Authors: Elizabeth Finn
She stays near me while I fill my cup, and we retreat to the sofa rather than the table with the other women. We talk only to one another as she continues to watch me with deep concern in her eyes. Our conversation makes it back to the night before, and while we don’t discuss the gory details or what happened, I talk honestly and openly about the emotional torture of the night. Liz and I may be as different as night and day, but she has no problem empathizing with me, and I, quite frankly, with her. I know she would love nothing more than to hear the blow-by-blow, no pun intended, but she doesn’t ask. Though the memories of the night before are fresh and disturbing, my relief at having gotten through it has me calm and relaxed, almost happy. I will have Derek to myself tonight, and I don’t have to think of pretending to be a slut for a good thirty-six more hours; and I intend to think nothing of it at all during this reprieve.
Derek enters as we are finishing our coffee. He looks upset and worried, and as he runs a frustrated hand through his dark, disheveled hair, he asks Liz to join him in the kitchen. She leaves my side, returning moments later. She refuses to say anything and motions for me to be patient. Derek leaves moments later with a cup of coffee. He ignores us on his way out of the room, and it is only many long and painful minutes later that Liz casually speaks to me, as if nothing at all has transpired. “Let’s go.”
When we exit the common room, she grabs my arm and practically pulls me to my room, and once inside she talks hastily. “Mr. Pennington wants you to pack an overnight bag. You don’t have much time. Mr. Grayson is on his way here, and he’s looking for you both. Mr. Pennington wants you out of here before Mr. Grayson arrives. You have to hurry, Ash.”
And I do. There is nothing in this world that I want less than to see Mr. Grayson, and in mere minutes, I’ve set out a change of clothing, my toothbrush, and deodorant. Derek enters moments later, as I’m looking for a bag to pack my clothes in. I have no idea where he’ll send me or how I’ll get there, but I won’t argue with this one. I’ve been craving his touch since I woke, and the last thing I want is to separate myself from him now, but I understand his concern. Our last “dinner” with Mr. Grayson was a nightmare for us both, and it’s not an experience I ever want to relive. But as I continue to search for something that will suffice as a bag, he quickly grabs my things from the bed and stashes them in a leather satchel bag that is slung over his shoulder. He’s coming with me. I’m suddenly at ease and ready to face whatever threat lies in front of us. He’ll be with me, and I can handle it.
He turns to Liz quickly. “Don’t forget. You think we had some appointments, but you’re not sure where we went. We’ll be back tomorrow before Trimbles opens, but I’m not going to leave any time for him to catch up to us before we have to be downstairs. Call me if you need to.”
As I follow Derek to the hall, Liz plants a quick kiss on my cheek. On the ride down, Derek is fidgeting and watching the floors tick off the indicator panel with a tight jaw. I reach for his hand, and he looks to my eyes and nods slightly at my reassuring touch.
When the doors open, he walks me briskly through a back hallway, avoiding the front reception desk. His eyes shift and move quickly around every corner we pass. He’s not letting his guard down for a moment. We exit out a back entrance and walk quickly to a parking garage across the street. He walks us up a couple of flights of stairs and to a sleek, black luxury SUV that no doubt came with a ridiculous price tag that would make me gag. It is worth more than a small home, and as Derek pulls the keys from his pocket, I realize it is his car. He drives. I had no idea he drives, and as he catches the perplexed expression on my face, he chuckles with an amused shake of his head before telling me to get in. He’s obviously relaxed considerably, having gotten us out of Trimbles before Mr. Grayson arrived, and I’m suddenly a very happy lady.
The car smells of incredibly expensive leather, and of him. It is immaculate and beautiful, and as we weave in and out of traffic, I’m enjoying myself far more than what is appropriate for the situation. We make our way out of town and leave the skyline behind us. It is still early, and as we wind our way north into Vermont, the trees become denser, and Derek becomes more and more relaxed. I watch him as his hand mindlessly hovers and touches the gear shaft. He’s deep in thought, and I take this quiet time to watch him. His jaw is relaxed, and as I watch him, he runs his thumb gently over his bottom lip. He is still far away in his mind, and I wish I could invade his thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?” His words startle me as I pull my eyes from his mouth. I guess I was lost in my own dream world as well. I smile shyly back at him, just slightly shaking my head. “Oh come on. I’m in the mood for entertainment, so tell me. What were you thinking about? You can say anything. I swear I won’t be offended. The floor is all yours.”
