by Erin Hayes
Jared, sensing my discomfort, hurries through the pleasantries and hurries through checking in. Our room is on the third floor, and I let out a loud exhale as he opens the door and we're inside.
The place is, in a word, filthy. I've slept in worse places, but this is certainly not the kind of place I would normally want to spend the night in. As Jared lights a lamp in the corner and the room is cast in an orange glow, I see cockroaches scuttle away.
"Are you all right?" Jared asks, and I look back at him. He's silhouetted by the light from the lamp, his eyes are dark and hooded.
"I'm fine," I say. I smooth out my skirts and fight the sensation that there's something crawling up my legs. I've seen plenty of death and gore in my time, yet there's something about cockroaches that always makes my skin crawl.
Jared walks over to the adjoining bathroom and peers in. He looks back at me and gives me a wide smile. "There's even a bathtub in here. This is nicer than I thought it'd be."
Right. I suppose that is a good thing for a whore when you're about to service a client.
"Where'd ye like to do this?" I say, peeling off one of my gloves. "The bed? The bathroom? The floor?" That last option just popped out of my mouth, although I'm not against having sex on the floor, even with the cockroaches scuttling about. After all, I just want to get this over with as soon as possible.
I peel off my other glove and I set it on the vanity. I perch myself on the edge of the bed, hoping that I can make myself as enticing as possible for him. I sit forward just a little bit more so that he can get as best a view as possible of my breasts.
He only watches me in silence.
"We can do it bent o'er the vanity if ye like," I offer, wondering if he's looking for ideas. "Anything that pleases ye, sir."
And has me on my merry way.
He nods distractedly and passes a hand through his hair. "Well, I've...I've been on a ship for the past few months," he said. "I could really use a bath to get some of that grime off."
Shit.
I smile sweetly at him. "Would ye like me to help?"
He lets out a low laugh. "Well, I know that I smell bad, so I wouldn't want you to be subjected to that."
Of course, I chose the only sailor at the docks who cares what he smells like. I appreciate his consideration of me, but the longer I sit here, the more likely I'll lose my nerve with this entire endeavor.
I must look disappointed because he quickly amends his words, "Give me ten minutes, and I'll be right back. Is that all right?"
His boyish question almost makes me laugh. I hold it in. "'Course."
He gives me one last nod and disappears into the bathroom, and I get to my feet, suddenly nervous. Does a prostitute take off her own clothes for a client? Does she expect him to disrobe her?
In the end, I settle for a halfway point, where I remove my dress yet keep my corset and pantalettes on. I shiver as the cold air hit my skin. When did it get so dark outside?
And now, should I sit like a sultry goddess on the bed? Wait for him by the door and invite him into the bed?
Does he even want to do this on the bed?
I run my hands down my corset and adjust the way my breasts are situated within it, and I check to make sure that my hair is smooth and untouched.
I am a cool, calm, and collected working woman. I can do this. I can do this with a stranger, and this may be the only time I have to worry about this.
"Do not falter, Hazel," I murmur to myself.
The door to the washroom opens, and Jared steps out, freshly scrubbed and washed. Seeing him without the grime of the sea and the months of sweat and salt gone, I notice that he's even better looking than I had originally thought. His dark hair is smoothed back, and his blue eyes are bright as he watches me. He's more muscular, too, the months of hard work at sea sculpting his body to one that could compete with a marble sculpture.
A towel is slung around his waist, and I can't help my eyes as they wander down the planes of his chest to just above the cotton of the towel.
I swallow thickly. Well, at least it will be easy to enjoy this more than I had expected. Small blessings.
"Hi," he says shyly.
I smile at him. "Hi."
"I'm all clean now."
I nod. "I see that."
Neither of us move. I don't want to push this forward any faster than it needs to. I don't want to seem too eager. Yet, infuriatingly, he doesn't move either.
"How do we do this?" he asks finally.
I let out a breath. "Anyway you want."
He considers this, then looks back at me, more intently now, letting his gaze roam my body. I feel like I'm put out for him, like cattle on display at an auction. His scrutiny is uncomfortable.
Finally, he steps forward, closing the distance between us, and he puts his hands on my shoulders. My skin nearly jumps at his touch, and he hesitates.
"May I kiss you?"
I lick my lips involuntarily before I catch myself. Kissing is intimate, close.
Then again, what we're about to do is intimate. And if I close my eyes, perhaps I can believe that this is as real for me as it is for him.
"Yes." My voice is stronger than I expected.
He leans down to kiss me, and his breath tickles along my skin. I close my eyes, and I nearly convince myself that I want this.
Tentatively, he brushes his lips against mine, as if seeing if I'll run away. I manage to keep myself still as he explores. His kiss grows more confident, more fervent, and I inhale him deeply as his hands slide down my arms and down to my hips. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him close to me.
There's a sound. A moan.
It's coming from me.
He breaks the kiss as his hand comes up to my breast and massages it. He touches his forehead to mine, his eyes downcast, paying attention to his hand on my skin.
"Do you have—what do you English call them?—French letters?"
