The Devil of Downtown

by Joanna Shupe

  While she may not have known about it a few minutes ago, her body now longed for it. She and Billy hadn’t done more than some kissing and casual groping. Orgasms had taken place in her bed at night, alone. What would it feel like if someone else pleasured you? Was it better?

  Something told her Jack would be very, very good at it.

  She shuddered and sighed, her body melting into his. “I want that, too.”

  He straightened, nearly sending her off his lap and onto the floor. “You . . . what?”

  “Oh, is it selfish of me to ask for it? Should I offer to—?”

  “No! Jesus fuck, allowing me to pleasure you would be the greatest gift I’ve ever received.” Slipping his free hand under her knees, he stood in one fluid motion and began carrying her toward the stairs. “Asking for what you want is not selfish. None of this is about who wins or loses. We don’t keep score. If any man ever tries to tell you otherwise, he deserves to be beaten.”

  “Are you really taking me to your bedroom?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Am I about to see where the legendary Jack Mulligan sleeps?”

  He started up the main staircase. “Other than the maids and me, you will be the only other person to see it.”

  “And they say you aren’t romantic.”

  His laugh echoed off the intricate plaster ceilings. “Cara, I am about to show you more romance than your little body can possibly handle.”

  “More romance than I can handle? Goodness, someone is full of hyperbole tonight.”

  Jack grinned as he managed the rest of the steps. Christ, his little do-gooder had spirit. He’d show her. Never once had he made an idle threat. If it killed him tonight, she’d regret taunting him. No mercy.

  At the landing, he hurried to the large master suite in the back of the house. His bedroom was dark, full of the shadows he preferred. Tonight, however, he needed to see, to catch every moment of her pleasure. He didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

  So he placed Justine on the bed and went to the windows, throwing open the drapes. Moonlight filtered in, brightening the room just enough for his memories and her comfort.

  Once on the bed, he reached for her, pulled her close to him and kissed her. Gently at first, until she softened, her lips growing hot and eager, and then he slipped his tongue in her mouth, desperate to taste her. The kiss dragged on, their bodies flush, and he had to keep from grinding his erection into her thigh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this worked up.

  She was actually here. In his bedroom. Where he’d brought himself off many times merely thinking about her. It was too fantastic to believe.

  She rubbed her toes against his shins in the most delicious way. He couldn’t wait to feel those silk stockings on his back and shoulders in a few minutes. He paused, panting above her mouth. “May I undress you?” When she hesitated, he said, “It’s fine to change your mind, you know.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

  Oh, these were thoughts he needed to hear. In great detail. “You have? And what exactly have you been thinking about?”

  “You told me you’d make all my darkest dreams come true.” She scraped her teeth over his bottom lip. “I spent a lot of time imagining what that might entail.”

  He cupped her breast through her clothing, pleased when she arched into his touch. “Did your imaginings involve touching yourself?”

  “Of course.”

  Closing his eyes, he struggled to keep his wits about him. The idea of Justine using her fingers to pleasure herself was an image he’d relive later when he was alone. With his cock in his fist.

  “So, you haven’t changed your mind,” he confirmed. When she shook her head, he asked, “Would you rather leave your clothes on?”

  “But I thought you needed . . .”

  “I don’t actually need them off. That was merely my fantasy.”

  “I want you to enjoy this, so if that is your fantasy, then yes.”

  “Cara, I will enjoy this no matter what. You should be comfortable so that you may enjoy it.” He tilted his head and kissed her, trying to tell her without words how much she affected him. How much he wanted her. How it was what she wanted that mattered.

  Perhaps it was better to show her.

  Sliding down the bed, he rearranged her skirts and positioned himself between her legs. She observed quietly, her gaze rounded and her skin flushed with excitement. “Here we are,” he said. “Ready?”

  She nodded once, and he watched her carefully as he moved her skirts out of the way. If at any point she appeared uncomfortable, he would abandon this. They could always try again another night.

