The Dollhouse (15 page)

Was I really stupid enough to make the same mistake twice?

Julian did touch me then, the back of his hand stroking lightly down my cheek. Even that slight contact was enough to set a fire burning inside of me that only he could extinguish.

With a sigh, I scratched the pen quickly across the paper before I had chance to talk myself out of it.

"What now?" I asked, cursing the breathy quality of my voice.

Julian spoke then and his voice was hard and smooth, like steel dipped in dark chocolate.

"Now, you're mine."

* * *

J
ulian was
silent as the same car that had brought us to the Dollhouse whisked us towards the airport. Even as I waited for him to give me some indication of what he was thinking or of what he wanted. I watched his profile as he stared out the window into the night, brooding.

The painful tension finally became too much for me to bear. "Where are we going?"

He glanced at me with a look of slight surprise as if he'd forgotten that I was even there. "I suppose you'll find out when we get there."

"You seem upset." I shifted in the seat until I was facing him. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I do not like having my hand forced."

I was out of patience for his dramatic changes in mood. “So you should be the only one to do the forcing? That doesn't seem fair."

The gaze that he turned on me was dark as a storm cloud. "Don't test me, Dalea. You won't like what happens."

Perhaps he was more like me than I thought, caught between being controlled by his desires and his desire to be in control.

The idea that I had any power over him at all thrilled me. "All of that chasing and you finally caught me. I thought you'd be happier."

He turned back to the window and made a low grunting sound in his throat, but didn't respond.

"Or maybe you're afraid--"

Julian moved so quickly that I didn't have a chance to react. I blinked and he was on top of me, pressing me down into the leather seat.

"I would be happy," he bit out. "If that pretty mouth of yours was doing something
besides
talking."

The kiss he forced on me was deep and all-consuming. His mouth took mine possessively, lips and tongue roving over me like he knew it all belonged to him.

I couldn't stop my knees from falling open and he took advantage of the opportunity, sliding our bodies fully together so I was forced to bear the full weight of him. His hands caught at mine and raised them above my head, in a move that I was quickly starting to recognize as a signature of his. He used one hand to pinion my wrists against the side of the door in a hold that was impossible to fight.

He broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to my neck, nipping and biting at the skin. He found a a sensitive spot just under the bend of my jaw and sucked hard. I moaned.

"That's good," he murmured against my overheated skin. "But I think we can do better."

Julian rained kisses on my throat and neck, alternatively sucking, licking and pressing his teeth hard into my flesh with enough force that it was just this side of biting. He took advantage of the fact that the blouse I wore wasn’t completely buttoned and his lips grazed the soft curve of one breast.

My body arched into him, or tried to given the small distance between us. He held me trapped against the seat and I had no way to escape his attentions, even if I had wanted to.

His free hand yanked down my blouse, revealing my breast. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around an exposed nipple, sucking the hardened peak forcefully into his mouth.

I writhed against him, my body desperate for relief from the fire he stoked within me.

"Please—“

"Be quiet," he ordered, his mouth momentarily ceasing its attention. "You'll take what I give you and thank me for it."

But I couldn't stop the mewling cries that issued unbidden from my throat as he continued his onslaught. I wanted — no needed! — more.

My hips rocked against him, the movement erratic and uncontrolled. I could feel him nestled against me, his erection growing larger with each thrust of my body. I intentionally ground myself into him, hoping to goad him into some sort of action. If he even noticed the movement, he paid it no attention.

It was as if the more desperate I became, the more controlled and still it made him, raising my frustration to new heights.

When Julian pulled away, it left me cold and wanting. He returned to his side of the seat as his hands rose to adjust the front of his rumpled suit jacket.

I lay there and glared at him, coming down slowly from the dizzying heights, still desperate and unsatisfied. The unfulfilled need that I felt was so great that it was almost a type of physical pain.

"That's it?" I huffed the question.

He glanced over at me, expression unconcerned, as if he hadn't just been suckling my breasts while I dry-humped him into oblivion. The calmness of his manner only infuriated me more.

"That's lesson one." He watched me gather myself together, still shaking from anger and frustrated desire. "You don't always get what you want."

I
t wasn't
until town car pulled off the highway at the exit for O'Hare airport that it truly dawned on me what I had signed up for.

"We're flying!?" It was more of an involuntary outburst than a question.

"Yes," Julian said, his voice clipped.

"How is that going to work exactly?" I asked sarcastically. It was embarrassing how angry my frustrating lack of an orgasm made me, but the emotion was there all the same. "You don't think airport security will think it's a little suspicious that I don't have any baggage?"

"We're not flying commercial."

"Oh, of course not," I muttered sarcastically.

In any other situation, the thought of flying on a private jet would have been beyond exciting. I'd only flown on an airplane once to visit my grandmother when I was a kid and the experience had not been particularly grand. Between the stale peanuts, turbulence-induced nausea and multiple crying babies, I hadn't considered the trip to be particularly memorable.

