The Harlot by Saskia Walker Page A

When she unwrapped it she found it full of what at first appeared to be bits of broken glass or stones. Of different colors, they would make pretty gems were they not quite so rough. She frowned. Perhaps that’s what they were—unpolished gems? Jessie had never seen such a thing and she held one up to the light, looking at it with curiosity. If he had traveled to foreign places, he might have brought these stones back. It made her want to ask him about the places he had been. And the women he had encountered.
    There was a small velvet purse as well, and inside it she discovered several small white stones. These she had seen before, and knew they were of great value. “Pearls,” she whispered.
    Restoring the contents to their former arrangement, she closed the lid and locked it. Reassured of her sponsor’s wealth, she decided she could rest easy about what he owed her. If he didn’t pay her, she knew where to find recompense.
    She sat down on the bed, then rolled across it.
    It was so much more comfortable than the narrow cot she had rested on the night before and that afternoon. This was a good horsehair mattress and there were pillows and a sturdy bolster for comfort. Her cot was a piece of sacking nailed to a wooden frame, and she would much prefer this bed. Reaching out for the blankets, she found them soft and well made. Wriggling into the place where he had dented the mattress the night before, she breathed in his manly scent and sighed.
    What would he think if he walked in now and discovered her in his bed? He might punish me again.
    She chuckled to herself. She had never been treated that way before—well, not as a grown woman. The fact that ithad happened with a lover, while they were in the midst of a lusty display of her talents, astonished her. His hand on her behind had not only distracted her from playing the part, it had heightened her need for relief. Even thinking about it now made her body ripple against the mattress. She pulled her knees up, feet flat to the bed, and let her skirts gather at her waist. With both hands, she stroked the inside of her thighs, imagining that he was standing there looking at her. He would shake his head at her, and tell her she was doing it wrong.
    â€œOh, my,” Jessie whispered, astonished at how quickly the notion of his chastisement made her lust flare. It was not something she’d ever imagined would happen to her, but when he took her in hand, she was fit for nowt that involved thinking.
    As for him, he’d looked like a man possessed. His body was rigid with strength, with restraint. He’d handled her without mercy, allowing her to feel his mood and forcing her to rise to his challenge. As she thought back over it, the need to touch herself went from a suggestion to a demand. Her hands moved down to the creases at the top of her thighs, and with her thumbs she opened up her folds, allowing the cool air to reach her inflamed bud.
    Rocking her hips, she imagined him at the end of the bed. Those brooding eyes of his grew darker when he was in a state of arousal, and she knew that he had enjoyed punishing her. Why, he’d moved his hand to her furrow to push her further into ecstasy. That was no punishment, and they both knew it.
    If only he had instructed her to sit upon his lap that morning and finish them both. His erection was polelike, and she’d have enjoyed nothing more than following that instruction. The thought made her cunny clench. Deep inside, at the pit of her belly, the ache of longing swelled.
    Her bud was swollen, and she swiped her fingers through the juices that were gathering between her folds, and circled it, remembering as she did the way he had licked his fingers clean after they had been inside her. There was no doubt he had enjoyed that. Pumping her fingers faster, she bit her lower lip.
    When she reached her pinnacle, it was with the image of Mister Ramsay striding over to her side, opening his breeches