by Louisa Trent
He eased his teeth up, popped the end of her breast out. "Lift your skirts," he ordered.
She did without argument, but not without comment. "Does all of this arouse you, sir?"
He had been looking downward, noting the flush on her belly, the droplet of fluid racing from the notch down the sleek thigh, generally enjoying the view, but at that his neck snapped up. "It's you who arouses me."
"Oh, I think it is more."
"How more? In what way more?" he blustered at this turnabout, at this her reclaiming of the advantage.
"Considering you are a collector, I thought perhaps you received a vicarious enjoyment from showing off your latest acquisition to your esteemed colleagues."
His brow rose. "Namely you?" he asked bluntly.
"Namely me."
In a voice that resonated with defensiveness, he said, "And what if I do enjoy a little exhibitionistic bragging? So what?" Though he never knowingly sought to make an object of her. He sought only to make her...
What?
Climax, dammit! With his cock inside her. No pretense. With honest passion. She was the one who had driven him to this game.
Yet knowing the game wasn't real, danger-induced arousal still coursed through him. And she knew it.
"Your fiery bush has made its return I see," he offered, those wanton red curls totally enslaving him, beguiling him, mesmerizing him.
There was no need to tell her to spread herself for him; her thighs opened of their own accord. And once again, he dipped his finger into the crock of honey before dipping his finger into her honey pot.
He sank to his knees, a supplicant at her feet, and nuzzled her red pubic hair with mouth and nose, before beginning the pleasurable task of licking her out. His mouth at the notch, kissing it, worshipping it, he then dove his tongue in, drove it up into her, no restraint, no apology, no need to explain.
"Yes, yes, yes," she cried, her fists pounding the walls behind her, heedless of the audience she thought they had. She grabbed his head, pulled his hair, yanked and tore at the strands, writhing and quaking, about to climax, the game exciting her as much as him. Triumph was at hand!
He stood, unbuttoned his trousers, and sheathed his cock with a rubber taken from his coat pocket, hoping to catch her on the cusp of fulfillment before she tumbled without him.
Like a good little whore, she turned about and faced the wall of the shed.
He felt her sexual desire wane as soon as he breached the hot slit of her vagina. As he started madly pumping from behind, trying desperately to catch up with her before she went off, it was already too late. Harry had gone away; only the shell of her body remained.
When he exploded into her after only a few deep thrusts, he came alone.
"Right yourself," he said, incensed and bewildered. She had been so close to coming! Right up until entry, she had been with him all the way. Once breached, she had shut down, pulled back inside herself. But really, what had he expected? She was a whore after all, and that's what whores did--they removed themselves from the act. They had to, for survival. Having grown up in a bordello himself, he should have known how it went.
But still, disappointment made him ask, "Do you ever come when a man is inside you?"
She turned back to face him, blinked in rapid succession. "Pardon?"
Games gone by the boards, he spelled it out. "Have-ever-gone-off-when-you-have-been-with-a-man?"
She laughed. "Captain Kane--the only time I have ever been with 'a' man is when I have been with you."
And then he knew, he knew why she hadn't achieved orgasm: One man at a time wasn't enough for her any more. Some whores were like that. After a while, having only one man at a time wasn't enough sensation. How many men would it take for Harry to come?
Flinging the rubber's full reservoir into the metal can assigned for spent vegetation, he left her and went inside the house to rejoin his guests.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"She's a soiled dove, you know. A former barmaid. A tavern brawler. Not really his housekeeper, a'tall-a'tall," Mrs. David Chadsworth whispered behind a raised hand to the buxom Mrs. Frederick Winston. "And do be careful of your jewelry. She's not only a light-skirt, she's light-fingered, as well. Why Captain Kane would choose to sully himself on that thieving slut, when he could wed a decent young lady of impeccable background, is quite beyond me!"
