by A. M. Sexton
“Good little whore,” he said. “Now, let’s go have dinner.”
His carriage was small, with thick, soft cushions and velvet pillows. He sat me in one seat and himself in the other, facing me. Curtains hung over the windows, and he pushed them open, allowing the waning sunlight to stream into the confined space. Still, I could barely make out the spidery tattoos of aristocracy across his cheek.
“I want to watch you get yourself off,” he said. “All the way there.”
I was glad now for the pill. I pulled my skirts up and to the side until my erection popped free. I couldn’t help but moan when I wrapped my hand around it.
“Convince me that you like it,” Donato ordered. “But don’t come.”
I began to stroke. I put my head back against the velvet pillows and began to jack myself off, like I’d done a thousand times in my life. Granted, never while somebody watched. Never while dressed as a woman. Never while sitting in rich man’s carriage, wearing silk.
I didn’t have to pretend. I took Lalo’s advice and let myself enjoy it. I savored the familiar feel of my hand on my erection. I was a bit disappointed when he said in his thick, husky voice, “Stop. We’re here.”
It took serious effort to stop my stroking. My hands shook as I straightened the green silk over my legs. He was pleased with my performance, though. A sheen of sweat glistened on his upper lip, and his pants strained around his bulging groin.
He helped me from the carriage, as if I really were a woman. The silk brushed against my erection, causing me to whimper. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. He growled into my ear. “A perfect little whore. Tonight, you’re named Jade.”
“Yes, sir.”
Electric lights lit the broad, cobblestone path to the front door. Inside, music played. The room was bright, filled with dresses of every color. A huge fountain filled the center of the room, but the sound of falling water was lost in the noise of the crowd. The voices were deafening. Most of the people who filled the room had tattoos on their faces or on their shoulders, either real or painted on like mine. I wondered if everybody who wore paint instead of real ink was a whore like me.
I couldn’t deny it any longer. I was a whore.
“This is a very popular place,” Donato told me. “All of these people are waiting their turn to eat. There are only a few tables, you know.” He grunted and pulled at his jacket. “The food’s not even all that good, if you want to know the truth. This place is all about being seen.” He handed me a glass of liquor. He indicated with a hand gesture that I was to drink it all in one swallow. I obeyed, and he smiled at me in approval as he took the empty glass and deposited it on a passing waiter’s tray. He held his arm out to me. I tucked my hand into his elbow, and he began to lead me through the crowd, introducing me to people left and right. I curtsied to them all. I did my best to catalog names, because I knew Anzhéla would ask. Most of them meant nothing to me, but I filed them away nonetheless. The women were demure, the men bold. One touched my collarbone on the right side, where the dress left me exposed.
“Lovely, Donato,” he said. “Where’d you find this one?”
“Imported directly from Deliphine,” Donato said.
The man raised his eyebrows. “No tattoos?”
Donato laughed and squeezed my buttock possessively. “No. This one comes of her own free will.”
I choked back a swallow of wine, and let Donato lead me to the next person I was to meet, a monster of a man, muscular to the point of vulgarity, but with a layer of fat that spoke of easy living. This man, I knew on sight.
“And here’s Benedict,” Donato said.
Benedict was the head of the police. He was the man who sent soldiers into the trenches. He was the man who ordered the raids. The wine in my stomach threatened to make an unwanted appearance as I forced a curtsy. “My lord.”
Benedict grunted at me. “You seem familiar. Have we met?”
“No, sir.” And thank the sky for that. Otherwise, I might have met Donato on very different terms, inside his courtroom, with my fate in his hands even more than it was now.
Benedict turned his leer upon Donato, revealing one gold tooth just right of center. “Going to give me a ride on this one?”
I shuddered at the thought.
“You know I don’t like to share,” Donato said, and I nearly wept with relief.
After that, it was a banker, two of the city’s seven mayors, and pinch-faced Elias, harbormaster of Upper Davlova’s private dock. I began to worry I’d never remember them all.
