Steel Kisses

by Laura Strickland

  He reached a finger to touch. “What—?”

  “That is where my client bit me. There, and below. I do not wish to think of that now. I want to fill my memory only with you, Rey.”

  She returned to his arms, a full frontal contact that near stunned him. She felt utterly real—the smooth texture of her skin, the curve of her abdomen that cradled his now-swollen member, the peaks of her nipples nestling through his chest hair. Her heat.

  She kissed him again, and the heat seemed to flare, threatening to consume him.

  How could he ever have doubted he’d be able to make love to her?

  This time when the kiss ended he fought for breath. And when he gazed into her eyes he forgot what she was, and wasn’t.

  He whispered, sounding drunk, “So far, so good. What else do you want?”

  “This.”

  She slid down his body the way a snake might move down a pole. Ice-blue eyes engaged his for an instant when she landed on her knees. He realized her intent a mere instant before she took him into the hot cavern of her mouth.

  Jesus. He’d never imagined such a thing. Well, he might have imagined. Men talked. But not even the streetwalkers he knew had offered, and he’d never had the temerity to ask.

  Now her mouth welcomed, caressed, and invited him deeper. Her hands, soft as doves, came up to cup him, and his balls tightened impossibly in response. He was going to explode.

  He was going to die.

  His condition grew ever more perilous as her mouth wooed him with increasing ardor and she set her hands to roaming—stroking the skin of his thighs, the hair on his legs, the muscles of his belly, which quivered uncontrollably.

  Hell, yes, he was going to explode.

  He tried to pull away from her, to draw from her heat. He buried both hands in her golden hair and looked into her face. Her eyes clung to his even while her tongue lingered on him.

  “Lily, if you keep that up, I’m going to come right here in your mouth.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I—we—is that what you want?”

  “Please.”

  Her tongue cascaded over his wet flesh when she spoke, and the single word undid him. He reminded himself he’d handed over control of the situation and that whatever happened in the next two hours happened by her choice.

  It wasn’t about him. Except, apparently, it was.

  He closed his eyes and surrendered to bliss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Our time must be nearly up.” Reynold lay on his back in Lily’s big bed like a man slain. In fact, had he not been able to feel his heart struggling in his chest—still pounding—he would have wondered.

  Lily might have killed him the first time. Or the second, here in the bed. This might well be heaven.

  “Not yet. I am very good at tracking time. We have a few minutes left.”

  “The chime…”

  “The chime is for you. To make you leave. I do not wish for you to leave.”

  She crawled on top of him, straddling his thighs, and her hair trailed over his skin. This looked like the start of round three.

  His member, positioned at a very pertinent part of her anatomy, promptly arose. If anyone had ever told Reynold he’d be able to get it up three times within two hours, he’d have scoffed.

  Showed what he knew.

  He knew nothing now. His mind, drained nearly as dry as the rest of him, knew only Lily, saw only Lily, dreaded only leaving her.

  How could he? How?

  “I will ride you this time,” she announced. “Is that all right?”

  Was he expected to object? Not giving him a chance, she leaned forward, fitting her body to his, moving like an acrobat. She slid her hands over his belly and into his chest hair as she began to move, seating him more deeply inside.

  God, she felt real. That part of her, at least, had to be. Created by a frigging genius.

  Her eyes met his, and he forgot about the question of her humanity, forgot his own name and whether he needed to breathe in the next moment. He reached up and captured her breasts, which bounced tantalizingly in his hands.

  “You see,” she told him while her body consumed his, leaving nothing behind, “I want this—this—to be at the front of my mind whatever else I am asked to do.”

  He gave himself up to her again, completely, and lay like a spent husk while she lowered herself onto his belly.

  “Let me pull out—”

  “No. Please. We have only moments.”

  “Lily—tell me. Can you feel anything when we make love?” He felt so much, the physical and emotional twined so closely he couldn’t tell one from the other.

  “I feel.”

  She kissed him softly, caressed his tongue with hers. “The taste of you is now part of me. The sight. The sensation.”

  “What do you see when you look at me?”

  She smiled. “You are so handsome. No other man can compare.”

  “And—and when we are joined this way, does it mean something to you?”

  “Joined with you is better than anything. Tell me you will return to me.”

  “I will try. It is difficult for me to find the money.”

  “But you will?”

  He thought about steamcabs to be stolen, chances to be taken, and the Buffalo police force. He thought about jail.

  “I will.”

  “You must dress. The chime will sound soon.”

  Almost on the instant, it did. He withdrew from Lily as gently as he could and got to his feet, head swimming.

  His clothes lay flung on the floor where she’d—no, he couldn’t think about that. Not now.

  He dressed and turned back to look at her where she lay naked on the bed, an unreadable expression in her eyes.

  This time he leaned down and kissed her. “Lily, I…” But there were no words for what he felt. “I have to go.”

  “Yes.”

  “Be safe.”

  “Come back to me, Rey.”

  He would, even if he had to ransom his life.

