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.

Chapter 18

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.

I will my dinner to stay in my stomach and not end up on the floor, or this man. Blessedly, he’s not asked me to have anal sex with him, but he wants to fuck me, and that is bad enough. I was hoping I’d get off with just giving him my mouth, but luck is a bitch, and she’s not my friend tonight.

As he watches me undress, he showers me with romantic epithets, all the things naïve girls think they want to hear, that is, until they become jaded whores and realize life sucks when your sole business is to fuck. But for all his kind words that are meant to sound endearing, he disturbs me. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know that I’m sweet, so why should he call me “sweetie”? He’s never touched my body, so how does he know he’s going to make me “feel so good”? He has no right to be romantic with me because he hasn’t earned my adoration. He has no business telling me how good he’s going to treat me when he hasn’t earned my respect. I hate him for his words, and wish I could tape his damn mouth shut and make him shut up, and when that mouth kisses mine, I struggle not to cry. When his tongue enters my mouth, I struggle not to bite it off. Every touch, every kiss is a painful struggle.

He ends up entering me from behind as I quickly run a couple of fingers covered with my saliva over my sex to facilitate my complete lack of lubrication. He’s small, at least compared to Derek, and there is nothing I want more than to expel him from my body. His moans and romanticism have me wanting to punch him by the time he tells me to turn and suck him, but I plant a slight, stiff smile on my face as I round to his waiting penis. There is nothing impressive about it, and I don’t want to touch it, let alone taste it. But keeping my eyes closed tight, I catapult myself into another world. I imagine I’m sucking Derek, and the moans I hear are his, but every minute or so, I make the mistake of opening my eyes or opening my nose or any other sense that reminds me swiftly and surely that this is not Derek in my mouth.