Lilac

by Louisa Trent

  Sean broke into the negotiations. “Not today, gents. Today, I have the pleasure of her company. Come along now.” He crooked his arm, she came forward, and together they left the tomb.

  Once they were outside, he led her through the various exhibits. Before a glass case containing Egyptian artifacts, he stroked her knuckles, demurely clasped before her as she read the various notations on the displays. “What just happened in the tomb—did you like it?”

  “Sir, I found what just happened both humiliating and exhilarating.”

  “Good. I am glad you are comfortable enough to share that information with me. You are to tell me what is on your mind all of the time. Now explain to me why you were both humiliated and exhilarated?”

  “I was humiliated that those gentlemen mistook me for a prostitute. I was exhilarated, primarily, because I knew you were watching. I kept imagining what your reaction must be as they propositioned me. The event was curious in the extreme. I felt outside of myself. Separate and apart from my usual sense of morality, of right and wrong. I felt quite daring exposing my bare leg in a public place.” She tossed her head as if to clear her muddled thoughts. “Why did you have me do that?”

  He patted her hand. “Because, from time to time, and without joining in, I like to watch women with men.”

  “Pardon? What do you mean ‘women with men’? In what possible way do you watch women with men?”

  This was all outside her realm of experience, and so, rather than try to explain all the complexities of his fetish, he concentrated on soothing her misgivings. “You will come to find my demands less horrifying as we get better acquainted. You will want to please me. Pleasing me will please you. And so too you will come to appreciate the attentions of other men. You will come to like coupling with other men while I look on, both because you know I am there watching and because of the act itself.”

  She gasped. “You mean making love with other men? Me?”

  “Yes. And if I am…er…fully engaged, if your activities with these other men increase my desire, I may participate. That is your role in this. To increase my desire.”

  “The rumors about you are true then?”

  “Tegan, I do, from time to time, share a woman with another man. I have done so since I was a young man. And I do join in group sexual activities. You may find them strange at first, but you will come to accept my watching you with other men. And women.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. I cannot. Not that. Just with you. Only with you.”

  “You signed an agreement, Tegan. Think of all those poor miners who depend upon your success with me.”

  “You already agreed to certain mine changes.”

  “I did. And I will honor those changes. But you want more, correct? That is what your attempts at seduction with me have been all about.”

  “You knew I was trying to seduce you?”

  “Of course. The question is, what are you willing to do to get what you want?”

  “Anything,” she muttered. “Everything.”

  “Fine. Then if I tell you to sleep with other men, gentlemen, not slum toughs like myself, you will agree, if it means you get the additional changes you want?”

  “Yes, damn you, I agree.”

  “Fine. Now, no more games. I find them irritating. Please do not discredit my intelligence by trying to use me further than you have done already.”

  She turned to profile, and he admired the magnificence of her jaw. Her classic bone structure was beyond compare. The girl was definitely a beauty. She would be a terror when she realized it, when she understood her own attractiveness. With the right clothes, with the right social and sexual tutelage, she would make legions of men fall at her feet, fall in love with her, also. She had only an inkling of her power over men now. Once she realized her full potential, she would use her allure to get what she wanted from them.

  Not him, of course. He knew her for what she was, and he would never allow her to dupe him again.

  Finally, at her woebegone expression, and against his better judgment, he did take pity on her. Three days removed from innocence, she must find all this confusing. More so, because her sexuality was also blossoming and she was experiencing previously unknown feelings. Tegan might even consider herself smitten with him. He was her first, after all. Young, untried girls often did think themselves in love with their first partner. Especially if the man was older and powerful and much more experienced.

  Thank God, she would not substitute him for a father figure to fill some emotional void. Her own father had been such a strong influence in her life that would not be a problem. There were men who purposefully sought out young girls as their mistresses and encouraged those immature females to call them “Papa” or whatnot.

  That sort of thing was too perverse even for Sean Griffith’s perverse tastes. He preferred women in their early thirties, high-priced whores who knew what pleased a man his age.

  But what could he do?

  Tegan Ellis was his now, and he would make the best of things. He had been her first, and that was both a responsibility and a matter of some pride.

  She had given herself to him.

  True, she had done so to trap him. But her motivation in no way mitigated his pride.

  Never had he been a woman’s first anything before.

  He intended to be her first in all areas. Then, when she was properly broken in, he would introduce her to his friends. Sexually. They would be grateful; he would be amused to show her off to them, his new pretty possession. He would watch and maybe join in, and Tegan, innocent Tegan, would most likely come till she screamed herself hoarse.

  It was all in the handling, all in his breaking her into the life that awaited her. He meant for her to enjoy what he did to her.

  He sent his hand to the small of her back, a more intimate escort than an arm link. “Are you enjoying the museum thus far?”

  “I would have ordinarily, but”—her chin fell—“I dare not say it. The thought is not at all proper and so unfit for anything more than private reflection.”

  “Go on. You are to have no secrets from me. Remember?”

