Harlot (Bartered Hearts 2)

She loved him. She had always loved him and always would. From the first moment they’d met, he’d made her life so real. He’d treated her carefully yet inspired wildness in her heart. It had never mattered to her that he was rough around the edges. She’d liked him just as he was.

He was the one who’d always insisted he wasn’t enough. That she was too good for him.

He would never, ever say that again.

Jessica pressed her face into her pillow and cried until her throat hurt and her eyes were too swollen to create more tears. She had no idea how much time passed. An hour, maybe. When she finally scrubbed her tears away, she was more tired than afraid, at least.

What exactly was she scared of, anyway? Her life was done. Everything she’d wanted or dreamed of was beyond her reach now. Let the night come. Let the men grab and leer. She had nothing to lose.

Let Caleb come if he meant to.

Her body went rigid at the thought. Her mind stumbled over the idea, then tried to back away, but Jessica wouldn’t let it. She exhaled slowly and thought it again.

Caleb might come back, and what if he did? He wouldn’t return to apologize or make amends. He wouldn’t come back to court her. She was a whore. There was only one reason he might return, and he’d thrown it at her in scorn. I can pay.

So much disgust in that sentence. He’d pay for what they’d meant to do someday in their marriage bed.

He’d never marry her now. He’d never love her. But he could pay for the privilege of using her body. She should be offended, but what was the insult? She’d taken money for the same act before, and with Caleb she would be paid to do something she’d dreamed of for years.

But she hadn’t dreamed of it this year. This year she’d learned what it was. Sex. Intercourse. The same crude joining of every animal in the barnyard.

She’d assumed it would be different for people, something to do with sighs and kisses and the poetry of touch. That was how she’d imagined it with Caleb, as lovely and mysterious and pretty. But now she knew how ugly sex was. No different than two cats mating.

If Caleb paid to come to her bed, he’d squeeze her breasts a few times, pull at her nipples, and then he’d shove his cock into her hole. His mouth would be slack with animal hunger at first, and there’d be nothing pretty about those kisses. Nothing but wetness and sucking, and then he’d offer a few foul words before his lips twisted into a grotesque grimace that must be pleasure but looked like pain.

She should be glad she would never marry now. She wouldn’t be faced with a lifetime of doing that with a man at night and then tending his meals and laundry and babies every day, just so he could do that to her again when the sun went down. How did women bear it?

But somehow she was still a fool. She couldn’t imagine Caleb’s hands digging into her breasts, despite their rough strength. He’d always touched her gently, held her hand as if she’d break. And his lips were so tight, his jaw so strong, she couldn’t imagine his mouth going wet and slack against her skin.

Some women enjoyed intercourse, surely. She’d seen loving looks between wives and husbands. She’d read the beautiful verses of the Song of Solomon in the Bible. And Melisande loved Bill. She slept with him, stayed with him. There must be something there beyond the mercenary attraction of male protection.

Maybe with Caleb, it could’ve been beautiful. If he’d still loved her. If they’d married. But no one gave pleasure to a whore.

The wind kicked up outside, dragging a branch against the house. Jessica squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to let the fear back in.

It sounded like fingers scratching, but there was no one there. No one trying to get in and devour her. No one shouting whore up at her window.

The only man who’d come by in weeks had said it quietly and to her face. And if he came back, he’d knock on the front door again. He’d ask for her by name and he’d hurt her with just a look. She didn’t need to be afraid of things hiding in the dark. The night was no longer so frightening; Caleb had come by day.

Chapter 3

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Jessica could feel Melisande watching her as they hoed the garden. They hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, but the biscuits were in the oven. Some chores were better done before the sun could take hold.

“What?” Jessica finally asked.

“You knew that man.”

“I did.”

“A customer?”

She shook her head, hoping her friend would leave it be. But she knew Melisande better than that.

“Your eyes are swollen,” Melisande pressed.

“Everything is fine. It was nothing. You don’t need to worry.”