My erection started to wane, and I snuck another pill into my mouth. I kept a fake smile on my face. I feared my cheeks would crack from the strain. My cock tented the folds of my dress. If anybody noticed, they were polite enough to not betray their embarrassment. I began to wonder how normal this was. Did the rich folk of the hill do this type of thing on a regular basis? Was it common for a man to parade a whore through their midst? The number of slaves in the room, some of them on stylish leashes, hinted that it was.
“It’s our turn to be seated,” Donato said at last. He guided me with a hand on the small of my back, through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, around a silk screen to a private table overlooking the city.
I stared in awe at the sight of it—lights laid out below me like stars in an upside-down sky. I’d had my eyes closed in the carriage, but I realized now that wherever we were, we were high up on the hill, right in the center of the purebloods’ world. Their electric lights circled us, bright white and unwavering. Farther down, I saw the towering city wall which surrounded the upper city, hiding the trenches of Lower Davlova from sight. The taverns and their keepers. The shop owners and fish vendors. The booksellers and whores, all conveniently concealed. The wall eclipsed the dark buildings lit only by lanterns and candles, and the alleys between, which I knew as intimately as any lover. Everybody I’d ever known lived on the other side of that white stone barricade, scraping a living, some legally and some not. In the shadows beyond that wall, I’d been born, raised, trained.
From this spot on the hill, I could almost believe none of it existed.
“Like the view?” he asked.
“It’s stunning.”
“It can be yours, you know. Not right now. Not yet. But eventually, if you please me, you could live on this side of the wall for the rest of your life.”
“Or until you replace me.”
He laughed. It was a cruel, dark sound. “Yes. There’s always that possibility.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me backward. “Why don’t you ponder those options while I take what’s mine.” He bent me over the table, pulling at my skirts. I watched the city as he penetrated me. I grabbed handfuls of the thick white tablecloth and gritted my teeth and reminded myself that this was a job. He fucked me hard, pumping into me, calling me a whore with each and every thrust. His fingers dug into my hips. He fucked me until I feared the table would break, and finally he tensed and emptied himself into me. When he was done, he pulled me upright. He wrapped an arm around my neck.
“Can you feel my seed running down your thighs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Sticky and hot. Arousing.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it, sir.” I took his hand and guided it to my drug-induced erection, thanking the wonders of modern pharmaceutical, and the smugglers who supplied the ildenaaf, as I did. “I want you to fuck me again.”
I didn’t think I sounded very convincing, but he grunted in approval. He gripped my cock and squeezed. “Don’t worry, little whore. I will.”
He pushed me roughly into my chair. He snapped his fingers, and the wait staff came around from behind the screen.
I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. They’d been there the entire time, waiting calmly with bread and butter and glasses of wine, biding their time while he took me on their pristine table. They didn’t look at me as they put the food in front of us. My skirt was stil
l hiked up awkwardly underneath me. I felt dirty and cheap. I bit my lip to fight back my humiliation.
I could leave. I could get up and walk out. Granted, I’d probably never find my way back to the trenches, but I didn’t have to put up with this.
Then I looked up at him. He was watching me, looking smug and pleased. Despite my nerves, I’d pleased him. I could see that now. I reached for my wine glass and my hand shook. I had to use both hands to bring it to my lips, and he smiled with satisfaction as I did. I downed the entire glass. I untwisted my skirts while the waiter poured me a second. I smiled over at Donato, who was practically beating his chest. He radiated arrogance and pride.
Pride in me.
I may have been a possession, but I could almost believe I was the thing he wanted most in the world.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, and I knew immediately I’d said the right thing.
He snapped his fingers again, and we were served.
He watched me closely during dinner, although he talked very little. “Tell me where you came from,” he said once.
