Bring On the Heat

by Eden Bradley

  She smiled, though he didn’t think emotion reached her eyes. “I tolerate it well. See?” Bending her head toward his, while still holding his gaze, she let out a low moan of pain.

  An erotic thrill coursed through him at that musical moan, even if it was mere artifice. The dark, sexual tone heated his blood and his hand shook where it held cloth against her upper thigh. No wonder she specialized in the perversion.

  “One would almost think you craved it,” he said.

  Her breasts rose as she inhaled deeply before her head turned to a small highboy in the corner.

  The room was so small she could open the top drawer without moving closer to it. A small selection of crops of varying widths rested inside.

  “What excites you?” she asked. “Any of these?”

  He couldn’t suppress the slight shudder. Moans were one thing, but the whips revolted him. This delightful creature deserved pleasure, not pain.

  “Not that.”

  She closed the drawer with an air of satisfaction softening her lips, as if he’d passed a test. “No? I wonder why you chose me.”

  “Your portrait in the hallway below challenged me.”

  “Most men want to master the girl in that portrait.”

  “I don’t think like most men. I want this.” He lifted her linen to her waist, and buried his face in her crisp muff.

  She gasped. Her hands found the back of his head. He was sure shock and not design had motivated her quick movements. Wanting to continue to surprise, he tasted her slit with the tip of his tongue and stroked down until he found her channel. It rewarded him with a drop of musky fluid. He lapped it up, delighting in her individual taste, pulling her against his mouth with his hands on her naked buttocks. She felt firm, velvet-soft, and warm under his palms, and enticed him further with a tiny gasp of pleasure.

  He didn’t think she’d been a whore long. Her responses to his offered pleasure were too untutored for that, despite her scars.

  Testing her again, he speared her channel with his tongue, stretching her open. Then he slid his fingers up the insides of her nether lips until he found the tiny pearl at the apex. When his tongue met her there, she gasped again and ground against his mouth. He grasped the backs of her thighs, only to find her trembling.

  Outside, thunder cracked, and rain began to pound the cobblestones in the lane, drowning out her sounds of approval, higher pitched than her dark, pained moan, and the wet sucking sounds his mouth made against her velvety flesh.

  With a sense of triumph, he drew on the tiny pearl and found her rear channel with his thumb. He dipped between her rounded cheeks, rimming the entrance.

  “You need not go to this effort, sir,” she whispered. “I’m here to please you.”

  He pulled away for a moment. “Liza, you do please me. Let me do this.”

  She sighed for a moment, staring at him, and then tilted her pelvis toward him, pulling him to her with strong fingers. Did she use crops herself against some of those faceless customers? His hands lifted from her buttocks and stroked up her arms, finding them rounded with muscle, not soft like most women’s.

  She verbalized her displeasure and he let his hands drop again, to play with her bottom. His tongue offered renewed attention to her pearl. When he sucked it in, she thrust against him, crying out her completion as her orgasm wracked her nubile form. His face was damp with her fragrant juices. He kissed her cleft and pulled away, allowing her dress to cover her body again, as modestly as the single thin layer of fabric allowed. As he was used to heavy, voluminous fabrics draping women like armor, being so close to a woman’s true form was unusually erotic in itself.

  She stumbled away from him, half-sitting, half-collapsing, onto the bed. A tiny chime emitted from her direction.

  “Ten minutes gone,” she whispered. He could see her nipples poking against the low-cut bodice when lightning sliced through the sky, brightening the dim room to near daylight for a moment. His next thought was of sucking those buds to even tighter peaks.

  He wanted to leap on her. “Will that infernal mechanism interrupt us so often?”

  “Every five minutes toward the end. It dictates every phase of our day.”

  He brushed aside the implications. “At least it is quiet enough, and a pleasing sound.”

  Her voice was harsher this time. “It gets louder. You can’t hide from it ever. They always find you.”

  Had she tried to escape? Were some of those stripes on her legs punishment as much as tradecraft? But his cock was gaining ascendance and he wanted to revisit that secret place between her legs, not chat. Still, he couldn’t help responding. “Why did you agree to this life? Surely there are other brothels with less controlling proprietresses.”

  “My father was in debtor’s prison. He sold me into Madame Teagarden’s to raise the coins he needed to free himself.”

  Brace pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  She put her hand to her cheek for a moment. “He did it for my mother’s sake. She lived there with him, lost two babies to those horrible conditions.”

  “Where were you?”

  “At school. An uncle paid for it, but he died just as my mother lost the second baby.”

  “How convenient for your father.” His gaze drifted to her breasts. The gauzy material first revealed, then hid her in a maddening dance.

  Before he could feel bad about not forcing his brain out of extreme arousal long enough to say something fascinating, she stared at him, then stood again, and slowly lifted the gown until she pulled it over her head. He was amused by how she carefully folded the garment and tucked it under the cot before walking toward him on tiptoe, her slender hips swaying. Her expression lost the hint of betrayal he thought he’d detected, became practiced and alluring. In the air hung the scent of rain and her satisfied body.

  Again, some fragment of memory caught at him, but he couldn’t capture it.

