by Roxy Harte
“Do you think I stink?”
“What?” Thunder faced her and, recognizing the look in her eyes that could only spell trouble, backed up a step as she came nearer. She pressed her hands against his chest.
“When you left the room earlier, was it because I smell?”
He shook his head. “I walked away because I wanted to do the right thing.”
“I don't understand.”
“You kiss like a schoolgirl. I assumed you were innocent.”
She laughed bitterly. “I bought a brothel today.”
“That doesn't mean you aren't a virgin.”
Lucy glared at him, and he couldn't understand why she was mad. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “I assure you, I'm not a virgin.”
He stepped into her, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her so tightly to his chest, he imagined he was hurting her. He crushed his mouth to hers, filling her mouth with his tongue. He could feel in his bones she had so little experience, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt like a caged animal unleashed, and it was feral intensity that made him hold her even after he knew he should release her. “Do you belong to Dangerous Dan?”
“Dangerous Dan?” Lucy frowned, confusion lining her face. “Daniel?”
Thunder nodded, waiting for her answer. If she were Daniel's, he'd walk away, but if Daniel laid no claim…
“No man owns me,” she answered. “I'm not a slave, and I'm not a wife.”
He watched her searching his face, waiting for direction, and he wanted to provide the lead but held back, using every ounce of willpower he'd ever forged until the tension between them became unbearable. Leaning in as closely as he could without touching her, he held her gaze. His lips were near enough to kiss her, but he didn't, and when he didn't, a shiver ran through her. Thunder brushed her cheek lightly, and it startled her. She gasped before laughing nervously. She closed her eyes when he continued to stroke her.
He traced her jaw, her cheek, the bridge of her nose. He caressed the shell of her ear and each eyebrow until he could restrain himself no longer and cupped her face in his hands. He saw her uncertainty, fear, and curiosity that only flamed his desire higher, but she seemed to him as delicate as fine bone china. He feared he might break her if his passion raged out of control. “Open your eyes.”
She did, and he kissed her gently, his lips roaming over her face to touch each place he'd roamed with his fingertips, drifting lower to cover her neck, her shoulders, and the soft swell of her breasts pushed high by her corsetry. Grabbing the neckline at the back of her dress, he ripped. Lucy gasped, but he believed from surprise, not fear.
He allowed the dress to fall to the ground. “You're not a whore.”
Standing before him in only her corset and boots, she trembled.
“The men you bring to this room in the future may not be as kind or gentle as I, Lucy. I promise you I am showing a great deal of restraint.”
She swallowed hard and backed toward the edge of the bed. “I've chosen this path; I'll do what I must.”
“Will you? Would I be your first customer, then?”
Customer? Am I truly to be a prostitute, then? Oh God. I don't know if I can do this. Why didn't I leave with Daniel? I could have gone to the ranch. I could have…
A small voice raged in the back of her head, begging her to see reason. If she'd have gone to the ranch, how long would she have been solely Daniel's? Until the moment he needed to ride the range? He wouldn't take her with him. In her heart she knew that truth, even if she didn't want to believe it. He would leave, and then she would be at the mercy of his men. Would they have each demanded a fair portion of her hide? Would it have been like the men tossing dice to see who would have her first?
No! Better she navigated her own fate. By making this choice, she could choose who would be her clients and who would not. She looked into Thunder's eyes, seeing lust but also compassion. She heard herself whisper, “Yes.” He didn't immediately respond, so she said it louder, sobbing. “Yes! Please, yes.”
His hands blindly found the laces traveling down her back, and he slowly tugged them free one by one until she stood completely nude except for her boots, embarrassed to find herself shaking like a frightened virgin. She couldn't control the trembling making her arms and legs quake. She apologized. “I'm sorry; I don't know what's wrong with me.”
He whispered against her neck, “Yes, you do, Lucy. You're a good girl; you've never done an evil thing in your life, and the way you see it, this moment will define you as bad, but it doesn't have to. Being a whore won't make you evil. Being a whore won't condemn you to hell.”
