Harlot

by Victoria Dahl

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  She’d felt strange all day. Dark. Skittish. As if she were anticipating something, but what?

  Caleb would visit again tonight, and she felt nervous and excited about that, but the strange anticipation was something else. Something heavier.

  The sin of it all, maybe. The knowledge that she was well and truly damned. But hadn’t she already known that? She’d stopped praying months ago.

  After her father’s death, she’d been too caught up in grief to think logically. At first it had seemed simple. She’d reach out to Caleb. He’d come home and help. But he hadn’t responded and the news had gotten darker and darker. Her father’s debts were tremendous, the house belonged to the sanatorium, and even her own belongings were no longer hers. And Caleb…Caleb wasn’t coming home.

  Theodore Durst had come personally to deliver that sad news. Caleb has found a new sweetheart. He’ll likely marry soon. Whatever future she’d imagined was gone.

  Her heart beat harder as she tied her dressing gown and tugged the low tub toward the back door. What was it, this feeling? Guilt? Guilt over what she’d done and whom she’d hurt?

  No, this cloud didn’t feel like guilt. It felt like anger, but surely she had nothing to be angry about tonight. She was being paid for her own pleasure. Twenty-five dollars and Caleb’s hands offering far more than the girlish shivers she’d once felt. How could she possibly be angry about that?

  But it was anger. She could feel it now, as dark and liquid as the water that pooled in the dirt outside when she heaved the tub sideways. The anger slipped and slid inside her just like that, gathering in deep places, then stretching out to find new ones.

  Why?

  She forgot the question when Caleb appeared, stepping over the mud to take the tub from her. “Let me,” he said, lifting it easily to toss the last of the water toward the lilac bushes.

  “Thank you.” Her face went warm with awareness of him. She had no room for anger now. She was too busy vibrating with nervousness. Those big hands holding the tub had gripped her just that way the night before, and she’d loved it, and now he would touch her again. A little bit of pleasure to go with all her pain and the loneliness to come.

  He stored the tub in the kitchen corner where she pointed, then wiped his damp hands on the towel she offered. When the busy work was done, she realized how dim it had grown, how close he was, how naked her body beneath the flimsy green gown.

  “Jess,” he murmured, and then he was kissing her. Just kissing her, his hands framing her face in a tender imitation of love. He sighed against her, as if he’d been waiting all day for this too. Was that possible? That he’d missed her as if she were a real person to him again?

  Jessica let her hands reach for him. She touched his jaw, his hair, the back of his neck, then the strong line of muscles that curved down to his shoulders. She’d always loved his muscles, the beautiful vulgarity of them compared with the slight young men who’d made up the rest of her circle. Caleb had only gotten bigger in California. Harder. His muscles had bunched and stretched when he’d moved naked through her room. And when he’d moved naked through her.

  His fingers found the pins in her hair and eased them free so that her locks tumbled around her shoulders and draped over his wrists. She slid her hands inside his coat, and it felt like they were all one, both of them tangled up, neither of them free anymore.

  That was another lie, though. She was free. Free to starve or freeze or die, and no one would mourn her. And he was free to leave forever. But not tonight. Tonight he would stay.

  “Upstairs,” he said against her mouth. “I need you.”

  Vulgar as they were, the words tasted sweet, and his arms felt even sweeter when he picked her up and carried her. She was his for tonight. She belonged to him for hours.

  He sat her on the bed and tugged open the belt of her dressing gown. He spread it open and stood above her. “Look at you,” he whispered.

  Jessica looked, marveling that she would sit before him this way, the gown spread wide, her legs parted. Somehow her nudity was enhanced, framed by the faded green cotton, her nipples pinker, the hair between her legs darker.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He went to his knees before her.

  “None of this is beautiful,” she whispered as he bent his head between her legs. “It’s wrong.” But her words meant nothing when his mouth touched her, because it was beautiful. It was exquisite. His mouth warm and wet on her, stroking impossible pleasure into her body.

