Angel: an erotic short story Page 2

  “I haven’t had gingerbread in years,” she said.

  He offered his arm simply, no charming smile or gallant bow. She touched her fingers to his sleeve and felt that blush rise again. Stupid. She’d already been on her knees for him several times. This was all stupid, wasn’t it? But butterflies filled her stomach as they approached the next street and turned the corner.

  A white woman emerged from the shop ahead, and Melisande dropped her fingers from Bill’s arm. White men might not care about this sort of thing, but she could never be light-skinned enough to slip past a white woman’s scorn, not even here in New Orleans. She’d heard it was much worse in other places.

  Bill bought them two large pieces of gingerbread that steamed in the air as they strolled slowly up the street. The spice melted on Melisande’s tongue, and she moaned in pleasure. “That might be the finest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Tastes like Christmas, don’t it?”

  They walked to the river and sat on a wall there to watch the brown water slide by as they ate. Men worked on docks across the water, and she could hear a steady stream of Spanish punctuated with French curses from a warehouse not too far from their perch. Ships arrived and departed on Christmas day just as any other.

  “I saw the ocean once,” she said. “My mother and auntie took me when I was a little girl. It was blue as the sky.”

  “It changes every day,” Bill said. “One day it’s blue and glassy, the next churning up and gray.”

  There was something in his voice she’d always liked so much. She’d heard a hundred different accents in New Orleans. Sometimes it felt like the whole world flowed through here every day. But Bill’s accent was her favorite. He’d been born in Norfolk, he’d said, so he had a little Virginia in him, but there was his mother’s Irish brogue as well, and a touch of Orleans settling in.

  “Do you miss it?” she asked.

  “A little. But damn, it gets cold near the sea in winter, even in Virginia. Pardon my language.”

  She laughed at his strange chivalry as another bite of gingerbread melted on her tongue.

  “You’ve always lived here?” he asked.

  “Yes. Always.” She tossed a crumb to a curious gull and fed a bigger bite to herself.

  “Melisande.” He said her name so slowly that she turned in surprise to face him.

  “What?”

  “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She swallowed the sugary treat in her mouth and frowned as his words settled over her. She wasn’t beautiful. She knew that much. Her face was passable and her short body was curvy enough to please men who liked that sort of thing. “You don’t have to say that,” she said. She had no idea what he was playing at.

  He held her gaze her for a long moment before he turned back to watch a riverboat pass. “It brings me some sort of peace to see you,” he said.

  She stared at his profile in utter confusion. “I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.

  One of his big shoulders shrugged. “It’s just the truth. I know I’m only a customer to you, but you help me feel less alone in this city.”

  She couldn’t think what to say. Was it true he was only a customer? He came to her every two weeks now, and she always felt pleased to see him. He never just bent her over and took her. He touched her first. Got her ready. And unlike most of her customers, who came to her smelling of a day’s worth of sweat, at least, Bill always bathed before he came to see her. One more little courtesy that meant the world to her.

  But recently she’d felt more than pleased to see him. She’d felt happy. Because he brought some peace to her too. They’d lie together in the dark and talk after. She’d come to welcome his skin pressed to hers when normally she rolled from bed as quickly as possible unless the man complained.

  “I didn’t get you a gift,” she said instead of speaking to what he’d told her.

  His mouth curved up for a brief moment. “I didn’t expect a gift. I only wanted to bring you one.”

  “Would you like to go to my room?”

  He finally turned away from the river and met her eyes. “That’s not why I came today.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  His forehead crumpled as if he felt a sudden pain. “I should say no.”

  “Why? I’m asking honestly.”

  “Are you?” He studied her face until she became so nervous she had to smile and look away.

  “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas,” she said. “Come to my room for a while.”

  He finally nodded and stood to help her up. They stayed close together as they walked, though they didn’t speak again.

  She brought him in through the kitchen door. The maids were up and about now, but they barely glanced up. There was nothing scandalous about a strange man in this house.

