Page 3 of House of Sin
I give her a quick wink, and she returns the favor before I walk over to the rowdy table to my left. A group of men, covered in soot from the mines, is seated at the table, with their attention focused on one young man, hunched over in the corner. I walk up to a pile of money being gathered in the center of the table as the older men lay a few slaps on the young man’s back.
“How you gentleman doin’ tonight?” I ask in my sweetest voice.
The young man hiding in the corner doesn’t look up at me, and I’m instead greeted by one of the older three.
“Just fine ma’am, just fine.” He cocks his head in the young man’s direction and says, “This here is Timothy. He just started at the mine this week, and we thought we would welcome him by paying for his first whore.”
I take my hands off my hips and walk around the table to face young Timothy, who looks so much like my boy that it takes my breath away.
“Pleased to meet you, Timothy,” I say, holding my hand out. He takes it and looks up at me with shy eyes, and I crouch down so we are face-to-face.
“You know, you don’t have to sleep with anyone if you aren’t ready,” I whisper, so that the other men can’t hear. “You could always just tell them that’s what happened,” I suggest, quickly tipping my head towards the three men at the table with the pile of cash. This seems to capture his attention, and he gives me the slightest smile before nodding in agreement.
“Good,” I say while patting his hand and standing back up. This time when I speak, it’s louder so that the entire table hears me.
“I have a real pretty young thing that I’d like to introduce you to.” And I whistle for Violet to come over to the table. Violet is the youngest girl at The Oily Cat, with baby blue eyes, blond hair, and innocent features. She resembles a Victorian doll with her youthfulness and perfectly smooth pale skin.
I introduce the two of them, making sure to explain the rules to our newcomer. “Violet, this is Timothy,” I say before adding, “he’s a little shy and was hoping to spend the evening with you, if that’s alright?” I nevermake my girls go with someone they aren’t interested in. It is always their choice. Violet looks at Timothy for a moment before a sweet smile creeps onto her face and she nods in acceptance.
“Timothy, honey, Violet charges fifteen dollars for the night and an extra ten dollars for an hour of talking and getting to know one another at the bar before heading upstairs.”
He gives me an eager nod, and the guys at the table grin proudly. They hand Timothy the pile of money that they pooled together, and he hands it over to me. I count it out loud and find that there is an extra five dollars. The men hold their hands out as if expecting me to return it, but instead I tuck it in between my breasts and say, “I’ll take this as my finder’s fee. Appreciate you gentlemen stepping into The Oily Cat this evening, and if you should need any other services, you know where to find me.” I give them a look that says,Try me, before defeat etches itself across their faces and they turn back in their seats toward one another, drinking what remains in their mugs.
I steer Violet and Timothy toward two empty stools at the bar counter and encourage them to get to knowone another before excusing myself to check up on Maeve and Mr. Cromwell. Gathering my skirt in my hands, I climb the stairs, pausing just outside the second door on the right, just in time to hear it.
Crack!
A sound that doesn’t belong to sex and a whimper that does not come from pleasure. I compose myself, then open the door and step inside.
“Mr. Cromwell! I hope you don’t mind that I let myself ...” I don’t even get the full sentence out before I’m paralyzed by the image before me. Maeve is kneeling off to one side of the bed, trying to bring herself to stand, but her eye is swollen shut and I can’t tell if the blood that is dripping down her face and onto her breasts is from her nose or her mouth—both of which are bleeding steadily. Her dress is torn, and bruises are already starting to form around her wrists and the bite marks covering her breasts.
“We’re just having a little fun,” Mr. Cromwell explains, looking from Maeve and back toward me. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?” He asks her.
She turns in my direction, but with only one good eye and the other swollen shut, I doubt she sees me clearly. Still, I move to her, burying the fury I feel for Mr. Cromwell. He’ll see it soon enough.
I say nothing as I reach her, drape the bed blanket around her trembling shoulders, and press a kiss to her temple.
“I’ll take care of this,” I whisper.
Then I guide her gently to the door, hand steady on her back, and once she’s through, I close it softly behind her.
“Now, I paid good money,” Mr. Cromwell snaps. “I expect my full night.”
I let out a soft, almost imperceptible huff and turn to face him, schooling my features into something sweet before I offer up a smile. “Of course,” I say gently. “Let me make it up to you.”
I clasp my hands behind my back, tilt my head just enough to seem playful, and meet his gaze with icy-blue eyes peeking through my lashes. He pretends to be annoyed, like this is all beneath him, but I see the shift. The glint that tells me I have piqued his interest.Game on, bitch.
I wait, letting him make the first move, which doesn’t take long. He steps toward me slowly, that repulsive grin spreading across his face as he strokes himself, already imagining he’s in control. “How do you want me?” I ask, voice soft and laced with practiced shyness, playing the game that will ultimately end his life.
“On your knees,” he demands, and I drop down slowly, holding his gaze the entire time.
His hand snakes to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair before clenching tight. Then, without warning, he forces himself into my mouth with a brutal thrust that brings tears to my eyes. I close them instinctively, trying to steady my breath. My throat tightens, my body tenses, but I push the reaction down. I will myself not to gag, not to flinch, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.
“Open your eyes,” he grunts.
Looking up at him, I see his cold eyes watching me, pinning me in place. I wrap my left hand around the back of his thigh, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin, while my right grips him firmly at the base, matching the slow rhythm of my mouth as it movesback and forth, steady and controlled. I want him to feel every inch of my defiance that I’ve disguised as obedience.
Just before I pull away, I drag a firm flick of my tongue over the tip, watching his expression shift between pleasure and restraint. I keep my hand moving over him, slower now, tracking the subtle changes in his breathing.
