“Oh, course you’re not, sweetie. Whoever suggested that you were?”
Ophelia had actually. More than once.
Harlow chose not to remind her. “So, what am I doing in here?”
In the corner of the bedroom was a tub chair. Ophelia went over to pull it away from the edge of the room. She positioned it in the middle of the space, facing the end of the bed.
Putting Harlow in front of the chair, Ophelia stood behind it and put both hands on her shoulders to push her down into it. “You are going to sit right here.”
“You want me to watch an empty bed?”
Ophelia’s laugh was fake and grating. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
The wonderful part was that in this position, all she could look at was the door to the left of the nightstand. Each of the bedrooms was linked with adjoining doors. Between that door and the headboard was a button on the wall. A panic button that linked to the room Ryske was stationed in to dispense Pothos.
It wouldn’t take any effort to get up and walk over there to push that button. Or she could go through the doors and bedrooms to reach his room. The situation had been infuriating before. It was worse now. She was existing so close to him that she could probably scream loud enough for him to hear. Yet, it didn’t matter, they still couldn’t have each other.
“As you can probably tell, it’s a busy night,” Ophelia said, squeezing Harlow’s shoulders. “Usually if we have clients who like to be watched, one of the girls will sit in. But they’re all occupied tonight and we have a waiting list of clients who wish this experience. So…” Ophelia swatted the top of her head. “You’re it.”
“You want me to watch people having sex?”
Ophelia was already walking toward the door. “I’ll have someone watch this door to make sure you don’t leave. And if I get any negative reports from clients, like you trying to shirk your duties, you know that there will be consequences.”
Twisting in the chair, Harlow watched Ophelia retreat further. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ophelia turned with her arms wide. “It’s no different than watching porn. You don’t have to participate, just watch. Keep your eyes open. That’s all you have to do. Sit in a chair and keep your eyes open… Even you should be able to handle that.”
If she couldn’t, it didn’t matter, because Ophelia left the room before she could object anymore. Had Harlow known why she was brought to Windsor’s, she might have objected. She’d been sitting in a bedroom at Brash’s place, and would have preferred to stay there than come to watch… whatever.
Sex didn’t faze her. She’d never watched others have it in person, but it would give her a better appreciation for what her crew endured when she and Ryske got amorous.
Settling back in the chair, she sighed and slid off her shoes. She’d play voyeur for a night, but that was it. Looking, but no talking and no participation.
What a night this was shaping up to be.
9
The first client came in a minute after Ophelia left. Harlow sat through four of them, watching while trying her best not to look. The fifth was struggling to get up to speed. So far, only one of the clients had spoken to her. Most hadn’t uttered a word. The girls offered a smile and were nice to her. Though there wasn’t really time for chit-chat; they were on the client’s dime after all.
Harlow exhaled. The sound came out louder than she’d intended it to, but she didn’t expect anyone to notice. Unfortunately, she was wrong. The client on the bed looked up, catching her eye. She tried to look away in hopes he’d return to what he’d been doing.
“Take your clothes off,” the client grunted.
The woman on the bed under him was already naked, so was he. Harlow was the only one in the room with any fabric on her body. He couldn’t be talking to anyone else; still, she ignored him. Shaking the leg she had crossed over her thigh, she kept her eyes on the wall to the side of the room.
Ignoring him was really for his benefit. Acknowledging him would, no doubt, lead to a dangerous fight. She wasn’t supposed to act out. Fighting with a naked man, or any man, wasn’t high on her agenda for the night.
“Yo, bitch,” the client said, crawling over the top of the woman he’d paid for to reach for Harlow’s leg. She swiveled her hips, changing position to take herself out of his reach. “I said take your fucking clothes off.”
He tried to reach for her again. Harlow felt sorry for the woman on the bed who was trapped under his hairy form.
Closing her eyes, Harlow let them open again only when she could train them on him. “I’m a voyeur.”
She wasn’t really, but the clients were paying to be watched, so that’s what she was doing. There was nothing sexually satisfying or arousing about what was playing out. But the client had paid for the pleasure. Whatever they paid for, they got.
“I’m telling you to take your fucking clothes off.”
“No,” Harlow said, as clear as she could muster.
He rose up onto his knees, straddling the woman on the bed. Rather, he was sitting on her chest, which couldn’t be a comfortable position; it certainly wasn’t an enviable one.
“I’m the fucking client. You want more money, that’s fucking fine,” the guy said. “I’ll pay for two. You take your fucking clothes off and get over here.” He started to work his dick in his fist. “It’s your job to suck a dick when you’re ordered.”
“Not that one,” Harlow said, touching the ring on her necklace.
A frown set on his face. “You make me come get you and it won’t be fucking pretty.”
“Don’t threaten her,” the woman under him said. She couldn’t help beyond that, he was kneeling on her arms. “Play with me. I’ll suck it.”
“No, I want her,” the guy said. “You take your pretty fucking dress off and get your mouth around this.” Harlow shook her head. “You want me to call your boss?”
“No,” Harlow said, nonplussed as she rose from the chair. “Let me do it.”
