Harlot (Bartered Hearts 2)

“Jess,” he murmured, and then he was kissing her. Just kissing her, his hands framing her face in a tender imitation of love. He sighed against her, as if he’d been waiting all day for this too. Was that possible? That he’d missed her as if she were a real person to him again?

Jessica let her hands reach for him. She touched his jaw, his hair, the back of his neck, then the strong line of muscles that curved down to his shoulders. She’d always loved his muscles, the beautiful vulgarity of them compared with the slight young men who’d made up the rest of her circle. Caleb had only gotten bigger in California. Harder. His muscles had bunched and stretched when he’d moved naked through her room. And when he’d moved naked through her.

His fingers found the pins in her hair and eased them free so that her locks tumbled around her shoulders and draped over his wrists. She slid her hands inside his coat, and it felt like they were all one, both of them tangled up, neither of them free anymore.

That was another lie, though. She was free. Free to starve or freeze or die, and no one would mourn her. And he was free to leave forever. But not tonight. Tonight he would stay.

“Upstairs,” he said against her mouth. “I need you.”

Vulgar as they were, the words tasted sweet, and his arms felt even sweeter when he picked her up and carried her. She was his for tonight. She belonged to him for hours.

He sat her on the bed and tugged open the belt of her dressing gown. He spread it open and stood above her. “Look at you,” he whispered.

Jessica looked, marveling that she would sit before him this way, the gown spread wide, her legs parted. Somehow her nudity was enhanced, framed by the faded green cotton, her nipples pinker, the hair between her legs darker.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He went to his knees before her.

“None of this is beautiful,” she whispered as he bent his head between her legs. “It’s wrong.” But her words meant nothing when his mouth touched her, because it was beautiful. It was exquisite. His mouth warm and wet on her, stroking impossible pleasure into her body.

His tousled hair was so dark between her thighs. She liked the sight of him there as his tongue found the perfect spot that made her groan. “Yes,” she urged as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

It seemed impossible that she’d lived her whole life without knowing how this could feel, and even more impossible that she’d likely live the rest of her life without feeling it again. Caleb would leave and she’d be alone. She’d hold tight to this pleasure forever, try to keep the memory from fading, try to remember the wet flash of his tongue driving her mad. His hands moved her knees wider, spreading her pussy so he could open his whole mouth against her. His tongue entered her, sliding deep, fucking her.

Jessica fell back, unable to support herself anymore. She settled her feet on his shoulders and let him do what he wanted. He tasted, licked, sucked, until her thighs shook and her hips pressed up to get more. He finally went back to teasing that one spot. “Yes,” she moaned, “please. Caleb…”

It was wrong and she didn’t care. It was wrong and she loved it. She loved his mouth on her and his fingers opening her, and she loved his cock too. She wanted it inside her again, any way he wanted, every way he could imagine.

The memory of the night before pushed her higher. The feeling of his finger sliding into her backside, stroking her until she was ready for his cock, until she pressed her face to the pillow and lifted her bottom up, wanting him to take her that way.

“Oh, God!” she screamed as pleasure crashed hard through her body, her hips jerking toward his mouth. Caleb grunted against her, his hands holding her thighs tightly as she climaxed.

She was still shaking when he stood and stripped. “What do you want?” he growled. “Tell me how you need it.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

“Tell me,” he said again.

She took a deep breath and said it more loudly. “Fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

He slid her up on the bed, then knelt between her thighs. He entered her slowly this time, head ducked so he could watch himself push into her.

Jessica closed her eyes and tried to feel every inch of him so she could remember this too. Months later, or years, when she was lying alone and scared in the dark, regretting everything she’d ever done, she wouldn’t regret this.

When his hips finally pressed to hers, Caleb sighed. It sounded like love, like peace, so she kept her eyes closed and pretended that every stroke of his cock was something sweet because she wasn’t a whore and he still loved her.

“Look at me. I want you to know who’s fucking you.”

“I know,” she answered. “It’s you.” But she opened her eyes to see his fierce, handsome face. She pressed her hand to his cheek and almost cried when he turned to kiss her palm. “It’s you, Caleb.”

“I want to hate you,” he said softly.

“I know. It’s all right.”

He shook his head, but his thrusts quickened.

“It’s all right.” She lifted her knees to take him deeper inside, to feel him stretch her.

He gasped, his brow crumpling as if the pleasure confused him. “You feel so good, Jess. Perfect.”