The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

“That I kissed him?”

“No, that he wants you. Do you want him, too, Avilon?”

She met his gaze and couldn’t look away. She had expected derision, or perhaps mockery, yet what she saw in his bright green eyes was acceptance. Maybe even relief.

“I don’t understand myself anymore,” she told him quietly. “I’ve behaved shamelessly, first with you and then with him.”

“There’s nothing shameful about wanting someone,” he told her. “Or, in our case, about wanting two men. Eli can do things for you, to you, that I can’t. And vice versa.”

That intrigued her. She hadn’t actually thought of it like that. “Like what?”

He smiled at her, a wicked slash of his lips. “Eli likes being dominant in the bedroom,” he replied, his voice dropping to an intimate caress. “He’ll bring you to pleasures you’ve never even dreamed about. Perhaps he’ll tie your arms and bend you over as his cock takes your pussy. Maybe he would tell you to get on your hands and knees and order you to give him a blow job.”

Avilon felt heat engulf her face as words failed her. She swallowed, trying to push down the large lump that had formed in her throat.

“Are you shocked, love?”

She nodded. “I…ah…I’ve never heard those words before,” she finally managed to whisper.

“Do you know what they mean?”

“No. At least, not all of them.”

He took her hand. Slowly, he maneuvered it down his body, to his groin, where she felt him, hard and heavy, straining against his pants.

“This is a cock,” he explained. “And this cock wants very much to bury itself inside your pussy.”

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “And…that last word?”

“A blow job is when you take a cock into your mouth and suck it like a piece of candy until it melts.”

“Oh,” she replied, her voice breathless.

Jason raised his hand to cup the back of her neck, pulled her firmly against his body, and took her mouth with his. His firm lips teased hers apart until his tongue swept in to dance with hers. Avilon breathed in his scent, an intoxicating blend of male and raw sexuality, and raised her arms to encircle his neck. He shifted his foot forward and inserted his leg between hers. Through her skirts she felt the hard ridge of his cock and, before she could even think about what she was doing, parted her own legs and brought him flush to the area where she needed him the most.

One of his hands cupped her breast and squeezed lightly, flicking over the area where her nipple had hardened. She half wondered if he could feel the nub through her clothes.

“Mmm,” she gasped.

It took only a moment for him to flip her skirts up and ease his calloused fingers up her inner thigh, sliding over her sensitive skin with featherlight teasing. When he touched her curls surrounding the spot that pulsed for him the most, she was surprised that his hand didn’t get singed from the heat.

“And this,” he murmured against her ear, “is your pussy. Your delicious, wet pussy.” She meant to close her legs, but he shook his head. “No, let me. Please. Trust me, Avilon.”

Slowly, she relaxed. His finger dipped inside her curls, teasing before it found a rhythm that quickly escalated the fire in her blood.

“Feel this?” he asked as he flicked over the bud that throbbed with need. “This is your clit, and all I want to do is draw it into my mouth and suck on it until your cream flows into my mouth.”

The words enflamed her, the mental picture so stimulating that her body almost convulsed. Then he slipped another finger inside her as his palm applied just enough pressure to make her writhe. In and out he pumped with his hand, her hips mimicking as she gasped.

“Let go, love,” he whispered, and she felt his lips brushing over her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined. I can just picture you clenching around my cock as you ride me.”

In and out his fingers pumped as he managed to rub her clit at the same time. Seconds later, her body tensed as waves of energy rolled over her, making her light headed. Stars exploded as every nerve ending blazed. Avilon was helpless to do anything but ride it out, humping his hand, which still tantalized her pussy.

Every bone in her body liquefied. She would have melted onto the floor if Jason hadn’t been holding her up. Contentment filled her, and all she wanted to do was purr. When he finally withdrew his hand, she didn’t want him to leave, so she wrapped her arms around him. She felt his erection and gasped. She pulled back to stare at him with wide eyes.

“Jason? Does that…hurt?”

He gave a long-suffering little moan. “Yes, actually. All the blood seems to have drained from my brain because the only thought I have is that I want to lay you on that bed and fuck you until we pass out.”