  Big as he was, he had a soft step on the stairs, and she was relieved that he seemed to want to keep as quiet as she did as they stole down the hallway.

  He knew her room well, but he still stood uncertainly in the doorway as she locked her door behind them and hung her shawl on a hook. One of the maids had left clean sheets on the dresser just like any other morning.

  Melisande stripped off last night’s sheets and remade the bed, aware of Bill quietly watching. She unlaced her boots and placed them carefully under the chair in the corner, then unbuttoned her dress.

  When she went to hang it, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on her door and stopped to look at the necklace nestled at the base of her throat. It was so delicate. Pink and lustrous against her skin. She touched it and tipped her head up to let the shell catch more light. She slipped her chemise down her shoulders so all she could see was her skin and the ribbon around her neck and the pendant.

  Turning back to him, she removed the rest of her clothing and stood naked before him. He took her in with a hot, hungry look, but he didn’t grab for her. His hands stayed loose at his sides.

  She approached him slowly, easing his coat from his broad shoulders with flattened hands so she could feel the man beneath the cloth. His coat dropped to the floor and she reached for the buttons of his shirt. Before she could open half of them, he stilled her hands with his, then tipped her chin up.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered just before his mouth met hers. Plenty of men had kissed her in the course of her work, but no one had ever kissed her like this. Gently, carefully, his lips brushing over hers with no teeth or tongue or spit. He kissed her like she was precious instead of cheap. Priceless instead of easily bought.

  She was already naked. He could just open his trousers and push himself into her. He didn’t have to kiss her. But he did.

  And when his tongue finally touched hers, she whimpered, actually whimpered as if it weren’t the thousandth tongue she’d ever tasted. He was sweet and spicy from the treat they’d shared, and Melisande found herself pushing up on her toes for more of his mouth.

  His big hands moved to her back to cup her ass and when his mouth left hers, she gasped for air. The gasp melted into a sigh as he leaned down to kiss her neck, his teeth nipping a little at the skin beneath her ear. Arching her neck for more, she let him lay her back on the bed.

  She spread her legs and waited for him to stand and unbutton the front of his pants, but his mouth never left her. He kissed his way down her neck and chest until he drew one of her nipples into his mouth.

  “Ah,” she moaned as his tongue teased her. She twisted her fingers into his soft hair and pulled him closer. He was so careful and she wanted more. Bill groaned against her breast and sucked until her back arched off the bed. “Yes,” she urged him, opening her knees wider, wanting him to touch her there.

  She took his hand in hers and slid it down her belly. When his fingers found her, they both gasped. Even she was surprised by how wet she was, how sensitive. Bill lifted his head and looked down at her body as his fingers slid along her seam.

  When he went to his knees next to the be
d, Melisande’s eyes widened.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he murmured as his hands stroked up her thighs and spread her wide.

  She knew what he meant to do, but when his tongue touched her pussy, Melisande cried out in shock at the pleasure. Every muscle in her body tightened in surprise.

  Men had done this to her before. For some, it was all they wanted. To lick at her as they jerked their cocks. She’d hated it. It had felt too close. Too intimate, their tongues inside her, noses snuffling, eyes devouring parts of her she’d never even seen herself. She’d always just clenched her hands into fists and stared at the ceiling to wait for the inevitable grunting and groaning when they came. Still, that wasn’t enough for some of them, who’d leer afterward, demanding, “Did you like it? Did you love it, girl?”

  She’d hated it every time…but this time she didn’t. Bill teased her with little licks that made her strain closer to him. His tongue swept up over and over, dragging along that spot of pleasure that only a few men had bothered even touching before.

  Before Bill, she’d enjoyed sex with a few previous customers. It had been fine. Not awful. But this wasn’t fine…this was wonderful. Beautiful. Wild. She spread her knees further and lifted her head to watch him. His eyes were closed. His face relaxed. His big hand spread over her belly as the other gripped her thigh.