Sashaying up the room, Harlow didn’t pause to consider how many sirens she might set off. She balled her fist and hit the red panic button next to the bed. Ryske was in charge of these bedrooms and the women in them. If there was a problem, he was the one who’d be called.
There were no sirens or flashing lights, which made sense. Discretion was key in these bedrooms. The alarm was probably silent.
“Renegotiation can’t be—”
The woman on the bed was cut off when the door next to the panic button opened. The first thing Ryske saw was her. Any urgency that had hurried him increased tenfold when he took in the scene.
Harlow leaned against the wall facing the side of the bed.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Ryske asked, throwing the door back into its frame.
“He wants to renegotiate,” the woman on the bed said, struggling under the weight of the client pinning her down.
“I’m not renegotiating,” the client said. “I already paid.” He pointed at her. “I told that one to take her clothes off.”
Ryske’s focus swung to her, but she wasn’t stressed about the request. “I refused,” Harlow said.
“Yo, bitch,” the client barked. “Shut your mouth or suck a dick.”
With a loose shrug, Harlow pushed away from the wall. “Okay.”
Instead of going to the bed, she closed the gap between her and Ryske to start unbuckling his belt. The woman on the bed laughed, but Ryske wasn’t as amused. He stilled her action and thrust a hand around the side of her head to make her look up.
“Why are you in here?”
“Ophe.”
His mouth clamped shut so tight that his lips almost disappeared.
“Yo,” the client said. “You want extra for the bitch, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay top price. That slut won’t know what’s fucking hit her by the time I’m done with her.”
Ryske pushed her aside. In a blur of movement, he strode to the bed and swung hard, catching the client on th
e side of the head, knocking him out cold.
The woman on the bed pushed the client off and sat up. She felt for a pulse like it was something she’d had to do before. “He’s alive.”
“Shame,” Ryske said. “Wait ‘til he wakes up, tell him he’s had his ride, and it was the best of your life. Fucker’s drunk anyway.”
The girl nodded. “I’ll jerk him off, that way he won’t be able to get it up again anyway.” She grinned. “Thanks, Ryske.”
The thanks was genuine. Ryske went over to touch her jaw. “This never happened,” he said and the girl shook her head. After another moment, which may have included a smile or a wink, Ryske turned to point at her. “You follow.”
Harlow was the only other one around, but he hadn’t looked straight at her. Still, when he marched away from the bed, in the opposite direction to the one he’d come, Harlow trotted along after him. He opened the door to the next bedroom.
Once they were inside, she was pleased to discover that the room was empty. The bed in the new room was in a different position to the last one. In this room, the foot of the bed faced the short hall that led past the restroom and out to the main floor.
Harlow closed the door they’d just come through. Before she could open her mouth to think about saying anything, Ryske spun around to make eye contact.
“Take your clothes off,” he said.
Funny. That was exactly what the man in the other room had said and she’d resisted. This time she raised her fingertips to each of the tiny spaghetti straps that hung perilously close to the edge of her shoulders and slipped them down. Letting her hands descend in time with the material that fluttered to the floor, Harlow was naked in an instant.
Ryske’s eyes traveled down her figure. He’d seen her naked a hundred times or more. Whenever they were home, they showered together. Whenever they could get away with it, they slept together naked. That he took a minute to himself to appreciate her was beyond flattering.
That minute was over in a flash. Soon, he strode over to sweep both arms around her. One clamped around the small of her back, the other went under her ass to pick her up.
Holding his head, Harlow wrapped her legs around him and stole his mouth, choosing his kiss and his love over everything else in the world.
If it got back to Ophelia that Ryske had come to her rescue, or found her at all, then the hostess would be manic about locating them. She’d check every room. Every corner. Ryske was supposed to be indifferent to her, but if Ophelia learned they were both missing, she’d put the pieces together.
Harlow didn’t think about where they were headed until Ryske laid her down on the cushion of the bed and let his hands begin roaming her body. She couldn’t remember for sure if it was her who’d freed him from his jeans. Details ceased to matter when he broke their kiss to look into her eyes as he slid himself into her.
Quickly, his pace increased. She wanted him fast and hard. Without her saying it, he’d known. Maybe it was what he needed too.
The good thing about fucking in a brothel was they had plenty of cover for sound. Harlow let herself moan and squeal. She let her hands drive through her hair, matting her locks and scratching her scalp as she arched up to meet each of his powerful thrusts.
Gasping for him, she bit her lip hard when his name threatened her lips. She couldn’t take the risk that anyone would hear her calling for him. But, goddamnit, she wanted to, she wanted to scream his name loud. The urge was almost as powerful as her need to have him inside her like this, fast and frantic, desperate and urgent.
They hadn’t been intimate for such a long time… At least, it felt that way. Nothing else mattered but this. Watching his body move over hers, feeling the friction between them, experiencing his lips and the texture of his skin, it erased the drama and all the peril. Harlow didn’t think about the plan or what they were supposed to be doing. All she could think about was his dick inside her and how badly she needed him.