  Yet, she didn’t stop him or cringe. Her breathing picked up as her lower half was revealed, but not from panic. Her hooded dark eyes told another story, and he dared not look away. By the time her clothing reached her waist she was panting. He waited patiently, frozen, watching her for signs of discomfort.

  “You’re coddling me.”

  “I am being careful with you.”

  She blinked a few times then shook her head, her hair spilling out of its pins. “You don’t need to be careful. I won’t change my mind.”

  “Then spread your legs and hold your drawers open for me.”

  Her throat worked but he’d backed her into a corner. He needed her full participation. Slowly, she widened her legs and made room for his shoulders. He could smell the sharp spice of her arousal, and he nearly humped the mattress. Christ, he wanted to sink inside her so desperately. Then her hands began creeping south, toward her middle, through mounds of cotton and silk, until she reached her drawers. Her fingers found the part and pulled, spreading the fabric wide.

  He got his first look at her then, all pink, glistening skin. It made his mouth water. Her clitoris was already swollen, begging for his tongue. “Stop me at any time. Though I sincerely hope you don’t.”

  Shifting forward, he dragged the flat of his tongue through her folds, her flavor exploding in his mouth and causing him to groan. She was dripping. Thick arousal coated her skin and pooled at her entrance. It was like all the birthday and Christmas gifts he’d never received rolled up into one. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I could stay here for hours.”

  He worked slowly, tracing the length of her folds with the tip of his tongue, then sucking the plump lips gently, merely trying to learn her. What did she like? Some women liked a tongue thrust inside; others liked a scrape of teeth on their clit. Fingers, or no fingers? He had to discover exactly what this particular woman preferred—because he planned to do this as many times as he could possibly manage in the coming months.

  Her hands found their way into his hair, holding him closer. Subconsciously signaling she was ready for more. Shifting, he found her clit and began with light pressure, easing off after a few seconds and then returning again. Teasing her. A few minutes later her hips began rocking, seeking. She made the most adorable low sounds in her throat, her teeth clamped into her bottom lip.

  He wanted to make this last, so he licked her entrance, then pushed his tongue inside. She gasped and he did it a few more times before returning to her clit, which was even more swollen now. Excellent. He kissed it ever so gently.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I’m dying.”

  He took pity and wrapped his lips around the taut bud, sucking on it. Her thighs began to shake around his shoulders, her moans echoing inside the room. He slipped a finger in her pussy, filling her, and her back bowed off the bed. “Oh, my God.” She sounded mystified, bewildered by the strength of what was happening. Another finger and she shouted, her inner walls clamping down, contracting, as her limbs trembled. The orgasm went on and on, her hips bucking and her grip tightening in his hair. He loved the strength of her reaction. It made him feel like the most powerful man in the world.

  When she began to relax, he softened his touch. He loved this part, when a woman was limp and soaking wet. With any other partner, he m
ight rise up and slide his cock inside her. With Justine, however, he had another plan in mind.

  He pumped his fingers, stretching her. She panted, her hips rocking to pull him in deeper, and he smiled. He kept his kisses light and gentle, biding his time. She was tight around his fingers but so hot and slick. Her channel would have felt like absolute heaven wrapped around his cock, if tonight had been about fucking her.

  Soon, but not now. When he finally took her, he wanted her begging for it. Absolutely certain, with no chance for regret.

  This time was about showing her how good it was between them and earning her trust. Making her feel adored and cherished. Pleasuring her until she couldn’t stand.

  “That was amazing,” she said. Her eyes were closed and she had a satisfied smile on her face.

  “I am glad you thought so, chérie. However, if you’re still capable of complete sentences, then that means I’m not quite done yet.”

  And he started the entire process all over again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As shaky as a newborn foal, Justine crept into the Greene kitchen, careful of her every move. Though it was the middle of the night—and her parents were still away—she didn’t wish to wake any of the servants. It wasn’t easy. Her coordination and agility had been left on Mulligan’s bed about an hour ago.