But private jets were something that only existed for the rich and famous, people who could afford to take their decadent lifestyle 10,000 feet into the air. I almost wished my family could be here to see it, of course that would require explaining what we were doing there in the first place. I frowned at the thought.

Julian watched the play of emotions cross my face and something he saw must have amused him. "Everything you think shows up on your face."

Our eyes met and despite my frustration, I felt a rekindling of the desire that had just so recently faded. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It does make things easier." He reached out and stroked the back of his hand down my cheek. I shuddered in response. "Are you still angry with me?"

"I don't know," I said honestly, the war of emotions inside of me too close to call a winner. "Will you tell me where we're going?"

"Away," he said simply. "To a place without distractions or
interference
."

The significance that his voice placed on the last word sent a shiver shooting down my spine. "Is it far away?"

"Far enough."

The thought of being alone with him and completely under his control nearly undid me. There would be no limits imposed on the length of time, like in the Dollhouse, practically no limit on what he could do to me and no chance of being discovered.

Or saved.

A wave of desire washed over me at the thought.

I swayed towards him but his hand fell away, leaving me cold. "Please, I can’t—“

"You can," he said simply. "Because you have to."

"Why are you doing this to me?" My voice was plaintive.

"I haven't even begun. I'm going to tease you to heights higher than you’ve ever climbed and just when you are on the brink of release, I'm going to stop." Julian's voice was whisper-soft. He closed the distance between us and his fingers stroked down the side of my neck. "I'm going to torture you."

"Why?" I asked, near tears.

"To teach you about unfulfilled desire." The set of his mouth was grim. “Maybe to punish you."

Whatever I would have said — assuming I would have thought of anything to say at all — died in my throat when a loud knock came on the divider between the front and back seat. I realized blearily that the car had stopped.

"We're here," he whispered against the delicate shell of my ear before pulling away and getting out of the car.

I was frozen in place. The driver came around to my side of the car and opened the door. I forced myself to climb out on legs that had gone as rubbery as overcooked spaghetti.

We were parked in a small lot that was nearly empty, doubtless because it was so late in the evening. But we weren't at the main terminal. Instead, a small building lay in front of us that was about the size of a restaurant. I could see the blinking lights of the runway stretching out into the distance.

Julian came up beside me and gripped my arm to propel me forward.

"Is this the airport?” I asked confused.

"It's an FBO. Private planes don't fly out of the main airport, but they use the same runways."

"Fancy."

"Back in the good old days, they used to let you drive right up to the plane and board. Of course, security is much tighter these days. Still, it's more convenient this way — no airport security, no baggage claim, no crying babies."

We easily slipped into a rhythm as we walked. It was like I was in tune with him even now. "I could definitely do without the crying babies."

"Really," he said, arching an eyebrow. "No plans to be a mother yourself someday."

"Maybe in a hundred years." I tamped down on the rebellious image of what it would be like to have
his
baby. That couldn't possibly be what he meant. "I have to figure out how to take care of myself first."

His hand moved to touch the small of my back. "I suppose that is the safer option."

The dark promise in his voice made me shiver.

I stopped at the doors, suddenly unable to take another step forward as the full import of what I was about to do settled over me. "I don't know if I can do this."

Julian stopped too and turned to face me. I expected him to be cruel, to threaten me over the contract that I had signed and force me to go with him.

Instead, his hands came up to delicately cup my face. He leaned in close enough that I thought he was going to kiss me, but he paused close enough that our lips just barely touched as he spoke.

"If you want to go, I won't stop you. You
always
have a choice." He did kiss me then, a chaste press of his lips on my forehead that shouldn't have been as arousing as it was. "You're here because you want to be, because you would go anywhere for me."

The truth of it struck my heart like a poisoned arrow. The ache in my chest was akin to physical pain.

I loved him — loved him more than it was possible to bear, because I knew he didn't feel the same way. And I couldn't ever tell him.

He already had enough power over me.

His thumb moved to catch the tear that fell down my cheek. "Just say yes."

"Yes."

* * *

T
he pilot met
us in the lobby of the FOB. I expected him to at least ask me for identification. I knew how I must have looked in my rumpled clothes with my purse hanging limply from my shoulder — like a reject from the office version of the Hunger Games.

But it only took a few murmured words from Julian before we were waved forward to the Gulfstream waiting on the tarmac. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I should be running in the opposite direction. But I walked forward, his hand at my back urging me onward.

"Do you normally have a plane at the ready?" I asked, practically yelling over the idling jet engine.

"Berkmore does," Julian replied as he helped my up the narrow stairs to the cabin door. "I'm taking advantage."

"Is buying a slave considered a tax write-off?"

He shot me a narrow glance but his voice was gentle. "You talk too much."

