40 Days of Pleasure

By Martha Kennerson and Stephanie M. Freeman,

The NBA’s sexiest and most valuable player, Dallas Avery, meets the beautiful Alicia Mitchell, who has one thing on her mind: leaving. Their attraction is intense, but the timing is off.Dallas is determined to convince Alicia to give their May-December relationship a chance, but when their romantic trip to the Caribbean gets derailed by them being embroiled in a local family’s deadly drama, romance gets put on the back burner.

ABOUT THE DAYS OF PLEASURE SERIES
Each Pleasures book is a standalone, NO cliffhangers

USA TODAY, and National Bestselling Authors take you on amazing journey with NBA Basketball Star, Dallas Avery, and Alicia Mitchell, a woman who is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Follow this unlikely couple as they travel to exotic places such as Paris, Durabia, Caribbean, Scotland and many others. Each story embroils them in a new set of challenges and adventure as they navigate their way to love.

Book 1–10 Days of Pleasure by Stephanie M. Freeman
Book 2–20 Days of Pleasure by J. L. Campbell
Book 3–30 Days of Pleasure by Sierra Kay
Book 4–40 Days of Pleasure by Martha Kennerson and Stephanie M. Freeman
Book 5–50 Days of Pleasure by Anita L. Roseboro and Michelle D. Rayford
Book 6–60 Days of Pleasure by Vanessa
Book 7–70 Days of Pleasure by Christine Pauls
Book 8–80 Days of Pleasure by Aiken Ponder
Book 9–90 Days of Pleasure by Marie L. McKenzie and Naleighna Kai
Book 10—Open Door Marriage by Naleighna Kai

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kennerson Books
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9780989454674

Martha Kennerson

Martha Kennerson has enjoyed a successful career in executive management for over twenty years; of which twelve years have been in marketing and outreach. Her love of reading and writing is a significant part of who she is. Martha lives with her family in League City, Texas. She believes her current blessings are only matched by the struggle it took to achieve such happiness.

Book preview

40 Days of Pleasure

40 Days of Pleasure

Book 4 of the Days of Pleasure Series

Martha Kennerson

Stephanie M. Freeman

Kennerson Books

Contents

Acknowledgments

Word to the wise . . .

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

The Days of Pleasure Series

King of Lincoln Park

Knight of Irondale

About Martha Kennerson

Knight of Bronzeville

Necessary Evil

Unfinished Business

Nature of the Beast

Season of the Blood

Queen of Shadow Bay

About Stephanie M. Freeman

40 Days of Pleasure

Copyright © 2021 Martha Kennerson and Stephanie M. Freeman

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any manner whatsoever or by any means 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 articles and reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact Stephanie M. Freeman at [e-mail] or at www.stephaniemfreemanauthor.com

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Cover Designed by J.L Woodson: www.woodsoncreative studio.com

Interior Designed by Lissa Woodson: www.Naleghnakai.com

Editors: Naleighna Kai

Betas: Kelsie Maxwell, Debra Mitchell, Christine Pauls, Anita L. Roseboro

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Ebook ISBN: 9780989454674

Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7367985-4-6

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Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

Martha Kennerson

I’d like to dedicate this story to my husband. The one person who continues to bring light to all my darkest places.

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Stephanie M. Freeman

To Naleighna Kai

‘True leaders don’t create followers, they create more leaders.’ ~unknown

Naleighna, you have done that and so much more. Thank you for being you.

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For Tribe

Family is nature’s masterpiece.

~ George SantayanaAcknowledgements

Acknowledgments

Martha Kennerson

I’d like to acknowledge my writing TRIBE, specifically my writing partner on this story Stephanie Freeman, for all their continued love and support. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you to my shared son, J. L. Woodson, for a phenomenal cover. Thank you to the editors, betas and everyone who gave such valuable input.

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Stephanie M. Freeman

There is an old saying that states, It take a village to raise a child. The same can be said for books. IN my case, it takes a village to write a book. Thank you, Martha Kennerson, for asking me to co-write this book with you. It has been and will always be an honor to work with you. Thank you Naleighna Kai for all that you do both seen and unseen. Thank you for being you. Special thanks to Christine Pauls and Anita Roseboro, UM Hiram and D.J. Mitchell for their sharp eyes and attention to detail during the Beta Reading process. You are true gems and I am grateful to know you.

