The Harlot (5 page)

“Forgive me, sire. I must polish the floor here, Mister Ramsay.” She said his name to let him know she had caught it earlier.

He did not reply. Yet the mood in the room altered.

Something she had said or done had made it do so. Jessie noticed how quiet it was, the only sound a distant bird singing. She went about her chores, pretending to polish the floor,
humming to herself. Occasionally she looked up at him from under her lashes, suppressing a smile, and jiggled her hips and torso as she worked, to be sure she caught his attention.

Tension swelled from the place where he sat.

What was he thinking?

He observed her silently. Nevertheless, the rising air of expectancy made her blood heat. The notion that he was sitting there assessing her allure made her want to act very differently—to slink over to him and beg him to pleasure her the way he had before.

A moment later he rose to his feet and stood before her. Reaching down, he put one finger beneath her chin, lifting it. “Your head at this angle, when you are kneeling. It displays your bosom to good advantage.”

The very sound of his voice vibrated along her nerves. Deep and low and seductive—and deliciously demanding—it aroused her, making her want to hear more of it. He had blocked out the sunshine, and she was able to see him. As she looked up at him she was forced to remember her first taste of him, back in the tollbooth in Dundee, when she'd knelt at his feet for an entirely different purpose. Then she'd thought only of him. Now, he would have her think of another man, an enemy.

His finger remained under her chin while he scrutinized her. His gaze was all-encompassing, his handsome mouth slightly pursed while he considered her. It occurred to her that in a roomful of gentlemen, he would be the one who caught attention. Handsome and yet scarred, rough and so darkly secretive, the man lured her in every way.

“Sire,” she whispered, “what else would you have me do?” She wanted him to order her to strip, to bare herself to him. She wanted him to demand she sit on his cock and ride him until he came off.

A curious look flitted through his eyes, and he stroked his thumb over her lower lip. Jessie could not help herself—she shivered with arousal.

“Remain kneeling.” Slowly he straightened up. He did not, however, return to his seat. Instead he walked around her, pausing occasionally to study some detail of her appearance.

Jessie could not resist glancing over her shoulder. With her head cocked she could see him out of the corner of her eye. Even though he did not touch her, her blood raced. She wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her.

When he was directly behind her, he inserted one foot between her feet and pushed them farther apart. “Place your knees wider and arch your back.”

She did so, pulling her skirts a little higher to aid the maneuver. With her knees parted that way her thighs were wide apart. He had instructed her into a position that would en able her to be easily taken from behind, should someone choose to lift her skirt. Her cunny prickled with arousal and her core began to throb unbearably.

“That is more agreeable,” he said.

Agreeable for whom?
Jessie had to shut her eyes for a moment. The new arrangement was doing nothing to aid her concentration. She wondered how long she could bear it, for her cunny was poking out like a ripe fruit, ready to be taken. She was wet with wanting, and meanwhile he was standing there as calm as could be, instructing her to pose lewdly.

“Now polish the floor.”

She was sure she heard disguised humor in his tone. Was that amusement at his enemy's expense, or hers? Frustration began to get the better of her. With a deep intake of breath, she shifted and pretended to polish. The position he had arranged her in made her rear end wobble and dip as she worked. Flip
ping her hair back over her shoulder, she shot a disgruntled glance his way as she did so.

“If I did not know better,” she blurted, unable to hold her tongue, “I would think you were trying to shame me, sire.”

“Shame you?” There was definitely humor in his voice. “Shame the Harlot of Dundee? An impossible task, surely?”

Curses. He knew of her notorious title. Jessie pressed her lips together hard, for it annoyed her immensely. He was a stranger, a man who had lately been away at sea, and yet he knew what they called her. That was a great pity.

She sat back on her haunches and peered up at him, folding her arms across her chest. Who had he spoken to about her? What else did he know? That title was a dubious honor. Many times, in anger, she'd called it the bane of her life. That was far from the truth. Her secret gift was her true burden, but still, the title did not please her.

