Jack's Hellion

by Eliza Lloyd

  His gaze cut back to the two men who hauled the wild package up the stairs. He stared for a moment, wondering how willing some of Jade House’s women really were.

  Katie, the whore with him, seemed unconcerned. “Just a runaway.” She cupped Jack’s face and planted kisses along his jaw. “Now, where were we?”

  “I think you were about to suggest we find a room for ourselves.” He closed his mouth over hers and plunged his tongue deep. He visited Jade House once a month or so. The girls were clean, curiously eager and extremely beautiful. He pulled away. “But first, I want some of that very fine Highland Scotch.”

  Once the girl fetched a glass, she wiggled back into his lap and proceeded to demonstrate her talents while he relaxed enough to enjoy them.

  Eighty-four days until he got married.

  In three hours, eighty-three days he’d be married—bound, dutified, respectable. Jack could drown himself in the bottle, but no amount of drinking or whoring was going to change the fact. His word had been given; contracts had been signed.

  He had been perfectly happy being the reprobate nephew of an earl. Then his cousin had to go and drop dead, shifting the earldom to Jack’s father’s line. Both his uncle and his father had nearly squeezed the blood from him forcing him into this reputable corner. Jack’s cheeky answer to his father involved something to the effect—he thought he was a tad drunk when he said it. “Tell the bastard to find a new wife and get her breeding or he can go bugger himself. I’m not marrying”.

  Turns out, he was marrying. Nothing against Catherine Jennison, but the thought of chains binding him forever...

  Forever.

  He shivered, swallowed the rest of his drink and asked for more.

  The usual reprobates were in attendance—heirs to fortunes who had no useful endeavors to occupy them. The debaucheries at Jade House satisfied the crushing ennui that seemed to follow the purposeless. Jack had never believed he would inherit and had diligently pursued his fortune and secured his future in shipping. He didn’t own ships, but he had invested wisely.

  Jack had his reasons for being here, insane and improbable as those reasons were.

  Jade House was one of the most expensive and exclusive brothels in London. The house was known for its odd specialty. During one twelve-hour visit, and for one extremely steep payment, a man could fuck as many of the girls as he had the energy to endure. The idea was intriguing; however, Jack didn’t have one thousand pounds to waste on a string of girls that might not, sad to say, get him past the third erection. But if Jack guessed rightly, Tiny Etherton did it as a ploy to boost a man’s ego and line her corset with gold.

  Jack’s healthy ego needed little encouragement and Katie’s red, bow-shaped mouth was going to boost his ego no small whit.

  Katie’s fast hands had dipped inside his tight trousers and somehow found room to maneuver. Her palm slid across the thickening flesh. Jack squirmed under her touch.

  “I need a room, Katie, or I’m going to shag you in front of the other patrons.”

  “Tiny wouldn’t mind. She’d just charge the others for the show,” Katie said and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

  She jumped from Jack’s lap and clasped his hand, all the while smiling encouragements.

  He followed, his gaze riveted on her tight arse visible through the lacy gown she wore.

  Inside the green room, Jack plucked at his cravat while Katie poured another glass of whiskey. She slipped off her robe, he his jacket, before she approached with the half-full glass of fortitude.

  “Come, Jack, sit down. Let me make you comfortable.”

  He lowered himself into the fat lazy chair and sprawled, his legs out and spread, his head leaning against the overstuffed headrest. Katie tugged at his shirt, straddled his legs and then caressed his stomach. Her fingers danced over his skin and the faint ridges of muscles. His groin tightened in anticipation.

  She worked his exposed flesh and then slid lower until her knees were on the floor. Her mouth curved into a smile, she licked her lips and then slid the moist hotness of her mouth over the length of his cock.

  No matter who or how, Jack’s thoughts always turned to the delicious decadence of the mouth belonging to one Imogene Farrell. He’d searched every whorehouse in London hoping to find her. She’d disappeared like the proverbial smoke, only it was Stygian smoke, and it had swallowed her up.

