Harlot (9 page)

He was remembering now, the stories he’d heard around campfires or over whiskey. Men bragging how you could get any girl to agree to a fuck if you kissed her just right on the pussy. About how they’d beg for it if you took your time and used your tongue.

Caleb wanted her begging.

He tugged her closer and opened his mouth, and he sucked at that spot. Jessica squirmed again. But this time she wasn’t struggling to get away. Her hips tipped toward him as he tongued her. His sweet, demure Jessica, pushing her cunt against his mouth for more.

He gave her more. He licked quickly, loving the way she cried out like a beast. Caleb wasn’t the only animal here.

“Please,” she groaned, and he loved it. Her hands twisted into his hair. “Please, Caleb.” The little nub that he’d been working at got bigger and harder against his tongue as he flicked it.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Please. I don’t… You have to stop. Please.”

He closed his mouth over her pussy. Her thighs trembled, drawing up, pressing to his head.

“Stop!” she yelled, but the word ended on a scream as her hips bucked up and her pussy jumped against his mouth. Her body jerked, then jerked again as jagged cries tore from her throat.

He didn’t raise his head until her hips fell back to the bed and she was panting.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. Her legs shook like trembling leaves. “Caleb.”

He looked up at her as she took a deep breath and put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. A strange, high sound snuck past her fingers. “I’m so sorry, Caleb.” It wasn’t until she sobbed that Caleb realized she was weeping.

“Don’t cry,” he said automatically. He hadn’t hurt her. He knew he hadn’t. She’d climaxed.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, pressing her hand harder to her mouth as he rose up. Tears spilled down her temples and disappeared into her hair. She lifted her hand as her glimmering eyes found him. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

He backed off the bed and stood up, slightly panicked, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t want to see her cry. Not like this. It made his chest ache. “Don’t cry,” he repeated.

She shook her head, and her face crumpled on another sob.

“Stop it.” He wanted her to pay. He wanted her sorry, but not like this.

The need to hold her was a physical ache. To make it better for her. To rock her in his arms and kiss her tears away and tell her it would be fine. But it would never be fine, and his rage swelled at the knowledge that neither of them could make this better. He couldn’t help her, and she couldn’t take it back.

“Stop crying,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, the words breaking in the middle. “I’m sorry.”

He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to reach for her. How could she do this to him? “If you’re so fucking sorry,” he rasped, “then get on your knees and tell me.”

Her eyes widened. She hiccupped on another sob, watching him as if she’d misunderstood. But she hadn’t.
He
wasn’t the one who’d betrayed
her
. She had no right to make him feel guilty. He stood there and waited.

Finally she nodded. She bunched part of the sheet in her hand and wiped her face and nose. “All right,” she whispered. She climbed from the bed, and Caleb tried to ignore the tears that still fell from her eyes.

She went to her knees without being told again. As if she’d done it a hundred times.

He stepped closer, his cock growing hard once more at the sight of her naked before him. Still, he had to stop from reaching for her and offering comfort.

Jessica looked up at him and slowly raised her hands to his thighs. He jumped a little at that first touch, then closed his eyes against the feeling of her fingers spreading over his skin.

“I’m sorry, Caleb,” she whispered one more time. “Truly.” And then her mouth touched him.

He sucked in a quick breath at the shock of it. Jessica pulled back and looked up at him, but when he only watched her, she did it again, a soft brush of her lips against the head of his cock.

He shifted closer and wrapped his fist around his shaft.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her breath feathering over him.

“Yes,” he said, captivated by the sight of her on her knees, her lips parted so near his cock. Her eyes flickered up to him, then down. The tip of her pink tongue appeared briefly as if she meant to lick him, but instead she only moved a little closer on her knees.

He wanted to see that tongue again. Wanted it on him. “Taste me,” he urged, the pleasure of the filthy words twisting low in his belly. He didn’t care about her tears anymore. He wanted her mouth.

Caleb slipped his fingers into the waves of her red hair and cupped the back of her head. “Taste my cock,” he said and eased her closer.

