Angel (Bartered Hearts 1)

“God, yes.”

She rose up and shifted her body higher on his, then hovered over his cock, holding him just there. He lifted his head so he could watch as she lowered herself onto him. The tip slipped past her slick folds.

He grunted and pushed up, but he was too thick to enter easily, despite her arousal. Melisande laughed. He’d never been so eager before.

Her body stretched tight around him as she eased herself down. First just a tiny bit of him. Then an inch. His cock pushed her open. She closed her eyes and sank lower, feeling the way her body willingly took him in. Had she ever felt that before him? Truly?

She breathed past parted lips, gasping as she reached the thickest part of his shaft and her hips settled flush with his. “Ah,” she sighed.

When she opened her eyes, she found Bill’s gaze locked on her face. “You look like an angel,” he whispered.

Her forehead crumpled. “How can that be true?”

He shook his head and reached up to slide a hand behind her neck and ease her forward. She leaned her body into his and took the kiss he offered. “You’re a miracle,” he said against her lips.

She wanted to scold him for his sacrilege, but she didn’t. It was too precious a gift.

Once her body had relaxed around him, she rose up and watched his face as she began to fuck him. She rode him slowly, deeply, taking in all the pleasure of his hot eyes and tightening jaw.

She’d never liked this position. She’d always felt too exposed. It was better when the man was behind her, where she couldn’t see him, or on top of her, covering most of her body with his. Being on top meant a man could see her face, her breasts, her cunt.

But she wanted Bill to see. His hands slid up her body and cupped her breasts. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, and a fierce bolt of pleasure shot through her. She liked the way her skin looked under his hands. Her nipples so tight and brown. She moved her hand down her belly and touched herself.

His cock slid against her fingertips as she rubbed pleasure into her body. He was so hot from her pussy, so wet and slippery as he slid in and out of her. And unbelievably hard in the yielding softness of her sex.

Tipping her head back, she rode him and pushed her pleasure higher and higher. His hands settled on her hips and gripped her tight so he could thrust up into her, faster, harder. Melisande concentrated on her own fingers, the tight, fierce pleasure she created for herself as he filled her over and over.

He whispered her name. Told her she was beautiful. Told her she was everything. And at this moment she was. Even in this house, in this room, in this bed, where she took money to let men do anything they wanted…she was everything beautiful right now.

The climax hit her suddenly. A hot rush of power that caught her by surprise. Melisande cried out, only vaguely aware of Bill thrusting hard, his own cry mixing with hers. Her pussy spasmed around him. Her hips shook. Her sobs of ecstasy eventually quieted, but the tears started then. They slid down her face and dripped onto his chest until he reached up and pulled her down to him.

“Shhh. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Don’t cry.” He kissed her forehead over and over and tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks. But in the end, she buried her face in his neck and wept, and Bill held her tight and let her.

Chapter 3

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After the morning they’d spent together, she knew he wouldn’t return that night, but Melisande still felt a stab of disappointment when she looked over the big parlor of the brothel and didn’t see Bill watching back from one of the chairs.

Most nights the girls wore whatever they pleased, but tonight Madame had decreed that the men must be made to feel cozy for the holiday. Everyone, including Melisande, wore only their underclothes and corsets, as if they were girls caught getting ready for a Christmas ball. They’d even been given little ribbons to wear around their necks. Melisande had chosen green. The red ribbons looked too much like throats that had been slashed.

Playacting for the men was common at some houses, but this was a simple place catering to tradesmen. That was why she’d chosen it. It was clean and straightforward, and there were no rich men here. She’d lost her taste for wealthy men as a girl. She was petite even now, but as a girl she’d been downright small, and her mother had dressed her in schoolgirl smocks and short dresses and sent her off to wealthy houses until she was sixteen and finally too developed to pull off the ruse.

Men with that much money believed they could have anything they wanted. And they could. Nothing was forbidden them.

She’d heard a girl at one of best brothels in town had been cut to pieces with a razor by the patriarch of a shipping family. Her body had been dumped in a swamp somewhere. Nothing had happened to him. He’d gone home to his children and his wife and likely never thought again about that girl rotting in the water.

Tradesmen might not pay as much for a quick lay, but it was usually an honest deal. A fair exchange.

Melisande was just beginning her stroll around the room, pasting on the empty, meaningless smile she wore for work, when a woman grabbed her elbow.

“Madame,” Melisande gasped at the tight grip.

“I’ll have my cut from that side deal you made this morning.”