by Eliza Lloyd
Imo held her tongue.
Jack seemed to notice she still lay on the dirt floor with her shirt off. “This isn’t how you should be taken. You should be taken on a bed with silk sheets and down pillows. Servants should be at your beck and call.” He still straddled her. His hands were covered in dirt from the floor. “If you want to live like this—” He rubbed his hand down her chest, between her tits, leaving a trail of dirt on her skin. “—men will treat you like this. You are better. You can have more.”
“That’s the trouble with more. It always comes with a price I can’t pay.”
“I could take what I wanted. Right here. Right now. You couldn’t stop me.”
“Can you? I doubt Danny is really all that far off and his pistol is loaded, compared to yours, which I just emptied.” She glanced pointedly at his deflated cock.
Jack smiled and then laughed. “Name your price, Imogene. It’s my last offer. I won’t see you again after tonight. But know what you’re giving up.” He leaned forward. One hand clasped her right breast and his mouth went to her other.
Imo arched off the floor. He didn’t lick. He pulled the pointed nub into his mouth with suction until the pleasure was like a sharp spike. His tongue cradled the tip and rubbed until it felt raw. When he pulled away, a loud pop sounded in the empty room.
“How much?”
“I told you. Five hundred pounds.”
“Be reasonable, Imogene. You’re a no—no one is going to pay that kind of money.”
“A really rich man will.” The barb sounded better in her head than it did out in the open.
“Keep hoping. You’ll be a virgin the rest of your life.”
Imo snorted. He had the money. “You rich folk have the queer notion that just because we’re poor, we’re also stupid. You told me yourself to sell it for everything I could get.”
He lifted his leg from her, glanced at his friend who had passed out against the wall, and pushed to his feet, fastening his trousers as he did so. He stared down at her, his face expressionless, the sparkle in his eyes masked.
“Goodbye, Imogene.” She rolled to her knees and yanked her shirt on while Jack attended to his friend, hoisting him up, wrapping one arm around his back and lifting his friend’s limp arm over his shoulder.
“I wish you the best of luck finding your rich man.” He nodded and left.
Imo stood stock still in the middle of the drab, dirty room. An accusing voice in her head told her she’d made the right decision, but it didn’t dampen the foolish thud in her heart that sounded like regret, pity and anguish.
If she had said yes to him, she would have experienced things that, once she’d lost them, would have made her envious and bitter for the rest of her life. Being poor and happy was the better decision.
Chapter Eight
Three nights later, Jack returned, dimber and smiling, as if there were no place he’d rather be then a shack on a backwater London street.
Of course she didn’t know it until there was only the one man left and he’d walked around the sheet as if he owned the falling-down building. And her. She ought to kick Danny and Frank in the balls for letting him return, but they’d both scented blood and knew the money would follow. They knew what lust could do to a man, and as long as handsome Jack took a shining to her, they’d get an ale with their midday meal.
The burst of joy at seeing Jack was quickly quelled, before the surge reached the light in her eyes and the smile on her face.
“You don’t need to call for your henchmen. I paid them to leave.” Abrupt and angry, he tore at his trousers and freed his cock.
“It’s your money.” She stood with her hands at her sides. Already her bubs ached to have his mouth on them. Hell would freeze over before she admitted anything to him though.
“Get started,” he ordered. He appeared pained, like he’d waited days for this very moment. Well, he’d wait longer still.
She straightened her spine and threw her shoulders back. Face-to-face—or face-to-chest as it were, since her nose almost touched his fancy cravat—she allowed her gaze to memorize every detail of his face and clothing. Below, her fingers traced the ridges and contours of his cock. They both stood still as statues, each trying to outlast the other. Imo knew she would win. She remembered the power she had when she held a man in the palm of her hands. For those fleeting moments, he would do anything for her and allow her to do anything to him.
Imo was learning him. She could almost count his heartbeats by the pulse below his ear. His tongue flicked to one side of his mouth and then he’d bite down on his lips. When he was close, she knew he would stop breathing for a moment or two before he spent.
Other telltale signs, signs he tried to hide, displayed the struggle he fought. Twice now, he tried to prevent the inevitable.
He’d paid for a hand job, that was all he was getting tonight.
At the sound of coins, she nearly smiled. His hand found her trouser pocket and slipped inside. The coins clinked together as they collected in the pouch. When the coins stopped falling, she went to her knees in front of him, smiling, her head down until her mouth closed over the straining cock. She didn’t use her hands, only her mouth. The spots that would bring a quick release would have to wait. Wait until enough money had changed hands.
His body sighed in utter relief. He cupped his hands around her face, covering her ears. His body jerked, shallow and quick into her mouth and then he got control of himself again. Imo wasn’t as good with her mouth as she was with her hands, but she was learning.
Her tongue and her lips slid over and under him. Her throat took him deep a few times, swallowing him fully. Her slow resolve had him wound tight, just as she’d hoped. What she wanted was for him to know that when he stepped between the crooked doorframe and cracked walls, that he was entering her world, and in that world, she had some control.
More coins fell. Those he dropped inside her shirt. The cool metal caressed her skin as it slid over her heated flesh and clothes, collecting at the waistband of her trousers, then falling farther down, collecting at her knees.