  She’d come three times before he finally poured her into Rye’s carriage and saw her off. The goodbye barely registered, she’d been so dazed. She remembered him kissing her sweetly, his mouth and tongue tasting of her, and saying he hoped she’d enjoyed herself.

  Hoped she’d enjoyed herself? Any more enjoyment and she’d have died.

  By the end, she had begged to touch him. He merely laughed and told her not tonight, but soon. When, soon? Tomorrow night? She needed to see him equally undone, pleasured by her hand. Or mouth. Or . . . elsewhere.

  Her sore lady bits gave a squeeze in anticipation.

  She took the stairs slowly. Her legs felt like leaden weights. Her drawers were soaked, too, likely ruined. A small price to pay for a night she’d never, ever forget.

  Though she was tired, a bath sounded like absolute heaven at the moment.

  The house was dark and quiet, but she knew these halls well. She made not a sound as she crept past Florence’s room on the way to her own—though it was likely a wasted effort. With their parents gone, Florence had been spending every free moment with Clayton Madden. Justine couldn’t blame Florence, even if she did miss her sister’s presence in the big house.

  Turning the knob on her door, she slipped inside—and nearly tripped when the light suddenly switched on.

  Her two sisters were sitting on Justine’s bed, waiting. Arms folded, both wore flat and unhappy expressions.

  Worry slid along Justine’s spine. “What is wrong?” Had something happened to their parents? Granny? “Has someone died?”

  “Where have you been?” Florence asked.

  Where had she . . . ? Oh. “Wait, why are you both here?”

  “We have been waiting for you since ten o’clock,” Mamie said. “It’s now”—she glanced at the mantel clock—“half past three.”

  “Waiting for me? Why?”

  Florence’s hazel gaze narrowed. “You didn’t show up for dinner and we waited to show you the telegram from Daddy that arrived tonight.”

  Dinner? That reminded her, she was starving. “What did it say?”

  “You have not answered my question. Where were you, Justine?”

  Justine looked from one sister to the other. “Are you both upset with me for sneaking out? Because that would be incredibly hypocritical of you.”

  “No, not necessarily,” Mamie said. “We’re more concerned as to whom you are sneaking out to see.”

  “I don’t see how that is any business of yours.” She met Florence’s eyes. “Or yours.”

  “If you are doing something dangerous, then it is our business.”

  Justine barked a laugh. “I don’t recall making it my business when you two were running amok a few years ago. Casinos, dance halls, poolrooms . . . neither of you worried about safety or propriety.”

  “This is different,” Mamie said.

  “How?”

  “Because we know you’ve been with Mulligan.” Florence gestured to Justine’s hair. “Intimately.”

  Justine put her hands up to her disheveled hair and began pulling pins loose. “And?”

  Mamie’s jaw fell open. “And how do you not see the problem? Mulligan is the worst criminal in the city. He’s dangerous, Justine. You cannot have a relationship with him.”

  “We do not have a relationship. We’re . . .” She thought of the fundraiser and the shirtwaist factory. Mrs. Gorcey. His help with Mrs. von Briesen. No one laughed or teased her at his club, which was more than she could say for the police station. “We’re friends.”

  “No, absolutely not,” Mamie snapped. “You cannot be friends with Mulligan.”

  Florence held a palm up to silence Mamie. “Justine, I met Mulligan and spent some time with him in his club. He’s charming and intelligent, I know. He’s a gorgeous bundle of charisma dressed like an English duke. I understand an attraction to him. But this won’t lead anywhere beneficial for you. He’ll ruin you.”

  “The way Clay ruined you?” Then she pointed at Mamie. “Or the way Frank ruined you?”

  “You cannot . . .” Mamie exchanged a glance with Florence before coming back to Justine. “You cannot be thinking of marrying him.”

  “No one is discussing marriage!” Justine crossed the room and dropped onto the bench at her dressing table. “I meant physical activities. Taking my virginity.”

  “Has he?” Florence asked on a gasp.