  She licked her lips and looked at him, guilt spread across her features. “Your closeness, sir, makes concentration difficult. Your scent in my nostrils, the heat of your hand there on my lower back, my upper legs become slippery with my… What is it called?”

  “Arousal. Your body is preparing itself for penetration.”

  “Yes, I suspected as much. Because of what just happened, I need you to penetrate me.”

  He sighed at her sexual openness. “Listen, I can take you in my carriage on the way home, put you out of your misery, but I would prefer to put it to you in a bed. You have only had intercourse once, and you would tolerate the sticking better in a reclining position.”

  “How kind of you to consider my comfort, sir.” Teeth gritted, she rubbed her thighs together.

  He eyed her increasing frustration. This was all so new to her. “Despite what you might think, I take no pleasure from the deliberate infliction of cruelty unless it brings with it an equal portion of pleasure. I would like to make this go as pleasantly as possible for you. You chose this arrangement. It was not forced upon you by me. You offered yourself to me in what you considered to be an equitable exchange, did you not?”

  “I had no other choice.”

  “We all have choices. You might have stayed in Pittsburgh, married some earnest miner, and conducted your campaign to improve the mines through the proper channels. Instead, you decided to spread your legs for mining reform. To whore. Let me hear you say it.”

  “I never decided to whore. I proposed to become your plaything. No money has passed from your hand to mine. Perhaps what I am is your mistress. I will grant you my looseness might be considered as promiscuous—”

  He interrupted. “Though your sexual appetites appear stronger than average, you are not promiscuous by nature. Believe me, I can tell. Furthermore, you are not my mist
ress, Tegan. You are not nearly sophisticated enough to warrant that title. Nor do I keep mistresses. There is no illusion of love here either, which might have given you the pretext of doing what you are doing for something other than mercenary reasons.”

  “Mercenary! Indeed not, sir. I did what I did to continue my father’s reform work in the only way I knew how. For years, he tried conventional means and failed. I mean not to fail.”

  He sighed. “Have you ever once considered the future? That no man of your class, certainly no miner, will have you without your virginity intact. No decent man of any sort will make you his wife, the mother of his children, now. Without income, you will be forced to whore. Say it! Strip away your flowery language and own it for what it is.”

  Her lips trembled. “Very well. I am a whore. There! I said it.”

  “I am glad we are in agreement. The life of a high-priced whore is not without compensation, but the life can also be fraught with turmoil. After we are done, I can place you in with the right circle of men. Not precisely gentlemen, but men like me who have carved their own path to success without the advantage of a pedigree. Captains of industry, like myself, who will pay you well for the education you are about to receive from me.”

  “No, thank you. I shall make my own way.”

  “There is no way to make, other than the way of the streets. When we are through, you will know everything that your library group refused to tell you and more. You will have the knowledge to become a successful mistress of a successful man. You should be grateful for my tutoring.”

  She hesitated, then, clearly at the end of her sexual extremity, cried, “Can we begin my tutoring now, sir?”

  “So nice to know I rate above Egyptian artifacts in your interests,” he said dryly and led her back to the waiting carriage.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Would you care to dine first?” Sean asked her as they reentered his mansion on the Hudson.

  Tegan could hardly countenance what he was saying.

  What? Does he actually expect me to eat?

  For once, food was far from her mind.

  Distraught, actually pained from her readiness to be penetrated, she could only shake her head in the negative.

  “Never let it be said I refused a whore a hearty meal before the event,” he said dryly.

  He led her, not up the stairs to his master bedroom, nor even to her spacious guest room farther along the hall, but downstairs, to where the servant quarters were located.

  “Bad form to fuck a whore above stairs,” he informed her. “It just is not done.”

  That information along with his conspicuous repetition of the word “whore” certainly put her in her place. But frankly, if that had been his intent, she was too far gone to care. In her extremity, he could have, as he so blithely put it “fucked” her, his “whore,” in the middle of his drive with all the servants looking on and she would not have given a fig. Beyond such petty concerns as vanity or pride or modesty, she wanted him so badly that she ached with longing. And the awful trembling. Where had that come from, from what source within herself did the shakiness originate?

  Alternately flushed hot, then icy cold, she felt ill with her wanting, as if she had just caught a terrible case, not of the ague, not this time, but of him. What was her remedy, except to have him?

  He was her cure. He was her disease. What would she do if he turned her down? A likely occurrence, as he seemed not similarly afflicted.

  If he refused her his cock in favor of further torture, she very much feared she would insert something else inside her. A cucumber or a whip handle or a stud’s nether member. Anything that might promise her surcease. Needing to be filled, she was too far gone in her excitement to differentiate between the means.

  He was right to say was no sophisticate. Big, thick, hard, and long were her only requirements.

  “Please,” she begged as he took her to her former room. “Please,” she pleaded as he closed the door after them.

  “Off with the coat,” he said to her pleading.

  Off with your head, she might have replied another time. This time, she was grateful to let her only covering fall to the floor. The coat’s rough wool made her nipples raw, and she felt raw enough already.

  He eyed her nudity.