However, it was when she broke off following his instructions that she noticed the soft chamois leather of his breeches was strained at the buttons, his manhood lifting inside the confines of his clothing. That he was stimulated by their play was obvious, and the sight pleased her. “Your instruction, sire. Please continue.”

“It is good to see you are becoming more amenable.”

She buttoned her lip.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I want this man to lust after you, but he must not know that your purpose is to get close to him. I need you to attract him, but for him to think he is the seducer, in order not to arouse his suspicion. What would you do, under such circumstances?”

Jessie's mind quickly wandered into various lewd scenarios, but the only man she could picture at that moment was him. “I would first play innocent in order to convince him
I am chaste, and then perhaps allow him to see that he had stimulated me.”

Ramsay nodded. “How would you do that?”

“I could show that I am desirous of a man's touch, but at a loss for one. I would go somewhere where he might find me, where he could observe me desperate for relief…and attempting to handle myself.”

Mister Ramsay considered her at great length before he replied. “That may indeed stimulate his ardor.”

His comment was measured, and there was a brooding quality to his posture. Had she unsettled him? Jessie hoped that was the case. It was only fair, after all. He'd put her in such a state of longing that she
would
be forced to handle herself, and soon.

“Demonstrate your meaning,” he instructed, “so that I can be sure.”

Staring at him, she shook her head. “Demonstrate?”

“Do it. Play the innocent woman burdened with her lust, the woman who must somehow find relief.” His eyes glittered.

That made her breath catch. He wanted her to bare herself, to touch herself, while he watched. The idea excited her. Secretly thrilled by the turn of events, she silently dared him to resist what he was about to see. As she rose to her feet, renewed anticipation assailed her.

She moved the chair nearer to the window, where the fall of light would assist her display. “Allow me a moment to picture myself there, in
his
home, in order to do it well.”

“Go ahead.” Ramsay folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. His pose was one of leisure, but his eyes were narrowed and his lips tightly pressed together as if he was concentrating.

That pleased her immensely. She would soon have him needy for her. Meanwhile, she could happily look on his
handsome, scarred face as she plucked and teased at the seat of her pleasure. After a moment's consideration, however, she decided that would not aid her quest to look innocent. “Please stand further in the shadows, sire. That way I can pretend I don't see you…I mean
him.
”

Curiosity flitted across his face. He lingered, staring at her as if challenging her somehow. It made her heart flutter, for although she was sure she could do this, his attention made her feel more vital and alive than she ever had. When he moved away from the light the shadows only served to make his presence more looming, more exciting. Without warning she remembered the thrust of his cock inside her, and it was as if an echo of that moment haunted her intimate places, and she was back there in the tollbooth again, with his strong arms holding her. Her cunny tightened in response to the memory, her sense of frustration building. Determined to succeed in arousing him to the point of madness—as he had her—she rubbed her hand around the back of her neck and sighed with longing.

Even with her eyes averted, she could not banish his presence. If it were him that she had to seduce, she would have no trouble in mustering the urge. So she imagined it
was
Mister Ramsay who she had been sent to seduce, Mister Ramsay who unwittingly harbored her in his house, unaware of her true purpose. That quickly presented a vivid picture for her to think on as she stroked and squeezed her breasts through her bodice and stays. In it, he was her master and she was his servant. As master of the house he had shown interest in her from afar. She had gone looking for him and had spied him, perhaps at his washstand, naked. Aroused to a state of anxiety by the image of his strong, manly form in a state of undress, she had crept away into a linen cupboard to ease the fevered desire she felt.

While Jessie lifted her skirts to access her cunny, she imagined she might become aware of him watching her—peering in at an open door, perhaps, standing in the shadows. Ah, yes, it was Mister Ramsay she had to get closer to, and she was succeeding. Jessie bit her lip, struggling with the urge to look directly at him. She would eventually, because she had to know how her performance had affected him, but not yet.

The lurid nature of her imaginings urged her on. Resting one foot upon the chair, she hitched her skirts to her waist and pinned them there with her elbows. With two fingers she delved into her cunny, and quickly discovered exactly how damp she was. It came as no surprise, but made her sigh with longing nonetheless, and she quickly worked the fluid over her sensitive places. Within moments her hips began to weave back and forth, the friction making its own demands on her, causing her body to react. Her core ached for him, for the solid, gratifying thrust of his engorged shaft. Again her body shivered as she remembered how it had felt, and her cunny clamped, eager to be filled again.

