Page 24 of Penance

Mercy

T he scalding water pounds against my skin. It’s so hot that my head is swimming, but I need it that way. My hands tremble as I lather shampoo into my hair, the suds sliding down my body like tears—tears that I shed while I begged for sin.

What have I done?

What is wrong with me?

The questions echo in my mind, and I can’t escape them.

What happened to me?

Draco, a voice in my head sneers.

His name alone sends a shiver down my spine, and it’s not from the cold. I can still feel his hands on me, his breath on my neck. My stomach churns, a disgusting blend of need and anticipation.

No, a different voice tells me. No, not anticipation. That’s fear. You’re scared.

I run my hands over my body, scrubbing harder, as if I can erase his touch and make myself good again.

But the throbbing between my legs… that’s not fear.

I want this.

I want him.

I feel like a child on Christmas morning, excited and nervous all at once, peeking for a glance at Saint Nick.

But this isn’t Christmas, and Draco is no saint.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the images that flood my mind.

His dark eyes, his flesh, etched with ink, and his hands.

Oh God, his hands.

I stop and press my forehead against the cool tile.

“I ask for your forgiveness, Lord,” I whisper.

But even as I pray, I know that my pleas are empty.

I’m not sure I want to be saved.

Not from this.

Not from him.

I should be disgusted, appalled at my own actions, but all I feel is a growing need, a hunger that gnaws at me from the inside out. I want to hate him, to fear him. But all I can think about is his touch, his lips, his body pressed against mine.

I’m clean, but I don’t want to leave this warmth.

That’s not true, the voice in my head gloats. You want to walk out of this room and climb right into bed with him.

I shake the thought away, reaching out to twist the tap off.

I reach up, grab the towel, and wrap it around my body, tucking it tightly over my chest.

Okay, sure.

Like that’s gonna save me.

As I turn to face the mirror, I see a neatly folded pile of clothes on the bathroom counter. My favorite white dress, a beacon of purity, starkly contrasts the vibrant red of the thong placed deliberately on top.

That’s the thong I had hidden in the bottom of my underwear drawer.

How did he get that?

My heart stutters, and my cheeks bleed red.

He must have left these here.

But when?

How did he come in without me noticing?

I pick up the thong.

In the Bible, particularly in the book of Isaiah, the color red is often used as a symbol of sin.

That’s why you picked it out, the voice in my head hisses. Whore.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I set the thong down, my hands shaking as I pick up the dress.

It’s pristine, untouched. I hold it up to my body, looking at my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at me is a stranger, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and longing.

“It’s just fabric,” I mutter, dropping the dress back onto the counter and grabbing the thong instead.

I step into it and pull the straps up my hips.

The dress follows, a breeze of cool cotton against my heated skin.

It settles over my frame, pure and chaste, but there’s a secret underneath it and part of me likes that.

I avoid the mirror, fearing the stranger who might stare out at me. Instead, I focus on the small pouch sitting on the other side of the sink. Its sky blue, covered in butterflies. It’s my makeup bag.

I grab it and pull it open, pulling out my eyeliner, my blush, my lip gloss.

Why am I doing this?

The question claws at me, but I shove it aside, concentrating on the steps inside.

I draw on a line of eyeliner and wing it out just a tad.

I swipe on the mascara, one coat, and then two.

I finish up with a single layer of shining pink gloss. It’s got glitter in it, but just a little bit.

I tell myself it’s because he told me to, but deep down, I know it’s more. I want him to look at me, to see me.

I want him to really see me.

I want him to sit beside me in the church pew and stare at me.

“Stop it, Mercy,” I hiss at my reflection, finally looking up at myself. The eyes staring back are wide, the pupils dilated to pinpoints. Frightened, yes, but also… alive.

Excited.

I lean closer to the mirror, checking my eyeliner one last time.

My breath fogs up the glass, hiding my reflection. I step back and watch as it fades away, and I can see my eyes float into view. The girl in the mirror looks alive in a way I haven’t felt in years. She looks like a woman who is determined to get what she wants.

Or maybe she’s just a fool playing with fire.

Maybe she will burn for it.

“What are you doing, Mercy?” I ask myself.

