Three nights of pleasure…will it be enough?
 
Amanda had always been forgiving, until the night of her engagement. It was at that moment, when she found her fiancé banging the waitress in the bathroom, that she changed. Never again. Men were not going to use her ever again.
 
So when she found William’s portrait and learned that his sole purpose for existing was to please her, an electrifying relationship resulted. Her genie offered her three nights of pleasure. And Amanda quickly realized she wanted more.

Excerpt

    Jason did not come home that night. So Amanda called in sick and spent her entire Monday ridding the house of his belongings. She stood on her front porch and watched the movers carry out the last of his stuff and load them onto a moving truck. Jason could have the pleasure of explaining to his mom why all of his shit was being delivered to her apartment. It was no longer Amanda’s problem.
    A smile of satisfaction covered her face as she went back inside and turned the newly replaced lock on her front door. “Alone at last,” she said with satisfaction. All day she had been a bundle of nerves, constantly worrying about whether or not she had made the right decision. Until now. “I should have done this sooner. I wasted too much of my life on him.”
    Amanda walked around her townhouse and made slight adjustments here and there. She would have thought that removing Jason from the place would have had a bigger impact. Yet by sunset, her live-in boyfriend of several years had been erased entirely. Pouring herself a glass of wine, Amanda decided that it was time to celebrate her newfound freedom with a small but radical home project.
    She walked into the bedroom. The white walls were barely decorated. He had only allowed her to put up a few things as decoration.  But he didn’t live here anymore and it was time to repaint.  A baby blue or maybe a soft pink, she thought with amusement. He would have hated that. So without further reflection, she turned on some jazz music and started pulling pictures from the wall.
    But as she stood precariously on top of her desk chair trying to remove the little cottage portrait that hung over her computer, Amanda lost her grip and the antique print fell to the floor. “Crap.”  She got down to inspect the damage. The wooden frame had splintered and the delicate picture was torn. “This doesn’t look fixable.” Amanda studied it like she would one of the older library books in her care. “No amount of masking tape …” She stopped in mid-sentence as another picture detached from its hiding place between her cottage print and the cardboard backing.
    The hidden piece was obviously much older than the cute little print Amanda had purchased at a local flea market. The paper was curled and fine. The only thing on it was a hand drawn sketch of a man. “It must be Victorian Era,” Amanda said to herself. She traced the torn edges of the page with her finger. The formal waistcoat, top hat, trousers, and long tailcoat were the clothes of an English gentleman in the late nineteenth century. I knew that history degree would come in handy someday, Amanda told herself as she took her new treasure and her glass of wine into the living room.
    Her cellphone jingled as she plopped down onto the couch. Pulling it out of her pocket, Amanda could not help but moan when the all-to-familiar picture of Jason came up on the screen. “Thank God for voicemail,” she told the Victorian gentleman in the drawing. “I bet you would be completely different.” Her phone made its final buzz, letting her know that a message had been saved. “In fact, I wish you were real.” Gulping down the rest of her wine, the room did a little spin. “Maybe I should have eaten first.” She cradled her head in her hands and closed her eyes.
    “That can be arranged.” 
    Looking up, Amanda gasped. Her living room furniture had been replaced by an elaborate dining set. The couch she had sat down on was now an antique chair that was placed in front of an exquisite candle lit dinner. “I must have had more than that one cup of wine.” 
   “Your wish,” the masculine voice spoke again, “and your pleasure, is my command.”