She blinked, and he stepped back from her. Her hands fell from him to hang limply at her sides.

“And as much as I want to obey those primitive instincts,” Jason muttered, “I don’t want to completely overwhelm you. So I will take myself from you right now, let you finish mending that dress and digest what happened.”

When he got to the door, however, he turned back to her.

“But this is your only saving grace.”

And he closed the door behind her with a decisive click.

If Jason thought she’d be able to concentrate after that little scene, he was sadly mistaken. Her body refused to cooperate and settle. For the first time in her life, she yearned, and she finally figured out why women succumbed to men. She wanted his hands on her, wanted him to finish all those promising little things he was teasing her with.

She gave up trying to sew and decided to have something to eat. Perhaps settling her rumbling stomach might settle the need blooming deep in her…well, her pussy. Heat bloomed across her face at the thought of the word and how she had learned it.

The kitchen was active with people preparing the evening’s meals, but she smiled at one of the cooks and asked if she could have tea and biscuits to take upstairs. Balancing the heavy tea set, she navigated carefully up the stairs.

But she almost dropped the whole ensemble she carried as she saw the bruise engulfing Annabel’s left side of her face, the majority of the swelling centered around her eye. The sleep mask had hid the horrendous blackening of the skin. Quickly, she set the delicate china on the dresser to hurry over to her friend.

“Annabel! What happened?”

“Fucking john decided to be a little rough with me,” she said angrily, though the words were a little garbled. “Face is okay, but he bruised my ribs. I’m gonna lose at least a week’s worth of money because of this.”

“You won’t get paid for a week?”

Annabel looked at her as if she was crazy. “No man wants to hump someone looking like this and can’t hardly move worth a damn.”

“But you should still get paid,” Avilon argued. “From Mr. Masters.”

Annabel gave a bitter little laugh. “You don’t get it, dearie. The only money we earn is what we make on our backs. The more johns we coax upstairs, the more we earn for him.”

“But that’s not right.”

“Yeah?” Annabel demanded, anger darkening her face. “Just how thick are you? Nobody cares about us. We’re whores, the lowest scum on the earth, hell, maybe even lower than the Chinese. I started spreading my legs when my father sold me for rent money when I was ten. And every day was a struggle until I was lucky enough to get hired here. I have a steady roof and steady food, but only if I make enough money every night to justify my keep. Do you get it now, Avilon?”

Avilon felt tears gather in her eyes. First the attitude from the sheriff, and now this. It was almost more than she could bear.

“Do you think upon yourself that way? That you’re nothing?”

Annabel shrugged and ran a hand through her mussed hair. “Just get out of here. I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou routine.”

“What can I do to help you?”

“I said get the fuck out of here! Are you deaf, too?”

Avilon swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. “No. I just…Please, what can I do to help you?”

“Come on, Avilon, a woman like you has no idea what it’s like for someone who was born a nothing.”

“Don’t! Don’t use your past as an excuse. My sister wasn’t born a nothing, and yet here I am, figuring out her life and what brought her to a club like this in San Francisco. Desperation leads to desperate circumstances, I get that, but never think of yourself as less than a person.”

“Pretty words, dearie, but Eli Masters only cares about the money I can make him.”

Avilon frowned, suddenly unsure. She had no idea who Eli Masters really was, let alone if he would sympathize with the pain and hurt Annabel had endured. His words played through her mind.
They move around, head to different places, and they sure as hell don’t leave forwarding addresses
. And she knew, right then, he had meant someone in his life. Someone had left him.

Avilon smiled at Annabel. “It’ll be all right,” she told the blonde. “I’ll talk to Mr. Masters.”

Annabel just raised an eyebrow as she walked to the dresser and picked up the teapot.

Avilon found Eli and Jason seated at one of the tables, and all the dealers encircled them as Eli talked. As she moved closer, she heard him explaining tricks people use to try to cheat the house. It sounded like a routine lecture, and she didn’t doubt the staff had to be constantly on guard.