  She panted hard, straining toward the pleasure of his mouth.

  “Bill,” she gasped. “Yes. Yes.”

  She knew he wouldn’t sneer at her after, telling her how much she loved it. She could let him see the truth. Hear it. So she urged him on and clasped her hand harder to his head. “Right there,” she whispered. “Right there.”

  He licked faster, faster.

  The pleasure building up inside her was nothing she’d ever felt with a man. She’d climaxed on her own before, but never with another person. Her pleasure was too private to share. Too vulnerable.

  But she opened herself to him. Sighed and moaned and whimpered as he slid a finger inside her and sent her over the edge. A cry tore from her throat as the climax gripped her body, shuddering through her muscles. She pushed her hips up, up, up as if she could fuck more ecstasy from his tongue by getting closer.

  The pleasure worked itself from her body in waves until she finally quieted, her hips sinking slowly back to the bed. Bill raised his head, his eyes dark with passion, mouth wet from her pussy.

  Panting, she watched him for a long moment, too stunned to think what else to do besides wait for her thighs to stop trembling.

  Finally she smiled, and when he smiled back, she laughed in delight. This was just so strange. Strange and lovely.

  She managed to muster enough strength to sit and perch on the edge of the mattress. “Come on up here,” she drawled. Bill stood, and she reached to finish unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped his suspenders down as she tugged his shirt free.

  It took only a moment to unfasten his trousers, and then she reached into his drawers to wrap her hand around his cock. His sigh of relief made her smile again. He sounded like he’d just been saved from certain death.

  The first time Bill had paid her for sex, she’d winced at the sight of his penis. No whore wanted to bother with a big cock. It hurt. And she’d found men often liked that. With a wife or sweetheart they had to be more cautious, but with a whore they could wield that club as roughly as they wanted, no easing in or going slow.

  So the first time he’d come to her room to fuck her, Melisande had regarded him warily and hoped for only a few seconds of discomfort before he finished.

  But Bill had surprised her. Instead of climbing between her legs, he’d lain down next to her, his erection a hot brand against her hip. He’d touched her. Cupped her breasts, teased her nipples, and then he’d stroked her cunt. She’d frowned at the ceiling for a while, thinking this was all taking too long. But then she’d grown slick for him, and his fingers had slipped so gently over her, getting her even wetter. Her thighs had relaxed, her body soothed by his touch. When he’d finally knelt between her legs, she’d been ready even before she’d watched him smear her pussy juice over his shaft to make himself slick.

  Since then, she’d come to appreciate the beauty of him, and they both sighed when she drew him free of his clothing and stroked him. He was thick, yes, but he was straight and gorgeous and clean.

  She leaned forward to press a kiss to his belly, letting his cock slide along her cheek to tease him. She breathed him in, already familiar with his scent.

  “Melisande,” he whispered roughly. She felt his hands hovering close to her head and smiled.

  “Are you feeling impatient, mon cher?”

  “No,” he said. “Yes.”

  She flicked her tongue over the crown of his cock and listened to his breath hiss through his teeth. “Mm.” Instead of offering more of her tongue, she dragged her lips lightly down his shaft. “You usually like to take your time,” she whispered against him.

  “I can still taste you.”

  “Is that why you look hard enough to burst?”

  “Yes.”

  She made a sympathetic noise, but instead of taking him into her mouth, she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed. “You’re hard as iron.”

  “Yes.”

  This was fun. She could tease him and know he wouldn’t just grab her and fuck her when he tired of it. Bill wasn’t powerful or rich or charming. He was just good. Sweet. Wonderful.

  She eased his trousers down and waved for him to join her. Once he’d undressed, he lay down on her bed, and she straddled his muscled thighs. His cock strained against his belly, waiting for her.

  “I thought you’d hurt me,” she murmured. “The first time.”

  “Never.”

