Chapter 13

When Ford had kissed and licked her skin just a few minutes ago in a dark corner of the corridor—telling himself he only did it to avoid being caught by Porter—it awakened a hunger within him that he'd never experienced before.

Having desired her for so long, finally having her in his grasp, caressing the warmth of her skin, letting his hand roam down her body and squeeze her thigh felt like a dream come true.

He savored every moment, storing it in the deep wells of his mind to be recalled during the cold, lonely nights. The scent and taste of her skin would forever linger on his tongue.

Little did he know that just a few minutes later, she would strip him down and take his cock into her mouth.

For a moment Ford thought he was in the midst of one of his daydreams. Except her warm touch felt real, his cock springing to attention in a second.

Now on her knees before him, she lavished attention on his throbbing length, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to draw out moans and gasps from his body.

Her eyes held a glimmer of mischief and satisfaction, her bare chest rising and falling with each breath.

Ford struggled against the restraints, longing to tangle his fingers in her hair, tug on it, and guide her sweet little mouth down his length. His hips bucked in response to her skilled ministrations, earning another satisfied moan from her lips.

Damn her. She was a skilled seductress. A siren, tempting him with pleasures beyond his wildest imagination.

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she locked gazes with him. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

He tried to speak, to tell her exactly how she made him feel, but words failed him. All he could do was watch as she continued to tease him with her skilled mouth.

She flicked her tongue against the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock, causing him to buck wildly against his restraints. The biting press of leather against his wrists intensified the pleasure.

His breaths came in wild gasps; Ford was lost in the sea of passion when he heard the panicked sounds in the corridor. The footfalls were heavy and purposeful as they moved in the direction of their room.

He tried to concentrate on the sounds outside their little world, but it was hard to care.

Just then, a man peeked inside their room. Seeing that they were engaged in a passionate interlude, he leaned his shoulder against the door frame instead of leaving. "Been here long?"

Triss flinched, quickly dropping her hands and releasing his cock. She panicked!

Ford felt the urgent need to collect her against his chest and hide her from the man observing them. But Triss wasn't a damsel in need of saving. She quickly collected herself and turned toward the intruder. "Care to join us?"

"What the fuck do you want?" Ford's question was sharp. He barely recognized his own voice, so rough it sounded to his ears.

The man shrugged. "I think I asked you a question. How long have you been here?"

"If you don't want to join, then leave." Triss shrugged and turned back to Ford's cock. She took it in hand and continued pleasuring him as though nothing had happened.

Ford tensed, partly from the pleasure of having her mouth around his cock again and her tongue skillfully playing with his most sensitive spots and partially because it felt odd and intrusive to have another person witness this intimate moment.

Grace raised her eyes to his, and he glanced down at her. "Keep going, love."

She nodded and continued, swirling her tongue around the sensitive spot just beneath his tip. Ford groaned. This was just an act, he had to remind himself.

Yet the man by the threshold kept watching them. Had he asked them something? Ah, right, whether they'd been here long.

Ford let out a deep breath before managing to grit through his teeth, "Not long enough."

Triss continued to service Ford, her movements becoming increasingly fervent, her moans louder. She was playing a part for the man in the shadows. Ford felt both angry at the situation and also aroused at the vigor with which she pleasured him.

As the tension coursed through his body, Ford could feel himself nearing his breaking point. He tried to hold back, but the sheer intensity of Triss's touch was proving too much.

She felt it, too. She raised her eyes as if daring him to let go.

"Triss," he groaned, and the tension left his body.

Triss freed his cock just as his passion spilled onto her bosom. They both stilled, their breathing labored, their eyes locked, burning with the intensity of this moment.

A grunt came from the shadows. Ford had already forgotten about the man still standing there. Luckily, he turned on his heel and left.

Triss rose slowly, holding on to the wall by his side so as not to stumble and fall. She carefully undid his shackles, neither of them talking for a long moment. Reaching for his coat, Ford fished out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said in the tense silence. Her voice was pleasantly hoarse.

Ford turned away, offering her privacy. He didn't have another handkerchief, so he wiped his cock with his cravat and left it lying on the floor before pulling up his breeches.

He turned toward Triss. Though she'd wiped away the evidence of his pleasure on her chest, her breasts were still bared, her dark, gorgeous nipples pointing at him, begging him to touch them.

Her full, soft breasts moved with the intensity of her every breath. She was still fervent. Of course, she was. He'd slaked his lust, but she hadn't.