I debated, sipping my wine. I knew better than to mention the trenches. “Imported directly from Deliphine,” I said, repeating his words back to him. “Just as you said. I came here of my own free will, hoping only for a chance to please you.”
He didn’t believe me, but it didn’t matter. He laughed. “Excellent answer. You really are a fast learner.”
“You were born here, though,” I said, hoping to prompt him into sharing something. “Have you always lived here?”
His eyes hardened a little bit. “I’m feeling indulgent this evening, whore. Don’t spoil it by nosing into things that aren’t your business.”
I ducked my head contritely. “I’m sorry, sir. I was only trying to make conversation.”
“If I want conversation, I’ll let you know. Until I give you an order, I expect you to sit there and look gorgeous. Nothing more.”
“Yes, sir.”
If nothing else, the food was delectable. There were courses and courses of it, unlike anything I’d ever eaten in my life. Things nobody in the trenches had access to. There was beef and partridge, melon and chocolate. Pungent cheese, and light, flaky pastries. It was a decadence I’d never dared dream of, and although he wasn’t inclined to conversation, he laughed with obvious delight at my amazement, urging me to try everything, pouring wine for me until my head spun. La Fontaine was practically empty by the time we left. I was giddy as he helped me back into the carriage. I felt triumphant. I had nobody left to meet. Nobody I had to impress. I knew I’d passed his test, and I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
“No more curtsies,” he said when we were in the privacy of his carriage. “Be a man for me now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Show me.”
I pulled up the fabric to show him my erection.
He whistled through his teeth. “You’re the prettiest man I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
I laughed. I had no idea how to answer. Fun? Not exactly. But I felt amazing—strong and brave and erotic and sexy as hell.
“You were perfect,” he said. “Ravishing. Did you see the way they watched you? I was the envy of every man there.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“Close enough. Do you want to be my whore?”
“More than anything.” An exaggeration, but only a small one.
He smiled. He reached down and undid his pants. “Come over here and show me how much.”
This time, I didn’t have to fake anything. I didn’t even have to take one of Tawny’s pills. I hiked up my skirts, straddled his lap, and sank down onto his cock. It felt good. For the first time with him, I moaned and shuddered in earnest at the way he filled me, at the carnal glint in his eyes, at the strength of his hands as he gripped my thighs.
“Kiss me,” he said.
I did. I wrapped my arms around his neck and claimed his mouth with mine. I ravaged him. It felt extraordinary. I rode his cock up and down as the carriage rattled us home. I felt wanton and indecent, and it was the most liberating feeling I’d ever known. I threw my head back and gave myself up to unadulterated lechery. Unbridled lust. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and my newfound power. My wayward desire. My fucking exotic beauty. I felt like a god. I could bring this man down for Anzhéla, and I would, but first I’d get what I wanted, too, one way or another. I rode him until I was panting, my thighs screaming in protest, the clip-clop of hooves somehow driving me on. He grabbed me and threw me violently onto my back amidst the thick cushions of the carriage seat. He pushed my knees to my shoulders and fucked me more, pumping my cock with one strong hand until we both came so hard, I was sure the driver heard us. We probably scared the horses.
At that moment, I would happily have paid him instead of the other way around.
When it was done, he grabbed my hair and forced me to meet his eyes. “You’re not just a whore anymore,” he whispered. “You’re my whore, until the day I release you. Do you understand?”
I didn’t even have to fake my smile. “Perfectly.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The next day, I woke in my tiny room at Talia’s with a headache that threatened to split my skull in two. I put my head in my hands and tried to remember why.
It all came back to me in a rush. La Fontaine. The wine. The food. The upside down sky.
The carriage ride home.
I groaned, embarrassed by my behavior, but partially aroused as well. I’d liked the sex. A lot. Lalo had advised me to enjoy it when I could, so why did I feel so dirty for it now?
I dressed, then made my way to the kitchen for breakfast and something to soothe my throbbing head. Talia informed me that Donato had already reserved me again for the evening. I wasn’t sure if my heart began to race out of fear or desire. I opted not to think about it too much.