I blink, momentarily taken aback by the blunt question. A French letter—he means a prophylactic, and I'm momentarily amused that he knows the word for them. Of course, using a prophylactic is antithetical to my purpose, but I'm struck by the fact that he's concerned about conception.
The exact thing that I want. And I wonder if this is cruel, tricking him like this.
Don't worry about it, Hazel. You won't see him after tonight. He'll be none the wiser.
"I've been doing this for years," I drawl, using the excuse I had been practicing for days now. "Never had to deal with that. I'm barren."
Something akin to pity flits in his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It is what it is." I shrug, trying to keep my face straight. His concern is endearing and touches me. "It's to yer benefit, guv'nor."
He watches me for another long moment, before he kisses me tentatively on the lips. And whether it's his perceived concern for me or the fact I just want this over with, I surge forward and kiss him again.
No more talking. I need this done.
I unwrap the towel from around his waist, and it drops unceremoniously to the floor. And I nearly step back at the size of his manhood as it's revealed. I'd felt it earlier at the shipyards, but seeing his cock now, I'm taken aback. It's at half-mast, and it's still sizable.
Damn, my past sexual experience was nothing compared to this.
Jared grins. "Like what you see?"
"Yes," I say, and it takes me a moment to realize that I'm speaking the truth.
He closes the distance between our lips and kisses me again, now unhooking my corset and taking it off me. This close to him, I sigh deeply and close my eyes once again as his lips trail down the exposed parts of my body. I help him take off my corset and slip off my pantalettes, and he glances down at my body.
And he gulps, visibly.
Other than my stockings, I'm completely naked in front of him, and he only looks at me long and hard. In answer, his cock stiffens more. And, despite myself, I find that I'm aroused, too.
; "Let's do this on the bed," he says, his voice somewhat strangled.
But he doesn't move, like he can't take his eyes off me. So I must take this moment further. I push him backward, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sits down, and I keep going further. I crawl up onto his lap, straddling him. The hard length of his cock presses against me.
I kiss him, desperate. He holds my hips, holds me to him.
I shift, and I take his cock in my right hand, positioning him beneath me.
"Easy," he breathes.
And as I sink further, I know what he means. I let out a hiss as his tip pushes past my opening. It has been way too long since I was first with William. Almost like it’s my first time again.
Jared notices my grimace and holds my hips. "Are you all right?"
I meet his eyes and rally enough of myself to smile at him. "Wonderful, sir. Yer just bigger than I expected."
I'm certain that all prostitutes tell their clients that—every man likes to hear that they're larger than normal. Except, in Jared's case, it's true. And I'm beginning to realize that I may be in way over my head with this entire debacle.
He kisses me, taking me at my word, and allows gravity to take over again to enter me. As I slowly sink further, I feel myself stretching to accommodate his girth and size. He holds me to him, his hands a gentle presence on my back. I don't know where to look so I look into his eyes, at his gaze, which grounds me into the here and now. That brings a deeper connection to our actions, like we're connecting on more than just a physical level.
Once fully seated, I grasp his back, allowing myself to relax and open up to him. I've heard from midwives and family friends that a woman has to be relaxed in order to conceive. I'm not sure whether or not that's true—after all there are some mothers who I believe have never been relaxed—but I want to give myself the best odds possible for conceiving a child. I don't want to have to go through this again.
I don't want to have to bare my soul like this to anyone else ever again.
"Hey." Jared tilts my chin up to look into his eyes, and this queer swirl of emotions fills me as I look at him. Emotions that I hadn't thought I had. He studies my face for a long moment, as if debating on saying something or just letting this moment go by as planned.
I don't want him to doubt this union nor to doubt who I am. So I lean forward and kiss his lips again, crashing into him like the waves on the beach. He welcomes my kiss, and his tongue sweeps my mouth, filling my head and filling my womb with just him.
He starts to move then, using my hips to grind against him. Gentle at first, and I gasp because I can feel everything, from the way his cock slides in and out of me to the way his chest heaves against my breasts. My nipples are painfully erect as they brush against his skin, something that I hadn't expected to happen. He takes notice of this and cups my bottom with one hand while grabbing one of my aching breasts and gives it a squeeze. I bite my lip to keep from moaning, but he senses that I'm trying to fight it and kisses me again. Then he bends down and takes my nipple in his mouth and gives it a long, tempting suck.
I gasp at the contact.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, looking up at me. "So goddamned beautiful."
He truly believes those words. I've never heard them from anyone else, not even William. I was the more wanton one in that relationship. I got what I wanted out of it.
Just like I will get what I want out of this. And if it's more than a child, then so be it. There are no laws or rules that say that a woman can't enjoy sex. If Catherine's death has taught me anything, it's that I should enjoy the finer pleasures of life. I brought this American to my bed for one purpose, but I hadn't expected him to be so sweet. Or for these thoughts to be running through my head.
I'll be damned anyway. I might as well enjoy this last bit of pleasure before that's taken away from me, too.
"Love me," I whisper to me. "Tell me you love me." Lie to me. Make me believe those words like you believe that I'm beautiful.