*     *     *

It was simple, Melisande had
said. Nothing to it. But Jessica had done it only once, and it had been nothing like this. He’d pushed it into her mouth and told her to suck. All she’d really done was try not to vomit.

But Caleb…Caleb wanted something different. And the smell of him didn’t make her sick at all.

His hand guided her to him, and Jessica’s heart beat harder. He was so thick, the dusky skin of his cock drawn back to expose the wide head. It was an animal thing. Vulgar. Yet for some reason, she found its appearance…enticing.

“Jessica,” he murmured. She nodded and breathed in the dark scent of him. And then she licked him, a quick swipe of her tongue. He moaned at that small touch. She liked that. Hearing him respond to her. Knowing that for all his strength and his hand in her hair, this made him weak.

She pressed her fingers harder into his thighs and licked him again, then again, tasting him, just as he’d asked. He tasted salty and warm, and the feeling he’d given her with his mouth began to build between her legs once more.

Wanting to weaken him even further, she circled him with her tongue, dragging it over his flesh slowly. This time he inhaled so sharply that she could hear the air pass through his clenched teeth.

“More,” he panted.

Jessica opened her mouth and let him slide over her tongue. He was all she could taste. His skin and salt and sex. His muscles trembled.

“Yes,” he groaned, “like that. Like that, Jess. Suck me.”

It was the first time he’d called her Jess since he’d returned. Maybe he’d forgotten to hate her for this brief moment. She closed her mouth around him and sucked, drawing him into her body.

His moan was so deep and rough that she felt it through her hands. He pushed a little farther into her mouth, but he didn’t just poke at her the way she’d expected. He slid slowly in, then out again, his hand cradling her head instead of forcing it.

“More,” he rasped. “Take more of it.”

She tried. She sucked harder, but she couldn’t get more than half of his cock into her mouth without choking.

He took one of her hands and wrapped it around his shaft. “Show me. Show me how you do it, Jess. Show me what you’ve done.”

Shame washed over her, but it was all tangled up in the desire warming her pussy.

She didn’t have anything to show him, but she tried. When his hand squeezed hers, she held him more firmly and moved her fist the way she’d watched him do.

The muscles of his thighs shook as she did her best to please him. His breathing grew rapid and ragged and his fist tighter in her hair.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, suck me. Show me, you slut.”

She shut her eyes. She was a slut. A whore. A harlot. And she belonged to him until he was done with her.

Her knees hurt on the hard floor, and her jaw ached from stretching around him, but she didn’t mind. She deserved that pain. She deserved this.

His hand urged her to move faster, and she tried to keep up with his thrusting hips, tried to catch air through her nose and keep doing what he wanted.

“I’m coming,” he growled.

She knew what that meant and almost panicked, but when his seed flooded her mouth, she managed to swallow, even as it filled her again and again. She pulled away, finally, and he let her sit back on her knees and cough.

Caleb stood there, arched over her and panting, his fingers spread as if he might still reach for her. His cock glistened wet from her spit and his seed. Jessica stared up at him in stunned silence. His eyes looked as shocked as she felt.

He stood a little straighter and shook his head.

When he turned away, she thought he meant to dress. She stumbled to her feet, her legs nearly buckling as she lurched toward the bed. She couldn’t stay naked and on her knees just waiting for him to leave, but as she pulled back the blankets to cover herself, his hand cupped her shoulder.

“Here,” he said as she spun toward him. Her knees finally lost their strength and she sat hard on the bed, watching in confusion as he reached toward her face with a rag.

The cool water was heaven against her flushed skin. He wiped her cheeks first, the corners of her eyes, then her mouth, dabbing gently at her lips as if she’d break. She pulled the rag from him, afraid she’d cry from such a careful touch. She swiped the cloth roughly over her mouth, then stared at the crumpled fabric in her hand.

He handed her the bottle of whiskey, but she clutched the cloth until he opened her fingers and took it from her. A swig from the bottle burned the taste of him from her mouth. She couldn’t look up. She didn’t want to.