Tugging at the shirt, she slipped her arms from the sleeves and, with a quick motion, loosed him, removed her shirt and returned to sucking on the hard shaft. She sensed his gaze, felt it boring into her as his eyes feasted on her exposed body. Heat radiated from her skin.
He bent over her, sliding his hands down her bare back in one long sweep. Imo had never realized how sensuous touch could be and she basked in the contact, so rare in her life.
Then, then, Imo realized he could hold the same power over her, if she let him. His hands slid forward, underneath her arms, cupping her breasts.
Before she could lose herself in the forbidden pleasure, he said the one thing she needed to hear to bring her back to reality.
“Mercy. Tell me how much, Imogene. What is it going to take? This negotiation shouldn’t be taking so damn long. I’m willing to pay good money to get between your legs. Stop playing games. Or is it just a whore’s way to get the coin she wants?”
So he thought she was negotiating.
For most of her life, Imo hadn’t seen past the next hour. With him, she could see her future with a clarity that left her afraid. In the beginning he would treat her special, buy her presents, tell her pretty words he didn’t mean, use her body until he grew bored and then cast her off. And why wouldn’t he? That would be their agreement.
Yet none of those things amounted to a hill of bread and beans when compared to how she’d feel inside. When it was over she’d feel worthless, used and ready for Tiny’s whoring job, fucking different men ten times a night and not caring how they smelled, how they hurt her or whether she ever woke up again.
She couldn’t help but like the way Jack looked. One of them angel paintings over at St. Paul’s didn’t look any prettier than he did. His hands weren’t like hers. She had dirt under her nails and rough, dry elbows and a haircut that was as crooked as the Russian banker on Fish Street. Jack
was nothing like her with his pressed jacket and shiny boots and sparkling eyes.
Because she said no, he thought he had to have her.
There was only one reason to say yes, and the sheer, thrilling rapture of having him touch her wasn’t it. The only reason to say yes was for the money, and unless she got enough to make up for the catastrophe giving in would bring her, she’d take the advice he’d given the first day he met her.
Whatever you’re worth.
She was worth more than she’d probably get, but damn if she wasn’t going to hold out for as long as she could just in case a better offer came along.
Until then, she needed to stop matching wits with him. He was far more dangerous to her well-being than Tiny Etherton or the Scot. She was pleasuring him beyond what she’d done for anyone and she liked that she could make him suffer with want while she did so.
She couldn’t keep doing this.
Everything she’d done so far was a mirror of the other night, only then Jack had lowered himself into the dirt. His fancy-pants valet probably scolded him for getting his knees dirty.
Just as she thought about the last thing he wanted, more coins fell from his hand. Imo let his cock dangle for a moment while she stuck her fingers in her mouth, wetting them so she wouldn’t hurt Jack much. She latched on again and then she skimmed one hand into his trousers. Up she went, between his legs until she found the round of his bottom. His breathing started a rapid in-and-out pull and a low moan started deep in his throat.
Imo took him deep in her mouth. He needed to come and get it over with so Imo could quit torturing them both. With two fingers she searched and when she found the tight entrance, she pushed hard, not bothering with politeness.
He groaned, jerked and shot fluid deep in her throat, which she swallowed just like he wanted. Just like he had paid her to do.
After the third stream, he slipped his finger in her mouth, wedging it open as he withdrew. He bent over, hands to his knees as he tried to slow his breathing.
Imo retrieved her shirt, covered herself and went to work plucking the coins from the ground where most of them had ended up. The boys liked these windfalls and wouldn’t mind if Jack returned every night for entertainment.
Jack buttoned up, then straightened his jacket. He stared at her as if he expected something. He had two expressions, the sparkling laughing gaze and the serious dull stare. The second always meant he was thinking. He pursed his lips before saying, “Goodbye, Imogene.”
He turned, but Imo called to him. “Jack, I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t come back.”
“A wise idea perhaps, but I was never very good at heeding sound advice.”
Imo tried to stop thinking about him, but questions like “what would it be like to be his whore?” tended to pop into her head at the oddest times, like when she lay down to sleep at night.
It didn’t help that Frank pestered her about how much money they could make from the bloke if only Imo were more “friendly”. When Jack showed up in her dreams and they did the same wicked things during her sleep as they did in the one-room hovel, she knew she was barmy.
A few nights later, just as she was servicing one of the regulars, she heard the boys laugh when one of the customers came in the door. She wasn’t surprised to see Jack. She was unaccountably relieved.
He’d stayed away two whole days.
He waited until they were alone and her brothers had slipped away. He said nothing as he tore at the fall of his trousers, only his gaze was hot and hard, and she could see that he wanted fucking more than he wanted his next breath. Clutching at his cock, he gripped the base and held it up for her.
She didn’t know how to shag him any better than she had two nights ago. She had nothing left to give except her cunny, which she wasn’t giving to him without the floor being paved in sovereigns.