He throws a challenging look to my eyes before returning his to the road, and I plunge in. “I’m surprised you drive. Moreover, that you drive an SUV … a very nice one, but an SUV.”
“I see, and what, pray tell, did you expect me to drive?” He’s still challenging me, but his mood is as light as I’ve ever seen it. Vermont must agree with him.
“I suppose a sports car of some sort. Don’t get me wrong, this suits you, and I don’t like sports cars. Good choice … well done.” Now I’m just rambling like an idiot, but the chuckle he returns tells me he’s enjoying this, talking.
“And what have you got against sports cars?”
“There’s something odd about seeing a full-grown man fold himself into a car that looks entirely too small for him. It’s emasculating in some way.” Wow. Did I just say that? Oh yes I did, and I’m apparently not done. “I mean, an SUV says, I know how to work. I
do
things other than look pretty. Mind you, yours says, I know how to work, but I also have more money than I know what to do
with
, so I’m going to sink a small fortune into my SUV made for a ‘working man.’” And oh yes, I used my finger quotes on that one.
He’s glancing at me wide-eyed, as I’m apparently powerless to stop talking for some reason. But at my words, he laughs, open-mouthed, beautiful, straight white teeth showing, he laughs. My God, he is beautiful. I shake my head in mortification, but he’s enjoying this too much.
“So, dear Ms. Monroe, what other things about me would you care to deconstruct?”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t stop talking, and the more I talk, the harder it is to stop. Nervous habit … but really, why do you drive an SUV?”
He’s still smiling at me, amused at my bizarre behavior. “I guess it comes in handy when I need to haul things, or when I need to get around Vermont in the winter. And, yes, Ash, I know how to work.”
“So, you haul around hookers in your SUV?”
Fuck!
What has gotten into my mouth? But he’s chuckling at my ridiculousness. He did give me the floor after all. Still, I try to move the conversation back to some semblance of logic. “So you come to Vermont often then?” Well, isn’t this just turning into a normal conversation?
“Yes. Often enough. My family is from Vermont.”
“Family?” I don’t know why I’m shocked to hear him mention it. He must have come from somewhere, but I’m surprised to hear it nevertheless.
“Did you think I was spawned from hell itself?” He’s smirking, but I shake my head anyway. I could never assume anything like that.
But he’s opened the door, and I have no intention of not passing through. “So, tell me about your family. Where are they now?”
He eyes me speculatively. He’s deciding whether he wants to continue this conversation or not. I thought I was the one with a buried past, but every sidestepped question and refusal to delve deeper convinces me further that this man hides as much from me as I do from him.
Eventually, his expression softens, and he responds, “Washington DC … for the most part. My father is involved in politics, and my mother is involved in charities … any charity, every charity… It really doesn’t matter. We’re not close.”
“Why?” I’m entering the danger zone, and I know it. I’ve been here plenty in my life, but I’m powerless to stop my mouth now.
His face hardens further with every second that passes as I wait patiently for a response, and to my utter shock, he gives me one. “Let’s just say they don’t agree with my lifestyle choices.” As he continues to glance at me while I process his words, his face falls, and his eyes show a sadness I’ve never seen before. “I don’t blame them for that. A lot rides on their reputation. Fortunately, discretion is the name of the game at Trimbles … for the most part.” His brow furrows at this last comment as sadness is replaced with resentment.
But as quickly as his emotions shift from one to another, they flip yet again, and he looks at me with a gentle smile and one last comment. “Now stop talking so I can concentrate on driving. Your loose tongue is turning me on, and if you keep distracting me, I’m going to have to pull over and fuck you. Quite frankly, I’d very much like to get you to a bed to do that.” He smiles one last small smile before he returns his eyes to the road.
And as I return to watching him, I realize he indeed knows this place. He’s home.