The floor creaked when he moved away from her. She took another drink, barely cringing at the harsh liquor this time. If she drank enough of it, it would burn away more than his taste. It would dissolve her past, her memory, her knowledge. For a little while.

She heard the splash of water and knew he was washing himself as well. Cleaning her away.

Setting the bottle aside, she curled into the bed and tugged the covers to her chin. His shadow stretched against the wall as he moved. The light dimmed as he turned down one lamp, then the other, and his shadow disappeared.

“It’s raining,” he said.

Funny, she hadn’t noticed the drumming of the rain on the roof, but just as she heard it, a clap of thunder shook the house. His soft footsteps crossed to the window, and he looked out for a long time before approaching the bed. The thin mattress dipped behind her when he sat.

She wanted to ask him to stay. A stupid thought. Why would he stay? And why would it comfort her to feel him there?

Dumb as the idea was, it still made her chest ache. If he stayed, she could pretend he loved her and belonged here.

Hadn’t Melisande said that sometimes it was enough to pretend? That sometimes fantasy was enough to get you through one more day?

“Why did you do it?” he asked into the low rumble of the falling rain.

Jessica frowned at the yellowing paper on the wall. “You told me to.”

“Not that. I mean why did you do
this?
” The bed shifted as he gestured at something she couldn’t see. Her body or her house or her life.

Why? Because Caleb had left her, and her father had died, and she’d been lied to, and scared and alone. She shook her head.

“Why, Jessica?”

“I asked you not to leave,” she whispered.

“But you knew why I went. For you. For us. You can’t blame me. I didn’t turn you into this.”

No. It hadn’t been him. She’d done it herself.

“I was afraid,” she said, closing her eyes against the faint lamplight.

“Of what?”

Thunder again, but somewhere very distant. She’d been afraid of so many things for so long that it was hard to remember.

“My father died,” she started. “It was so sudden. I felt…abandoned. Alone. You’d been gone so long, and I heard…”

When she went quiet, his weight shifted and his voice sounded closer. “Heard what?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I wrote to you. I begged you to come home. You didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t get that letter.”

Yes, she understood that now. There were probably a few letters his stepfather had never included in the packet. And at least one letter from Caleb that she’d never received. His stepfather had probably destroyed it.

“He had debts,” she said. “My father. I should’ve anticipated it. His debts were the reason we moved from Pennsylvania to Colorado in the first place. We lived beyond our means. I see it now. He liked the finer things. Suits for him and dresses for me, and French wine and exotic fruits and so many books, all of it shipped from Europe. Within a few days of his death, I learned the extent of it. He’d borrowed heavily. The house belonged to the hospital and had to be vacated for the new director, and everything else…everything else would be sold to pay his debts.”

She inhaled, trying to loosen the fear from her chest. She’d woken every day sure that things would get better. That her situation would improve. But there’d been no one to save her. No reprieve.

Until Caleb’s stepfather had offered to help. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t tell Caleb that part. Ever.

“All our belongings were sold off,” she said quickly, wanting the story over. “I had nothing left. Nowhere to live. No way to support myself. No skills. No family.”

“You had me,” he bit out. “I could have been here in a matter of weeks. Days, if I caught the train from Frisco.”

Regret clawed through her. “I thought…I was sure you weren’t coming back.”

“Why?” he barked. “What did I ever do to make you think that?”

“You
left
. After I begged you not to!” She tried to calm her pulse by taking deep breaths before she spoke again. “You left for two years and you were doing God knows what in California. Yes, I lost faith, Caleb. I was scared. I had
nothing
. Not even a promise that you’d marry me.”

“You knew I meant to.”

She sat up and faced him, anger spilling out of her throat into words. “You
meant
to? You told me if I met someone better I should marry him. You
meant
to let me go.”

“I never did.”

“Then you should have married me instead of running off to chase a fortune!”

“This isn’t my fault!” he yelled. “I did what I said I would. I worked myself half to death. To buy land and a house. If you’d only kept faith for a few more months, we could have…” He shut his mouth and cradled his head in hands. His shoulders fell as he let out a silent breath.