  His tousled hair was so dark between her thighs. She liked the sight of him there as his tongue found the perfect spot that made her groan. “Yes,” she urged as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

  It seemed impossible that she’d lived her whole life without knowing how this could feel, and even more impossible that she’d likely live the rest of her life without feeling it again. Caleb would leave and she’d be alone. She’d hold tight to this pleasure forever, try to keep the memory from fading, try to remember the wet flash of his tongue driving her mad. His hands moved her knees wider, spreading her pussy so he could open his whole mouth against her. His tongue entered her, sliding deep, fucking her.

  Jessica fell back, unable to support herself anymore. She settled her feet on his shoulders and let him do what he wanted. He tasted, licked, sucked, until her thighs shook and her hips pressed up to get more. He finally went back to teasing that one spot. “Yes,” she moaned, “please. Caleb…”

  It was wrong and she didn’t care. It was wrong and she loved it. She loved his mouth on her and his fingers opening her, and she loved his cock too. She wanted it inside her again, any way he wanted, every way he could imagine.

  The memory of the night before pushed her higher. The feeling of his finger sliding into her backside, stroking her until she was ready for his cock, until she pressed her face to the pillow and lifted her bottom up, wanting him to take her that way.

  “Oh, God!” she screamed as pleasure crashed hard through her body, her hips jerking toward his mouth. Caleb grunted against her, his hands holding her thighs tightly as she climaxed.

  She was still shaking when he stood and stripped. “What do you want?” he growled. “Tell me how you need it.”

  “Fuck me,” she whispered.

  “Tell me,” he said again.

  She took a deep breath and said it more loudly. “Fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

  He slid her up on the bed, then knelt between her thighs. He entered her slowly this time, head ducked so he could watch himself push into her.

  Jessica closed her eyes and tried to feel every inch of him so she could remember this too. Months later, or years, when she was lying alone and scared in the dark, regretting everything she’d ever done, she wouldn’t regret this.

  When his hips finally pressed to hers, Caleb sighed. It sounded like love, like peace, so she kept her eyes closed and pretended that every stroke of his cock was something sweet because she wasn’t a whore and he still loved her.

  “Look at me. I want you to know who’s fucking you.”

  “I know,” she answered. “It’s you.” But she opened her eyes to see his fierce, handsome face. She pressed her hand to his cheek and almost cried when he turned to kiss her palm. “It’s you, Caleb.”

  “I want to hate you,” he said softly.

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  He shook his head, but his thrusts quickened.

  “It’s all right.” She lifted her knees to take him deeper inside, to feel him stretch her.

  He gasped, his brow crumpling as if the pleasure confused him. “You feel so good, Jess. Perfect.”

  She slid her hand around his neck, her fingers slippery with his sweat. If they’d married, this would’ve been perfect with him, perfect to feel his body opening hers, his hips pressing deeper, faster, his seed filling her up. But pretending wouldn’t actually change anything, so even as she dug her nails into the nape of his neck, she set her
other hand against his chest. “Don’t…” she started as she arched up in pleasure. “Don’t finish inside me,” she managed to rasp, though her legs pulled him closer.

  His heavy eyes looked blank for a moment as they settled on her face, but then he nodded. He pushed deep inside her and took a breath before he slid free.

  He straddled her hips, and she expected him to stroke himself, but instead he reached for her hand and wrapped her fingers around his cock. The heat of it shocked her. The wetness of her own body had made his shaft slick.

  His fist moved hers, keeping her fingers wrapped around him as he slid her hand up and down. His breath came faster. “Make me come,” he growled, letting his hand fall away.

  Jessica tried to keep up the pace he’d set, tried to mimic the movements, sliding her fist to just under the crown of his cock, then back down to the base.