Huge thanks as always to J.L. Woodson and his phenomenal eye. Your book covers are artwork that adorn the walls in my office and my heart. Thank you.

As always, I offer a heartfelt thanks to the Tribes. Your presence in my life is like a fountain of life waters. So grateful, so humbled to be counted among you. Some families are birth made. You are my earth made family.

Word to the wise . . .

Each time a woman stands up for herself without knowing it, without claiming it, she stands up for all women

~Dr. Maya Angelou

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Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t no love at all

~ Toni Morrison

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The God of woman is autonomy.

~ Alice Walker

Chapter One

"If you do this, I will leave you at the altar, Greg said in a hoarse whisper. I know things. That land deal will fall through and what do you think your father will say? He’s banking on that money. Your family desperately needs that money."

The breath mints did little to cover the gin seeping through his pores. Sweat made the finely sculpted beard he wore look like charcoal smudged on waxy shiny skin. Were men supposed to glisten? Keva Thompson wasn’t sure but standing there in a church filled with his family and hers the whole thing became laughable, so she did. Laugh, that is. Loud rip-roaring laughter.

With an air conditioner set at 75 in 95-degree weather, the thought of spending the next ten minutes or a lifetime with the man standing beside her made no sense whatsoever. In her parent’s eyes it was a good match, she did care for him as a friend. Some marriages were built on less. Keva glanced in the direction of the French double doors at the end of the aisle. Even with them closed, snatches of conversations seeped through.

Most of them were standing outside fanning themselves under the blistering Bahamian sun. Greg’s mother, Bertha, busied herself with helping an older woman to a chair just inside the door. She folded her arms and shrugged defensively, almost daring this travesty to continue.

Keva’s own family scanned the area as if shocked at the spectacle that was unfolding behind them. Some whispered behind cupped hands while others stared at Keva as if it were the most entertainment they’d had in years. And then she felt her mother’s gaze boring through the side of her head.

Her laughter dried up as the flicker of anger beneath her heart matured into fury. She took in a slow calming breath and faced her husband to be, or not to be—that was no longer the question.

Did you hear what I said you misguided— he hissed, the unmistakable sheen of venom in his perfect capped smile matched the words seeping from him in a theatrical whisper that could easily be heard in the front row.

Just then, Bertha bustled up the aisle, all two hundred eighty-seven pounds and five feet of her. The sequins on her dress rasped with each step as her lanky husband attempted to hold her at bay.

Let go of me Arnold, she snapped. Our family’s standing outside like the hired help. It’s not like they don’t have the money to accommodate them. Especially with that big baller coming from America.

Keva levelled her gaze on Greg, whose face had morphed into something she could barely recognize She wouldn’t address that his mother was spilling all the company tea all out in the ethers. We chose this venue together. We agreed that each side of our family could invite only seventy -five people a piece.

I don’t need a reminder dear. I know what I said. His now face dissolved into a mask of pent-up rage. You are not about to embarrass me on one of the most important days of my life.

Just yours, huh? She shot back, softly mocking, "Wow. All right. Well, the contract we both signed was for a building that would safely host one hundred fifty guests and no more than that. She pasted on her best smile and nodded at the pastor. We divided up the RSVPs and evidently somebody can’t count because all of my people RSVP’D."

But your family easily could fit in the first three rows, he snarled before glancing helplessly over his shoulder. So, what if my people didn’t RSVP. It’s not like your family hasn’t got the money, or about to get a lot of it. There’s plenty of room. What’s a few more plates?

Nothing if it’s not coming from your wallet., she countered. Everything if you can’t keep to an agreement.

He inhaled sharply, gesturing toward the people piled up like cattle in the vestibule. Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do. I can’t send them away. Their feelings would be hurt. You can make an adjustment. Have your parents pay the money so the hall can make more and put up more tables.

No.