  Even at opposite ends of the room, they’d only been four tiny steps apart. Liza stroked a finger down his waistcoat, flicking open the buttons as she moved down. “Surely a gentleman like yourself would like to be undressed before the act.”

  “I like skin against skin,” he agreed, knowing he would not refuse to fornicate with this woman even if the roof was on fire.

  She leaned into him and rubbed those perfect breasts against his shirt. “I have plenty of skin, sir.”

  “I’m Brace, call me that.”

  She smiled, those pillowy lips obeying him though her gaze still challenged. “Brace.”

  He pulled off his jacket and waistcoat, then allowed her to assist with his shirt. His cock pressed against the placket of his trousers but her nimble fingers made quick work of the fastenings. Though his member sprang forward eagerly, she ignored it and helped him remove his boots.

  When he was naked, she stepped back and caressed him with her gaze.

  “Such a fine form. Few men are blessed with such.”

  “Too much hair,” he demurred.

  “It’s the Italian blood,” she murmured, flicking her fingers at the curls around his flat masculine nipples.

  He felt them harden. “How did you know?” he asked.

  She pulled his mouth down to hers. “We talk too much, Brace.”

  His lips were still slick from her cunny, and slid against her when she captured his mouth. He angled his tongue between her parted lips, eager to simulate the act he most wished to perform with her. As they stumbled toward the bed he heard the chime at her throat again, but he couldn’t be distracted from the pleasures of her body.

  She tugged at his hips, already spreading her knees, but he had time to savor her still. His teeth grazed along her slender jaw, nipped at the indentation on her chin. Then his tongue traced the contours of her neck. The chain there was of some heavy linked stuff, nothing that could be broken by tugging, no matter how hard. He did not let it distract him, but tried to push the clockwork medallion aside so he could kiss the
dip at her throat. It didn’t move.

  He lifted his hand from where it played with her braid to touch the medallion. It stayed fast against her throat. “How is it attached?”

  “My skin is pierced. It’s anchored to me with two bars.”

  He swore, but was too aroused to investigate. The rising storm had darkened the room so completely now that the only light was a single tepid yellow flicker from the wall. Liza moved restlessly as he traced her collarbone, then the lower part of her breastbone, before cupping her breasts and feeling their fine weight. His cock pressed against her thigh as he explored. He couldn’t help thrusting once or twice against her. She made a soft sound but didn’t protest as he nibbled her breasts. But when he touched her nipples with his tongue she bucked. His cock bobbed between her knees and when she shifted he found himself pushing against the sheet between her spread legs. He bit her nipples with tender ferocity until they swelled into huge, dark peaks. Mindless with lust by then, he lost himself in the pleasures of her honey-scented skin, tasting indentations and joints, fingers and toes, until the chime reminded him his time was half done.

  So he lifted himself above her. She put her hands to his hips and together they met, cock to heated chamber. He pressed against her and slowly she opened to him, so wet that he knew he’d truly pleased her earlier. His glide seemed endless, but eventually he found himself seated fully in her tight heat. When he pulled back, she wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingernails into his buttocks.

  One of them at least would bear marks from this encounter.

  As the rain pounded furiously against every hard surface outside, he moved in and out of her clenching warmth. She played with him, lifting her hips to his in obvious enjoyment of his body. He’d distantly heard the chime at least twice more, a little louder each time, before he felt his control slipping. He pulled out from her and pushed her onto her stomach, then knelt behind her and thrust in again before she could offer protest or approval.

  “Yes,” he groaned. Oh, his body had needed this. He offered no mercy as he pounded into her slick channel, one arm around her breasts and the other at her waist. When she didn’t move against him as she had before, he found her smooth pearl with his fingers and rubbed in time with his thrusts.

  Her breath caught and she responded instantly, slamming herself along his cock as he thrust.

  “Liza. Tell me this is real,” he commanded.

  “Brace,” she whispered, but said nothing more.

  Hurt moved sluggishly along his mental pathways, but at least she’d remembered the name of the man fucking her. He couldn’t think more as his body was racing toward orgasm and couldn’t be thwarted. Liza was breathing as hard as he as his balls tightened. He thrust harder. She panted each time he seated himself fully.

  “It’s here,” he blurted, losing control. He released a stream of cum deep inside her. A satisfied roar left his throat, so loud it probably could have been heard in the gaming room if not for the storm. She bucked and shook. He knew she’d found her pleasure with his. Whore or not, he was satisfied by her response.

  His head fell heavily against her neck, his body crushing her into the thin mattress. No pillow cushioned their heads. He rested, enjoying their mingled scents, and wondered when his clerk’s salary would allow him to come to her again. How could he take her from this place and have her all to himself? Surely he could find a way. He had expectations of a large inheritance one day, though considering relatives’ lives were involved, he hoped the income did not come his way for many years yet.

  The medallion at her throat chimed again, much more stridently this time. Liza hadn’t been lying when she said the tone would change. The clockwork could become a harsh master, intolerable as the sound increased. He’d never seen anything like it, and wondered at the devious mind who’d invented it.

  “Five minutes,” she said, her voice muffled.