  “Tighter,” he ordered, and she squeezed harder, afraid she’d hurt him. But he seemed to like it. He grunted and pressed his hips forward. “I wanted to see this,” he rasped. “I used to imagine your hand on me when I’d jerk off, but I never thought you’d do that. I never would have asked. You were so sweet.”

  He looked ten feet tall, kneeling over her, his face cruel and avid as her pale fingers stroked him.

  “But now…” he said.

  Now.

  His groan was something like a hard laugh. “Now I want you to make me come.”

  She should have looked away, but she couldn’t. It was shameful, staring up at his thick, dusky cock, still slick from her pussy, hard as steel in her grasp.

  “Faster,” he hissed.

  She jerked him more quickly, more roughly. He pumped his hips forward.

  “Jess.” Seed shot from his cock, splashing over her breasts. She gasped and nearly let him go, but his fist closed over her hand again, moving her faster, faster as he came on her body, his seed striping hot over her belly and chest.

  Finally he stilled, his hand squeezing hers so firmly around him that her fingers ached.

  Her gaze rose to his face, to his parted mouth and dark eyes, but his eyes stayed on her body and what he’d done to it. He stared as if in shock, air shuddering in his throat.

  For the first time that night, she wanted to cover up. She felt ashamed. Because she’d been sweet once and now she was a whore he could cover with his spunk.

  He whispered, “You’re so beautiful.” And she hated him. The hatred filled her up. The same deep, dark places inside her he’d wanted to fill with his seed.

  When he moved off her, she yearned to turn and burrow into the blanket, but she couldn’t. Not like this. So she lay there exposed and cold as he wet a cloth and brought it to her. He moved to wipe her off, but she took the cloth from him and did it herself while he stood and watched.

  Once she was clean enough, she handed it back and pulled the blanket high.

  He didn’t leave this time. He cleaned up and came back to the bed as he had the night before, only this time it wasn’t raining. He could leave now. They’d done everything, hadn’t they? Was there some other profane act he thought she’d performed for other men? Was there some other part of her left to fuck?

  When she shivered, he eased her close, pressing his chest to her back. She tried to hold her body stiff and separate, but his warmth seeped into her and she had to close her eyes against tears as her body shaped itself to his.

  “It’s my mother’s birthday,” he said softly, as if they were a married couple discussing the end of their day. “I stayed in town long enough for the celebration.”

  She nodded. This was it, then. The end of their little arrangement. At least she’d been smart enough to stop him finishing inside her this time.

  “I meant to leave soon,” he clarified. “Tomorrow. Or a few days, at most.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t know how I will, Jess.”

  She wouldn’t ask him to stay longer. Was that what he wanted? She wouldn’t ask to be used a few more times, no matter how much pleasure she’d felt.

  He said her name again, then turned her to her back. She opened her eyes just so he wouldn’t know how much she wanted to disappear.

  “I want to hate you,” he said, his voice more fierce. “I did hate you.”

  “I know.”

  “I should, shouldn’t I?” He looked so confused that she almost reached to touch his face, to comfort him. “If I don’t hate you, then what?”

  She shook her head and made herself speak. “Go back to California and hate me.”

  “I can’t forgive you!” He bit the words out as if she’d asked for them, as if she’d forced him to be ugly, and Jessica felt something break inside her. She almost heard the snap as she pulled the covers close and rolled to face the wall again.

  “This wasn’t your first time,” she managed to say calmly, even as that dark, liquid anger spread to fill every part of her again.

  “What?”

  “You’ve fucked before.” It wasn’t a question. He’d known what to do.

  “I… Only once.” The knowledge of it settled heavily over her.

  “A whore?”

  He breathed out slowly. “Jess—”

  “I’m not the first whore you’ve fucked, am I?”

  He didn’t want to answer. His silence made that clear. He didn’t want to admit his hypocrisy, but he couldn’t stay quiet forever. He finally spoke. “No.”

  “No,” she repeated, just to be sure they both heard it again.

  “I went to a place in California. Mostly I…I mean, I only did the whole thing once.”