  Neither modest nor vain, she waited impatiently for him to do whatever it was he had a mind to do. When she thought she might scream in frustration, he took hold of his massive erection his grip on himself white-knuckle tight.

  “I cannot enter you like this,” he rasped. “I could hurt you.”

  “Hurt me then.”

  “Oh, it will happen. Eventually. But not now, not yet. Suck me. That will take the edge off.”

  So this was to be it, then. He would allow her his cock, but only in her mouth.

  Well, fine! And to hell with him, anyway. Still, she stood there stupidly, not knowing how to proceed.

  Before, in the dining room, during the orgy that turned out not to be an orgy, she had gotten to her knees. That pose had not seemed agreeable to him. At least, he would not allow her to complete the act. How did he want her?

  “Take down your chignon and go to the floor,” he told her. “Lie on your back. Knees spread so I can see your cunt.”

  That last word stopped her cold. “Cunt?”

  “The slit between your legs you need me to fill. I like looking at you there.”

  At another time she might have thought something on the order of men are such silly creatures, or some other smug slice of patronization. Not nearly so smug and patronizing any more, she simply scrambled to do his bidding, all her thoughts taken up with that wondrous release he had given her in the Egyptian tombs. She craved that sensation again.

  He stood over her as she reclined on her back. “Spread your knees wide.”

  With nary a blush, she did.

  He looked. Then looked some more. But did no more than look.

  She covered her mouth with a hand as he looked, very nearly gnawed through the fingertips as he looked. She was hardly a work of art, worthy of a long and intense viewing. What could hold him spellbound?

  “You have a beautiful cunt,” he said, with something that sounded like reverence to her ears.

  And then she gave his comment no further thought, for he sank to the floor and climbed over her, prowled her, finally knelt above her, that bulge in his trousers irresistibly drawing her eyes. And her greedy palms.

  She reached. Without his giving her leave, she took him out and led him to her hungry mouth.

  She kissed him, licked him, and then, too impatient for any further delays, took him inside her the only way he would allow her for now.

  Ahhh.

  She needed him in her cunt—what a deliciously wicked word—but this was a lovely substitute. Her tongue twirled around his thick shaft, and then she lost track of what happened next, because he was pushing for more of a connection, a deeper possession, and she was taking everything he had to give, his power an aphrodisiac, his hard thrusts bruising her throat and making her pussy wet and slick.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck. Who knew it would be like this?”

  Not she! Not even in her wildest imaginings.

  Slick and wet, that was the texture of his ejaculate when he erupted in her mouth. He tasted of salt and sex, and she swallowed the plug with one gulp, some dribbling over her lips, her chin, some into her cleavage as he rubbed himself between her breasts.

  “Again,” he grunted. “I need it again.” In one smooth move, he pulled her up off the floor and into his arms. He carried her to the bed. Placing her on top, an all-fours positioning and not even modestly under the covers, he mounted her from behind.

  “You sold your cunt to me, and I bought it for this—for hard use. If you cannot give me hard usage, our contract is null and void.”

  That said, he entered her swiftly, no lingering caresses, only a force that sent him slamming into her body. He literally stole her breath away. Whoosh.
Her lungs emptied and his cock filled her.

  Still fully clothed, he moved within her. His coat and trousers felt so foreign against her bare skin as he rocked them together. Unfair that he had made her completely open and vulnerable to him but had not reciprocated. But fairness had very little to do with their pairing. They had struck a bargain, and she satisfied the bargain’s requirements. No more. No less.

  He dropped his head lower. She knew this for he shadowed her face in the dim basement room. He bit the side of her neck. His teeth dragged across the skin. He reached under her rib cage, found her breast, and squeezed while his body pounded hers on the narrow servant’s cot.

  Her interior muscles revolted. The depth of the penetration hurt. But she refused to acknowledge the hurt or draw his attention to it, not with any outward manifestation of discomfort, not with any vocalization of distress. He had forced her to strip away “the pretty language,” and so too would she strip away the romance of the taking. And there it was—he hurt her as he pushed into her. Hurt her deliberately, as though his aim was to punish her for some unknown sin.

  She remembered her blackmail. Her attempt to exhort him into making changes at Central Mine had angered him, and now in that anger he was hurting her.

  The shadow receded as he lifted his head, and she turned back, a hurried glance over her shoulder, and saw that he had bared his teeth, as if he too were in pain.

  “You might have goddamn said something,” he snarled.

  She bunched her hands into the bedding, her nails ripping at the coarse servant’s linen. “About what?”

  He pulled out of her body, turned her about, and glared into her face. “That I was fucking hurting you.”

  “I thought that your intent, sir. I thought this was my punishment for my blackmail attempt.”

  “How little you think of me.”

  “How little you think of yourself,” she countered. “The chip on your shoulder is spoiling your tailoring, sir.” When he came up off her, she rolled onto her side like a keeling ship. She felt capsized too as she cradled her pussy.

  His words were wooden. “Whores at least pretend to enjoy it.”