  Imogene’s face faded in a shattering mist as Katie’s tongue stroked along his hard shaft.

  Jack’s lazy concentration was broken by the dull sound of arguing. He tried to refocus on Katie’s blonde hair and her overly large breasts that spilled forward and jiggled with every movement. He sat up and cupped her abundance, kneading, losing himself in the soft flesh that appealed to boys the moment they left the womb and appealed to men the moment they realized breasts were hidden under a girl’s clothes.

  And always the desire to get to them.

  The disturbance sounded again along with a high-pitched squeal. Jack squirmed in the chair, dislodging his cock from Katie’s mouth. As delightful as the next few minutes would be, they would have to wait. Jack was not one to leave a door unopened, as evidenced by his near mindless pursuit of an orphan girl he wanted to shag. He was going to be so disappointed if he ever found her. No woman could live up to his lofty sexual expectations.

  Katie gripped his hips and latched on with renewed enthusiasm when she saw his interest wane.

  He clutched her shoulders and when that didn’t move her, he slipped his finger in her mouth and pried his cock free. “Katie, give me a minute, would you?”

  “But Tiny said—”

  “Tiny says to keep your customer happy and I’m happy. Now get those clothes off and climb into bed like a good girl. Once I get back, I’ll let you fuck me as many times as you want.”

  That seemed to please her and she bounced off, stripping her clothes as she went. His cock jumped a bit at the idea of getting to the job right now instead of opening his door and listening in the hallway.

  But listen he did. The muffled sound came again. Just as he was about to step into the hallway, men emerged from a far door and the last one turned and locked the portal behind him.

  Jack raised a brow at the challenge, but stepped back into his room, closed the door and waited for the sound of the footsteps to pass by. The sounds he might have been able to ignore. The ruckus downstairs and the furtive movements plus a locked door in a whorehouse—never.

  He debated a moment and then returned to Katie, who’d plumped up the pillows and positioned herself invitingly on the bed. Her long legs and rounded hips begged for his touch. Jack nearly groaned knowing the feast was going to have to wait.

  “Katie, I need a hairpin.”

  Within a minute, he was at the end of the hall, kneeling in front of the door and plying the hairpin at the lock. As he worked at it, he decided jimmying a lock was not unlike pleasuring a woman. One had to get the pin just so, just a little deeper, there, turn the wrist just this way. Click. And there you have it.

  He grabbed the handle and slipped inside.

  On the bed, tied wrist and ankle, lay a most delectable naked woman. The gag in her mouth prevented words. Her hair was longer but chopped in messy layers.

  But the flaming gaze spoke volumes.

  Jack glanced a second time and then he smiled. Before he could stop himself, he laughed. “Imogene Farrell, where the hell have you been?”

  He took in every inch of her bare flesh, warming to the sight of Imogene’s lush breasts. There was a God and He’d fashioned Imogene Farrell with the eyes of a temptress and the body of a goddess. Her breasts alone could keep a man happy into his dotage.

  He strode toward her and reached for the gag, pulling it from her mouth. She fought against her bonds and her gaze tore him to shreds. She bounced and shook with everyone movement. A cold bucket of water could not have put out the flame that burst in his breeches.

  “You can just put
those eyeballs back in your head. I ain’t the first naked woman you ever seen.”

  Imogene’s heart had stopped when Jack walked in the door, but that didn’t stop her mouth. “Damn them all to hell and back again. Twice. I swear if there is a God in Heaven I will find every one of them and cut their stinking, thieving, filthy—”

  Jack shoved the gag back in her mouth. She nearly exploded with rage and bucked against her restraints, the mattress squeaking in protest.

  “Imogene, if you don’t quiet down, Tiny and her men will be back up here in a wink to find out what’s going on. Do you want that?”

  She shook her head vigorously—the only thing she could do until Jack freed her, at which point she’d cut off his balls.