“Trink,” he panted, bracing on his arms and pushing into her, retreating and advancing. “Baby, I can’t…”
“Go.” Dragging in a breath, she was losing her focus. The pressure of need was building between her thighs, in her gut. She could feel the speed of her heart and the weight on her lungs, and knew she was on the cusp of release. “Oh, fuck, Crash! Go, baby!”
Her scream came as she fell into the precipice of orgasm; he followed her with a hard thrust and a deep growl.
Both sated, neither moved. Through the haze of heat and the fog of breath, they found each other’s eyes. They didn’t say anything, just looked at each other, like they were recalling every time they’d been in this position before.
Coming together again, in this unexpected way, was a relief they both needed. It couldn’t have come at a better time either. Ryske was losing his mind and acting like a reckless idiot. Harlow was slipping towards the edge of her control and was beginning to let her discipline slide. But this, she hoped, should get them both back on track.
Ryske rolled away. Though it pained her to be without him, the intimate moment couldn’t have lasted.
Sitting up, she was about to slide off the bed when he snatched her wrist. “Where are you going?”
“Ophe will be looking for me,” she said.
“That guy still has forty-five minutes,” he said, pulling her down to his side. “Which means that’s what I’ve got.”
She laughed and started to draw around his tattoos. “I’m not an escort.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, squeezing his arm around her shoulders to pull her up so he could kiss her hair. “Come here.”
He took off his shirt and moved up the bed, taking her with him so they could lie on the covers with his head on the pillows. Harlow elected to lay her head on his chest instead. When he put an arm around her, she relaxed and went back to tracing his tattoos.
“You hurt me,” she said and his hand stilled on her arm. “You said we should’ve erased our whole relationship. Has it meant so little to you?”
Harlow knew it didn’t mean little to him, but she had to convey how his assertion had cut her.
“Do you think it’s easy for me to admit that Marlowe would’ve kept you safer?” he asked. “You know how I feel about the asshole.”
Ryske didn’t think her ex was an asshole, she knew that. Well, he did, but because of how things had turned out with Lena more than anything else.
“I don’t regret any decision I’ve made. None of them. It hurts to know you don’t feel the same way.”
Wrapping his arm tight around her, he pulled her higher to kiss her hair. “I regret plenty,” he said. “Nothing more than hurting you… It’s selfish. The way I feel about you, it’s selfish… I wouldn’t trade a second we’ve been together either… But you can’t deny you’ve been hurt.”
She flattened a hand on his stomach. “We both have… Doesn’t mean we should take it back.”
10
Both of them relaxed, enjoying the silence and the rhythm of their breathing as it slid into sync.
“I made myself a promise,” Harlow murmured.
“What promise?”
Closing her eyes, she thought about how much she’d missed the softness of his bedroom voice. The only light came from a dim lamp in the corner; this was a room designed for intimacy.
“That I’d lie in your arms one more time before I died.” Drawing her up higher than he had before, he looked at her with a frown. Harlow noted the moment he spotted the bruise on her cheek. “It’s nothing.”
She tried to lie back down, but he wouldn’t let her. “That’s what you say to other people,” he said, almost quoting what she’d said to him in Ophelia’s apartment. “What happened?”
“Brash,” she said. He inhaled so hard that his chest pushed her up. “Don’t get yourself in a fizz, I took care of it.”
His frown became curious. “The stitches… that was you?”
She nodded. When she next tried to lie down, he let her. Harlow ki
ssed his chest and scratched her nails on his stomach. “What if someone wants Pothos and you’re in here?”
“Maze is covering,” he said. “He said you were here. I didn’t know you were… in there.”
It was possible Maze and Penzance hadn’t seen her go into that room, and just as possible that they assumed she left or went out another way before clients went in.
“It wasn’t a big deal… Ophe wanted me to watch, so I watched. He was the first guy to request extras.”
“You shouldn’t have been in there,” he said. “I didn’t know you were the girl watching. I should’ve been paying fucking attention… All I could think about was how I could see you… It’s fucking crazy that she thinks she can—”
“Crash,” Harlow said, dragging her nails on his tattoo. “This might be the only time we have together. We have to use it wisely… I don’t want to talk about Ophelia.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, trailing his fingertips up and down her arm.
She didn’t want to talk about Ophelia in the context of her situation because there was nothing to be done about it. But there were things that did need to be cleared up.
Steeling herself, Harlow did her best to gather her strength, knowing she’d need it to keep her cool. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest… I don’t want you to think I’ll be upset, whatever the answer is.”
“I’m not fucking anyone else.”
Trust him to go right there. She could’ve lost her temper over that assumption, but she didn’t. “I didn’t ask that, did I?”
“No, okay. What is it?”
Rising to hold her head on a fist, she hooked her upper arm over his shoulder, so her elbow was near his ear. Harlow had missed just looking at him, being near to him, admiring him.
Sliding a hand from his temple to his jaw, she drew his mouth around to hers. “I love your mouth,” she whispered, brushing her lips back and forth on his. “I dream about kissing you.” She kissed him again. “I love your tongue and your lips—”
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