Harlot (7 page)

She’d been too tired to
do anything but move weakly downstairs to bolt the door before washing herself and pouring one more shot of whiskey. Then, head swimming, she’d climbed back to the second floor and fallen into the twisted covers of her bed.

She felt just as weak in the morning. Strange and muffled. Not from the drink, but from the shock. The night with him hadn’t been what she’d expected.

Staring up at the dawn light that filtered through her curtains, Jessica tried to puzzle it out. Caleb had done the things she’d known he would do, yet none of it had felt normal. Or rather…none of it had felt awful. Even when his face had turned fierce and angry and his cock had bruised her from the inside out…even then it had felt like something she’d needed.

And before that? Oh, the prelude had been torturous. Knowing what they were doing was wicked and filthy and wanting more of it. More of his mouth on her breast. More of his hand between her legs. More of him stroking his cock like he was taunting her with a weapon.

Heat grew between her legs at the thought. It pressed into her¸ urging her to part her thighs for him again. Instead, she squeezed her legs tight together, but just that sparked remnants of the feelings he’d created with his fingers the night before.

She’d been wrong about what happened between men and women. Wrong the first time, and wrong again. It was neither the sweet, sacred poetry she’d once imagined nor the bullying violation she’d experienced a few months back. With Caleb it had felt…primitive. Something flowing beneath the surface of her world that she’d never known was there.

Jessica had thought herself thrust into whoredom by circumstances, but perhaps it was what she truly was, because last night she’d spread her legs and pushed her hips up for more, wanting him to do it.

Until last night, she’d never really looked at a man’s member. She’d only caught glimpses and hadn’t wanted even that. But with Caleb… She’d looked at his hard, thick penis and she’d felt fear, but something deep inside her soul had said yes. Every stroke of his fingers across her private parts had been an affirmation.
Yes, yes, that, inside me.
She’d been empty and he’d filled her, and it had been as simple as that.

But it hadn’t truly been simple, because he’d punished her as well. He’d caught himself each time he’d been gentle and quickly called back his anger. And that had felt right too. She’d wanted that as much as the other. She hated what she’d done, and that bitter part of her needed filling too. Perhaps he could fuck that shame and hurt away for both of them.

He would come back tonight to try again, and Jessica would have to be ready.

She dressed quickly, choosing a work dress that was fraying at the hem. She’d need her better dresses for her evenings this week, which was a strange thought after all these months.

Melisande was at work in the kitchen, having used the hidden string Bill had hooked to the latch of the back door so they could let themselves in.

“How was your visit last night?” she asked as she slowly strained milk from a pail into a pitcher.

“Good,” Jessica said, her face flaming so hot she thought her ears might smoke.

“He left quickly,” Melisande commented.

Had it been quick? She supposed it must have been. There’d been no shared conversation, no tea and sweets. Jessica cleared her throat and got to making biscuits. It was one of the few things she was good at in this new life.

After listening to be sure there was no sign of Bill nearby, she cleared her throat again, and the blush returned. “Do you know any ways to keep a child from catching?” she asked. “I mean, I assume you’ve heard these things?”

Melisande eyed her for a moment. “Haven’t you?”

“No. I was just lucky.”

“All right. Well, for after the fact there’s parsley tea or rue. When did you last bleed?”

“Weeks ago,” Jessica said. “Almost three weeks.”

“That’s good. Then parsley tea for a week until you bleed.”

“Thank you.”

“Try to get him to finish on your stomach instead. It helps if it’s not all inside you. They like to show off that way, anyhow.”

Yes, she could imagine that. Look how proudly he’d already stroked himself for her.

“So.” Melisande dried her hands on her apron. “You don’t know much for a whore, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Jessica felt a strange shame that she hadn’t told her new friend the whole truth. “It was…only a few times. My father died. I needed money. I thought no one would find out.”

Melisande nodded. “They didn’t keep quiet? I’m not surprised. Men like to brag about it almost as much as they like to do it.”

“Yes,” Jessica said, although it was the man she’d refused who’d spread stories about her. He’d ruined everything. She should’ve just lain down for him. It would’ve been better.

“Are you taking it up again? You told me I wouldn’t have to be a whore here.”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that. It’s only this once. Taxes are due, and he…he’ll visit for a few days. That’s all. We struck a deal.”

Melisande dipped her chin as if she understood. “All right. We’ll stay out of your way. Is there anything else you need to know?”

“I…” She couldn’t think what to ask. She’d already exhausted half her store of sexual knowledge, but Caleb seemed to think there’d be much more. “What do they like?”

“Men?” Her friend’s slow blink meant she was surprised by the question. “They’re simple folk. They like to fuck, play with your titties. Sometimes they want to slap your ass.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t known about that.

“They want to put it in your mouth, of course.”

She nodded. She’d done that.

“They’re usually pretty quick with that. Just suck it a little and let them watch you do it. That’s all. Some are rough about it, though. Pressing you down on it until you choke. They all like to finish in your mouth, so tell him beforehand if you can’t abide it.”

“Just suck it?”

“Yes. And don’t bite. Makes ’em mad as hell.” She grinned at that, showing off her straight teeth.

Jessica laughed, amazed that she could do so.

“Other than that, most of them are just plain lonely. Sometimes they want to hold you, pretend you’re the girl they love. If you’ve got the time, there’s nothing wrong with it. You can pretend too. Pretend he’s a sweet man who wouldn’t spit on you in the street if you said hello. Pretend it’s real. Sometimes just that will get you through another night.”

Jessica laid out the biscuit dough and cut it into circles. She could pretend with Caleb. It would be easy. Her body warmed at the idea, and she blushed again. “You like it with Bill?” she asked quietly.

