the smooth black envelope in the pile of mail beside my clenched fist and instantly, my shitty mood lifts. A grin spreads across my face as I uncurl my hand to pour some more bourbon in celebration rather than to feel numb. I slip the envelope from the pile and flip it over, brushing my fingertips over the wax seal. I know what’s inside and fuck if I don’t need it right now. With my fortieth birthday approaching and the consequence of that milestone, anything is welcomed—especially when they come in the form of unrestrained sexual gratification.
The wax seal breaks easily, and I pull out the invitation. It’s made from the same black velvety paper as the envelope, with purple writing scrawled across the invite. Purple for pride. I’ve explored a few of the seven floors inside Club Rapture, but this will be my first time playing in Pride. A euphoric sensation spreads through my limbs, shooting straight to my balls. With one hand, I adjust myself in my slacks, with the other, I open my laptop to quickly RSVP.
I glance over the lengthy Mutual Non-Disclosure Agreement and sign my name electronically. I’ve read it thoroughly before so no need to waste my time now. Its size and volume of legalese are impressive, but with the clientele Club Rapture brings in, privacy is important. No one wants to go to a sex club if they don’t feel protected—I sure as hell don’t. One leaked photo and your world is thrown into an uproar. If my grandfather or the board caught wind of my extracurricular activities, I’d be screwed.
Closing my laptop, I grab my drink and tip the amber liquor back, swallowing down the remains before discarding the tumbler. Three glasses are enough on a work night. Any more and I’ll bite everyone’s head off at the office tomorrow. With effort, I push out of my office chair and stand. Swaying slightly with my eyelids half-lidded, the room spins for a moment. I squint around the blurry edges of my vision and head for my bedroom.
Sleep calls to me like a siren, but I know once I crawl into bed, I’ll be left to count sheep until my brain finally shuts off. A full night's rest is few and far between these days. It’s as though my body and brain haven’t realized that I’m not in my twenties anymore. I can’t live off of three hours of sleep and Red Bulls like I did in college.
I grunt as I shoulder-check the doorframe while walking into my bedroom, or maybe it shoulder-checks me. Fuck if I know. Stripping out of my clothes, I flick off the light and climb onto my bed, sinking into the soft sheets. The cool fabric envelops me, feeling so good against my heated skin. My eyes fall closed and I force away thoughts of work and family and focus on the one bright spot in my week. The lock-in at Club Rapture this weekend. It’s been too damn long since I attended one of their events. My fingers twitch and my cock stirs as memories play out on a loop behind my closed eyes. This weekend is exactly what I need to let off more of the tension coiling through me—a good boy or girl on their knees, fingers digging into my thighs while my fist is wrapped around their hair and I fuck their perfect mouth.
Fuck me, is it Saturday yet?
“IT’S NINE-THIRTY AT night, Grandfather. I’m not coming into the office for an emergency meeting that isn’t actually an emergency. Everything with Downs and Proper Press is on track. The new social media department is ready to launch next Monday after we secure a Junior Editor—which HR is handling on Monday. I’ve already signed off on the top three prospects. The board needs to stop questioning my strategic moves and start realizing I can lessen the problems they’re carelessly throwing my way, on top of bringing Fitzgerald Press into this century. There is nothing that needs to be handled immediately and sure as hell not on a Saturday night.” I say with a bite in my tone. First, his assistant called me, then my assistant called me and now he’s calling me. Whatever it is, I refuse to let it fuck up my night at Club Rapture.
“Watch yourself, boy,” my grandfather snaps. “Everything I gave you can be taken away. You’d be wise to remember that.”
How could I forget it? It’s your favorite threat.
I grind my teeth, holding back what I really want to say before it flies out of my mouth and I have a bigger headache to deal with come Monday. I heave a heavy sigh and scrub a hand down my face. You need the patience of a saint to deal with Alexander Fitzgerald. “I’ll see you on Monday, Grandfather. We can go over everything then.”
“I want you at the office by seven. Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter and jam my finger down on the end button with more force than necessary.
