Harlot by Victoria Dahl

deep like a beast. Caleb’s stroking fingers went still. Then they firmed on her hips, turning from a touch to a grip.
    Jessica pressed harder, rolling her hand against the ache, moaning as sharp, sweet need shot through her.
    Caleb pulled back and then sank a little deeper. “Yes,” he growled. “Give me this, Jess. Give me everything.”
    “Yes,” she answered, the word a broken gasp.
    “What you gave to other men.”
    “ Yes ,” she lied.
    He moved slowly within her, in and out, a careful slide. His cock pulled at her stretched, burning flesh, sending ripples of sensation that pressed from inside her while her hand pressed from the outside. The pleasure squeezed her.
    She cried out, wanting to claw her way to that peak she’d reached before.
    “Do you like this too, Jess?”
    His fingers dug into her skin. His hips moved faster, still careful though, still smooth and easy.
    “Do you like it like this? In your ass?”
    Oh, God. She circled her hand faster, the pleasure twisting harder inside her while her mind spun with it. How good it felt. How wrong it was. How filthy and sinful and dirty. “With you,” she finally moaned.
    “What?”
    “With you. I like it with you.” She forced the words past her dry throat. “I like it. I need it. With you.”
    “Jesus, yes,” he hissed. His thrusts got a little rougher, and she didn’t care. She pushed her fingers into her pussy and cried out. There was nothing in the world now but the pleasure building, building. Nothing but his cock shoving everything out of her until she was pure again. Pure and filthy and swelling up with it.
    “I need it. Please. Please. Please .” The pressure squeezed too tight, and she broke with a scream of joy and shock and desperation. A feral cry tore from her as that pressure broke open and rolled through her in wave after wave.
    She heard Caleb’s grunt as if he were very far away. She felt his cock jerk and pulse inside the tight ring of her flesh. She pressed back to take him deeper as her own climax continued on, the waves gentling little by little.
    She loved it. This was what she was. “Please,” she panted into the pillow. “Please. With you.”
    Caleb’s breath broke like a sob. He shuddered behind her, his grip firm enough to leave bruises. Jessica slipped her fingers out of her body and dragged them along her slit for a last taste of shivering pleasure. Her muscles spasmed one more time.
    “Jess,” he sighed, a final gasp of intimacy to fuel her sad imagination. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then his hands relaxed their grip. He slid slowly free of her body, the sensation making her hold her breath.
    She let herself fall to the mattress. She was empty now. And cold. Caleb settled the covers over her, but she didn’t feel warmer. Her body was done. Limp with exhaustion.
    She heard him wash again. Heard the rustle of his clothing as he dressed. The rain had stopped. He could leave.
    She tried not to feel devastated when he did.

Chapter 9
    ‡
    Caleb was having trouble concentrating on the conversations that danced around him. The voices blended into the birdsong and fiddle music and rustling leaves. None of it felt real. His real self was still in that bedroom during the storm with Jessica.
    “Caleb,” his mother scolded, drawing his unwilling attention.
    He squinted to see her shaded face against the sunlight. Her bonnet created a foot-wide circle of darkness.
    She tut-tutted at him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late last night. You look ready to fall asleep, and it’s my birthday picnic.”
    “I’m sorry, Mother. Can I get you another glass of lemonade?”
    “No, sit with me a while,” she said, patting the delicate chair beside her.
    Caleb could remember a time when their picnics had been nothing but blankets on dirt, but that life was not for her anymore. She was happy. He wouldn’t begrudge that what made her happy caused him to squirm like a pinned bug. His mother loved him, and she