Coming Home (5 page)

Her conscience fought to hold on to the peace steering her all day, but memories were slowly pulling her down. Sighing into the dark, she stared blindly out the window.

Where is he right now? Who’s he with? What’s he doing?

She shut the door on such questions and tried thinking about work. Nick was working tomorrow, and he always made her days a bit more entertaining. Nick was young—her age—and funny.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and the slow echo of traffic in the distance soothed her like waves rushing by. Her battle to keep her memories at bay failed the more tired she became.

With a sigh of acceptance, she gave over to the random thoughts playing in her head and found herself back in Lucian’s limo after having dinner with Shamus several weeks ago.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Lucian asked, his fingers making gentle whorls over her stocking-clad knee.

“I always enjoy Jamie,” she said.

He grunted, a sound of approval with little censure. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I had enough.”

As Dugan drove, the city slowly rolled by, a tapestry of moonlit blues and shadowed buildings. Her eyes drew away from the window at the sound of the partition going up. She glanced at Lucian. The side of his mouth kicked up, intent clear in his eyes. “Pull up your skirt.”

Evelyn laughed silently. As soon as the partition was completely up, she lifted her hips and shimmied her skirt upward, bunching the thin material around her torso. Her stockings were black with zigzag designs sewn in and a blunt strip of lace at the top. She wore no garters. Her pale purple panties showed in a narrow triangle at the apex of her thighs.

Lucian turned his back to the door and eyed her. His elbow rested on the back of the seat as his fingers slowly swirled like a clock gear cranking. The slight telltale motions letting her know gears were turning in his mind. She waited.

“Are you wet?”

His words were like the kick of a marble running between them, knocking over little points, rolling up her flesh and plunking into a basket that set her arousal in motion, successfully plumping her sex and causing her channel to contract. “Yes.”

“I want a blow job.” She shifted and he stilled her with a flick of his fingers in the dim air. “I want your hands folded behind your back.”

Nodding, she slid to the floor. Her arms stretched behind her, fingers latching at her back. Lucian made no move to assist her or pull himself out. Leaning forward, she nuzzled his knee with her nose. His lungs drew in an audible breath.

Seeing he didn’t plan to help her, she carefully eased up and nudged his suit jacket out of the way. Her lips pulled at his pants until her teeth found his zipper. Carefully, she lowered the catch.

His thighs shifted, the soft leather seating crinkling under his weight. The gentle tug over her hair as he dragged his palm down the side of her face was welcome. His nonverbal praise filled her belly with warm honey. Turning her gaze on him, she smiled.

“You’re so beautiful, Evelyn,” he whispered, voice thick with affection.

His touch disappeared as the echo of his fingers deftly unlatching his belt filled the car. His cock filled his strong fingers, and he pumped slowly. The head was smooth and dark as his fingers gripped his shaft tightly.

She leaned forward and kissed the tip, a dewy pearl of precum anointing her lips. With a final glance at him she bent to her task, taking him deep to the back of her mouth. His cock was big, filling every crevice and stretching her lips wide. She sucked aggressively, bobbing over him. He gathered her hair in a makeshift ponytail and groaned as she worked him over.

She wanted to use her hands, but liked the sense of surrender he elicited by forbidding their involvement. Her head was forced low. Unhinging her jaw, she welcomed him to the back of her throat. Saliva coated him, and soon he was controlling her motions, using her hair as a rein to quickly fuck her mouth.

His hips lifted and his cock pulsed over her tongue. The quick touch of two fingers to the pulse point of her throat was enough of a warning that he was coming. Sealing her lips around his flesh, she sucked deep, milking his release and swallowing every drop.

Once she was sure he was finished, she sucked him clean, offering a final lick up his beautiful shaft and lowering herself back to her heels. He sighed. “Thank you.”

Tucking himself away, redoing his belt but not bothering to tuck in his shirt, Lucian watched her in the subdued light of the limo. The gusset of her panties grew weighted with her own arousal as the floor of the car vibrated faintly beneath her knees. Dugan would continue to drive until instructed otherwise.

“Still wet?” Lucian asked.

“Very.”

Long fingers caressed his chin and tapped his lips. “I’m debating what to do about that.” His comment caused her brow to kink. “You were very chatty with Jamie tonight,” he said thoughtfully.

“I like Jamie.”

His expression gave nothing away. “What do you like about him?”

She considered Lucian’s best friend. He had a disposition that always set her at ease. Although he didn’t always make her laugh, he made her smile. He was . . . nice. “He’s nice to me.”

“He thinks you’re beautiful.”

Heat tinged the crests of her cheeks and she hoped the soft lighting of the limo disguised her reaction to his confession.

“How does it make you feel, knowing Shamus has seen you come?”