One fucking night. That’s all I want. Just one fucking night where I don’t have to be Sebastian Arthur Fitzgerald, heir to the Fitzgerald fortune and future CEO of the family company—if I bend to my grandfather’s demands, of course.
I sink back into the leather seat of my Cadillac and let my eyes fall shut. Unwelcome thoughts of doom and gloom sweep through my consciousness, threatening to pull me under with the weight of them. To outsiders, my future is set in stone, and it’s a bright one. Lavish parties, the best of the best, always. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I know how to use it. I’m not ungrateful; fuck, I’m proud as hell of what I’ve accomplished, even if it was never my plan. But no one sees the obstacles I’m forced to maneuver. The landmines I have to dodge daily.
“We’re two blocks away, Sir,” Jerry, my driver, says.
I nod and get ready. Now is not the time to dwell on shitty things I cannot change. Brushing away all the negative thoughts, I focus on the thrill of anticipation and excitement budding within me. I’ve been to Club Rapture more times than I can count, but tonight will be my first time experiencing their lock-in. It’s such a secretive affair, not even my closest friends who’ve attended the event in the past will spill secrets of what it entails and how it differs from a normal Saturday night at the club.
Jerry slows the SUV to a stop in front of a tall concrete building painted a shade just this side of midnight. T
Jerry wishes me luck, and I don’t miss the sly smile tipping the corners of his thin lips up in the rearview mirror. Leave it to Jerry to wash away the rest of my irritable mood. He’s been my driver for the last twenty years, and in some ways, he’s closer to me than my own parents. Shaking my head, I thank him before letting him know he doesn’t need to stay all night. He just needs to be back by six a.m. when the doors reopen.
With that, I step into the chilly New York night and breathe in deeply. A musty smell taints the air. It’s the city, after all, but it’s crisp and refreshing, nonetheless. I slip my hand into my inner coat pocket and pull out the invitation we’re required to present for entry.
No time like the present.
Chapter 2
Tanner
Butterflies flutter in my belly. I can’t believe I'm really doing this. Is this actually happening right now? My mind is in a tizzy, my belly continues its torturous flip-flopping as bubbles of nervous excitement build inside me. I press the heel of my hand into my stomach and lean against the back seat of the dimly lit cab, watching the bustle of people on the busy streets of New York blur as we pass by.
My knee bounces as tiny bolts of electricity dance along my nerves with anticipation. My gaze falls to the invitation in my hand. The big purple lettering at the top reads Club Rapture Lock-in.
I’m about to go to a club and do something insanely intimate with a complete stranger—strangers maybe even. Opening myself up and being so vulnerable to people I don’t know is terrifying, but the idea of just handing my pleasure over to another person and losing myself in the moment, allowing myself to truly indulge in my deepest desires, thrills me. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the lack of control that appeals to me. Somewhere deep within, I crave submission. Not someone else's, but my own.
My life has never been easy. I grew up in a poor, lower-middle-class neighborhood just outside of Phoenix. Being a child in a family that lives paycheck to paycheck is hard, but I’ve since learned that money doesn’t buy happiness like society wants you to believe. Sure, it makes some things a hell of a lot easier, but I’d take unconditional love over money any day of the week.
Growing up, I never knew what it felt like to have someone truly care and value you, not for who or what you are, but just because you exist. My parents are devout Catholics, so it wasn’t surprising when they kicked me out on my ass after finding me making out with my then-boyfriend, Robert. To say my parents were not only shocked but disgusted to find out their son was into men is an understatement. They called me every nasty and offensive word you could think of and barely gave me enough time to pack my things before pushing me out the front door, making it exceedingly clear, I was never welcomed back.
Thankfully, I had enough money saved from the diner I worked at throughout high school and caught the first flight to New York. I was already set to attend Columbia University on a full-ride scholarship in the fall, so heading there a month early seemed like the best option. Plus, New York’s on the opposite side of the country from my bigoted parents. So really, it was a win-win.
The cab jerks harshly, hitting one of the million deep potholes in New York City and jostling me. The invitation slips between my fingers, floating to the floor. “Shit,” I mutter, leaning down to pick it up.