He meets my eyes again and leans forward, into the crook of my neck. "I love you," he murmurs. "I love you..."
Something closes in the back of my throat, and I close my eyes, relishing those words for a moment, wrapping them around me like a warm blanket. They give me strength and hope. Even if they're a lie.
I push him down onto the bed and grind my hips against him, my need for him more raw and real than ever before. I need more of him inside me, faster and faster until my breasts bounce with our movements and sweat glistens our bodies. There's a noise that I don't recognize in the room, panting and moaning and half-startled crying—and I realize that it's me. He's making noises too, and he's holding onto me for dear life, but I'm the one bringing the charge for this.
A sensation builds within me at the rhythm of our bodies, increasing in strength and speed. I lean my head back with it, letting my hair cascade down, and ride it until I feel myself come undone. I cry out hoarsely as the orgasm hits me, tears springing in my eyes and I don't know which way is up or down, only that there's both pain and pleasure in this. I hear him grunt beneath me moments later before his hands around my hips clench hard enough to bruise. He arches back against the pillows and the sheets and calls out one word as he fills me with his seed: "Catherine!"
Hearing my sister's name acts as a reminder of what I just did, and shame burns me from the inside out, clearing away the fog of my orgasm. I feel my bottom lip quiver as I use the cover of darkness to lay down on the bed beside him, his still-hard cock inside me. I need to make sure that I don't lose any of his gift to me, so I unwrap my leg from the side of him and lay on my back, letting myself stay still for as long as possible.
I blink up at the ceiling, fighting back my tears, unable to believe that I just did that—I just made love to a complete stranger to conceive a child who will be doomed to a life of running and hunting like mine. Except, theirs will be worse, because they won't have a loving a father around.
What kind of a monster am I?
"Are you all right?" Jared props himself up on his arms to look down at me. He's silhouetted by the dark, so I can't read his expression. In that same vein, I hope he can't see mine.
"Yes, I am," I say, not bothering with my fake accent, feeling too weary to pretend anymore. "I'm fine. Thank you."
My gratitude isn't just for checking to make sure that I'm all right. It's for trusting me enough to have sex with him, even though I'm under the guise of a prostitute. It's for giving me a child that he won't ever know he'll have.
I see the shadows on his face shift enough to suspect that he's grinning down at me. "You're welcome," he murmurs. "I'll be right back."
My side immediately grows cold as he slips out the other side of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom. I roll away from the doorway as he turns the lamp on and shuts the door behind him. I stay still for another moment until I hear the water running for the bath. Will he expect me to come in after him? I don't want to wash myself if there's a chance of losing a drop of him inside me.
But there's no call from the bathroom to join him. And I admittedly feel a little sad that he doesn't call for me. Or say anything further.
Maybe, despite calling me beautiful and telling me he loves me, I truly was only a prostitute to him. A lady of the night, someone to fuck and to just forget later.
If so, then I need to leave before I get too wrapped up in all this. I need to believe that I was using him as much as he was using me.
I sit up—trying not to notice how sore I am and at the stickiness I have between my legs—pull on my undergarments as soon as possible before grabbing my clothes. A woman's clothing is not quick or easy to put on, but I at least have a cloak to wrap around me to cover up my less-than-proper dress. I cast one last glance around the room, making sure there's nothing of mine to leave behind for him to identify who I am.
And then I leave.
I manage to make it down three blocks toward home before I break down and cry.
10
Jared
Shit, I think I just told a working woman that I love her. What kind of amateur does that?
And the worst part is, I'm not sure that I was lying or that I simply said something in the moment. I think, for as little as Catherine and I have been together, that I have fallen for her as much as a man can in the space of a couple of hours.
It's silly, really. That I feel this way.
There's something so...vulnerable about her, something that makes me want to protect her and keep her safe from the world around her. She seems hardened by life, but not in the way that other prostitutes are. There’s just something different.
And that hardness reminds me a lot of myself. Like we’re kindred souls, and I'm just now processing everything that happened.
I sit in the hot soaking bath, my head propped against the rim of the tub, and blink up at the ceiling. I half-expected her to follow me in here, but perhaps that is outside of her job description.
One and done. And I ran to the bathroom like a coward.
I wonder what I could have done differently. Not told her that I was in love with her, sure. Regardless of my feelings—convoluted as they are—she might have been scared by my admission. How many men tell their prostitutes they love them within the throes of passion? She's probably heard it plenty of times, might even be laughing about it in the room now. Besides, she asked me to say it. I wonder what kind of prostitute would ask their bedmate to profess their love. Perhaps she needed to hear it, and that thought saddens me further.
I sit up out of the tub, the water sloshing around me. I should go out there, and...what? Apologize? Tell her that I didn't mean it?
Or maybe just talk to her. Get to know her a bit more before I panic and say anything else that is stupid.
I pad over to the towel, wrap it out around my waist again—for modesty more than anything else. She's already seen me fully naked, but to have a conversation with her, I need to have some sort of barrier or clothing. I open the door to the bedroom and turn toward the bed.