Raised hand or not, whispering or not, Harry heard the dowager's nasty comments, every last hurtful one of them. Close enough to wipe smirks off faces, it was difficult not to be aware of what was being said about her, as she moved among Captain Kane's guests, serving tea and coffee, bringing around trays of desserts. While the gentlemen ogled her behind their wives' backs, their respectable ladies gossiped about her before her face. She was an object of sexual conjecture and ridicule, an open target for disgusting gossip. And the worst part was: she couldn't even say these guests besmirched her good name; she couldn't even defend herself to herself, never mind to others. She was a thief. A whore too. But let any of these fine grand dames, who wore their husband's names with such pride, walk in her worn-down shoes for a few days. See how well they maintained their seats on their high horses then!
Her father had been an educated man, a Quaker with lofty principles. Before his passing, he had taught her some of those lofty principles too. Though she believed in much that he'd said, principles don't keep hunger pains at bay. She had done what she had to do to survive, keeping what she could of her integrity intact, while trying to keep her belly fed. Life was both hard and cruel for a female on the wharves, and she had learned young to fend for herself. Anyone who trod on her felt her boot in return. But she never raised her boot first. Never! And she had never stepped on someone weaker than herself, not through word or deed. Yes, when an employer didn't give her a fair shake, she evened things out by helping herself to the silverware drawer. Yes, when her own silly stupidity had caused her to lose the man she loved, she had done something about obtaining the kind of education she needed to win him back, and gotten branded a whore for her efforts. That was the chance she took, and she accepted the repercussions of her actions.
But she wasn't a fool and she couldn't afford to take any more chances. She couldn't allow love for a man who didn't love her in return, to bring her to ruin a second time. She was a survivor, and would do what she needed to do to survive. Outside in the garden shed, she had almost come, had almost screamed in climax. Even knowing that Captain Kane's business associates would hear, she had almost wailed her release.
Those gentlemen didn't matter. Though Joshua believed their presence had excited her, he had been mistaken. His associates had neither incited her pleasure nor hindered it. To her, they simply were not there. With a touch, everyone and everything else had faded away, like whaling boats on the distant horizon.
Damn Joshua Kane! After telling him the truth, after revealing to him he was the only man she had ever been with, he hadn't believed her. Which was why she had turned from him like a whore.
Mrs. Chadsworth turned to Mrs. Winston. "A pity Captain Kane's heritage is what it is. The mother, a whore; the father, anybody's guess. If not for the enormity of his purse, I would suggest we keep our daughters away from him. Who knows what manner of children such a match might produce?"
"I was thinking that very same thing," Mrs. Winston said, from behind her hand.
It was one thing to gossip about her, and another to gossip about Joshua. Despite her vexation with him, he didn't deserve the maliciousness of these full-of-themselves females.
With a little wobble, her foot came down hard on Mrs. Winston's toe; Mrs. Chadsworth received a kick to the shins.
"My goodness!" Harry exclaimed, still reeling. "I feel so dizzy."
Her owner came rushing over. Taking her by the elbow, he steadied her, spoiling her plans. Too bad, really! One more wobble and she would have dumped the tray she carried across their elaborate hats.
"Mrs. Smith, are you all right?" The sea captain in
"I'm fine." She tried to shake him off, still hoping to let the tray go.
Her must have read her intent, for detaching her fingers from the handles he placed the tray out of harm's way on a nearby table.
That done, grabbing her arm, he pronounced officiously, "Madam, you will come with me posthaste."
Not if she could help it! Coming with Joshua was the very thing she was desperately trying to avoid. Quite bad enough she'd climaxed without him; simultaneous orgasm would add insult to injury.
"I have things to do in the kitchen." She tried to jerk her elbow away.
"Now," he said, the single syllable flying in the face of her multi-syllable reluctance, his hold on her--unlike his faith in her--unshaken.
A dropped curtsey outmaneuvered him. Freed from his grasp, her gaze on the thick carpet that according to Peggy had been brought all the way from the Orient, she said, "Yes, sir. At once, sir! Straight away, sir!"