He stepped toward her, his eyes roaming her lovely body. A thin, silver chain hung from her neck, and Ford reached for it, tracing it down the valley between her breasts where a simple cross nestled.

Ford swallowed, his gaze transfixed at his beautiful view. Heat traveled down his belly and collected in his cock. Again.

She was too damn enticing.

He tugged on her little chain, pulling her close to him.

Porter had left; there was no further need to continue maintaining the charade of their passionate interlude. But it wasn't about that anymore. It was about him wanting the woman before him. Wanting to bring her pleasure the way she did to him. Wanting to make her gasp and moan in ecstasy.

He snaked his arm around her waist and whirled her around, pressing her back against the wall she had pinned him to just a few minutes ago. Triss gasped at the sudden movement, her eyes widening in surprise. He gazed into her eyes and saw uncertainty there, beneath the deep, blazing fire.

She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He lowered his head and kissed her neck, his hand moving up her body to cup her breast. She gasped, her back arching to meet his touch, her breasts pressing against his palm. He moved his head lower until he was staring at her darkened nipple, hard and firm, straining for his touch.

He licked it.

Triss let out a moan, her back arching once more, her hips seeking contact with his body.

Unable to restrain himself, he popped her cherry-colored nipple into his mouth, savoring her taste. With his free hand, he frantically pulled on her skirts. Triss helped him bunch them up at her waist, giving him the freedom to run his palm up her thigh until it settled at the warm, wet center.

"Ford!" she cried, and he couldn't help the grin that graced his lips.

He sucked on her nipple as his fingers explored her center, sliding between her feminine lips, playing with the moisture he'd found there.

She was so wet for him, so aroused. He could smell her desire and couldn't help but want to taste it.

Not now. Not yet.

He plunged his finger into her depths, gathering her close, swirling his tongue around her nipple.

Her moans and gasps were all the encouragement he needed to continue the sensual torture. He moved to the other breast, licking it, circling it with his tongue, then biting it just a little before sucking her in.

She tasted heavenly as she writhed in his arms. Her hands roamed his body, her fingers leaving a fiery trail in their wake. Every little movement, every little sound, built to the inevitable crescendo. But this wasn't about him.

He wanted to please her.

His second finger delved into her wet crevice, moving in and out of her in a suggestive rhythm as his thumb found the little swollen nub that begged for attention.

She jerked, a moan leaving her mouth unbidden.

Ford circled it, the motion of his thumb mimicking the swirling of his tongue around her nipple. He pretended he was licking her down there, sucking in all her juices as he did so.

Triss tensed in his arms, her fingers digging into his back, her nails scraping his skin.

"Yes," she cried. "Ford, please."

Ford pressed just under the sensitive little hood above her center, drawing persistent circles until she tensed, her muscles pulsing around his fingers.

He continued drawing cries of pleasure from her until they devolved into sobs, and she melted in his arms.

He gathered her tighter against his chest, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Devil take it. Witnessing her pleasure was even better than experiencing his own. He wondered what it would feel like to come with her body surrounding him, pulsing around his length.

His cock jumped in approval at the thought, and he stifled a bitter chuckle. He wasn't certain that reality would ever come true.

* * *

The journey in the carriage back was fraught with tension. Something had shifted between them. And Grace didn't want to start the conversation to figure out exactly what had changed.

On her part, her emotions were in tumult.

Grace had been a young girl when she'd been forced into the world of brothels. She didn't want to remember that time. After being sheltered for all her life and then thrust into the world of depravity—it almost killed her. Sometimes she wished it had. Yet she'd survived. She'd spent years after that trying to find meaning in what had happened. Some validation for the things she had gone through. She had tried to understand how physical relationships between men and women were supposed to work. But she could not. It was only years later, at Hades' Hell, when she had a chance to speak to women more experienced in life that she started to come to terms with everything that had happened to her. And she'd learned how it was possible to create a brothel where the workers were not forced to do their job. Where they understood what was demanded of them. Where they had a voice—the power to say no. The power to choose what they'd say yes to.

And more importantly, where they were adult women who enjoyed their chosen profession, or at the very least, weren't afraid of it.

Thanks to those women, she had learned that there was far more to desire than just sharing a bed with someone. There was nuance to desire. Shades of colors from pink to black.

There were people who were shunned for their needs, their wants, their preferences. And she had built the kind of brothel that would welcome them all. She wanted to give people freedom to express themselves, but also, she wanted to protect the harlots.

