PLAYER (21st Century Courtesan)

by Pamela DuMond

  “I’m overdue for a few days off. I can take vacation days.”

  “You can’t,” he says.

  “Why not? I haven’t taken a day off since I started working for Ma Maison a few months back.” Truth -- even though there’s not one scintilla of fine print that guarantees me vacation days or anything else for that matter.

  “You don’t have to do this. I’d never want you to do something you’re not comfortable doing. Never want you to get in trouble.”

  “I know.” I pull out my phone to text Madame and immediately think better. Plenty of time to tell her about it after she tracks me down. I shove it back in my purse. “Nashville here we come!”

  6. Nashville

  NASHVILLE

  We train it back to the city, stopping by my place so I can pack a bag. I sort through my closet while Dylan sprawls on my bed scrolling on his phone. He chews his lower lip and I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. “I don’t have to go, you know.”

  “My mind hasn’t changed.” He looks up. “Has yours?”

  “No,” I say. “Am I interrupting plans?”

  “Nope. I just bought you a plane ticket.” He drops the phone, his gaze taking in my bedroom. “You live simply.”

  “Yup,” I say tossing clothing onto my bed.

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he says.

  “PSF. Poor, simple and frugal,” I open my bureau and take out underwear, bras, camis, a bathing suit just in case. “That’s me.”

  “PSF. Pretty, smart, and funny,” he says. “That’s you. I’m assuming you know my background.”

  “Which part?”

  “Church.”

  “You told me about church.” I grab the cross Grandma Berlinger gave me from my jewelry box on top of the bureau and tuck that in my purse.

  “Yeah, well there’s more than church,” he says.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “We’re got time to talk about my life as well as yours on the flight there,” he says.

  “My life’s boring,” I say.

  “Hah hah. Right. You need to tell me why you got into this nutty gig.”

  Yes, dying to tell him about my crazy mom and the sister who’s dating the meth head. My phone pings and I check it.

  Amelia: Haven’t talked. Are you still creeped by the letter?

  Evie: No.

  Amelia: Good. This stuff is usually nothing.

  Amelia: A fourteen-year-old saw a pic of you online and he’s jerking off in the bathroom.

  Amelia: How’d your date go?

  I glance at Dylan. He’s scrolling again.

  Evie: Great.

  Amelia: Can’t wait to hear all!

  Amelia: Meeting Victoria for happy hour tomorrow. Join us.

  Evie: Sorry can’t. Got a date.

  I backspace, erase “date”, and replace with --

  Evie: Sorry can’t. Got a personal thing.

  Amelia: Say hi to your mom. Check in later.

  Evie: Have fun!

  Dylan was the first client I fucked and I did it because I liked him. Wholly. Unequivocally. Purely. We fly to Nashville, arrive early afternoon, and he rents a motel room close to the game’s location. We catch a nap, wake up, and fool around. I cheer on his stripper moves. Not only is he enjoying his new ‘talent’, he’s now striving to be the best male stripper ever. Gotta love an alpha guy.

  “Woo hoo! Smoking hot! Take it all off!” I shove dollar bills down his underwear, then reward him for real by dropping to my knees in front of him. I slide his briefs down his legs with one hand, grasp his hard cock with the other and take it in my mouth, circling my tongue around the head as he moans. I lick the length of him.

  “Evie.”

  “What?”

  “Take off your top.”

  I pull off my T-shirt and toss it.

  He looks at me, licking his lips and my nipples pebble. “Gorgeous.”

  I take him in my mouth, clasp his muscular ass, drawing him in further and he bumps the back of my throat, over and over.

  “Evie. Oh, God.” He shudders, groaning, his hands tangled in my long hair, my eyes watering as I take him in, not letting go while he comes in spasms.

  We shower together, ostensibly to prep for the gig, but one thing leads to another. He kisses me fiercely, one hand playing with my hair, the other massaging my breasts, teasing my nipples, his erection pushing against my abdomen. My sex is throbbing, my breath coming quicker. “Inside me, Dylan.”

  He steps a foot out of the shower and grabs a square from his wallet on the bathroom counter. He rips the package open with his teeth and rolls on protection. “Turn.” Back in the tub he stands behind me, his hard cock pushed up against the crease in my ass, one hand between my legs playing with my clit. “Lean forward, baby. Hands on the wall.”

  I do as he asks the warm shower water hitting my back. He slaps my ass a few times and my breath ratches up.

  “God, you’ve got a great ass, Berlinger.”

  “Awesome compliment coming from the hot stripper with the beautiful dick.” I arch my back and grind against him. “This is your best lap dance yet.”

  He laughs.

  I’m on fire for this man. “Inside me, please.”

  He nudges my legs apart with his muscular one and rubs his hard length against me until he slides in and I gasp from his fullness. He fucks me slowly at first. My eyes flutter closed and I get use to his size, his hardness.

  “Baby,” he says. “You feel so good.” He pushes harder and with each thrust he’s deeper inside me, claiming me, making me his. “More?”

  I nod, biting my lip.

