Read Online Harlot by Victoria Dahl - Free Book Online Page B

the lip of a metal tub.
    “I’m sorry,” she gasped, struggling to adjust the sheet to cover her body. “I thought I had time for a bath. The cow got out of her paddock, and we spent an hour after supper trying to catch her. If you…” Her blue eyes darted from the door to the stove to the darkness of the hallway behind her. “I-I need to finish washing up,” she finally stammered, her damp cheeks flaming pink. A strand of red hair fell from the knot she’d tied. It drifted down to stick to her neck.
    Caleb stepped in and closed the door, cutting off the sound of the wind rustling the lilac leaves. “All right,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
    Her hand tightened around the crumpled sheet she clutched. The water swished around her calves when she shifted. “You’ll wait?”
    “Yes.” A drop of water slipped down her hip, drawing his eye to her gleaming thigh.
    “I can’t…” In the new silence, he heard her throat work as she swallowed. “I can’t wash in front of you.”
    He stared at her thigh for a moment, watching her muscles tense and relax as she pulled the sheet closer. He wasn’t sure why she’d be shy about washing in front of him. He’d fucked her the night before. He’d fuck her again tonight. He’d see it all. Touch it. Taste it. Feel it.
    He could make her drop the sheet right now and show him, but he supposed that wasn’t part of the deal. If she’d never bathed in front of another customer, she wasn’t obliged to do so for him. And maybe the reason he wanted so badly to watch was the same one she had for hiding. It felt like a violation. To watch a woman clean her most private parts.
    Caleb dipped his head in acknowledgment and took off his hat. “Fine. I’ll wait upstairs.”
    Her chin barely moved when she nodded. She eyed him as he walked past, as if she were nervous he’d snatch the sheet away at any moment. But he wouldn’t. If he wanted it off, he’d tell her to shed it. He didn’t want to force her physically. He wanted to watch her make each choice herself, so he could love her less.
    He stopped when he got to the hallway. “Don’t bother dressing,” he called before he walked toward the lamp glowing in the parlor. He didn’t want her coming to him like a shy wife. He needed to remember what she was.
    The bottle of liquor sat where it had been the night before. Caleb grabbed the whiskey and the lamp and headed upstairs. Her bed had been neatly made up. The room was bare and nothing like her old bedroom had been. One midnight after a dance, he’d sat on her roof. She’d opened her window but stayed in her room lest they get caught together in the night.
    Her bedroom had been a warm glow of yellows and happy greens, accented by white lace and too many pillows. They’d talked about music. When he hadn’t recognized a song or composer, Jessica had hummed it for him. Sometimes he’d pretended ignorance, just to hear her sing the tune.
    He’d imagined what she must look like once she closed the curtains and opened her high-buttoned wrap. He’d jerked off to that in his bed many a night, praying she’d see no evidence of the guilt on his face the next morning. Even the curve of her bosom beneath flannel had been enough to make him hard. Now he was hard remembering the smell of her wet cunt.
    He took a swig from the bottle, then lit the second lamp so he could look over her new room. There were no happy colors here. A bed made up in white sheets and a faded pink comforter. A wardrobe with a crooked door. A dresser topped by a cracked mirror, a jar of cream, and one simple hairbrush. Rough brown curtains on the window. That was all there was.
    He took another drink and opened a door of the wardrobe. Some of the dresses had been bright once, but they were all muted colors now. He opened the other door, and his jaw clenched at the sight of a royal-blue sleeve. The cuff was green and blue plaid. He recognized it. He remembered her gloved hand beneath that cuff, her fingers