As the moments passed, she grew desperate to come, for his presence only heightened her need, but she resisted the urge to tip herself over the edge. The tension emanating from the place where he stood was growing by the moment, thrilling her. He was about to pounce, about to order her to bend over the chair and present herself so that he could fill her with his cock, she was sure. It was what she wanted, but she forbade herself to look his way or to encourage him, for she had to prove to him that he could not resist.

GREGOR RAMSAY WONDERED HOW IN HELL'S
name he had got himself into this ludicrous situation, because fixing his thoughts on the goal ahead—rather than the current moment—was going to test him immensely.

His vow to resist her had been challenged as soon as she'd stood with the sun behind her and he'd seen her body out lined through the thin stuff of her worn shift. She had a fine, womanly figure, and the urge to explore it made him lose all sense of purpose for several long minutes.

It was a mercy that the serving girl had arrived and Jessie left the room. At first he'd avoided following and peering in at her while she was naked, but that was short-lived. Why shouldn't he?

Then, when she delivered her husky invitation to stand in the shadows to observe her performance, his attention was all hers. Now he was transfixed, because the sight of her abandonment was the most seductive thing he had ever seen. Several times he had to remind himself of his goal, and the effort he
had put into reaching it thus far, to keep from letting his baser instincts take over.

She was carnality embodied in female form, and since she had been scrubbed and dressed in a relatively clean garment, she was even more of a temptation. Resisting her was imperative, or else he would fritter away his time bedding her. He had taken these weeks away from his ship to resolve the legacy of the past, not to satisfy his own lust.

It was, however, hard to even remember the task that lay ahead when she lifted her breasts free of her stays and began to squeeze and mold them in her hands. This was the first time he had seen them in full light. The pale skin gleamed, the nipples a dusky rose color that was darkening as they hardened and lifted. Jessie's fingers roved over them, and then she pulled on the nipples until they lengthened and poked out rudely.

That alone would have his cock standing at attention if it was not already doing so. Then she grasped her skirts in her hand and lifted one foot, resting it on the chair she had moved closer to the window, baring her puss. He remembered then how it felt to be inside her. That made him harder still. Torn between the need to satisfy his desire to couple with her, and their more important purpose, he had to fix himself to his post in the shadows.

The sight of her juices glistening on her fingers as she plied the folds of her puss open made his hands fist. He wanted to grip her buttocks in his hands, to lift her, open her and taste her.

The flush on her cheeks indicated that her sensuality and passion brimmed to the surface. He noticed how she coated her fingers in that heavenly dew and then began to trail them back and forth in her furrow—slowly at first and then with increasing haste. Her spine was against the wall and she pivoted, moved her hips back and forth in an agitated fashion.

But then she shifted and the view was obscured.

He moved, but her legs closed, her hand buried between them. Gregor frowned. Her gaze was fastened in the distance, but if he didn't know better, he would think she was trying to provoke him. The vixen!

As if she could read his thoughts, she lifted her head and met his gaze. A vixen she was, through and through, following her own needs and disobeying his instruction, even while he tried to prepare her for what lay ahead.

Gregor shook his head.

A startled look appeared on her face, and she crushed her hand between her thighs. “Oh, sire, forgive me for my improper behavior. I did not see you standing there.”

She began to drop her skirts, but her eyes flashed with mischief and he knew then, with the utmost certainty, that she was toying with him, which meant she was not giving this her full attention. That enabled him to concentrate on the goal that had driven him these past eleven years.

He closed the space between them in three strides. “Do not stop. Touch yourself again as you would for him, and let me see you.”

“But sire…” Her head rolled and she cast her eyelids down. “I am thoroughly ashamed.”

The smell of her arousal was intoxicating. She was close to coming off. He had been so absorbed by the way she looked that he felt sorely deprived, but he would make her earn it. “You are not ashamed. You are nowhere near ashamed enough!”