Her blush intensified. Jamie was there the first time she’d ever had an orgasm. It was at Lucian’s hand and on his command, when they’d first begun their association. Since then, she’d believed it was an exhibit he’d regretted greatly. She wasn’t like his past lovers, she suspected. Once he realized that, he’d been a lot more discreet with his sexual displays while in the company of others. Exhibitionism was fun, but he never again flaunted her as a toy. There was a difference and they both knew it.

“No answer?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I see him.”

“Good.” He reached for his glass and took a sip, returning it to the sunken coaster by the door. “Do you mind being watched, Evelyn?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“I don’t know. It just depends on the situation and who’s watching us, I suppose.”

“What if I lowered the partition and fucked you.”

Oh God.
She shook her head.

“You wouldn’t want Dugan seeing you?”

“No.”

Lucian seemed to consider this, but nodded. “Me neither. Is it strangers then?”

She shrugged. There was something titillating about being watched, but knowing she might see her audience again sometimes made her alter her actions. “I guess that’s it.”

He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s almost eleven. Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Good. I want to play. Pull your skirt down and come sit.”

She did as he asked. Once she was seated, he brushed his lips over hers in a teasing kiss. Her body was primed and anxious for release. The partition lowered.

“Dugan, take us to Church.”

“Yes, sir.”

Evelyn frowned. “We’re going to church?”

“Different sort of worship . . .”

The car navigated through the upper west side of Folsom, where boutiques and high-end eateries made up the storefronts. Mannequins were placed in provocative positions under aesthetic lighting, wearing the world’s finest fashions. The car turned off the main strip and into a slightly seedier commercial district.

They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”

“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”

The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?

“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.

He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry rhythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.

“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.

“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”

The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice. Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.

At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.

“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”

She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.

The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”

“Yes. What is this place?”

“You’ll see.”

The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.

A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet jacket. Hook buttons marched up her busty chest in military style. Her breasts were overflowing from the expensive-looking garment, and the back let out in a train reaching to her knees. Her hair was slicked back and appeared blue under the lights, but Evelyn deduced it was blond. A petite top hat perched on her head, and a black lace choker collared her neck. She looked like she’d escaped the Black Hills during the high times of Deadwood.

Evelyn’s drink was set before her, its attractive graduating blush deepening like a crimson sunrise. She took a sip. The sweet grenadine countered the burn of tequila.

Lucian scrutinized her. His posture relaxed and the thumb of his other hand rubbed slowly over his glass of brandy. “Good?”

“Mmm, very,” she agreed, easing back in her chair.

The song changed, and the lighting amended from blues and reds to pinks and vibrant shades of fuchsia. The music was a cross between contemporary and some form of opera. It was very sultry, with words in some fluid language much prettier than English.

A woman walked onto the stage, dressed in Victorian finery. Her hair was white and pinned in a crown of toppling curls. Her bust overflowed from the tightly cinched whalebone corset. And from her hips flowed a cascade of rich fabrics in shades of cornflower and gold.

She carried herself gracefully, her motions clearly choreographed with the music as she perched herself on the edge of the settee. Producing a fancy feathered fan from her hip, she fanned herself rapidly. Her expression was tense and upset.

Suddenly another woman bustled onto the stage. Her clothing was much more subdued, but nonetheless spectacular. The hoop-skirt gown was all black and covered even her wrists. She wore a delicate apron that had impeccable lacework. Upon her head was a muffin-top white cap. A maid.

Lucian’s hand tightened on hers. His breath tickled her neck as he whispered. “Mmm, she doesn’t look half as beautiful as you did in your uniform.”

Evelyn blushed and quickly turned back to the stage. The women were playacting, but not speaking. The foreign lyrics of the opera spoke for them. The mistress in her finery stood and showed a great deal of duress as her hands swung in animation. The maid soothed and petted her until she calmed.

The mistress sat and cupped her face in her palms as the maid caressed her shoulders in a comforting manner. The tone of the music shifted, and slowly, the maid began to undo her mistress’s clothing. The mistress glanced at her curiously and the maid gave her a subservient bat of her eyes. The mistress nodded and the maid continued.

Lucian’s arm rested over Evelyn’s shoulder. He passed her right hand to the hand dangling over her shoulder, locking their fingers together above her breast. His other hand went to her knee and rubbed softly over her stocking.

The mistress stood and the maid undid her bustle. Her luxurious skirt fell in a puddle at her feet and the maid kneeled to collect the garment; Evelyn gasped. It was a dirty show. Sweeping it away, the maid remained low and stared up at her mistress, an inquiring set to her eyes.

Small hands petted tentatively down plush, lily-white thighs. The mistress tilted her head in confusion. The maid traced a finger over her garters and paused just at her mistress’s sex. The mistress jumped and so did Evelyn, as Lucian’s hand was suddenly touching her in the same place.

Evelyn’s eyes jerked from the stage to Lucian’s hand at her crotch, then to his face. His mouth kicked up in a slow, wicked grin. Leaning forward, he whispered, “It’s burlesque. She’s going to fuck her naughty maid right here in front of everyone . . . and I’m going to fuck mine.”