Her most recent customer had only just left. He was a weak, unsure man, who spoke with a stammer and required careful coaxing on her part before reaching arousal. He was the sort of client who took energy and care; soothing words even till the moment he stepped out of her door.
She was tired from all that, her body aching and the sheets on her bed sticky, and she only had a little while to rest and clean herself (no man liked to see the marks of another's attentions on their woman, even if she was nothing but a prostitute) before she had to be ready for her next customer. In as leisurely a fashion as she could afford to allow herself, Lucy pulled her red dress back on, carefully adjusting its fit to hide the worn spots.
Suddenly, the door to her room was unceremoniously thrown open. She looked up, expecting to see Nellie or another of her coworkers, but instead she saw Hyde's familiar form, his hat tipped low, his dark, stringy hair hanging over his eyes.
"It's working hours!" she protested, her voice high with sudden nervousness with the memory of the bruises Edward Hyde's cane had left on her body at their first meeting. She could stand being around him now, even looked forward to it, sometimes, because the man was so good with his pale, spider-like fingers, but during work hours…no, she couldn't.
"Not for you," he said, taking several steps into the room till he was right beside her, his hot breath lifting the soft of dark curls that had come loose from her pinned up hair during her recent activity.
She laughed to keep her voice sure. "Yes, it is. Unless you plan on paying me, that is."
A warm hand, ever so slightly damp with sweat, encircled her upper arm. Hyde's voice was quiet. "I don't pay."
"Then I need –" She was cut off as Hyde pressed his lips to hers, her eyelids fluttering open and shut without, it seemed, any sort of consensus on her part.
Then, all of a sudden she didn't care about how little time she had, or the stickiness of the sheets, or even the fact that her dress was probably going to have a few more rips in it from all this, not as Hyde pushed her down on the bed with an animal snarl, the weight of his body above her, his hands clever and brutal and passionate upon every part of his body, eliciting gasps from her throat even as her own hands elicited groans from his.
She was used to the rough odors and sensations of passion, so much that they had become mundane, but with Hyde, somehow, the mundanity was negated, utterly absent. With him, she was forced to lose herself to pain and pleasure and, with him, she somehow did not mind.
He was just finishing when a voice came from outside her door, that of Caroline, a new girl there, with fair hair and wide eyes. "Lucy, you're needed downstairs."
Frantically, she searched for pins to lift her sweat-damp hair from her neck before she had to leave the room. "I'll be there in a minute, Caddy."
Hyde left without a word – he always did, for goodbyes had little place in their conversations – and she fixed her dress as best she could, worrying over what the low neckline of the bodice revealed for a moment, but then decided not to worry about it. After all, there were plenty of men who didn't mind bruises on a girl.