After a few hours of very comfortable silence, I start to see signs for Lake Champlain, and as the scenery we pass becomes more and more lush, Derek pulls off the highway onto a smaller road that weaves farther and deeper into the woods. Another hour or so, and many more small, heavily wooded roads later, we pull off onto a long lane that takes us deep into thick and secluded woods. After about a half mile, a contemporary single story house appears before us, and we pull up out front. It is oddly out of place, and yet it blends with the environment perfectly.
As I look to Derek in confusion, he ignores my questioning expression. Derek unlocks the door and lets us in the house. It is beautiful. Simple, contemporary, and yet, at the same time rustic, but not at all campy—instead authentic and comfortable. I’m suddenly glad I packed jeans and not a dress. I would definitely be overdressed otherwise, and for the first time, I notice Derek is in jeans as well. I’ve never seen him in anything but slacks, incredible rich slacks, but slacks. Casual just hasn’t been my experience with him. Yet, now, as I take in his appearance, suddenly very aware of his clothing, I realize just how perfectly at home he looks here in his jeans. They are faded and worn, but fit him perfectly, and as I walk behind him, I can’t help but take in the view from the rear. A man’s butt in jeans is always something to enjoy; Derek’s impressive butt in jeans—yes, he has more impressive attributes than just his cock—is downright shameful. He’s gorgeous, and this place suits him. I always assumed him to be cut from the fabric of city life—our high-rise, downtown, plush surroundings, dress-to-the-nines sort of existence—but this is so very him, and I love it. And this is my type of space too, warm and inviting.
The floors are wide-plank hardwood; the kitchen is sleek and modern but still warm and neutral. The furniture is perfectly worn leather, and the wool rugs that cover the floor are amazing and high quality. The large windows overlook the surrounding woods. The thick trees surrounding the house are nearly claustrophobic, but in the most amazing and comforting way. There is no view but the thick trunks of trees, branches, leaves, and the forest floor as far as the eye can see. Off the back of the house is a well-maintained pond, manmade, with perfect landscaping and stone work surrounding a good portion of it. The large deck off the back expands the width of the house. It has no rails and simply ends as it overhangs the closest edge of the pond. I have no idea how they’ve melded the water with the house without losing the foundational integrity of the house, but it is stunning. You could literally lie at the edge of the deck and stare straight down to the pond beneath. For that matter, the water is so close I could reach out and touch it a mere foot below.
As Derek shows me around, I fall more and more in love with the place. I could stay here forever with him. Trimbles fades to the background of my mind, and I’m suddenly and completely at ease. I know we’ll only be here for one night, but I have every intention of forgetting the rest of my life until we leave this place tomorrow. I want this break from that life; it is a much-needed respite.
Derek walks me down a long hallway to the master bedroom. One entire wall is made up of windows that open to the same long deck and pond beyond. The bed is large and inviting, and as I eye it longingly, I imagine Derek making love to me here. I want him to make love to me more than ever before. I thought that giving myself to another man would somehow dash that desire for him, but on the contrary, I can’t wait for him to “reclaim” my body, as he spoke of the night before. It is more than a want, and far more like a desperate need pulsing within my body. I do belong to him, and I need him to take me back from that disgusting man and all his romantastic bullshit. Derek catches me looking longingly at the bed and whispers, “later,” as he pulls me from the room.
Once back in the living room, Derek looks to me, waiting for me to speak. And I do. “Derek … sorry, Mr. Pennington, it’s beautiful. Whose is it?”
He walks to me slowly, palming his keys in his hand as he approaches, and he leans toward my ear. “I like Derek. And it’s mine. I have more talents than just managing escorts.” He winks as he brushes past my shoulder toward the door.
“You mean you built it?” My question trails after him.
When he reaches the door, he looks back with a smirk gently pulling his mouth. “I designed it. I was an architect before I sold my soul to the devil … or Mr. Grayson more precisely.” He pulls the door open, still eying me with his beautiful smirk, and gives me his parting words. “Stay put. I’m running to town for some groceries.” And he’s out the door as I stare slack-jawed after him. Architect! I’m starting to think he belongs at Trimbles even less than I do.
While he’s left my mind reeling with his words, they’re certainly not enough to stop me from spending this time exploring his home some more.