She walked up to him, reached for his cock and squeezed him in the palm of her hand. She squeezed until he gasped. Still holding him firmly, she sauntered behind him and then dropped to her knees. With her free hand she tugged at his kicksies and smallclothes until they fell to his knees. She freed his cock and then used her hands, caressing up and down his thighs and toying with the soft sac and the lengthening erection.
His arse was partially covered by his jacket and linen shirt. She used her tongue, lapping at the skin over his tight arse while her hands brought him to a climactic end.
Jack left without saying a word.
* * * * *
Danny noticed the Scot’s men around the dock during the week. He ordered Imo to stay close and for once she didn’t kick up a fuss. If Danny wasn’t at her side with his gun in his pocket then Frank was, and he happily carried a knife strapped to his arm and another to his leg.
When Danny decided to pay another visit to the Scot, Imo did kick up a fuss. “What for? You’re tempting the devil, that’s what you’re doing.”
“I’m going to get our money back before he forgets what he owes us.”
Each time Danny had gone in the past, he’d take money for the Scot to hold. He’d never yet cheated anyone financially, that she knew of, and everybody in the district who weren’t rich enough for the hoity Bank of England had to deal with someone reliable or risk getting their hard-earned money stolen.
Imo’s worth changed things. She was like money lying in the street. The first one to pick her up got to keep her. No one said it was easy to be a girl in London.
She waited outside across the street. When he returned, he told her that the Scot had asked about her.
“How did it go otherwise? Did he give you our coins?”
“I got half. I thought he’d get suspicious if I asked for everything. Told him you wanted a new dress. And shoes.”
“How soon can you get the rest?”
“Maybe a month. If I give you some of our money, can you keep it safe?”
“Sure.” Imo could think of a dozen hiding places, except that money was hard earned and she planned to keep it on her body. She’d go back to wearing her bindings if she had to.
“What does it all mean?” she asked.
“Just that he hasn’t forgotten about you. Hell, Imo, why don’t you just get the deed done with so there won’t be a Virgin Whore? Jack’ll fuck you quick as anything and he’d pay you handsome too. He’s sweet on ya, Imogene. Take advantage of everything he could give you and then maybe we wouldn’t have to worry so much about someone snatching you.”
“No one’s going to take me, not when I have you and Frank. You make it sound like I’m an apple tart for Jack to take a bite of. What happens after? Do you want me to go to Tiny or the Scot and see if they’ll take me? I’d just be one of their regular whores then.”
“You know it’s gonna happen sooner or later. Why not with him?”
“I can’t explain it to myself. It’s...” She frowned, looking up at the buildings around them. “It’s just like those fellas that take opium. They think they have the strength to do it once, just to see if they like it, and then they go back. In no time at all some Chinaman has all their money and the devil has their soul.”
“Well, Imogene, ’pears to me you gotta be the one clever enough to earn Jack’s money and you gotta be the one crafty enough to steal his soul.”
“Jack’ll shag me once and that’ll be the end of that. He’s only interested ’cause I make it hard for him.”
Danny laughed. “You make it hard for him? I thought you did that for every john walking into the room?”
How could she explain to her brother that she didn’t want to fall in love with Jack? She rolled her eyes. Her! Imo Farrell falling in love with some fancy nob who just wanted to crawl between her legs. She’d never been sweet on any of the boys ’round Cable Street, in the merchant shops or around the docks. ’Course, up until seven or eight months ago, they all thought she was a boy or pretended to since the Farrells were known to be orphans without prospects.
Everything about her feelings for Jack was wrong
. Fancy-pants gentlemen like him didn’t want anything from girls like her except a quick poke. And that was fine. It happened every day. Imo didn’t stand a chance against him but every time she saw him she felt the gentle slide toward deeper affection. There was no crashing moment of awareness, only the realization that she liked him. Just like sleep—one moment you were wide awake...
He made her feel like a woman. No. She was kidding herself. Even he thought of her as a whore.
“I’ll do it when I’m seventeen,” she said suddenly.
“Do what?”
“I’ll lie down with a man when I turn seventeen.”
“Jeez, Imo, you’re already seventeen.”
“No, I’m not. I turned sixteen in June. Or maybe July.” She tried to remember her last birthday with Mam and all she could picture was a rainy day. Mam had taken her to the lending library and they’d picked out a book, which Mam read to her and Frank and Danny that night.
“As sure as I’m standing here, you’re gonna be eighteen next summer.”
“I was eight when Mam died, we spent two years with the dust collectors, three years—”
Danny interrupted. “No, we spent three years with the dust collectors. That’s when we lived in St. Giles. You were sick all that winter and every night when I got back to you, I thought you’d be dead. You hardly spoke for six months.”
“I’m going to be eighteen?”
“Sure as the sun comes up.”
“Mam’s been dead ten years?”
Danny didn’t say anything. The long silence hung heavy with grief.
“I miss Mam.” Imo thought the tears would burst like a summer storm. Mam would have found her someone nice to marry and she’d have a passel of kids who got into trouble, didn’t eat their peas and grew up with a better life. ’Course, there wouldn’t have been Tiny or McGreggor or even Jack to worry about. She should have never met any of them.
“Me too.”
“Do you think Charlie’s got a mother?” She swiped her sleeve across her nose.
“Don’t know. He’s never said.”