“You mean in bed?”

“Mm-hm.” She concentrated on the biscuits so she wouldn’t have to meet her friend’s eyes.

“Yes. It happens sometimes, you know. Even with a stranger. Something about the way they touch you, the way they smell. A spark lights up inside you, maybe just for a moment. I got lucky with Bill. He felt it too, and it meant something to him, thank God.”

“I’m so glad, Melisande. And I’m thankful that you two came here.”

“We are too. We wandered for a while.”

“You know…” Jessica hesitated, a little afraid to introduce the topic. “We haven’t spoken much of it, but you said you’d stay for a time. You could move back into the house. Both of you.”

Melisande’s delicate eyebrows rose. “Both of us?”

“Yes, you could have the back bedroom.”

“We’re fine where we are.”

“But it will be cold in the winter,” Jessica pressed, “if you mean to stay.”

Melisande’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “We mean to stay. I’m not sure how you’d get rid of us. If it’s all right, Bill wants to find a small stove to keep us warm. But perhaps I’ll persuade him to come inside. It’s a sight nicer in here.”

Jessica sighed, trying not to think of how alone she’d been the first few weeks. “You could move now.”

“No, not now. For now, it’s nice. We open the shutters at night, and the stars shine down. You can smell any storm coming from miles away. Sometimes I lie there and I can see the moon and hear his heart beating under my ear, and…” She closed her eyes, her mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “Every once in a while, this feels like the only life we’ve ever had. It feels like this life
belongs
to us. But—” she shook her head and grabbed a rag “—it’ll be a bit cold for that nonsense come winter.”

Jessica laughed and tried to tamp down the envy she felt for them. That they loved each other. Accepted each other. That they could lie together at night and hold all the good in the world between them.

Touching Caleb had felt nice, even with all the hurt wrapped up in it. If she hadn’t betrayed him, if he’d still loved her, Jessica could have looked up at the night sky and felt as if all of it belonged to them, in the only life they’d ever known.

She’d never have that with him now. All she’d get were these next few nights. She’d done it for the money, but maybe tonight she’d do it just because she could.

‡

“Are you spending the evening
out again, Caleb?” his mother asked, her voice high with worry. “I feel as if I’ve hardly seen you.”

He glanced around at his mother’s gathering of friends, all of whom smiled up at him as they waved elaborate lace fans in the summer heat.

“Ladies,” he said with a nod. “Mother. I apologize. I’m off to the Smith ranch to see an old friend.”

His mother made a sound of disappointment, but the oldest woman, Mrs. Crew, laughed and fluttered her fan at him. “Come now, Penelope. A young man like him doesn’t want to spend an evening in a parlor listening to old hens gossip. Let him have his fun.”

He turned his hat in his hands, itching to get out of there. He was half embarrassed, knowing where he was headed, and half impatient for the same reason. “I’ll see you all at Mother’s picnic. If you’ll excuse me.”

He’d never been comfortable inside a parlor, perched on a chair and forced to listen to the clock tick the day away. All he’d ever wanted was to be outside, driving cattle, working the land. Of course, he’d dreamed of coming home from a hard day to his own house, but it had only ever been Jessica there in his fantasies. And he’d always imagined a big porch where they could sit and share the last hours of a day¸ looking out at the sky.

She’d been raised in town, but Jessica had claimed she wanted the same thing. He hadn’t been willing to ask her to work herself to the bone on some arid homestead, though, turning her fine hands into rough tools. He’d aimed to have a real place, a real home, and enough money to hire a girl to help, because Jessica had been a lady. Once.

He walked to the stables, his mind flashing over and over to what they’d done last night. He’d thought of it a thousand times already today. Her naked breasts, her wet mouth, the stunning pink between her legs and how it had felt to touch her there, to finger her, to slide his cock into her hot body and use it for his own pleasure.

He wanted all of that again, and so many other things. He wanted to devour her. Fuck her until he didn’t care anymore. Use her up until she was nothing so she’d know just how he felt.

Rubbing a hand against his aching chest, he walked into the yard of the stable and found his horse saddled and waiting. After checking to be sure the young stable hand had done a good job, Caleb mounted the horse and tossed the boy a coin.

He was on his way to her for another night.

How could she still look so perfect after everything she’d done? How could she smell so good that she made his heart hurt? How could she be the
same
?

Because she was the same at first glance, only quieter, more serious. She had the same soft voice, the same eyes, probably the same wide smile if she ever used it. She was Jessica Willoughby, but sadder now, and the terrible part was that everything inside him was screaming at him to make it better.

He pulled his hat lower against the setting sun as he slipped out of town, wishing he could as easily shield himself from the whole world. He’d loved her last night. He’d loved her as he’d kissed her and touched her and buried himself in her body. And he hated her for that.

His horse stepped and danced, fighting against Caleb’s tension, so Caleb forced himself to relax and let her run. The road was wide here and his horse sure-footed. He closed his eyes and let the scents of the Colorado plains wash over him. This countryside felt more like home than his stepfather’s house ever had.

Strange that Caleb had always felt so out of place in his mother’s fancy new house with her polished new friends, and yet he’d fallen in love with a girl so far above him. He’d never even felt uncomfortable around Jessica, really, though he’d squirmed a little at having tea in her formal sitting room with her father.

Dr. Willoughby’s position as head physician at the tuberculosis sanatorium had given him a station higher than Caleb’s stepfather. After all, there were two bank presidents in town, and only one head doctor. Yet Dr. Willoughby had never presented himself with bluster or self-importance. If anything, he’d mostly been distracted in social situations, an affliction Caleb could sympathize with.