My street clothes had been returned to me, clean and folded, along with my knives. I put them on and headed out into familiar territory: the streets of Lower Davlova.
A tall white wall separated the upper city from the lower, but even on this side, we had opulence. The buildings closest to the wall were all made of white stone. Here, the well-to-do who weren’t considered pureborn nobles lived and worked: doctors, midwives, barbers, and bookkeepers. In this section, dubbed the white district for obvious reasons, Talia’s whorehouse existed alongside boarding schools and banks. A broad cobblestone avenue, known simply as the Boulevard, separated the white district from the rest of Lower Davlova. It circled the entire upper city. I could have turned west out of Talia’s whorehouse and taken the short way. Most days, I would have. But today, I felt the need to clear my head, and I had plenty of time, so I turned east instead.
Every kid in every clan walked this street at some point, all the way around the upper city, as part of some childish rite of passage. I’d done it a few times in my life. Once, when I was a boy, holding my mother’s hand while she cried for reasons I’d never know. A second time shortly after joining Anzhéla’s clan, when the older boys had dared me. Once with Jimbo, when he was spoiling for a fight. And again today, as I contemplated how it felt to be a whore.
I followed the avenue counterclockwise, east and north as it curved up through the slums that were the fourth quadrant—the slums where I’d grown up—and finally bled into the first quadrant, which held the harbor. Very few people lived in this sector. It was all about commerce and access to the sea. The air was tangy with the smell of salt and fish and the ocean. A fresh breeze tugged at my hair, washing away the smell of Donato’s carriage. The taste of his kiss.
Built out over the uncaring water were rows upon rows of docks. The southernmost ones were for smaller, privately owned ships, and the northernmost ones were reserved for the luxurious yachts of the pureborn. Between them all was the commercial dock, used by the huge freight ships that came across the sea from Deliphine,
a city that no doubt existed, but was practically mythical in my mind. I had no idea what it was really like, but I imagined it full of beautiful people Donato would likely have called exotic: pale skin, golden hair, bright-hued eyes. Somewhere beyond that was Aurius, the city of my mother’s birth. The city she’d whispered about as I’d fallen asleep, back when I was too young to wonder why she’d left it. Beyond that, a whole world. One I’d never dared dream of.
I bought a bit of fried fish wrapped in brown paper from one of the vendors. I wondered, as he took my money, if he guessed where it had come from. Did he feel the taint of purchased sex on its dull surface? Did he scoff at it? Or did he envy me my youth and the looks that allowed me to make so much on my back?
I continued on my way, rounding toward the northernmost point of the city, which butted up against the sheer black cliffs of the Erish Mountains. The island that held Davlova wasn’t large, but Anzhéla had taught me this was why the founders of Davlova had chosen this exact spot to build their city—the deep-water port paired with the safety of being bordered on all other sides by either mountains or water. But what had been comfortable borders back then were now a cinch around her bloated middle, squeezing us all.
I stopped at the northern edge to watch the sea crash into the cliffs. The High Priestess herself had died there. Before her death, she’d helped rule the city, sharing the Council with the seven mayors, until convicted of treason. That was the official charge, at any rate, but the truth was, those rich male mayors grew weary of the logic of women. They hated having the morals of the Goddess impeding their laws. And once they learned of the sacraments of the priestesses, the pleasure they saved for themselves, denied to all men, they were driven to rage. They arrested the High Priestess and dragged her up the narrow path to the cliffs. Only the Goddess knew what horrible things they’d done to her before killing her, but it wasn’t hard to guess. They’d flung her, naked and beaten, from the top of the cliffs to be brutalized again by the rocks and waves below. Davlova hadn’t had a High Priestess since. We still had temples and priestesses, but nobody strong enough to question the rule of the mayors. And those seven mayors were the only people in the city with more power than Donato.
