Title: The Harlot’s Pen
Author: Claudia H. Long
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Devine Destinies
Release Date: Feb 1 2014
Blurb/Synopsis:
San Francisco in the roaring 20s-- After World War I, San
Francisco is a wild town. Abandoned by her lover, Violetta is swept up in the
new, freer ways and becomes America's first "embedded journalist."
She joins a brothel that caters to San Francisco's most powerful men in order
to write her epic story on the conditions of working women. But federal agents
looking to clamp down on both vice and workers' rights don't take kindly to her
modern views. Shorter dresses, fair pay for women, and the dark and frightening
worlds of sex and politics teach Violetta the lessons of a lifetime.
Book Links
Claudia H Long writes fiction when she isn't mediating messy
legal disputes. She has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and as a change she
recently tried to take up belly dancing. Luckily, she is a better mediator than
she is a dancer, by far, but her real love is writing fiction.
The
Harlot's Pen, her first venture into the roaring 20s, is a Devine Destinies
book, an adventure in embedded (literally!) journalism and the rights of
working women in the world's oldest profession. Claudia is also the author of
Josefina's Sin (Simon & Schuster 2011). The Duel for Consuelo, which
follows on Josefina's Sin, will come out in late Spring 2014 with Booktrope.
Claudia has two grown children, and lives in Northern
California with her husband and far too many animals.
Violet turned the knob to her room. “Oh, that’s good,” Caleb
said. “You got Posie’s room, didn’t you? Perfect.”
“Why’s that perfect?”
“Because I liked Posie, and I like you. Besides, it’s
haunted.”
“Nonsense,” Violet said, feeling a surge of superiority. “Ghosts
are figments of an overactive imagination.”
“Figments? That’s some vocabulary you’ve got there, Violet.
Aren’t you superstitious? I thought all whores were superstitious.”
“Nope. My imagination is literary, and I can tell the
difference between reality and fiction. Ghosts are just a convenient fiction to
scare the credulous. You don’t believe in ghosts, now, do you, Caleb?” She
grinned at him. Maybe he would just want to talk.
“Not since you just said they were just for the gullible.”
He smiled back at her, but his eyes were narrowing. “I’m not gullible. And
speaking of not gullible, I can tell you ain’t a whore, either. What’s your
game?”
Violet stood very still. How do I answer? “No game, Caleb.
Tonight, I’m your whore.”
“Good, since I just paid good money for you. Now, get over
here.” He sat down on the bed. She took a step towards him. Impatiently, he
reached for her hand and closed the gap between them. Then, with a single move,
he swung her across his knees, and lifted her skirt over her head. He stroked
the back of her thighs above her stockings. “You’re pretty cool, aren’t you? I
know how to heat a girl up.” Violet shut her eyes tight as his hand came down
hard across her naked rump.
After each blow he rubbed her bottom and slipped his hand
between her thighs to keep them spread. As he struck, she could hear his breath
come hoarser, and could feel his erection under her stiffening and growing. At
last he released her, and she struggled to her feet. She was breathing hard,
blinking back tears.
“On the bed.” She lay down immediately. He pushed her legs
apart, knelt between her knees, and loosened his trousers. “You’re nice and
warm now. Tell me how much you want me.”
“I want you,” Violet said.
Caleb clenched his teeth, and she saw the muscles move in
his jaw. “Tell me, Violet.”
“I want you, Caleb. I want you now!” He released his
erection from his pants, and Violet’s eyes widened. He was bigger than Sam, far
more erect than Grayson, her first lover and runaway groom, and a drop of
liquid at the end of the shaft glared at her in readiness.
“Beg,” he whispered.
Violet heard herself whimper, but she had dissociated
herself from her body and had not sobbed volitionally. “Please, Caleb, please
take me now.”
“How do you want it, Violet?” His voice was low.
She knew the answer, just as she had known it with Sam. “I
want it hard, Caleb, hard and fast, and I want it now.”
She shut her eyes as he drove inside her. Far above her, she
saw herself arch in pain, then buck in pleasure as she cried out her own release.
She grasped Caleb by the back of his shirt and moved against him, begging and
urging him on.
When he was finished he lay upon her, breathing raggedly.
“Oh, my God, Violet. You’ll never last here.” He pushed up
on his elbows and looked down at her, the boyishness and sparkle back in his
eyes. “A whore’s supposed to fake it, Violet. Not actually like it!” He stroked
the side of her face. “You’ve got a room full of men downstairs to please. If
word gets out about this, you’ll be used up in a week. There’ll be a line out
the door!”
Violet looked up at his blue eyes. “No, Caleb, I don’t think
it will be like this with everyone. Just you.”
Caleb grinned at her. “You’re a real bearcat!” He got up and
adjusted his pants. “See you downstairs,” he said with a wink. He tossed a
handful of coins on her bureau. “A real bearcat, yessiree.”
A convenient fiction
to snare the credulous.
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