Her head jolted up, her eyes wide.

“You have forgotten your first rule, the one you so cleverly stated earlier. This man must think you innocent and untouched, and yet I see blatant lust in your eyes.”

She shook her head vehemently, color staining her cheeks. “No, I…I did not mean to.”

He placed his hand over hers, crushing it to her puss. “Do it, but do it properly this time.”

She staggered back against the wall and looked up at him with round eyes, her cheeks flushed. Her hand began to work again and she bunched her skirts higher, tucking them under her elbow. “I am so ashamed, sire,” she whispered. “I cannot help myself. It is you that makes these fevers of longing come upon me.”

His cock was so hard it was painful, the need to plow her rising all the while. Through gritted teeth, he issued another instruction. “Try harder!”

She gasped, and when she moved her hands inside the cup of his, she swayed, her eyelids lowering. “Oh, sire, you are able to feel how dreadfully wet and wanting I am. I cannot bear the shame.”

Gregor inserted one of his fingers between hers and nodded at her, encouraging her. She moved her hips back and forth again until his finger slipped easily into her hole.

He inhaled a ragged breath.

She was so deliciously slippery that his cock pressed insistently at his breeches. Then her flesh tightened around his finger and her mouth opened. He thrust his digit deeper and moved it around, learning her—learning the shape and texture of her, the intense heat, and how sensitive and responsive she was.

Her body welcomed his hardness, and their hands began to move as one, until she rocked her hips, and the embrace of her flesh on his finger became crushing, and she grew wetter still as she neared her peak. She panted aloud and moved to steady herself by resting against his chest, her forehead against his shoulder. Her body trembled. “Oh, oh…”

Her hips rolled, and she worked herself up and down on his finger, passionate and wholly feminine, sensual and lush. Gregor had no doubt that she could claim any man, no matter where his tastes lay. More skilled and lushly feminine than a courtesan she was, and devoid of shame.

That did not excuse the fact that she thought herself beyond his instruction. She was about to come-off, but she had forgotten her task.

With his free hand he gripped her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Not innocent enough, my dear. Not by any means…”

“But sire—”

“You look too brazen, too greedy and eager for a man to satisfy your needs.” And didn't that make him all the more hard for her?

“I cannot help it.” She wriggled and shifted, attempting to play the part and break the easy stride she had gained. Instead she acted as if she was unsure what she was doing. Her cheeks flamed, but it was not shame nor innocence, it was sheer, demanding lust.

“No.” Gregor withdrew his hand. “You must not break with the picture you have created!”

She stared at him in disbelief, her lips parted.

With a wry laugh, he shifted her away from the chair. “Now you will see how serious I am.”

Sitting down on the chair, he pulled her quickly to him, forcing her facedown over his lap.

“Sire. Mister Ramsay!”

With one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her in place, he hauled her skirts up and slapped her arse. The twin globes of her bottom bounced up in response, her body jolting.

“You are a cruel man,” she exclaimed. “I am on fire.” Any
attempt she had been making to play the part had now fully departed, for she glared at him.

He slapped her again, several rounds on both buttocks in quick succession. When he paused, the attractive curve of her rump and the heat coming off her made him realize that there was, apparently, no easy remedy to this, for everything he did only seemed to pleasure her more and make his own situation more dire. Only the thought that his enemy would be totally unable to resist her forced him on.

“I see no blushing innocent here,” he declared, with no small amount of relish as he delivered another stinging slap to her soft flesh.

She clenched her fists and pummeled his thigh angrily, but her arse lifted higher still. He landed another smack on each buttock, noting with satisfaction how her pale flesh showed the imprint of his hand, and how her moans grew more wanton.

“Still you sound brazen and demanding. You are like a bitch in heat.”

“Damn you,” she cried over her shoulder, “I am trying, but you are making my situation even worse.”

Gregor restrained comment, and for a moment he considered leaving her on the edge of release for the rest of the day, in order to make her earn it by getting it right. But for some reason he couldn't quite muster that level of persuasion. Instead, he stroked his hand over the soft curve of her buttock.