Lucy shuddered. Whore. She hating hearing the word said aloud, not that it mattered how he phrased it. “How can you be so certain?”
“I don't believe in the white man's heaven or hell. My final resting place will be Summerland, where the grazing pastures are always green, and skies are always blue.”
Lucy swayed. “It sounds beautiful.”
“Yes, every day is perfect there. Your heart is good, Lucy. There will be a place for you there.” Thunder lifted her and carried her to the bed, pushing the bundles and garments to the floor as he laid her down gently. He stayed standing beside the bed, towering over her, intimidating her. “You've had sex before?”
She wanted to say she was a virgin, as innocent as he'd believed when he'd kissed her, but she wouldn't lie. She nodded.
“With a stranger?”
She nodded again.
“The man downstairs who has some kind of claim on you?”
“He has no claim; he only brought me to California.”
“And you paid him for the ride with sex?”
Lucy turned her head away, refusing to look him in the eyes, even when he gripped her chin and tried to force her to look at him. “It sounds so horrible, so cheap, when you say it like that.”
“You thought there was more? Did he tell you he loved you? Did he promise you a home and a family when you reached California?”
“No.” She did look at him then, but she didn't see the judgment she had expected to see in his expression. “He made no promises.”
Thunder bent and grabbed her legs, then pulled her ankles apart, making her gasp. The breeze blowing in the window teased cool and intimate between her legs. She thought for a minute he would crawl between her legs and lick her there as Daniel had, wondering if that was something all men enjoyed—but he didn't do that. He stood watching. She started to sit up, but he held up his hand and shook his head. Licking her lips, she waited and was surprised when he said, “You are beautiful.”
She glanced away.
He walked into her frame of vision and squatted. “It's nothing to be ashamed of. Right here, right now, you have this corner of the world in your hand. There are about six hundred men within a day's ride of this town willing to pay for sex.”
Her heart was pounding. So many? Oh God.
“But you aren't going to have sex with every one of them.” He slid his fingertips over the inside of her thigh, which made her feel strange.
Lucy swallowed, wanting to close her eyes, but she couldn't bear to not watch him. He traced a path on the inside of each of her thighs. “I'm not?”
“You're not. As the queen bee, you get to choose when and who you have sex with. The other women who will work here will take care of the rest. Only you will make top dollar. If you can earn it, which means you have to know all the tricks.” He skimmed his fingertips higher, sliding between her legs and finding her damp place.
“T-tricks?”
He slipped his fingers through her wetness, making her knees tremble more than they were before. He smiled. “Oh yes.”
She bit her lip to keep from crying out as his finger slid deep, a feeling of such intense sensation ripping her in two. Ecstasy. Her eyes crossed as he pushed his finger in and out. She knew she should be embarrassed as her folds grew wetter, making his finger slide more easily. With his thumb, he flicked her. “Oh!” S
he didn't know if it hurt or felt good; she only knew she wanted him to do it again.
Her hips moved up and down. “Please?”
“The man who brought you here was able to show you sex could be pleasurable?”
She didn't answer until he flicked her there again. “Oh God. Yes.”
Smiling, he stood and started unbuttoning his shirt. “That is marvelous news.”
He pulled off jacket, vest, and shirt at once, baring his chest and long, lean muscles she couldn't pull her gaze from. She whispered, “It is?”
“Men like to bring women pleasure. It makes them feel powerful. It is a trick not every woman knows.” He kicked off his boots and slid off his pants.
Oh.
A second later he was crawling over her, then thrusting into her. She cried out, surprised by the quickness of his assault. Her heart leaped into her throat like a trapped sparrow. If she expected him to slow down or give her time to recover, she was wrong. His thrusts were even and deep, building a rhythm she could anticipate. She met each thrust with a rise of her hips. This wasn't awkward as it had been with Ollie. It didn't feel invasively intimate as it had with Daniel.