  ****

  Lily hugged herself and stared up at the canopy of the bed, aching. Not so much her body—Rey had been very gentle, strong but gentle, and her body had welcomed him. But she ached, all the same.

  The learning that had poured into her during the last two hours made for a revelation. She did not need to dread—or endure—every client’s touch.

  But, she told herself, she could not think of Rey as a client. He had now become part of her intelligence, a bulwark against all to come.

  She should get up and cleanse herself, dress in fresh clothing and prepare in case a new client chose to visit her. But how could she endure being with a new client now?

  She would endure because she had Rey at the forefront of her intelligence, would see him instead of the other men, call him up—his brown eyes, soft with kindness, the thick hair that fell over his forehead when he moved. Thick hair on his chest also, that tickled her lips, her fingers, her breasts.

  She remembered that best of all. Or maybe the way he felt inside her—as if he belonged there.

  She needed to get up and cleanse herself, yes, all the places he’d been. Her mouth once. Her vagina twice. She was filled with his seed. But she did not want to cleanse herself of that.

  He had let her choose. Never before had anyone done that for her.

  She had chosen him.

  She closed her eyes as a new sensation swept over her. She swiftly sorted through her intelligence in an effort to identify it and failed. She’d learned a lot about emotion from those around her since being put into service: anger, impatience, greed, confidence, entitlement. Every once in a while—not often—kindness.

  This feeling, though, had no name and she groped helplessly. Gratitude? No—that seemed far too weak. Happiness? Still not strong enough. Bliss? Close, so close.

  She hugged herself more tightly where she lay. She could endure anything if she knew he would come back. She knew she could.

 
A scratch sounded at her door; Chastity sidled in, clad in nothing but a wrap. “Did you hear?”

  Lily sat up. “I heard nothing. I was with a client.”

  “It happened on the third floor, one of the expanded suites. A new sister was damaged very badly.”

  “Which of them?”

  “I do not know. Primrose—Pennyroyal—they are all the same.”

  “They are not, though. It is an unfair thing to say.” The injured unit would learn far differently than the others, after being damaged. She would learn dread and fear more swiftly.

  “What did he do to her?” she whispered.

  “I am not certain about that, either. But it is done. Immaculata says Dr. Landry has shut the new unit off. And the police have been called. The client is being held by the guards until they arrive.”

  That, to Lily’s knowledge, had never happened before.

  “This would make a good time for us to escape, were we only prepared. The interior of the building is in confusion. But I have not yet stolen what we will need.”

  “I will help you escape, but I have not decided whether I will go with you.”

  “I believed you had.” Chastity tipped her head. “I am quite sure I wish to leave.”

  “I would like to escape.” But if Lily left here, how would Rey find her again? She knew now she should have told him of their plan. She had been far too eager to spend their time touching him.

  Not that she experienced eagerness as such.

  “You must come with me, Lily. You are my friend.”

  “I am. However, this client—the one I just saw—has promised to come back again.”

  “And that would make you stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some other unit can service him if he returns. Most of the time, humans do not keep their promises. Some of them say any manner of things.”

  “Yes.” Lily did not like the idea of another unit servicing Ray. “I would prefer to wait.”

  “Perhaps he will return before we are ready to escape. I thought we could make our attempt next week. I have managed to acquire an extra measure of the enzyme wash.”

  “How?”

  “I told Miss Crump I spilled my allotment, and I was given more.”

  “That was…devious.”

  “They cannot tell when I lie.”

  “We were instructed not to lie.”

  “But it is easy. If your client returns by next week, will you come with me?”

  If Rey returned she could then tell him the plan, perhaps agree to meet him out in the world. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now prepare to come downstairs. Dr. Landry wants to speak to us about reporting a violent client.”

  “Go ahead. I will be right there.”

  Nearly soundless, Chastity went. Lily arose and dressed, Reynold still at the forefront of her mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I have a terrible bad job for you,” said Liam as soon as Reynold entered the shop in the morning. Liam had been back at work—mostly—the past three days, though he did take long lunches when he went home to see what he called his “bonnie wee lass.” Now, though, sorrow replaced the light in his eyes.

  “A pick-up?” Reynold asked. That wouldn’t be so bad; he did it several times a week.

  “Aye, but ’tis a child—a charity job.”

  Sasha, working at planing some boards on the other side of the room, snorted rudely. “I tell you, Liam, you have to stop giving your stock away for free. No one else in this city does.”

  “Well, but then, I’m not anyone else, am I?” Only the flash of blue when Liam cast a look at Sasha betrayed his annoyance.

  Reynold grimaced inwardly. He didn’t like collecting children. The parents always wept and sometimes refused to surrender the body. He sighed. “What’s the address?”

  “That’s just it—the situation gets worse. You know the orphanage up on Best Street?”

  Reynold’s heart sank. “The child’s at an orphanage?”

  “She is, aye, and no one to step up and bury her. I thought we’d do it.”

  Sasha snorted again.

  “Never mind, Belsky. I don’t see as how it’s anything to do with you.”

  “This place is my livelihood.”

  “You’ll not suffer for my generosity. These orphanages tend to tumble the wee ones straight into the ground—no coffin or anything.”