No answer.

Not even the voices in my head want to take a stab at it.

Turning, I step out of the bathroom and flick the light off.

I hurry down the hallway, step into the living room, and there he is. Draco is standing by the fireplace in the corner, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other resting on the polished marble.

His eyes meet mine, and I feel the floor tilt beneath me.

He’s dressed in a black suit that fits him like a glove, the fabric hugging his shoulders, tapering down to a shining silver belt buckle, adorned with a chain that leads into one pocket.

His tie is red, silky, and it’s not lost on me that it matches the thong he laid out for me.

He has combed his usually wild hair back, making it slick and shiny in the early morning light.

It’s mesmerizing—the devil dressed as a saint. My heart stutters, caught in the crossfire.

“You look… different,” I blurt out.

Different is an understatement.

He looks devastating.

He turns to face me fully, his eyes narrowing as they rake over me. I feel his eyes on every inch of me, and I like it.

“And you look like an angel.”

I blush, my stomach twisting in knots.

I glance down at my dress, suddenly self-conscious. The white fabric feels too bright, too pure against the darkness of his suit. I’m a lamb being led to the slaughter, and I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of the sacrifice or the fact that a part of me wants to throw myself onto the blade.

He steps towards me, and I can smell his cologne now.

It’s like a forest at night, and it swims straight to my brain.

“Let’s go,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “After you, Mercy.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s coming—for the eyes on me, the judgment, the stares.

But I’m not sure I care anymore, and that’s even scarier.

He offers his arm, a gesture that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes. I hesitate, then slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the firm muscle beneath his suit jacket. I can feel his warmth seeping into me.

We step out the door, and the chill of late October slithers over me like a dead serpent. I steal a glance at him again, taking in his profile as he locks the door. There’s a sense of pride at being seen with him.

That’s weird.

Just a few days ago I was terrified to be seen with him.

Now?

I want them to see us.

Why?

“You look beautiful, Mercy.”

I shouldn’t want his compliments.

I shouldn’t crave his approval.

But I do.

God help me, I do.

I blush as he guides me down the hallway, my heels clicking over the uneven tiles.

We make our way down the stairs, and out the front door, and I suck down a breath of the fresh air outside, so maybe I’m not drowning in his cologne anymore.

No, that doesn’t work.

I keep my eyes forward, focusing on the crunch of gravel as we step into the parking lot. But I keep glancing over at him.

I’m a moth drawn to his flame, and I’m going to burn for this, I just know it.

We step around the side of his car, and he pulls the door open for me, gently guiding me inside.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s all I can manage, a feeble attempt to not pant at him like a bitch in heat.

His chuckle is soft, knowing.

It sends another shiver down my spine.

I know he can see right through me and he’s enjoying every single minute of it. He’s torturing me, and he likes it.

The car door slams shut as he climbs in beside me. The engine purrs to life. Draco’s hands grip the steering wheel, and I can’t stop staring at them. I watch him as he pulls out of the parking spot, and we make our way out onto the main road.

“You’re squirming, Mercy,” he says, looking over at me with one eyebrow cocked. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I press my knees together, hard.

“No,” I lie.

His lips curl into a smirk. We slide to a stop and when he looks over at me, those deep, fathomless eyes are reflecting the red of the stoplight.

“You can’t lie to me, Mercy. I can smell it on you.”

I squirm again. The leather seat beneath me creaks, giving me away.

Damn it!

Why does he look so good, and why is it effecting me like this?

“You want me, Mercy,” he continues, his voice as smooth as the silk tie around his neck. “If I pulled over right here and fucked you in the back seat, you wouldn’t stop me. You’re tired of playing the good girl, aren’t you?”

I shake my head, more to convince myself than him. But he just chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that, baby girl. Let’s walk into that church and act like you’re a prim and proper little princess and you didn’t beg for my cock on the kitchen floor.

I can play pretend for a little while. Then I’m gonna take you home and make you scream.

Just make sure you’re thinking about that while you look up at your lord and savior, nailed to that cross.

You getting fucked hard, by a sinner like me—those are the sins he died for. ”

I just stare at him, and my mouth is suddenly so dry.