  He grasps the top of my hips and drills me from behind, my ass slapping up against his stomach. It feels so good under the warm water, him inside me, and I push back against him, moaning. His hand reaches around front and finds the hard nub between my legs, strumming fingers over my sex until I’m panting, crying out his name, over and over. “I’m coming, Dylan. I’m coming!”

  “Good, baby.” He thrusts deeper inside me, until he comes, leg muscles contracting, his abs contracting.

  We get dressed for real this time and grab a quick bite on our way to the game. A red and yellow flashing neon sign hovers over the large parking lot filled with a smorgasbord of new and old sedans, motorcycles, pickup trucks. It’s early afternoon after the lunch rush at Big Tony’s a little BBQ joint on the side of the road. Dylan and I share a picnic table and enjoy plates of pulled pork and ribs.

  “Yummy,” I say. “I could eat this for days.”

  “I could eat you for days,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. Part of me thinks I’m hallucinating. Every time I blink I fear you’ll disappear.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Are you feeling more relaxed? Ready to win the house tonight?” He’s got a smear of BBQ sauce on his chin and I wipe it away with two fingers. Still amazed I am here with this beautiful man. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, that tousle of chestnut hair. Feelings percolate in me. Not lust for a change. Something familiar, something I haven’t felt in a long time.

  “No,” he says. “I think we should fuck one more time. Then I’ll be ready.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  I bite back a smile, pushing whatever this feeling is away. “We can’t be late.”

  “These things never start on time. Look,” he says and points to the other side of the parking lot. “That picnic table’s way way in the back of the property. Hidden behind a huge pine tree. It’s totally private. You could bend forward the way you did in the shower, I’d lift your skirt, pull your panties -- ”

  “No. A picnic table next to the parking lot is not private.”

  “We haven’t done a quickie yet. I’d feel horrible if I deprived you.”

  “Sex after the game.” I traveled with him to Nashville because I like him. I also traveled here because I desperately want him to get his mojo back.

  We arrive at Vanderveen Manor, a large, lush, landscaped, black iron gated estate
on the outskirts of town. The greenery’s thicker in the South and a heady hint of jasmine wafts through the air. It’s early Sunday evening when we’re buzzed into the place and instructed to follow the red brick path to the back of the property. The manor’s centerfold glossy, with a big money vibe similar to the Schillinger Estate in St. Charles.

  “You got this,” I say to Dylan as he knocks on the door.

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” He squeezes my hand.

  The entrance opens and a polished young woman greets and ushers us inside an immaculate living room with cherry colored hardwood floors. The room smells sweet, like men used to smoke pipes in here and the aroma seeped into the wood. Built in bookshelves line the walls stocked with antique books. A poker table’s set up in the far corner, players gathering.

  The Nashville help staff is just as polite as the folks in St. Charles and Chicago, but even more polished. The dealer could be a model for men’s cologne, slicked back hair, dark eyes. The hostess and waitresses could pass as beauty pageant contestants.

  Everything’s pristine and pretty when out of nowhere my skin crawls. Like taking a short cut down a city alley when an unexpected wind kicks up, hurling soot and garbage in my direction, trashing me, making me feel dirty.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Glenn, the Fast Food King walks out of the bathroom, eye fucking me as he zips up. “I heard rumors you’d be hitting the Grind City game, McAlister.”

  “Glenn!” Dylan startles. “Didn’t realize you’d be here.”

  “Last minute thing. Awfully nice of you to bring the girl,” he says, tongue flicking over thin lips.

  “The girl has a name,” Dylan says, spine straightening, shoulders squaring. “Evelyn Berlinger.”

  “Nice to see you again, Evelyn,” Glenn says. “What say I play you for her, McAlister.”

  Dylan’s face flushes red and he practically growls. “Stop being an asshole.”

  I shiver and wrap my arms tight around my waist.

  “Come on, church boy. She’d sweeten the pot better than a stack of chips.”

  “Stop or I’ll punch you.” His hand balls in a fist.

  I step between them. “Dylan.”

  “I’m a gambler,” Glenn says. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. Right cookie?” He winks at me and walks away.

  “Entitled asshole prick. I’m sorry. You okay?” Dylan asks rubbing my arm.

  “Don’t let this idiot get to you.” I nod as my phone pings. “Get it done. Play well. And for God’s sakes, win!”

  “Lord knows I’ll try.” He kisses me, turns and makes his way toward the table located at the far corner of the room.

  Glenn shoots me another look. Beady eyes disappearing into fat red cheeks topped by thinning oily hair. I don’t think Dylan sees it – probably a good thing.

  A waitress approaches. “Can I get you something?” A shower?

  “An orange juice, thanks.” I slip outside onto a bricked in patio where I’m hoping to get decent reception because Wi-Fi is generally blocked during these events. I check my phone.

  Amelia: Where are you?

  Evie: Nashville.

  Amelia: I thought your mom was in Milwaukee.

  Evie: She is.

  Amelia: What’s going on in Nashville?

  Evie: A thing. Talk later.

  I check more texts.

  Madame M: Contact me.

  Evie: Feeling a little under the weather. I’ll check in soon.

  Madame M: Chicken soup and Vitamin C.

  Evie: Good idea. TY.

  I sigh and scroll.