  “No—not that I’d tell either of you if he had.” Any tiredness she felt evaporated like smoke. She pushed off the bench and began pacing the room. “You both have quite a lot of nerve lecturing me. Neither of you saved yourself for marriage. Neither of you followed the rules or conventions of high society. You did whatever you pleased, and neither one of you checked with me first to see what I thought!”

  “Justine, you are the youngest,” Mamie said, using her big-sister tone. “It is our job to look out for you. To help you.”

  “Even when I don’t require it?”

  Florence gave a dry laugh. “You think you can handle Mulligan? Don’t you think you are a little out of your depth, Justine?”

  The words squeezed her chest, shrinking her airways. Making her feel small. No matter how much she accomplished, the wife deserters she’d located, the people she helped, she would always be inexperienced, naive Justine to these two.

  You’re too young to come downtown with us, Justine.

  We’re talking about things you wouldn’t understand, Justine.

  Stay behind and tell Mama I’m not feeling well, Justine.

  Her sisters had no idea of the woman she’d become. Or the things she’d done and the things she hoped to do. Her sisters gambled, drank and kissed their way across the city . . . but they wouldn’t dare let her do the same.

  And she was tired of it.

  She threw her shoulders back, refusing to let them intimidate her. “Whether I am out of my depth or not, that’s for me to figure out. Not you. Do you know when I first started making trips downtown?” Both women stared at her, so she answered. “When I was thirteen. Neither of you had any idea, but I’d go to the Madison Square mission and pass out bread on Saturdays. I paid our governess to take me and not tell anyone. So, please do not lecture me on what I can and cannot handle.”

  “Justine,” Mamie said calmly, as if her younger sister were hysterical, “passing out bread in a church hardly equates to keeping pace with Mulligan. We wouldn’t wish to see you hurt.”

  “Mulligan won’t hurt me.”

  Florence rolled her eyes heavenward. “You have no way of knowing that. He’s not a gentleman. Not even close.”

  Frustrated beyond measure, Justine reached for her brush and began
dragging it through her hair. “Let’s not forget that Chauncey, who is a gentleman, attacked Mamie in our gazebo. So please, do not extol the virtues of gentlemen to me.”

  “She’s not listening to us,” Florence said to Mamie. “We’re wasting our breath.”

  “Yes, you are,” Justine agreed. “So leave.”

  “Justine, please believe us. I know you are stubborn and independent, but this goes too far. If you keep seeing him, I’ll have to tell Mama and Daddy.”

  The brush fell from Justine’s hand onto the floor. “What?”

  Mamie lifted her chin. “You heard me. Do not force me to tell them. Cease seeing Mulligan.”

  “Get out.”

  Florence frowned. “We are trying to help—”

  “No, you aren’t,” Justine snapped. “You are acting like hypocrites. You assume you know what’s best for me, but you do not. So, get out. I need to sleep.”

  Florence shook her head while Mamie sighed. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll leave. But I will tell Mama and Daddy if I think you’re in danger. You’re awfully important to us, Justine.”

  The sentiment came too late. Justine was too angry to appreciate it, her resentment bubbling over to clog her throat. She merely pointed at the door.

  Her sisters left, both looking worried, and Justine headed to the bath. Now that she was wide-awake she might as well soak for a while. Then it occurred to her: she hadn’t asked them about the contents of Daddy’s telegram.

  She considered following them to inquire but decided against it. At the moment, the less she saw of her sisters, the better.

  Whistling, Jack signaled to Cooper, who lifted his chin in acknowledgment and started across the main room of the club. Once Cooper arrived at his side, Jack explained, “You and Rye are with me. We’re going to see a man at the brothel inside the World.”

  Cooper’s brows lifted but he said nothing, merely nodded. They left the club and found Rye waiting at the curb with the carriage. The ride was a short one with the streets mostly clear, now that dark had fallen. Jack hopped out and waited for Rye to secure the horses. Cooper descended as well and stared at the World Poolroom, the inside of which was already rowdy. “Anything I should know?” Cooper asked.