Elizabeth Finn - The Devil’s Pawn

We’re both left panting while he hovers over me, watching me intently. As I start to gather my clothes once again, he hastily fixes his own clothes and leads me back out to the hallway where he returns to the elevators and his earlier destination, but not before running his thumb gently over my chin and adding one final comment. “Impressive.” He’s mocking me with a crooked smile, and I can’t help but return the smile with furiously blushing cheeks.

I retreat to my room and collapse to the bed. At the moment, I’m satisfied and filled with him. I love this feeling. I wish it could always be just him. However much I may miss his mouth, he makes up for it in so many other ways, intent, it would seem, in reassuring me that he’s still there, although he has to withhold that intimate part from me.

But as I lie replete, thinking of him, the next couple of days creep into my mind. The time has passed far too quickly. I’m not ready to consider what will happen to me the night after next, but I have no choice, and try as I might to push away my fears, it is no use. Derek will sell me to a man I don’t know, and I will certainly hate every moment of my time with this unknown man. I’m as frightened of what Derek will inevitably think of me as I am about the very act of being with another man. It will no doubt be just as awful and terrifying as my dinner with Mr. Grayson, and while Derek won’t be forced to watch this time, he will be making the arrangements and agreements on explicitly what I will and will not do with this man. I have only tonight and tomorrow night with Derek before another man forever taints my body.

Derek comes to me that night and slowly and gently takes my body. His mouth is nearly touching mine when we come together, and as we rest together in my bathtub afterward, he pulls my back into his body, and he holds me. He’s lit a couple of candles on the bathroom vanity, and that is the only light in the warm bathroom. It is as intimate as we can be without sharing our mouths with one another, and it is what I need.

The next night, Derek takes me to dinner, and were it not the last night before my new career begins, I might have been able to enjoy myself. As it is, we both sit looking at one another. He seems as anxious as I am, and while I appreciate the time away from Trimbles far more than he likely realizes, it is bittersweet. I want this time with him, but it is impossible not to think of the next night. He takes me to a movie after dinner, and as we move hand in hand through the crowd of people at the theater, we look like any other couple out on the town. His hand never leaves mine, and as we take our seats and the lights dim, his hand moves to my leg and settles on the inside of my thigh, stroking with gentle fingers as my body warms to his touch.

Neither of us seems to be paying much attention to what is happening on the screen, and yet this time together is incredible, intense, and so very needed. We leave hand in hand again, walking to the waiting limo outside. As the limo makes its way slowly through the Friday night traffic, Derek’s hand enfolds mine, and he pulls me into his arms. Our driver, the same man that has shuttled us here and there for six weeks now, watches us with a slight smile on his face. His smile is tinged in sadness at our closeness, as he must understand how truly impossible our situation is. I want Derek more on this night than any other I’ve been with him. I always crave his closeness, but on this night, I more than crave it. I’m desperate for it. He knows this, and as we exit the elevator, he wastes no time pulling me to his room.

He leans down to my ear as we enter, and his words still me. “I’ve wanted to make love to you all night, and I have no intention of letting you go before I have to.”

Make love? Is that what we do together? I’m stunned at his words and what they mean. Truth be told, I think I’ve always made love to him, but for him to acknowledge that our time together is something more than mere fucking calms my soul, and I want him all the more. While he keeps his mouth from me, he is gentle and caring. We “make love” many times throughout the night, and he never leaves my side, nor does he allow me to leave. I ask if I should, hesitant to overstay my welcome, but every time I ask, his arm stops me as he pulls me to his body.

When the morning sun rises against the skyline, he leaves his apartment. He returns a short while later with two cups of coffee, and I can’t help but think that couldn’t have gone over well in the common room. On his heel, Liz enters as well, and I suddenly feel very exposed and nervous. I know it’s only Liz, but the sight of her in our intimate space shocks me. Derek has asked her to come, and that means he’s given over to the fact that she’ll see us, the way we really are outside of the sight of others. It sends a warmth through my soul, but makes me nervous all the same. She walks with Derek across the room, and sits in the chair by the bed as I pull on Derek’s discarded shirt from the night before. I sit up as Derek takes his place beside me and hands me my cup of coffee, but rather than moving away from me, he rests a gentle and reassuring hand on my thigh as I sip from my coffee. Liz regards us both warmly. She is obviously content to see us together, and as I see her warm smile, I relax instantly, and my nervousness dissolves at her apparent ease with us.

Liz has been asked to the room to discuss this evening. She will stay with me, and Derek won’t allow her to be purchased until I am. He’ll delay my leaving until late in the evening so that he is available in case he’s needed. He’ll be careful of who he allows to purchase me, and ensure it is someone that will be “easy” with me. My skin starts to crawl as they discuss this evening with such cold, calculated planning, and while I appreciate the thought and care they are putting into my first night, I want nothing but to be away from them both and shut out what is to come.

I don’t want to think about what is going to happen to me tonight. It serves no purpose. It will happen, and it will be awful—there is no doubt in my mind about this fact. It will destroy whatever perception Derek has of me as a decent and wholesome person, and it will convince me of my own worthlessness as well. I can see this train wreck ready to play out, and yet, I will do nothing to stop it. I will walk head-on into the biggest disaster of my life, and hope beyond all hope that I emerge with some semblance of humanity when it is all said and done.

