The Dollhouse (9 page)

* * *

I
pushed blindly
through the crowd of people, weaving around tables with no conscious idea of where I was headed. I just wanted to get away as fast as I possibly could.

Too overcome to pay attention to what I was doing, I looked up and realized I was in an unfamiliar hallway. The ballroom was right next to the lobby but I must have turned left when I was supposed to turn right.

An exit sign was lit up like a lifeline at the end of the hallway. If I could just make it outside, it would be easy to find my way from there.

I pushed through the heavy door and ended up in a dark stairwell.

My feet took the steps as quickly as they could. My heart beat loudly enough that I swore it echoed off of the cinderblock walls and surrounded me.

I reached the bottom of the stairs out of breath as relief bloomed in me. But the door opened before I reached it and an imposing figure blocked my path. The door — my only escape! — slammed shut with a sound loud enough to wake the dead.

It was too late to slow my trajectory and I slammed bodily into whoever had opened the door. Powerful arms came up to steady me as hands the size of dinner plates tightened on my arms in a grip too strong to fight.

I looked up into the eyes of Julian Berkmore-Hathway.

Before I could react, he turned with me and shoved me against the door, hard enough that it hurt. The back of my head hit the steel with a hard thunk and I saw stars.

It was an uncontrollable instinct to fight. We grappled for a moment, as I tried in vain to push him away long enough to get the door open. But he easily overpowered me and pinned both of my arms to my sides with the strength of his one.

I opened my mouth — to beg or scream, I hadn’t quite figured out which— but his free hand moved to cover my mouth and pressed down hard.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

“Fuck you.” I shouted against his hand, but the sound was muffled and came out sounding more like
Fugh ewe!

“What are you doing here?” The look in his eyes was cold enough to chill me to the bone. “Have you been following me?”

I raised my eyebrows at him and he must have realized that I couldn’t exactly answer him with his hand covering my mouth. He pulled it back, but just far enough that I could speak, as if he didn’t trust me not to scream.

“I haven’t been following you — I haven’t even been thinking about you!” The last bit was a lie, of course, but there was no reason to tell him that. “You’re the one who has me trapped in the stairwell, remember.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” He glared into my eyes, as if willing me to tell him the truth.

“I didn’t,” I said indignantly, annoyed that he’d peg me so quickly for some sort of insane stalker. “I’m just working.”

“You don’t work here.” The arm that had me pinned tightened, stealing the breath from me. “You work at some shit diner on the South side.”

That surprised me, the Dollhouse must have given him considerably more information than they ever gave me. I guessed that made sense, he was the one who had paid for the privilege after all. “A friend of mine works for Berkmore and got me the job for tonight to work the benefit.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“None of your business.” No way was I throwing Trina under the bus like that, Julian looked like he was out for blood.

“Tell me.”

“No!” Darkness brewed in his expression and I had all the confirmation I needed of how much he hated being told no. “Look, this is all just an awful coincidence. Let me go, I’ll leave and we can pretend that this never happened.”

An emotion that I couldn’t place moved behind his eyes, but he didn’t let me go.

“You left the Dollhouse — tore up your contract. Tell me why.”

I hadn’t prepared for this, not for seeing him again and certainly not for having to explain myself. Why did he want to know anyway? The Dollhouse was full of women who would be desperate to have him. Why spare me a second thought?

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does.”

He moved closer until his lips just barely brushed the shell of my ear when he spoke. Something between us had changed. The air was no longer charged with his anger, but had turned seductive.

The fear remained, because of course I was still scared. I knew too well what he could do to me.

“If you don’t tell me, then I won’t let you go.”

“Why are you doing this?” My voice came hoarse and whisper-soft.

“Because I can.”

His hair was gelled to the side, not a single strand out of place. The expensive tuxedo he wore was expertly tailored. But despite the dignified appearance, something uncontrolled simmered underneath the surface. He was taut like a wire that was about to snap.

I didn’t want to answer him. I refused to give him that kind of power over me. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“But you will.”

“Please—“ I didn’t know what I started to say, but the words died in my throat.

The arm that was pressed hard at my waist moved upward. His fingers gently stroked down my cheek and I shuddered.

“Tell me to stop.” The pad of his thumb gently brushed across my lower lip. “You walked away from me once, do it again if that’s what you want.”

Julian released me then, hands falling away and leaving me cold. He even stepped away from the door and into the shadowed corner beyond it. Most of his face was cast in darkness, only adding to the sense of foreboding.

He beckoned toward the door with a sardonic wave of his hand. “Go.”

But I didn’t — couldn’t — move so much as an inch. The force of him was like a gravitational pull and I was caught in its path.

I remember how awful I had felt for the last few weeks. The memory of his hands on my skin burned like the slice of a knife. And that memory had refused to fade even with all of our time apart.

It was wrong and I knew it. He was married. And he was Julian Berkmore-Hathaway. The gulf between us couldn’t be any wider if I dropped an ocean into it.

Julian watched me closely, as indecision and desire warred inside of me. He must have seen the resolve inside of me break because the small smile that crossed his face was frankly predatory.

“Come here.”

And I went.

H
is hands felt
like they were everywhere at once. He pulled me against him until we were enveloped in darkness. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. He was all hard muscle and a heat that threatened to consume us both.

A hard mouth crashed into mine. His teeth pressed hard into my lips and his tongue demanded entrance. I opened underneath him like a hothouse flower blooming in winter.

He wrenched my hands above my head and held them there with one hand. My body fought to be closer to his, my back arching until the hills and valleys of our forms meshed perfectly together.

The kiss deepened and he pressed down harder as if he would crawl inside of me and truly make us one.