  He put his hands to either side of her torso and levered off her. “I wish I had the time to harden again and take you between these pretty cheeks.” He patted her bottom.

  She rolled over, looking sweet and rumpled between his thighs as he came to a cobbler’s position. “Next time, Brace. There will be one, right?”

  He nodded. “As soon as I am paid again.”

  “You had better put your clothing on. You don’t want to be dragged out of here by Mrs. Teagarden to dress in the hallway. She’ll do it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  When he had his clothing mostly buttoned up, and her gown covered her again, Liza moved toward him. He noted her manner was almost shy, very unlike the practiced temptress of nearly an hour before. The brass of the casing enclosing her clockwork medallion caught his eye and he squinted for a closer look. While the external, front-facing part was the more attractive metal, it appeared that both the chain around her neck and the clockwork inside was iron. It made for a durable, forbidding piece of tiny machinery.

  Her voice disrupted his thoughts. “Have you recognized me yet, Brace?”

  He frowned and looked up. “Should I?”

  Her lips curved downward. Clearly he’d disappointed her.

  “In truth, I had a couple of flashes of something, but my mind was focused on other things.”

  She grinned and he caught a dimple on her right cheek he hadn’t noticed before. That touched his memory too, something from childhood, but what?

  “I’m Celeste,” she said, in a near whisper.

  “Celeste?” he repeated, trying to put it together. A saucy walk, a dimple. Celeste.

  “We lived near each other. You were a little older than me, but we played in the orchards as children. I was ten or so when my father couldn’t afford the rent anymore and we moved into London.”

  Two braids, he thought. Those same pillowy lips and challenging eyes peering from a child’s face. “Celeste Flaherty,” he exclaimed, as the pieces knitted in his memory. “I remember you now, and your mother. You had a brother, didn’t you? Maybe three years younger?”

  “They are all gone now,” she said, “even Father.”

  He found it unbelievable that bright, intelligent Celeste Flaherty had turned up here. Vague memories of his father’s criticisms of her father drifted though his brain. Fathers had total control of their children. Not a good thing if the fathers used daughters for their own wellbeing at the expense of their offspring. Clearly the sacrifice hadn’t saved her mother for long.

  “I’ll help you leave this place,” he said.

  She looked down. “It would be no use. I haven’t a friend in the world.”

  “You have me. We were friends. It’s just that it had been a decade and you were a girl then, a little girl. I didn’t even like girls yet, you know, in this way. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I know. I can scarcely hope that you could do anything.” Her hands twisted together at her waist.

  He leaned in, kissed the place where the dimple cradled in her cheek. “Don’t worry, Celeste. I’ll figure out something. We’ll burn those crops in that drawer and you’ll start a new life.”

  He was flattered when she didn’t question him.

  “Promise?” She swayed toward him and he hugged her tightly.

  “Promise.”

  Her head tilted toward him as if to offer a kiss, but then he heard a clicking at her pierced throat as if seconds were speeding up and a noise half the strength of the church bell in their native parish filled the room. He held his ground but it was a near thing as the sound assaulted him. Celeste didn’t even wince and he wondered if her hearing had been affected.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked, stepping back.

  “Three years nearly.”

  “You won’t see a fourth,” he vowed. “I promise.”

  Pounding came at the door. He turned from her as it opened.

  “Time is up, Mr. ‘owell, unless you ‘ave the coin to go h’again.”

  He pulled his shoulder blades together and puffed out his chest. “I�
��d like a word, Mrs. Teagarden.”

  ~ * ~

  TWO

  Brace followed the proprietress down the front stairs and into the parlor. The storm had swept in a trio of bushy-bearded men who were muttering at one end of the line of portraits.

  “Best idea I ever ‘ad,” said the lady, satisfied by the traffic. “The men knows what they’re getting but the girls ‘ave a bit of rest between gents instead of entertaining them down here.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like the medallions,” Brace said, far more interested in those than in the portraits.

  She grinned, showing missing molars in the back of her mouth. “I had a protector when I was younger. An inventor. When he tired of me I asked for the clockworks instead of a little ‘ouse.” She waved her arm around. “This came from my last protector.”

  “You had a most successful career.” He found it difficult to see faded beauty underneath the paint, but it must have been there once.

  “Specialties like mine come dear,” she said with a wink. “There’s still men who ask after me, but I’m a creature of business now, as you can see.”

  He had no doubt of that, given her ruinous prices. “Speaking of business, I find myself quite enamored of Liza. I’d like to set her up for myself alone. Might I buy her contract?”

  The old whore brayed. “Not for anything less than two ‘undred.”

  Brace felt a bubble of panic lurch between his heart and his lungs. Was she mad? “Come now, my good woman. Let us be serious. She tells me she’s been with you nearly three years. The bloom is off the rose.”

  “But she’s a specialist, like me. We don’t get used up so quick.”

  “She’s covered with scars,” he countered.

  Mrs. Teagarden frowned. “I’ll have to take a look.”

  “I could pay you fifty,” he said, after quickly calculating how many friends he might be able to borrow from. He didn’t want her investigating, he wanted a deal now.

  “I might consider one hundred,” she said with a sigh.