As they talk, I stand and leave for the bathroom, ignoring both them and their questions that trail after me. They are concerned, and I know they only want to see to my best interests, but I can’t stand to sit there any longer. I flush my face with cold water from the sink. I splash the chilly water until my skin is frigid and it is uncomfortable, and then I wash my face some more. Liz enters and studies me carefully, but without a word. When I dry my face and stand back from the sink, I start to cry, and she holds me. After a long while of sobbing like a child on her shoulder, she pulls me back from her, taking in my splotchy and swollen face.

With a gentle smile, she speaks in a quiet and hushed voice. “I don’t know how you managed it, but that man is crazy about you.”

And as a new wave of tears takes over my body, I respond, “Well, he won’t be after tonight.”

Liz argues, but I stop her. I don’t want her to reassure me. I know what I’m doing to myself tonight, and I know what I’ll become, and any attempt to assuage my guilt is unwelcome at the moment. I leave her standing in the bathroom watching after me as I start the shower and walk into the cold water. It pounds down, stabbing my body with ice. I hear the door close and I know she’s left me. I stand with the freezing water chilling me to the bone, welcoming the pain of it, but I’m not allowed my torture for long.

Moments later, Derek leans into the shower, and my eyes slowly open to his. He reaches to my arm to touch me, and as the frigid water hits his skin, he recoils in shock, with a curse on his lips. “Jesus, Ash! What the fuck are you doing?”

He quickly turns the water to hot and pulls me from the shower into his arms. I collapse against his chest, shivering while he holds me. Once the water is an appropriate temperature, he strips and pulls me into the shower and back into his arms. I stand in his arms for an eternity, enjoying the warmth of the water and his body. This is all I get from him today, his touch. He can’t have sex with me on a day that I work or within twelve hours of my having sex with a client. So today is all about touch, and he touches perfectly.

We spend the entire day in his room, and the better portion of the time, I’m in his arms. He seems just as reluctant to let me go as I am to be parted from him. I want more than anything for him to make love to me again. I want him to come in my body so I can feel him within me for the rest of the day and the nightmarish evening that is to come, but it is impossible.

When I must leave him to get ready for the evening, he holds me tightly in his arms, whispering the encouragement I need to hear. “I’ll be there. I promise you’re going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I close his door and walk the short distance across the hall, and I hear a very strangled and pained curse escape his mouth on a shuddering breath. “Oh, Goddamn it … Fuck.”

As I hear his pain, I imagine him doubled over from it, and I know without seeing him that he is.

As I meet Liz by the elevators, she smiles, but I see the worry etching its way across her beautiful face. We step in together, and she instantly reaches for my hand and doesn’t let it go until the doors open. We walk together to the bar, and I set about numbing my body with alcohol. Derek wants me sober enough to think clearly, but I’ve decided, since Derek doesn’t have to fuck complete strangers, his opinion on this matter isn’t going to be a deciding factor for me. Liz watches me in continued concern as I down my second glass of wine. She spots Derek walking toward us and hastily whispers that I need to play it cool. But too late. Derek has apparently been watching us closely enough that he’s already well aware I’m not following any sensible suggestion in terms of my alcohol consumption.

He reaches us, leans toward my ear, and demands, “Slow down.”

I’m not drunk, but I’m relaxed and slightly tipsy, and at his comment, I turn to his ear and respond, “Make me.”

His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as he takes me in. Liz stands by watching the situation unfold. I don’t take my eyes from Derek’s as he glares at me. I want him to know my pain, my fear, and, wrong as that is, I don’t care. He briskly turns to Liz and demands that she keep an eye on me before he moves away from us.

Regardless of the show I put on for Derek, I do slow down, but the moment he approaches me to let me know my time has run out and I’ve been purchased, I regret ever listening to him. I grab two shots of something that belong to someone else at the bar, and in an incredibly impulsive, and perhaps a bit self-destructive move, I down them both quickly before Derek can stop me. His eyes close in frustration, but he says nothing. I watch him, guilting him with my eyes, though I know he doesn’t deserve my wrath. I want him to suffer, and I know he does, but I still want him to suffer more.

He introduces me to the man, and I don’t even look at him. I continue to stare at Derek as he looks back at me coolly. I can’t even remember the man’s name, and I don’t care either, and as Derek continues to eye me and I continue to return his gaze, the man beside us starts to fidget and clear his throat.

My pain is driving my body and my actions at this point, and in yet another bold-as-hell move, I turn to the man, flash him an incredibly contrived and over-broad smile, and speak salaciously. “Let’s go have some fun, shall we?”

But as the man brushes past me, I can feel my expression slacken and fall in defeat, and I look to Derek once more, torturing him with my pain. I follow the man from the room without a second glance to Derek. My pain is morphing to rage, and I’m counting on this rage to get me through this final consummation of being a whore.

Once in my room, I finally take the time to look at the man. He smells of bourbon and sweat. He’s pudgy and unattractive, and while he smiles sweetly at me, the fact that he’s paying for my body undoes whatever sweetness he radiates with his eyes. When he touches my skin, I squirm, trying to make it look like nothing more than a casual shrug. When he smiles, I purse my lips and force the corners of my mouth up. If anyone cared to look at me too closely, I probably look like a head case who is not in control of her body. But Derek isn’t watching, and that provides at least some measure of comfort. He would no doubt cringe at every mistake I make; perhaps he’d be embarrassed by my performance. I’m not sure I care. I’m just glad he isn’t seeing this. I resent him. I’m angry with him, and while I know this has been my decision from the get-go, I hold him completely responsible. None of it is his fault, but hating him makes me feel better. I don’t care if it’s inappropriate or misplaced anger. I want to hurt him with it.