Excuse me? He squinted as if he hadn’t heard her quite right.

I didn’t stammer, stutter, or speak with a lisp. I. Said. No. Keva swept her gown out of the way before starting up the steps.

The pastor took the last three feet toward her and held the curtain aside. Keva was on the last step when a vice like grip caught the tender place between her elbow and bicep.

I am not finished, Keva, His voice was stern with no vestige of compassion or kindness.

Let go of me, she shrieked as the crowd behind her gasped. Keva turned to face him as he stumbled back a few inches. "I said no, and I meant it. Your mother is the great orchestrator of this mess. She can figure out what to do with your people. All one hundred and twenty-six of them."

Before he could put up another protest, Keva turned to the congregation. Sorry folks, there won’t be a wedding today. Those who actually responded to the invitation, please enjoy dinner on my father’s tab. Everybody else? Popeye’s is down the street. I hear their chicken sandwich is to die for, she yanked the comb that held her veil from the soft chignon pinned low on her head and tossed it in the air.

You’re so damn selfish, Keva. You are so selfish. I could never marry someone so cruel, he said before thundering down the steps.

Scattered gasps flowed through the crowd as her parents stood and looked off in the direction of her ex-fiancé who stormed down the steps. Keva moved to turn away and looked down at the spray bouquet in her hands smiled, Here, Ms. Bertha, although I can’t fathom how Mr. Arnold stayed married to you for so long. Keva threw the bouquet over her shoulder then turned in enough time to see Bertha shove a younger woman out of the way to catch the flowers.

Keva let her head roll back on her shoulders and looked at the ornately carved sculptures embedded in the ceiling. Tears burned in her eyes. Most little girls dreamt of wedding days that came off without a hitch, complete with tearful mothers and adorable nieces and nephews standing in as a ring bearer or a flower girl. She was even willing to put up with his great, great Aunt Prudence who insisted on bringing a crock pot of beanie weenies, a meal that consisted of sliced hot dogs and canned pork and beans to any function formal or otherwise.

Not Keva.

Between watching her mother try on a wedding gown during the fitting to her brothers being drunk at the rehearsal dinner, the perfect wedding was a myth. Getting through any formal function with minimal bloodshed, and one small screaming match was the norm. Judging from the way her brothers kept checking their phones, Manchester United Football League was performing well or terribly, and their bets hung in the balance. Either way, the Family’s business settled her brothers’ debts even if it meant going into hock to complete the task.

With the Olympics well under way and the country still on cloud nine about winning a track and field event, sports and how much money was riding on their misguided predictions meant that money would be allocated to cover them while the staff that worked at the satellite office would have to do without another round of merit rate increases to accommodate her brothers flaws.

Keva slipped behind the podium and flopped down in the nearest chair. She kicked off the white satin heels she admired in the store window as teardrops stained the fabric.

Oh honey, I am so sorry. The sickening sweet sound of her mother’s voice always made Keva’s skin crawl a bit.

As a girl, she could never really be sure if her mother was tolerating or mocking her. Both seemed to end with the same backhanded advice. You’re a resourceful girl, make do with what you’ve got and for goodness sake pay attention to what you’re doing. The devil is in the details.

Now let’s see what you’ve done. Worst case scenario we can sell the gown for half price and recoup the loss, she said appraising the gown as the folds of satin and lace spilled through her mother’s liver spotted hands. Still think the dress I had on suited you better. That fabric can hide a multitude of sins.

Keva gave a soft whistle and smiled. Straight no chaser as always, Mom. Thanks.

Oh, honey I didn’t mean anything by it. You know I’d never mean you any harm. She gathered Keva’s cheeks in her hands and mashed her lips against Keva’s forehead leaving a smear of the candy pink lipstick her mother always wore.

No worries. We Thompsons are made of sterner stuff. We survive cheating husbands and fathers who don’t respect their daughters right to say no.

Your father would never.

Of course, not Mom, she whispered dismally, while thinking, no, my father never laid a hand on me. Instead, I am more of an indentured servant who just so happened to spring from his loins. And my brothers… their hands were a different story.

It’s all right, Mom, really,