When he turned his back, she did one thing first...
Well, two to be absolutely correct, and then dragging her feet, she followed her keeper out into the hallway.
Out in the hallway, he turned to her. "What was that about, Harry?"
A strict retelling of the events seemed a bit over-zealous. Best to simply relate the occurrence as it pertained to her. "I lost my balance," she prevaricated.
"Did you lift anything from them?"
"I have no idea what you might possibly mean!"
"Did you steal anything from those two back-stabbing females?"
The fingers of her right hand closed tight at her side. "Pardon?" Always best to feign a hearing loss when an accusation is being directed at one.
"I am not a man easily duped. I imagine there are dogs everywhere that will bite the hand of the one who feeds them, just as there are guests who will snap at the host who serves then delicious honey-glazed tarts. Now, give them here." His palm was extended, palm up.
She let the two hatpins go. "Careful not to stick yourself, sir. Take it from one who knows, two pricks at the same time can make a person scream."
He raised a brow. "I thought as much. Harry, you will go upstairs now."
"But, sir, I am in the midst of attending to your guests!"
"Peggy will take over now."
Harry dropped her voice. "Peggy's abilities are much improved."
"Owing to your unstinting tutoring while I was away, she informs me."
"Oh, wasn't that sweet of Peggy to put in a good word for me! And she is coming along wonderfully, but she is not quite yet up to full-charge service."
"She can stamp on feet as well, if not better, than you."
"I explained, sir," she said, much affronted. "I grew dizzy and..."
"You are dismissed from attendance here. You will go upstairs now and await my arrival in my bedchamber. There is a silk wrap on my bed. You are to don it after readying yourself for retiring."
"But..."
"You may make use of my water closet."
Her mouth gaped. "Really?" she squealed in delight, before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. A rare treat for stamping on guests' feet? For stealing? For fibbing?
Not likely! What was Joshua up to?
He wasn't any too happy with her at the moment. The way he had stormed from the garden shed spoke of his displeasure. She had given him no cause for that displeasure, as far as she could tell. Nevertheless, he had been peeved with her before this current debacle.
She let it go. Harry had never seen the inside of Captain Kane's private suite, and she dearly longed to. Peggy told her there was a separate room built into the mansion for bathing and necessary trips. Just like the grand Tremont Hotel in Boston, the indoor plumbing carrying both hot and cold water. The water closet boasted the luxury of a commode, eliminating trips to the outside privy or use of the chamber pot at night, and a tub, made not of copper or tin, but of porcelain.
She could hardly wait to see it all!
"I will go there immediately." With a turn of heel, Harry raced for the staircase. Regardless of Josh's motivation, regardless that she most probably would have to pay the piper later, she didn't intend to miss out on using that W.C.!
The master's bedchamber was located in a separate wing of the mansion, ensuring complete privacy. Closing the door after her, she whipped off her apron and gown and a few essential undergarments. Nude, she headed for the rear of the chamber.
The W.C. was everything Peggy had said it was, and more.
After turning on the faucets, Harry watched in awe as the white claw-foot tub filled with water, the sound of the splashing reminding her she had to pee.
Her gaze darted to the oak-seated commode. Dare she?
Why the hell not!
Sitting her hinny on the throne, she made water, the stream gushing noisily into the bowl. With a pull on the chain from the overhead tank, water flushed clear through. It was such an enterprising invention she could hardly wait to pee again. But the tub was full, and in she went, sinking up to her chin in the hot water.
After taking out the pins, she lathered her hair with scented soap, submerging to rinse. Once. Again. Until the long strands squeaked. Then, she did the rest of her, luxuriating in the regal accommodations until the water grew cold. Climbing out, she dried off and went in search of the wrap.
The silk had been carefully laid out at the foot of the bed. She shimmied into its slinky folds, loving the cold feel of the fabric on her warm body. She was in the middle of combing out her hair when the door to the bedchamber opened, and in walked Captain Kane.