  “So you let other whores suck your cock?” she spat out.

  “It meant nothing. It was just…”

  “Just what?” she asked, turning to face him as her mouth stretched in a tight grin that had nothing to do with joy. “Just nothing for you, but somehow everything for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Jessica sat up, keeping the sheet clutched to her chest to shield herself. “You can visit whores and feel just fine about that, but what I did is unforgiveable.”

  “You’re a woman,” he said, as if that explained it all. “It’s not the same.”

  “No!” She barked a laugh at his earnestness. “No, it’s definitely not the same. I did this to save myself. Why did you do it?”

  “What do you mean?” He sat up slowly, his face wary.

  She laughed again and it burned her throat. “I can’t believe you made me feel so low. You’re all evil. All of you. You’ll fuck a whore and then condemn her for it. How else are women supposed to earn money in this world? A woman has nothing if she doesn’t have a father or a husband.”

  “Don’t you blame this on me,” he growled. “You were supposed to marry me. If you didn’t want that, you could have found work.”

  Jess climbed from the bed, taking the sheet to wrap it around herself. Let him lie there exposed. “Found work as what? A teacher? I’ve never taught anyone or even been around children long enough to call myself a governess. And if I could’ve gotten work, I’d likely have ended up forced under my new employer as thoroughly as I’ve been under you!”

  “That doesn’t make it right to sell your body, Jess.”

  “It doesn’t make it right for you to buy it either, but you’ve done that, haven’t you?”

  “Men have needs,” he snapped, but she cut him off with a furious slash of her hand. The anger was bubbling in her now, boiling up, overflowing.

  “Men have needs,” she sneered. “The need for pleasure and debauchery. Do you know what a woman’s needs are? Food and shelter and a bed. You want me to be ashamed? Me? I did it for money, but you’ll soil yourself for the sheer sin of it, and you say you can’t forgive me?”

  Frowning, he stood, hands raised as if to calm her. “You know it’s different for men,” he tried, but she pushed her finger into his naked chest.

  “Yes, it’s different. I did it in order to live. You should be ashamed. How dare you look do
wn on me? How dare you?”

  He grabbed her wrist, but she jerked it back. “You’ll fuck a whore and then you just fasten your trousers and walk away, back to your life with no consequences, and we are marked forever! Marked by your stupid cocks. Marked by your precious need. You’re a monster. As bad as all the rest. Get out.”

  “Jess—”

  “Get out! You’ve had me every way. You put your prick in every hole. Got your money’s worth from my cunt. It’s over. Get out of this house and never come back.”

  He shook his head, and she wanted to slap him.

  “I hate you,” she growled. “I hate you and I can’t forgive you, do you hear me? I will never, ever forgive you.”

  He simply stood there, staring at her, his beautiful body uncovered, his face tight with disbelief. She wanted to hit him, hurt him, and she wanted to weep for the loss of him.

  If he didn’t leave, she was going to cry, so Jessica scooped up his trousers and shirt and threw them at his face before she turned to escape. She ran to the back bedroom and slammed the door hard, terrified he’d come after her. She didn’t think he would hurt her. She couldn’t imagine that. But he might see her. He might touch her. He might talk her into loving him again, and she could never do that.

  Shaking, she pressed her back to the door and prayed he would leave. Every creak of the house made her jerk in fear, her fury and hurt pressing too tightly under her skin. She was panicked that he might come for her but she couldn’t think why. All she could think was leave. Leave, Caleb, please just leave.

  It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been a whole minute before his steps approached. Tears streaming down her face, Jessica breathed quietly, shallowly, as if she were hidden prey.

  In the end, his steps paused for a horrifyingly long time, but then they struck one stair and the next and he was downstairs and through the hall and out of her house.

  Jessica slid down to the floor and let her grief flow out on a long, low cry. Melisande had been wrong. Jessica hadn’t gotten away from what she’d done and she never would.

  Chapter 11