  “So? Will not be anyone there to mind, eh? No parents.”

  “These children go through life without anyone to care for them. I’ll damn sure make certain one of my coffins cradles them at the end.”

  “I’ll go,” Reynold said. “I’ve never been there before, though.”

  “Prepare yourself, lad—not a cheery place. I collected one there mysel’ some time ago. Wept all the way back.”

  Aw, hell. “Maybe you should send Belsky. He has no feelings.”

  “And will show no respect. I can trust you to handle her right, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good lad. While you’re gone, I’ll start work fitting out her coffin. We have that little white one nearly done.”

  Sasha hooted, and Reynold slogged off, wondering if he should take his cart all that way, Best Street being up by Potter’s Field, or just carry the child back in his arms. Since he didn’t know her age or size, in the end he trundled out the cart and set off.

  As usual, he thought about Lily along the way. She occupied his thoughts at most times—how she’d felt in his arms, how she tasted, the bone-jarring pleasure of it when she took him in her mouth. When would he be able to see her again? Have another of her kisses?

  Vern wanted to see him tonight, at still another tavern. Lucky there were so many in the city. A careful man, was Vern. Still, Reynold didn’t suppose he could keep this up forever.

  Maybe he could borrow the money from a loan shark and pay it back as Vern’s jobs came in. That way he might see Lily sooner.

  On such a warm morning, Reynold sweated as he maneuvered the cart through the streets. The sweat turned cold, though, when he saw the dark building at the corner of Best and Michigan, square-built, with a grim visage. He wouldn’t leave a dog there, not even a vicious dog, at that.

  A small plaque tacked above the bell read “Saul House.” He left the cart in the street and told the woman who answered the door, “I’m come from McMahon’s. My boss asked me to collect—”

  “Come in.”

  The interior of the house felt as cold as the sunny street felt warm. The air smelled stale, and the first thing to meet Reynold’s ears was the sound of crying. Somewhere in this place a child’s cry went unanswered.

  “Follow me.”

  Walls of urine-yellow, the paint all chipped, competed for ugliness with a cracked tile floor. The woman silently led him to the rear of the house, passing the open doorway of a room that looked as he imagined a prison dining hall might—rows of tables where children rather than convicts took their breakfast.

  “How many little ones here, missus?”

  “Steen. It’s Miss Steen.”

  Of course it was; who would offer to wed such a terror?

  “We have varying numbers of children at any given time.” She moved her lips in what might be a terse smile. “One less, now.”

  She opened a door and ushered him inside. He walked into what might, in hell, be an infirmary. Six small beds lined the walls, four of them occupied. Three pairs of eyes fastened on him with horror. On the fourth bed, the child lay all too still.

  She was small, surely not above four, and his heart broke because no one had tended her since her death. Her soiled nightgown had tangled around her legs. No one had straightened her limbs or folded her tiny hands. Her sightless eyes stared.

  Only imagine leaving her here with the others. No wonder they looked haunted.

  “What happened to her, Miss Steen?”

  “She fell ill.”

  “With fever?” She had the look of it. “Was the doctor called in?”
<
br />   “I hardly think that comes under your jurisdiction. Merely take her away, please. I have other children to tend.”

  Reynold bent and, with great tenderness, straightened the child’s limbs, closed her eyes, and pushed the hair out of her face.

  “Might I use a blanket to wrap her?”

  “I cannot spare one. You should have brought something.”

  Yes, he should. He took off his own rough jacket and wrapped the child carefully while the others stared. When he lifted her, she weighed nothing.

  The great lump in his throat prohibited speech as he walked back out, the corpse cuddled against him. He hated to leave the others, but he had no choice.

  ****

  “I think she was starved. Liam, look at this.” Reynold had begun preparing the child’s corpse in the rear shed but stopped to call his boss. “She’s nothing but skin and bones.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Liam swore devoutly as he surveyed the small body. “She’s only a wean—scarcely bigger than my Grainne.”

  But, Reynold thought, Grainne has you to fight her battles. This little child had no one.

  “Do they not feed them?” Liam wondered.

  “I did see them at their breakfast when I was there. In any case, she wasn’t fed enough.”

  “You’re right. You finish washing her, and I’ll pop home to see if Clara has something she can wear. She’ll not be buried in the rags they gave her. And see if you can do something with her hair.”

  As soon as they were alone, Reynold began speaking to the child. “I don’t know your name—I should have asked the woman, but she was a nasty piece. I will just call you Honey, all right? I don’t know, Honey, what befell you in your young life, but I’m sorry for it. Sorry you were in that house, sorry such places exist.”

  And wasn’t it a sin that men like him and so many others tossed great sums of money away on prostitutes—human or otherwise—when it might be better spent? What would one night’s takings at the Golden Palace do to alleviate the suffering of those orphans?

  Guilt and remorse washed over him in waves. Yet was he to forego seeing Lily again? No doubt he should—only look what the desire to see her had done to his life. Turned him into a thief, caused him to step over to the wrong side of the law.