He was not alone.
Though this turn of events shook her to the very quick, Harry quickly applied a smile of welcome. "A visit from two handsome gentlemen--to what do I owe this honor?"
"Sven Josephson is a good friend, and a fine tattoo artist," Joshua Kane explained. "As I recall, you once admired my skin decoration."
Long ago, she had asked him for a tattoo like his. She couldn't believe he had remembered!
As she had yet to see her owner naked, she hadn't had the opportunity to reacquaint herself with that exotic marking: That first night in the servant's cot had been dark; since then, he had remained fully clothed.
"A dragon," she said softly, her memory of the beast returning. "On your chest. I remember your telling me he was there to guard your heart against breaking. Is he still there?" she asked wistfully.
"Yes. He's a loyal fellow. And I still require his services."
She knew about the need for such guardianship. A dragon would have come in handy seven years ago.
It still could.
Sven gazed upon her with a certain male gleam in his eye, and she sensed from that gleam that Joshua was up to something more illicit than tattooing.
"Am I getting a dragon like yours?" she inquired.
"No," he said shortly. "Too large. And green. I happen to like your ... uh ... chest just as is. I favor a knot."
All of Captain Kane's possessions were marked with nautical knots, engraved for easily identifiable ownership. And so he would mark her the same. "Where will this tattoo be placed?"
Her visitors, both dressed in evening attire, stepped forward. Sven Josephson was as tall as Joshua, but of a much slighter build. His hair was as light as the sea captain's was dark, as fair of complexion as Joshua was otherwise, the degree of skin coloration startling when the men stood side by side as they did now, both of them gazing at her.
"Undo your robe," her owner said.
No sense playing coy. She not only undid the robe, she let it fall to the floor.
At Josh's stare, her breasts rapidly hardened. No surprise there! No surprise either, when he touched a tip, and both nipples jutted into space. "Sven, what say you to placing the tattoo here, above the areola?"
"Either that side," the tattoo artist replied, delicately circling her left nipple with a finger. "Or this. Your choice."
No man, save Joshua, had ever touched her intimately, and now this stranger, this Sven, had his hand on her flesh, his artist's palm cupping her left breast. Sharing her body with two men at the same time was an experience she would never have sought on her own. She loved the sea captain!
And she somehow needed to survive a second break with him.
Sven's stroking hand was not abhorrent; his touch did not repulse her. In fact, there was almost a calming quality to his attentions. Hoping his presence might dilute Josh's dangerously strong pull on her, that he might act as a buffer, a barrier, against her all-consuming feelings for the sea captain, weaken them until the intensity dissipated, she accepted this for what it was and gave herself over to the two men.
Shockingly, as two sets of hands roamed the geography of her body, her natural sensuality was released. As both men claimed a breast, their thumbs encircling the nipples, a warm rush of need and desire swelled within her. Guards lowering, restraints giving way to sensation, she responded carnally to their fondling, her body beginning to buzz like Joshua's honeybees.
Joshua! She loved him so! How had they come to this? What twisted path had led them here?
"The belly is also a possibility," the tattoo artist suggested, his palm moving downwards ever so slowly, torturously slowly, from her excited breasts to just above the jut of pubic bone.
"Perhaps," Josh replied, his hand lowering too, now within a finger-length of her genitals.
A fist clenched in her belly. A pulse throbbed in her vagina. She needed to be filled, and there was only one man she wanted inside her.
Joshua. She had loved him since forever, through childhood and maidenhood, through seven long years of separation. She longed to join her body to his, only to his; obviously, he didn't feel the same.
"Please," she whimpered, her limbs parting. She was so wet there between her thighs, every nerve ending alive and on fire.
"Here too would be nice," Joshua offered, his warm hand at her pelvis, moving across her pubic triangle. "On the inside of the thigh, I should think."
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