  He sat on the bed beside her. His gaze laughed with sparkling humor and he tried to keep the smile from his face. Damn his eyes. Damn his smile. Damn him. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Now, I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer them.”

  Through the muffled rag she told him to “go to hell,” as if he would understand.

  “That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me. So, did you run away from Tiny?”

  She bit down and shook her head in vehement denial.

  “Did you sell yourself to her?”

  She widened her eyes, unable to believe his perfectly insane questions, but shook her head again.

  “Have you been whoring for someone else?”

  He had no right to ask such things. She turned her face away, unwilling to look at him or acknowledge his question.

  Jack’s hand clasped her chin and he gently but firmly turned her face to his. “I am only going to help you if you tell me the truth. Otherwise, I’ll be happy to return to my room and fuck that lovely whore gracing my bed. Now, do you want my help?”

  Help her? My God. Jack. He could help her. He would know people who could free Frank from Newgate. He had money. He was a man of influence and position. The next time she saw Charlie, she was going to have him thank God for this blessing and maybe she would pray that Jack didn’t catch a pox after all.

  She nodded vigorously, but decided then and there to stop fighting him.

  Jack was here. Jack. Was. Here. Tears sprouted like rain after spring planting.

  “Have you been whoring for someone else?”

  She closed her eyes, making the tears run harder, and shook her head.

  “Do you want me to help you?”

  She nodded yes until he reached for the rag again. As soon as he removed it, she said, “Thank you, Jack. Thank you. Please, I need your help. Desperately.”

  “How desperate?” The despicable smile was back. No doubt he was already contemplating what form of repayment his help would involve. And she didn’t care. If he wanted a fuck, that’s what he’d have.

  She had to bite back the sharp words that rushed to the fore. She’d keep a civil tongue until he untied her and she had clothes on her body.

  “Oh wait. I’m the rescuer. I get to decide what my reward will be.” He grinned as if he’d just tasted his first apple tart. “And I can tell you’ve got something to say about that.”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She mimicked Mrs. Holland and said, “Would you be ever so kind and untie me?”

  “Not until we come to an agreement. Which is... Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Fuck me if you want, but stop teasing me. It’s a matter of life and death to me, so get on with it.”

  “All right. For the next eighty-three days, you are going to be my mistress. Anything I want, any time, at my pleasure.” He worked at the knots binding her wrist. Slowly. Deliberately goading her into further impatience.

  “And what do I get out of this charming arrangement, besides an aching jaw and dirty knees?”

  He laughed but then turned serious. “Imogene, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to find you.”

  “Why eighty-three days?”

  “Because on the eighty-fourth day, I get married and then leave for a six-month Continental tour with my new bride. Delightful as that sounds, I have other plans until the day my freedom is pried from me.”

  Imo wished she’d stopped at the scaffolding at Newgate Prison, climbed those steps and wrapped one of those nooses around her neck. “No,” she said with fixed determination.

  “No?” Jack said. “It doesn’t look to me like you have much choice.”

  “There’s always a choice and I choose not to. Tiny can sell me to the highest bidder and they can fuck me until I’m bleeding. I don’t care. And I don’t agree.”

  He gripped her chin. “You foolish, reckless girl. They’ll do much worse to you, take my word for it.”

  “No,” she said again.

  Frank would be hanged in a few days, she was tied to one of Tiny’s whoring beds and all she could feel was burning jealousy? Jack didn’t give a rat’s arse about an orphan girl. He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to win whatever contest they were waging at the moment and he wanted to walk away when it was done to be welcomed into the loving arms of his bright and shiny virginal bride. To hell with him.

  Jack stared for a few minutes. Not at her nakedness, at her. “You said you were desperate. A matter of life and death. Why do you need my help?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m naked, tied to a bed and about to be raped by the man who purchases my virginity. And you know what’s really sad? He won’t even do a good job. He’ll fumble around with his cock and once he gets it inside, he’ll shoot like a falling star.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Imogene. You really ought to control that tongue of yours.”