The inside of the jet was the definition of opulent. There was only two rows of chairs on each side of the cabin, each made of smooth leather and wide enough to comfortably seat three people. A circular couch took up the back part of the cabin and next to it was a low bar. A large flatscreen television dominated the wall in front of the cockpit and the image on it was of a crackling fire, so high definition as to appear real.

"Is it just us?"

"Yes."

"Do you always travel this way?" I asked, a little breathless at just how significantly I was out of my depth.

"I normally try to avoid it, actually." He moved to the bar and bent to retrieve a bottle of champagne. "I hate to fly."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued at the idea that the indomitable Julian Berkmore-Hathaway had a weakness. "You know that, statistically speaking, you're more likely to die after slipping in the bathtub than in a plane crash."

The look he cast me was sardonic. "I'm aware, thank you."

"Although I suppose what makes it really scary is that you'd know the plane crash was coming. There's the turbulence and uncontrolled motion as the pilot fights to keep the plane under control and then that terrifying descent to the ground. And the entire time, you know exactly what's about to happen."

"You make it very tempting to gag you," he growled, sending a coil of lust and fear through me.

I swallowed hard, unable to decide if the thought of being gagged was arousing or terrifying. "I babble when I'm nervous."

The champagne corked popped free with one flex of his hands. I jumped at the loud sound. Several types of glasses hung upside down by their stems in a rack above the bar. He slipped two champagne flutes out of the wooden rails and set them upright on the bar top.

"Drink," he said, pouring me a glass and placing it in front of me.

I picked up the glass of champagne with fingers that trembled and brought it slowly to my lips. Bubbles fizzed in my mouth and burst on my tongue, leaving me feeling heady.

Julian moved past me and took one of the seats then turned it so he faced backwards. He indicated the chair that was now across from him. "Come sit."

I obeyed him, sinking gingerly into the plush leather seat. It felt like I sank into a cloud, all comfort and floating.

"This is amazing," I said on a sigh.

Julian watched me with a half-smile but said nothing.

The captain's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Alright folks, it looks like we're cleared for takeoff. Weather report says a nice wind and clear skies so we should make it to Colorado in no time."

"Colorado?" I raised an eyebrow. "Guess the cat's out of the bag."

"Do you remember your safe words?" he asked, obviously ignoring what I'd said.

"Yes," I said and could feel my face reddening from embarrassment. Sitting in the Procurer's office and openly discussing all of the things that he could — and would — do to me had probably been the most excruciating experience of my life.

"Tell me." His voice was casual, as if we were discussing the weather.

"Red means stop, that I can't take anymore. Yellow means slow down." Embarrassed, I turned away to look out the window as we taxied down the runway. The glittering lights of the city seemed very far away. "And Green...Green is for when I want more."

Julian took a sip from his glass, his gaze steady on me over the rim. "If you say Green, then you had better be begging."

I shuddered hard at his words — at their darkly sexual promise.

"From this point forward," he said, voice mild. "You will not be allowed in my presence while you wear pants or underwear. If I put my hand between your thighs, I don't want to feel anything but you. Is that understood?"

My hand clenched on the arm of the seat. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

It felt like the cabin walls were closing in on me, making it difficult to breathe. "Yes, sir."

"Finish your drink."

I brought the glass to my lips, my hands moving before I really had a chance to process the command. It was as if my body knew instinctively to obey him and my mind needed to play catchup.

He watched silently as I drained the glass and placed it on the short table between us. I felt like a butterfly with its wings pinned beneath the eye of a microscope — caught and overexposed.

"Take off your panties and give them to me."

My hands slipped underneath the skirt, rucking it up so that I could wriggle out of my underwear. I fought off a wave of embarrassment as I balled the offending garment up in my fist and tossed it across the distance that separated us so it landed in his lap.

He brought the ball of lace to just under his nose and inhaled deeply, shocking and exciting me.

"Delicious," he murmured, his eyes never leaving my face. "Put your feet up on the arms of the chair, let me see that pretty little pussy."

I swallowed hard, but moved to obey. I could feel my skin flushing with embarrassment and I wondered if he was able to see it. The skirt pooled around my hips as I balanced the balls of my feet on the chair arms, exposing myself from the waist down. Cold air moved across my sensitive skin raising goosebumps. I shivered.

It was so much easier to do what he asked when his hands were on my skin, spanking me or coaxing my willing body to a mind-shattering orgasm. It was something else entirely to have to sit across from him like this and follow his emotionless orders.

"Spread yourself open for me," he whispered. "And then dip a finger inside. Can you feel how wet you are."

My face burned with the shame of it, but I couldn't fight the spirals of pleasure that coiled in my body as I touched myself.

"Answer me, Dalea."

I had to fight through the haze of pleasure to remember what question he had asked. "Y-yes, sir,” I said on a gasping breath. "I can feel it."

"Show me how you touch yourself when you're alone. Show me how you make yourself come."

I complied with a whimper, completely humiliated at the intimacy and violation of it. It was almost more than I could bear, showing him things that I had never revealed to anyone before.