  Ruby: You around this weekend? My BF and I are coming in town for a concert. Can we crash at your place?

  Evie: Which BF?

  Ruby: My only BF. Joe.

  Evie: Meth head Joe?

  Ruby: He doesn’t do meth anymore. Just weed.

  I roll my eyes.

  Evie: No.

  Evie: You cannot crash with me.

  Ruby: Nice of you to be so helpful, sister.

  Evie: I’m not a nice person. Sue me.

  I make my way back inside, collect my orange juice and move toward the back of the room. Where I stay for the next eighteen hours, hoping and praying this is the game that Dylan turns around. ‘He’s a good man, God,’ I silently pray. ‘Send him grace.’

  But God’s not on speed dial tonight because Dylan’s mojo crumbles late in the tournament. He plays loose; checking and calling where Glenn’s tight and aggressive, betting and raising on good hands. It’s almost as if Dylan’s math is off and he’s going all in on mediocre hands.

  I crunch numbers in my head and I estimate he’s dropped over fifty thousand. I feel his confidence blow up like a bomb around me, shards of shrapnel hurtling through the air when once again, Glenn emerges the big winner.

  I grab Dylan, his complexion ashen, and get him the hell out of Vanderveen Manor before he loses his shit and punches someone, probably Glenn. We hit Tony’s BBQ on the way back to our motel. It feels like we were just here but it was yesterday.

  Looking beaten, Dylan pushes food around his plate. “Maybe I need to leave the game. Go back to Texas. Back to the family business – Lighthouse Church. Sing in the choir. Get hit on by every Christian divorcee in the Dallas Fort Worth area. Ugh. Kill me now.”

  “You’re underselling yourself, old man,” I take a bite of my BBQ chicken. “You’ve got classic good looks and with your new stripper moves you’re multi-theistic hot. All the non-Christians will be hitting on you too. You’ll be the most popular guy in town. But now’s not the best time to be making that kind of decision.” I point to his plate. “Eat.”

  “Jeez, you’re harsh.” He picks up a rib, chewing on it.

  “I need you healthy,” I say. “Who else is going to give me mind-bending orgasms tonight?”

  A pimply teenager holding a fork topped with BBQ at the next table over stares at me wide-eyed, his mouth gaping.

  Dylan jabs the rib in his direction. “Not. You. Buddy.”

  We’ve been up for over twenty four hours. Back at our room we shower and collapse in bed. I fall into a hard sleep until he wakes me, kissing my breast. “Evie.” He circles his tongue around my nipple, the scruff of his beard sending tiny beats of pleasure through me and my pussy clenches.

  I sigh, stir, and blink my eyes open. “You okay?” Early morning sunshine pokes through a split in window curtains.

  “Right now, I am,” he says. He takes my nipple in his mouth, alternating sucking and nibbling. One hand slides down my abdomen. “Spread your knees, baby.”

  I do as he asks.

  “You’re so sweet.” He kisses me, his lips firm, his tongue exploring my mouth. He grazes fingers down the inside of my thigh, playing with my folds. I’m getting wetter by the second and it’s all I can do not to clench my thighs tight against him. “I want you inside me, Dylan.”

  “Patience,” he says, straddling me, his cock already thick and hard, jutting out from his pelvis. He reaches for a small square package on the bedside table, rips it open with his teeth, and rolls on protection.

  I reach for him, circling his erection with my hand, stroking its length lightly at first, then firm, harder. He’s rock hard. Good God, this man is delicious. “Now?” I ask my body warm, wet, and pulsing with need for him.

  “Rub me against you. Play with me like you would with one of your toys. I want to see what you look like.” His blue eyes light up with desire. “Watch your pretty face when you come. You’re so hot when you come.”

  I rub his stiff cock against my sex and moan. I’m already turned on, but rubbing his dick back and forth across my sex makes me even wetter, and I’m panting. I push his cock harder, faster against my sex, needing him inside my pussy, needing him to fill me. “Now?”

  “Come for me, Evie.” He pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, playing, toying with me, taking me to the edge. “You’re so sexy, baby. I could watch you forever.”

  I play with his h
ard cock across my bundle of nerves, crazy sensations building. I arch and buck and my thighs clench hard against him. “I’m coming!” My orgasm ripples in spasms of pleasure, shooting from clit through my pelvis out to the rest of my body. When the waves settle I take in a deep breath. “Inside me. Now.”

  He sinks inside me, pushing slowly at first, settling in. He groans. “You feel so good, baby.”

  “You too.” I wrap my legs around him.

  “I’m scared I’m losing it.” He thrusts inside me. “What if I’m losing it?”

  “We’ll figure it out. I promise. Right now, just fuck me.” I don’t care about Dylan McAlister’s money. I’ve never cared about his money. His fortune is slipping away and I still fuck him. I’m not sure when I won’t want to fuck him.

  He thrusts his cock inside me. He rides me harder, then harder still, burying himself deep, then deeper within me as if I am his last piece of sanity. As if I’m the last bastion between him and the monsters that have come to steal what remains of his courage; the thieves that have come to claim his soul. I lose track of time. The world falls away, and I orgasm. “Oh, God.”