  “I know that now.” She dragged her palm lightly over his shaft, then down over his balls. He grunted in pleasure, pushing his cock up, wanting her touch again. “I thought this would hurt me…” She trailed her hand up again, over the crown, dragging her fingers through the slick liquid pearling at the tip. “But now I like the feel of it in me.”

  He groaned her name, but she kept teasing him even as his big hands settled on her thighs and gripped her. She wrapped her fist around him and stroked. His hips bucked up.

  “Do you like the feel of it in me?” she asked.

  “God, yes.”

  She rose up and shifted her body higher on his, then hovered over his cock, holding him just there. He lifted his head so he could watch as she lowered herself onto him. The tip slipped past her slick folds.

  He grunted and pushed up, but he was too thick to enter easily, despite her arousal. Melisande laughed. He’d never been so eager before.

  Her body stretched tight around him as she eased herself down. First just a tiny bit of him. Then an inch. His cock pushed her open. She closed her eyes and sank lower, feeling the way her body willingly took him in. Had she ever felt that before him? Truly?

  She breathed past parted lips, gasping as she reached the thickest part of his shaft and her hips settled flush with his. “Ah,” she sighed.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Bill’s gaze locked on her face. “You look like an angel,” he whispered.

  Her forehead crumpled. “How can that be true?”

  He shook his head and reached up to slide a hand behind her neck and ease her forward. She leaned her body into his and took the kiss he offered. “You’re a miracle,” he said against her lips.

  She wanted to scold him for his sacrilege, but she didn’t. It was too precious a gift.

  Once her body had relaxed around him, she rose up and watched his face as she began to fuck him. She rode him slowly, deeply, taking in all the pleasure of his hot eyes and tightening jaw.

  She’d never liked this position. She’d always felt too exposed. It was better when the man was behind her, where she couldn’t see him, or on top of her, covering most of her body with his. Being on top meant a man could see her face, her breasts, her cunt.

 
But she wanted Bill to see. His hands slid up her body and cupped her breasts. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, and a fierce bolt of pleasure shot through her. She liked the way her skin looked under his hands. Her nipples so tight and brown. She moved her hand down her belly and touched herself.

  His cock slid against her fingertips as she rubbed pleasure into her body. He was so hot from her pussy, so wet and slippery as he slid in and out of her. And unbelievably hard in the yielding softness of her sex.

  Tipping her head back, she rode him and pushed her pleasure higher and higher. His hands settled on her hips and gripped her tight so he could thrust up into her, faster, harder. Melisande concentrated on her own fingers, the tight, fierce pleasure she created for herself as he filled her over and over.

  He whispered her name. Told her she was beautiful. Told her she was everything. And at this moment she was. Even in this house, in this room, in this bed, where she took money to let men do anything they wanted…she was everything beautiful right now.

  The climax hit her suddenly. A hot rush of power that caught her by surprise. Melisande cried out, only vaguely aware of Bill thrusting hard, his own cry mixing with hers. Her pussy spasmed around him. Her hips shook. Her sobs of ecstasy eventually quieted, but the tears started then. They slid down her face and dripped onto his chest until he reached up and pulled her down to him.

  “Shhh. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

  “Don’t cry.” He kissed her forehead over and over and tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks. But in the end, she buried her face in his neck and wept, and Bill held her tight and let her.

  Chapter 3

  ‡

  After the morning they’d spent together, she knew he wouldn’t return that night, but Melisande still felt a stab of disappointment when she looked over the big parlor of the brothel and didn’t see Bill watching back from one of the chairs.

  Most nights the girls wore whatever they pleased, but tonight Madame had decreed that the men must be made to feel cozy for the holiday. Everyone, including Melisande, wore only their underclothes and corsets, as if they were girls caught getting ready for a Christmas ball. They’d even been given little ribbons to wear around their necks. Melisande had chosen green. The red ribbons looked too much like throats that had been slashed.