  “’Cepting when it’s wrapped around your cock?”

  “For some reason I thought you might be glad to see me. Seems I was gravely mistaken.” He stood beside the bed and stared at her, this time taking in every detail of her nakedness. “I wish you luck with your endeavors.”

  Jack bowed before he pivoted away and walked boldly to the door. He wasn’t going to leave her! He wasn’t.

  He opened the door, stepped through and closed the door behind him.

  He wasn’t really going to leave her here like this. She counted to ten. Then counted to twelve. “Jack! You arse! You’re not leaving me here,” she whisper-shouted.

  Jack was leaving her here!

  She struggled against the bindings in a fit of madness. “Jack! Jack, don’t go. I didn’t mean it. Come back.”

  Just as she was about to scream his name again, the door opened and he stepped back through, but he didn’t come toward her.

  “Eighty-three days,” he said.

  “Fine. Eighty-three days. You still pay me the five hundred pounds I want and you have to help save my brother from hanging.”

  * * * * *

  Jack finished removing the ties from her right hand. “Is your word good, Imogene?”

  “Like the voice of God. I said I will and I will.”

  She seemed the sort of girl who could comprehend a gentleman’s agreement. “On your honor.”

  She spit in her palm, slapped her palm against his, shook his hand and repeated, “On my honor.”

  He liked to have all the cards in his hand and sought to seal the deal more firmly.

  “On the life of your brother.”

  The hesitancy was there, but she said, “On the life of my brother who only you can save and if something happens to him, it’s on your shoulders and there will never be forgiveness from me or—”

  “Yes, yes. Put out my eyes, curse me to hell. Can we get on with it?”

  They shook again. Jack bent and pressed his lips to hers to seal the deal in his own way.

  Well, nothing like pressure to perform. With all that responsibility, he wondered if he’d be able to shag her proper. Well, yes, he would if the surging erection between his legs was any indication—and it always was.

  He wasted no time untying her legs and she worked on the bindings at her other wrist. Both of her wrists were chafed raw and she sat up in the bed, ru
bbing one hand and then the other. The Venus had no idea how she looked, rumpled and naked. Her hair, longer now, tumbled from the top of her head to her shoulders in a heap of tangled, messy glory. Her breasts begged licking and, were this a more appropriate time and place, he would have indulged. The particulars of their agreement weren’t exactly clear, but he thought that could all be smoothed out after the first shag. Or second or third. And far, far away from Jade House and Tiny Etherton.

  “Well, how do we get you out of here, Miss Farrell?”

  “I walk out the door, that’s how.”

  “It might be a good idea to put some clothes on first.”

  “Oh,” she said and slid off the bed, exposing every bit of flesh to view and not caring one bit. For a moment he wondered if she really was a virgin.

  But he still remembered the first time with her. There was a sexual naturalness about her. Even in her innocence, she exuded sensual desires and promised pleasures. He remembered thinking that she was born to an erotic existence, only he wanted to be the one to watch the flower blossom as she came to life.

  Jack went to the window and glanced out. The street was dark except for one dim night light at each end. He saw the night watch propped in place, uncaring and oblivious to the fact a girl had been forced into this house against her will. Jack’s coach, along with seven others, was parked on the street, waiting for the master to return and to wheel him home.

  She was dressed by the time he turned around.

  “Well, let’s go,” she said.

  “Imogene, come here, please.”

  For once she obeyed without using her mouth to object. He took her hand.

  “Look out the window.” He pulled back the heavy, velvet curtain. “See that carriage. The second one is mine. When you leave the room, go to it. There’s a boot inside with blankets and such. Climb in and don’t say a word until I get there. I have a few things to work out with the madam.”

  She pulled away from the window and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like small spaces. I’ll wait with you.”