She also wanted to assuage her curiosity about all the things she'd wished she'd known before she was so ruthlessly dropped into the world of depravity. She wanted the chance to learn more about this murky world and dip her toes in it without drowning.

Thus she created The House of Pain and Pleasure to merge all her goals. And it worked.

It was a safe place all harlots flocked to. It was a popular destination for the rich and powerful. Their clientele and the services they had offered expanded greatly. And she felt good about it. She wasn't afraid of brothels, of pleasure, or anything anymore.

It was her safe haven.

She had studied the art of seduction. She watched people explore their desires. She thought herself a master of pleasure.

That is why her earlier experience with Ford had been so confusing.

She had known how this act was performed. Had seen it numerous times. Had partaken in it—although she wished to forget those memories. But this was different.

She had never felt this closeness, this strange pull toward a person before.

And the pull had only intensified after tonight.

She wanted him.

She wanted to bathe in his warmth, to taste his skin, his lips… She wanted to be wrapped in his arms.

And this was a dangerous feeling.

She couldn't let him see how he affected her.

But she wouldn't be able to hide it forever.

The truth was simple. This charade had gone on long enough. She had to let him go.

The carriage lurched to a stop. They'd spent the entire ride without speaking to each other, without even looking at each other.

Ford hopped out of the carriage and helped her out, his fingers enveloping hers in the first contact they'd had since they left that room in Porter's house. He held on to her hand longer than was necessary. Finally, he met her gaze. "Would you like to come inside?"

Yes!

Her heart screamed, and her body jolted in response, ready to spring into his arms again.

But she could feel how much strength it took him to ask this. Their earlier interlude was just that. A blind act of passion. He'd brought her to heights of pleasure she'd never felt possible. And now he wanted more. Even as he'd embraced her in the dark room, stroking her back in the aftermath of her orgasm, she'd felt the hardness between his legs.

He wanted her.

He still wanted her.

But she was a harlot, and he detested harlots. He wrestled with himself the entire ride to his house. He didn't want to have a harlot in his bed. But his desire won out.

Not hers.

She wanted him, too.

But she didn't want him to wake up the next morning full of regret, especially since she knew she wouldn't feel the same.

"Yes," she answered hoarsely. He looked up at her then, surprised. He didn't expect her to say this. His hold on her fingers tightened, and was it the beginning of a smile tugging on his lips? She couldn't take it. "But I won't."

The smile dimmed in his eyes, his hold on her fingers loosening. "Why not?"

"You know why, Ford," she said quietly.

"I wouldn't have asked if I did."

"This was a game today," she pushed through her dry lips. "It wasn't real. I am not your paramour. I am a harlot. Do you wish to pay me for the night?"

He turned away. "Don't say that."

"Why not? Because if you don't realize what you're saying now, you will realize it in the morning. And I'd rather it didn't happen."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Then prove me wrong. Tell me you're sincere in your request, or better yet, kiss me."

He hesitated. Longer than she would have liked. Long enough for her to say, "I thought so," and walk away.

* * *

Ford didn't know why he'd asked Triss to spend the night with him. He didn't know why he insisted. But most of all, he had no idea why he let her go.

He wanted her. He really did. But more than that, he actually liked her. He liked her clever mind, her witty tongue, and her confident demeanor despite the vulnerability deep inside.

He liked that she wasn't afraid to disagree with him. She showed such passion when arguing her points.

What he liked about her most was that she cared.

Ford had lost this within himself a long time ago. He caught criminals because it was his job. He went after murderers because it paid well. He pursued this particular case because of the notoriety involved. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten to care about the people—the victims, their families, their neighbors.

He couldn't pinpoint the exact time when that happened.

At first, he needed to care for his sister. He needed to clothe her, feed her, and keep a roof over her head—he didn't have time or space to care for anyone else.

Then, his ambition took over and he wanted more and more admiration, money, power.

He liked that she pulled at the strings of his heart, reminding him that his heart was indeed still there.

But he still had his ambition.

Money. Power. Admiration.

And now… He needed to marry.

Ford laughed out loud.

What was he thinking about marriage earlier? That he needed a proper woman. Genteel and innocent. The sort of woman who would not look kindly at him consorting with a harlot.

Would a proper woman even suit him? The kind of life he led… Would they have anything in common besides a bed?

Ford shook his head. He needed a good night's rest. Perhaps, in the morning, he would be clear of this fog and the haze left behind by Madame Tricheuse.

His Triss.