The flesh trembled and her head lowered, her posture submissive once more. Gregor smiled to himself, for he sensed they had reached a level of understanding at last.

“This?” He slapped her again, making sure she felt it where her puss was pushed out between her open thighs, as if begging for attention. “Is this making your situation worse?”

“Yes. Please, sire, I must…” she whimpered. “Please help me.”

With his hand a hair's breadth from her arse, he paused. He ground his teeth, counting time. When she wriggled closer, he moved his hand away. The tension between them had grown too large and unrelenting. This must be done or they could not move on.

“What will I get from you in return?” he demanded. “Think about your answer carefully.”

Silence filled the room, the tension between them sharp as a drawn dagger. He could almost hear her thoughts racing. Nonetheless, she kept still, and he noticed that she had her fingertips on the floor to balance herself.

Breathlessly, she replied. “I will try harder to get it right, next time.”

“That was the correct answer.” He moved his hand down to the cushion of her puss. “Here? Is this where you need a man?”

She kept still, her head hanging down, her hair trailing the floor. “Yes.”

Her breath was scarcely above a whisper, as if she did not trust him to relieve her of her burden. Finally, she had recognized who was in charge here. He smiled, and stroked his finger the length of her slit. A muffled moan issued from below.

She would do better next time, and she would not tease or question him. Stroking back and forth from damp hole to swollen nub, he marveled at how her moans rose in response, how he was able to play her like an instrument. When his finger on her clit started her panting breathlessly, he concentrated on that part of her. Never before had he found such a sensual, responsive gem. Gone now was his need to teach her she could not lead this situation. Instead, he wanted to make
her come. His desire to feel it happen was binding. He stroked her to the brink of completion and then eased two fingers inside her. The sigh of relief she let out when he thrust them deep was satisfying.

He rested his free hand on the base of her spine, and moved his fingers in and out of her hot, wet sheath. Her flesh responded instantly, closing hard on him, releasing, and closing again. All the time her juices flowed, coating his fingers. It required every ounce of his self-control not to take over there and then, not to thrust his cock inside her to ease their mutual need. Instead he forced himself to learn the make of her, to explore her and enjoy the way her inner muscles grasped at his fingers.

When her body stiffened, he found his fingers crushed and then swimming in her juices. She shuddered from head to toe. When she wilted over his thighs, he pulled his fingers free. Rolling her over, he lifted her and sat her up on his lap.

She rested against him, her breathing unsteady.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured against his shoulder, as soon as she could speak, “that I did not do it right.”

Gregor did not trust himself to reply. He rested his arm around her back, tucking her against him. It would take some time before his erection subsided, but it had been a necessary lesson for her to learn. And him? Perhaps. It wasn't as if he didn't know she was a temptress. That was why he'd rescued her. What he hadn't bargained for was that she would tempt
him
quite so relentlessly.

She looked up at him. Her lips had darkened to red and her eyes were shining. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the ribbon that held it and her eyelashes were damp and glistening. How strange that it had affected her so. Was it the pleasure she had been afforded, or the unwilling submission to him that had brought that about?

The urge to kiss her, to feel those soft lips under his own, was great. To have her body—supple and pleasured as it already was—under his on the bed, where he would bring her to release again and enjoy her more specifically from the inside.

“Will I do, do you think? If you tutor me some more?” Her eyelids fluttered.

Was this genuine submission, or a ruse to make him rest easy? He gave a wry smile and cupped the back of her head. “You'll do.”

Her expression grew even more serious. “You think your enemy's attention will be secured, if I act that way and do it well enough?”

Her comment reminded him most firmly of his purpose, that which had driven him these past eleven years. For a moment there, he'd forgotten it. That reassured him she was a good choice for the task. She would lure Ivor Wallace's attention completely. That was what Gregor needed to know, after all. He reassured himself that the lesson had been valuable.

Still she gazed up at him, her lips parted as she awaited his answer. Unable to resist, he inhaled her sweet nectar from his fingers, and licked them. She tasted good. He would allow himself to enjoy more of that. Not yet, but before his enemy had her.