She stayed back, waiting patiently for a chance to talk to both men alone. Her gaze stayed on them, taking in how beautiful each man was in his own way. She felt gossamer threads pulling her, indelible bonds forming a path toward them, and it confused her. Where could these feelings possibly go? Could she eventually walk away when she found Amelia and forget Eli and Jason ever shared a part of her life? Already they tested parts of her resolve. Would that only deepen the longer she sang at the club?

Finally, the men started to break up. Eli stood up, talking with Jason, and nodded to his workers as they moved to their tables. It was late afternoon, and the entire place was busy preparing to open. She took a deep breath and walked up to them.

Jason flashed a devilish grin. “Good afternoon, love. Sleep well?”

She flushed and cast her gaze from him to focus on Eli. “Annabel was hurt last night by one of her clients.”

Though his eyebrows drew together in concern, his mouth firmed in annoyance. “Why hasn’t she reported this to me?”

“She seems to be of the mind that you will throw her out of here if she can’t make her revenue for you.”

She saw Jason’s eyebrows rise. Eli only scowled more. “Oh hell. I can just imagine what’s turning in that brain of yours, sweetheart, and no, I’m not heartless. For the time being, I can find other work for her to earn her keep.”

Avilon folded her arms. “She’s hurt, Eli. She needs rest and respite from the harsh burden of this profession.”

“You wish for me to absorb her lack of income?”

“I wish for you to be compassionate.”

He narrowed his eyes and mimicked her stance by folding his arms as well. “And what compensation will that give me? Compassion doesn’t pay the salary for twenty dealers, ten kitchen staff, including a temperamental chef, my factotum, who helps me negotiate with the Chinese, the laundress, a dozen different vendors supplying food and drink to this establishment, not to mention various carpenters and a cleaning staff, plus all the palms I have to grease to keep my doors open. Money is a necessary evil, and we all do our part, including me and Jason.”

“What if you had courtesans instead of whores?”

She saw him blink and raise his eyebrow as if he didn’t quite understand what she meant.

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Jason asked.

“No,” she answered, shooting him a quick glance. “Whores take as many men for the night as they possibly can, making their clients hurry to do their deed so they can move on, looking for the next man. But courtesans are exclusive. They’re trained in the art of sex. It takes a lot of money to have a courtesan, a lot of clout.”

She saw the interested gleam appear in Eli’s light eyes and knew she had him. “Go on,” he urged.

“Shut the upstairs down for two weeks—”

“Two weeks!” he gasped. “I’ll lose a heavy profit. Men will leave, searching for wenches elsewhere.”

“In the two weeks, we transform the rooms upstairs,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Decorate them to resemble a Turkish harem. Material, pillows, candles, and mirrors. Pass the word around that the girls are being specially trained in unusual delights. Say that only the deepest purse can afford the new girls.”

Both of them were quiet, thinking, until Jason wagged his finger at her. “What do you know of Turkish harems?”

“I’ve seen one.”

At that, both of their eyebrows shot up into their hairlines.

“Beg pardon?” Jason asked.

“My aunt Verity wanted to travel the world, and so I went with her as a companion.”

“And you saw Turkish harems?” Eli asked, doubt heavy in his words. “In the Ottoman Empire?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “Did you know
harem
in the Muslim language means ‘forbidden’? It’s usually a place where women gather inside a household, and not necessarily exclusively for the men to have sexual relations with them.”

“Well, that just ruined a lot of fantasies,” Jason muttered.

“My point exactly. Most men have fantasies about harems because they’re unknown and exotic,” she stated with a satisfied smirk. “It ignites the imagination with pictures of all types of sexual deviations, ones that men would pay a lot of money to explore.”

“And you would teach the girls what?” Eli asked.

“Everything I saw. How to dress, the makeup, even how they walk and talk. It’s an alluring world, Eli, one men would pay handsomely for—which is why you would get only twenty percent of their profit.”

Eli snorted. “I get eighty now.”

“Twenty,” she repeated. “The girls are doing all the work.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s my establishment. Sixty.”