“How fast can you reach orgasm for me?”
Her eyes flew wide open. She hadn't realized the burst of satisfaction she'd felt before had a name, but she definitely knew the way the climb of pleasure had felt. Thunder laughed and increased the speed of his thrusts, making her scream and thrash.
He kissed her temple. “You are going to earn better than top dollar here, beautiful. You are going to be the richest gold mine in these hills.”
Chapter Eight
Lucy stayed in bed long after the sun had come up. Yes, she was thinking too much, but not worrying. She'd managed to find some peace with her decision, and the dream that had sustained her on the trail seemed to no longer be of importance. Really, what had she been thinking? Daniel. Dangerous Dan. He was obviously not the kind of man to make a home with or bring children into the world with. She laughed at herself, but it was a sad laugh, knowing she would never have that life now.
No respectable man would have her now that she was soiled.
Thunder had left in the middle of the night, and she assumed he'd gone to his own room down the hall. She couldn't look at the money he'd left lying on her pillow. It was still there—three ten-dollar gold coins—proof she'd become a prostitute. What would Emma say? Oh God. What would her mother say? She knew it was a horrible thing to think, but she thought it anyway: thank goodness they are dead and buried.
She'd made a choice. It was her choice. A man had paid her for having sex with him. And strangely the world had not come to an end. Outside, the sun was shining and birds were singing. She heard the sound of nearby construction, hammers pounding nails into wood. A man was whistling, and the sound was filled with hope.
She wasn't the only person in town forging a new life.
Rolling onto her side, she touched the coins reverently. She'd never had coins of her own before. She picked them up, feeling their weight, cool and solid in her palm. Her money. A tap on her door startled her, and she sat up, pulling the blankets to her chin. The door didn't open, but the tap sounded again. “Miss?”
Lucy recognized the voice. “Yes, Georgie?”
The door opened only a crack. “There's folks waiting for you to come down, Miss.”
Now what? “Customers?”
“Supposin' the men is, but I'm thinkin' the women are here for jobs.”
“Women?” Hope flared in Lucy's chest. The whores came back. She jumped from the bed and rummaged through the clothing scattered on the floor but couldn't find anything to pull on quickly. Seeing a silk dressing gown left by the previous occupant hanging on the back of her door, she lunged for it and pulled it on. She hurried downstairs and was shocked by the line of men standing outside the doors. Clancy was blocking their entrance. Thank God the women were back. She could not entertain all of them.
Two Chinese women were waiting. Lucy turned to Georgie. “Where are the women?”
One of the ladies asked, “You hire?”
Georgie explained. “These are the women.”
Lucy widened her eyes at him. “I thought you meant—”
“No, they haven't come back yet.”
She stepped closer to the two who were there, feeling their nervousness. She looked them over, seeing they both wore black silk pants and long-sleeved, buttoned-to-the-neck shirts. “I don't need a laundress.”
“Sign say whores.”
Lucy lifted her eyebrow. Sign? She looked at Georgie. “Don't look at me. Sheriff saw the line forming this morning and drew up a notice before he left.”
Lucy went to a window and looked out, seeing exactly how far the line of men extended before reading the sign: HELP WANTED: COOK, SERVING WOMEN, WHORES.
“Where did the sheriff say he was going?”
“I s'pose he's at the jail.”
Nodding, she realized it would make sense a lawman would have to spend his days there. It was his job. But what if he was avoiding her? No no no. What did Emma always tell her? Leave her doubts outside, because there was no room for second-guessing after the fact. “Just do your best every time at every little thing, and all would be fine.” “God I hope so.”
She turned to face the two women and looked them over again. One wore her hair up in a tight bun; the other wore a long braid that hung down the center of her back. They were pretty, pock free, but as she watched them, they took each other's hands for courage. “Perhaps you do not understand the job. I need women who are willing to talk to the men, flirt, convince them to drink more, make sure they have a really good time here.”