The car rolls to a stop in the back of the church parking lot. The engine goes silent as he throws it into park and flips the key off.

Draco turns and looks at me.

“You’re shaking, Mercy,” he says.

His hand reaches out, tracing the line of my jaw. I flinch at his touch, but not out of fear. It’s something else. My body is shaking so hard that I don’t know what to do.

“I… I’m just cold,” I stammer, looking away from him. The church looms in the background, and I feel like the building itself is judging me.

“Is it really the cold, Mercy?” he presses, his hand moving lower, tracing the column of my throat.

I swallow hard, and I feel my throat bob against his thumb when I do.

“Or is it what’s dripping down your thighs right now that’s got you all worked up?

Your pretty little pussy is throbbing, isn’t it?

You want me so bad, and you can’t wait.”

His hand drops lower, brushing against the collar of my dress. I can feel my heart pounding, my blood rushing in my ears.

“Well… we can’t have you acting like this in church. I’ll just have to take care of you, right here.”

And then, his hand plunges lower, and his fingers flip up my skirt. I gasp, my eyes wide as I stare at him, and at the world outside. There are people moving everywhere, like ants after a summer picnic.

Can they see me?

Can they see what he’s doing to me?

His hand slides between my legs, pushing aside the red thong, his fingers brushing against the part of me that’s throbbing painfully. I jolt at the contact, folding in on myself.

“Draco! We can’t do this in public!”

But I don’t push him away. I don’t want to. I want to pull him closer. I want to climb onto his lap and take what I want—what he promised me.

His fingers push inside me, deep, and curl expertly, and he brushes against a spot inside me that makes me feel like I’m being burned alive. I gasp and twist, rolling my hips against him.

“You’re wet, Mercy,” he says. Looking over at me, he pins me with his eyes, and I’m caught. I can’t move. “Wet for me.”

I nod, but I don’t need to. I know I don’t. He can feel it. He knows.

He pulls his fingers out and slides them up higher, and he finds that spot again and circles it.

I gasp again, reaching down and grabbing his wrist just to give myself something to hold on to—something to keep me grounded.

God, I might be dying.

It feels like I am?

I push my legs apart, giving him access and begging him not to stop with only my eyes. Maybe he can read my desire in my eyes, because he doesn’t. His fingers glide over my pussy, pushing and pulling and twisting until I’m shivering and bucking against him.

“Come on, good girl,” he says, pinning me with his gaze. “Cum for me. We don’t want to be late.”

He forces his fingers into me again, hard, and then instantly back out, working against that same spot.

I’m close already.

I’m so close.

How does he do that?

Every muscle tenses painfully, my skin flushed so hard I feel like I’m on fire.

Higher.

Higher.

Close.

So close.

He forces his fingers into me again, and it’s too much. My pussy clenches around him, and my hips pop up to meet him, grinding against his palm.

I see fireworks and explosions.

I see colors washing out the darkness behind my closed lids.

And then as abruptly as it began, it ends.

He withdraws his hand, leaving me gasping, shaking.

I watch, wide-eyed, as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

His eyes never leave mine and I’m forced to watch as he cleans my sin from his flesh and then licks his lips as if its his favorite flavor in the whole world.

“Time for church, Mercy,” he says, his voice steady, as if the world hadn’t just been jerked out from underneath me.

He opens the car door, stepping out into the parking lot and leaving me gasping for air.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I reach for the door handle, but before I can, he pulls the door open for me.

Draco stands there, waiting, his eyes on me.

I can’t meet his eyes again. Not after what just happened, and not if he even wants me to pretend to act normal.

Not with the turmoil raging within me. I focus on the church instead, its stark white walls a beacon of purity against the darkness enveloping me.

“Come on, Mercy,” Draco says softly, holding out his hand.

The hand that just moments ago was—I can’t even think it.

I nod, doing what he asked, and stepping out into the parking lot.

My thighs are shaking, and the first few steps wobble like a newborn foal.

“Mercy?” I hear my mother’s voice calling for me, and my stomach drops.

I stop in my tracks.

My breath catches in my throat.

Oh god, help me.