I brush off the invitation and pocket it in my khakis. If I lose it, I won’t be able to get in. And that would be a shame.
The cab slows, traffic backing up even at this time of night. I blow out a slow puff of air and relax back into the seat. Soon enough we’re speeding back up, but not before passing the Apollo Theater, the place that my ex always wanted to visit. I glance away, a sour tang sitting on my tongue. Bitterness rolls through my body, dousing the excitement I was overwhelmed with moments ago. I try not to let the memories of the past filter in, but it’s no use. I’m thrown back into one of the worst nights of my life. The night I caught Robert balls deep inside a woman—in our bed.
I clench my eyes shut as my very own home movie plays inside my mind—the greatest hits of the night I was betrayed by the man I loved. Pain lances through me, stealing my breath. How can this wound still be so raw after seven years? How does it still have this goddamn chokehold on me?
The cab driver mutters something in a language I don’t understand and I latch onto his voice, pulling myself out of the horrid memories, locking them away once more. Tonight is not the night to dwell on the past. I don’t know what I’m hoping will happen at Club Rapture. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m looking for at this point anymore. I’ve tried dating apps, blind dates, and so much more. Meaningless sex seems to be all I can give and all I can handle, which is why when my bestie, Tracy, sent me the link for the lock-in interest form, I took a leap and filled it out.
At first, I thought it was crazy. Going into a club to have sex with strangers, but the more I thought about it, the more the idea grew on me. No commitments, no expectations, just fun, and pleasure. Not really looking for the illusive forever, but being satisfied by the just for tonight sounds freeing. What could go wrong?
The form mentioned that it wasn’t a guaranteed thing, so I didn’t get my hopes up. But when I got the invitation in the mail two weeks ago, I was shocked and excited.
The cab comes to a stop with a lurch and those butterflies from earlier are back in full force. “We're here,” the cab driver says.
Giving my head a little shake to bring me out of my own thoughts, I thank the man and swipe my card for payment, leaving a tip. You should always tip. As someone who bussed tables for a living while in high school, and for the first few months after arriving in New York, believe me, just do it.
Opening the car door, I step out onto the sidewalk and use my palms to smooth down my brown khakis and press the creases out of my white button-up. I had no idea what to wear to something like this, so I went with an outfit somewhere between casual and fancy. If I’m lucky, it’s just going to end up on the floor tonight anyway.
A cool night breeze hits my face and I inhale deeply as I take in my surroundings. I’ve never been to this area of the city. I’ve never had reason to explore as I’m a bit of a hermit. Tracy calls me an extrovert who’s a closeted introvert. Unflattering, but not untrue. I live less than two miles from my job—well, my ex-job. Can jobs be exes? Yeah, I think they can. It wasn’t a bad split but it was shocking. To find out the company you’ve given your blood, sweat, and tears to for years has been mishandling money, downsizing, and eliminating your position, is a hard pill to swallow. Especially when you’ve been there for five years and never saw it coming.
Not wanting to bring my mood down by thinking about the past, I focus back on the area around me. It seems to be pretty quiet here, only the distant sounds of traffic from the busier areas of the city filtering through. As I look at the sky, I sigh contently, taking in the stars. It’s harder to see them from where I live in Harlem, it’s too bright; but here, you can see Ursa Major and Minor clearly. A smile spreads across my lips. I love the stars. More often than not, I climb to the roof of my apartment building and lay out on a blanket, gazing into the abyss of the night sky. It’s peaceful. Calming when the storms battering my insides become overwhelming.
Turning to the building, my eyes travel up the smooth black concrete exterior. There’s nothing special that stands out or would give any impression of what goes on inside behind the closed doors. I sort of like that. I’m not a flashy kind of person, and it adds a layer of forbiddenness to it, I think. “Whoa,” I breathe when my attention lands on the large double doors. They’re painted a sinful shade of red with gold handles and trim. Well, that definitely screams sexy, amongst the rest of the unassuming building. I like it.