The women looked at each other, and a silent conversation seemed to take place between them. The one with the braid explained. “Our men die in mine collapse six months ago. Our families counting on us. We know how to make man feel special.”
Lucy started to turn them away but reconsidered, saying bluntly, “Making a man feel special means spreading your legs.”
The two looked at each other and giggled. Looking back at Lucy, they answered simultaneously, “That easy part.”
Lucy pointed toward the crowd of men outside. “Those men.”
The girls looked around her to the line, then back to her. “Yes?”
Lucy shook her head. “You don't look like any painted ladies I ever saw—”
The crowd became louder.
“Any chance you can start now? Right now?”
The women smiled and answered, “Yes.”
Lucy grabbed their elbows and hurried them toward the stairs. “If you're going to work here, you have to look the part. My girls are going to earn top dollar. This is going to be a respectable brothel. Do you understand? Only the best for the men who come here.”
Reaching her bedroom, she asked them, “What are your names?”
“Dao-Ming,” the woman with a braid said softly.
“Fang-Hua.”
“Well, my name is Lucy, and I own this place. Long as you take care of the customers, are honest and loyal to me, we'll get along fine.”
Ten minutes later she had them both laced into corsets and wearing skirts. She'd rouged their cheeks with the powder left behind by a previous girl and hustled them back down the stairs. They stood behind her nervously. She could feel their fear rolling off them in great waves. She wondered if her own fear was as tangible to the others.
Catching Georgie's worried expression, she assumed it was.
She tapped Clancy on his shoulder, and when he turned around, she pushed the two forward. “You can let the men in now.”
“All of them?” He looked the girls over dubiously. “I think you need about ten more girls.”
She shrugged. “This is what I have.”
He spit into the dirt outside the door. “Don't like it.”
Lucy looked from Dao-Ming to Fang-Hua. They were huddled together, looking terrified. She knew how they felt, and wanted to cry. She'd us
ed almost all Emma's diamonds to buy this place, and it was proving to be for naught. Now what? She'd absolutely bitten off more than she could chew. Did she really think she could go from being a slave to being a successful businesswoman like the Hangtown madam in a single day? Just because she'd arrived in California?
Keeping her back to the front entrance—and the men outside—she shook her head bitterly and fought back tears. She'd been as big an idiot as the men who'd left their lives in the East for a dream, then left their wives and children buried along the trail getting here.
Think, Lucy! Think.
Georgie walked into her watery line of vision. “Get them in the door and sell them whiskey. Most of them will be too drunk to do anything by the time their turn comes up for the women.”
He was right, of course. Lucy wiped her eyes and pulled back her shoulders with a deep breath. She would make this work. She had to. Turning toward the open doors, she elbowed around Clancy and pretended she was Bernice Winston. “I need two lines…”
A man in the back hollered, “Can't hear you.”
Lucy took a deep breath and projected. “Gentlemen. I need two lines: men wantin' just whiskey on the left, and men interested in whiskey and time with a woman on the right.”
The entire line shifted to the right. Oh hell. There had to be thirty men in line. She announced, “These women are very special, trained in the art of seduction from a very young age.” She winked dramatically. “One hour is twenty dollars. Payable in advance.”
The men started digging in their pants pockets. She whispered over her shoulder, asking the women, “You're certain you can do this?”
They answered separately but at the same time. “Yes.” Something seemed to happen in that moment. They stood a little straighter, no longer quaking. Fang-Hua announced, “We are ready,” and smiled a little too widely and a little too brightly, but the change was dramatic. Lucy actually believed her.
“Well, pick your man. Dao-Ming? You too.”
She giggled nervously, watching Fang-Hua select a man from the line, but she was smiling widely when she imitated her cousin's actions. Eventually each woman pulled a man inside, where each dropped his coins into Lucy's palm without a grumble or barter before being led upstairs.