A fire burned in the pit of my belly, so deep that it was nearly painful. I could feel his erection straining hard against his tuxedo pants as it pressed into the soft flesh of my belly.

He broke the kiss and I whimpered at the loss, but his mouth moved lower. It slid over my chin and down to my neck like a trail of fire that burned even as he moved on to the next sensitive spot.

His free hand came up and pressed against the front of my shirt. He ripped hard at the fabric, tearing it. Buttons clattered to the floor as the shirt was split open.

Cold air rushed across the skin of my chest that was covered only in the lace bra that I wore, raising goosebumps. His head bent and bit my nipple through the thin cloth, just before sucking it forcefully into his mouth.

I dissolved. Shudders rocked through me at the painful pressure of it. He still had my hands caught above my head. I pushed against his grip, desperate to touch him — desperate for release.

But he only pressed my wrists harder against the concrete wall, the force of it bruising my skin. I was caught between the pressure of his hands and his mouth, unable to fight what he wanted.

Never able to fight.

His mouth did not cease its relentless pressure but his hand moved downward and slipped easily inside the waistband of my pants. His fingers moved through the small patch of hair, searching and finding the center of me.

A thick finger pushed inside of me and I moaned.

“Always so wet,” he murmured against my overheated skin. His head came up and he gently bit the side of my chin. “Is it just for me or do you walk around like this all of the time?”

I shook my head frantically, unable to answer. My hot cheek pressed against the cold stone behind me, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the burn.

He kissed me again and the action was harsh and possessive. “I’m going to fuck you, Dalea. Right here against the wall.”

“Oh, God—“

“Julian works too.” I felt his smile against the skin of my neck but his voice was stern. “Tell me that you want me to fuck you.”

A second finger was added to the first, stretching and filling me. I barely had enough brainpower to form a coherent thought, much less figure out how to make words. But I would also do anything to ensure that he didn’t stop.

“I-I want it.”

“No.” His voice was sharp, but one thumb pressed against my clit in small, tight circles. “Say it. Tell me that you want my cock inside of this tight little pussy. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.”

A flush bloomed on my cheeks. If there had been enough light, I knew he’d be able to see an embarrassing pink spread on my exposed skin.

“I can’t…please.”

His fingers moved wickedly inside of me, pumping in and out in an agonizing rhythm.

I gasped when his lips moved back to my breast, sucking and biting hard enough that it would leave a mark.

His hands tore at my clothes, shoving my pants down to my ankles so I could kick them away. I pushed the suit jacket off of his shoulders, desperate to have more of him exposed. My fingers ran down the ruffled front of his tuxedo shirt, wishing I had the nerve to rip it off of him.

He worked at the zipper of his pants until his erection sprang free. I felt it bounce gently against my hip. His hands moved away and I cried out at the loss, but then they were at my hips.

Julian lifted me up until my feet left the floor and I hung on the shelf of his hands. The tip of him rested against my entrance as his chest rose and fall with harsh breaths that were in tandem with mine.

I strained against him, desperately wanting to finally consummate the dance we had begun so many months ago. But he pulled away before we could make any further contact and his grip on me was like a steel vice.

“Say it, now.”

I could feel the rapid speed of his heartbeat where our chests pressed together, but his voice was emotionless, as if he could wait for me indefinitely.

“I want you inside me, now. Please!”

* * *

H
e plunged inside
of me and I screamed. The sound echoed in the stairwell and probably carried all the way up to the roof for the whole hotel to hear.

It was unlike any sensation that I had ever experienced. I wasn’t a virgin, but the fumbling attempts at sex I’d experienced from the few guys I’d been with was nothing compared to this.

His lips pressed against my neck as he withdrew and pushed in again slowly — so slowly!

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmured against my neck, nipping lightly at the skin with his teeth. “Put your legs around me.”

My hips rose and I wrapped my legs around him, my feet hooking together at his back. The new position allowed him to go deeper, pressing into what felt like the very end of me. He was big enough for it to be just on the right side of painful. But each push of his hips sent frissons of pleasure coursing up my spine.

He began to move faster, maintaining a steady rhythm. I heard faraway voices in the hallway outside the door as a group of people walked by. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that we were in public. The door could swing open at any moment and we would be discovered.

The thought only excited me more.

I tightened around him and he groaned. His thrusts became harder and faster, but still he maintained control of himself. I desperately wanted to break that careful restraint.

My hands moved to caress the sides of his face, knowing that he couldn’t stop me if he wanted to keep holding me up. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow were rough underneath the tips of my fingers.

This time I kissed him, so light that it was barely more than the touch of a feather. He kept his lips soft and pliant as I moved over them, kissing him in a way that was sweet and untutored, but full of emotions that I couldn’t adequately describe.

His fingers tightened on my hips, digging harshly into them, and I moaned into his mouth.

He drove into me, over and over again until it was nearly to much to take. There was no tenderness in his movements, only need and pure lust. Pleasure mounted in an ever-increasing spiral of sensation. I tensed against him, every muscle in my body straining for release.

“Come for me, Dalea,” he whispered against my mouth. “Come with me.”

The orgasm shuddered through me, more powerful than any that I had ever experienced before. It left me gasping and trembling against him. I heard his answering groan and his body stiffened as a greater wetness bloomed between my thighs. My body collapsed against his in exhaustion, my forehead falling to his shoulder.

I was barely conscious of him lowering me to the floor until my feet touched the ground. He continued to help support my weight as I slowly came back to myself.

He collected himself quickly. The cold mask swiftly descending over his features was apparent even in the dim light. He methodically straightened his clothes — adjusting the crooked bowtie and doing up his tuxedo pants. The jacket lay in a rumpled heap on the floor and he quickly brushed it off before donning it.

Aside from the stray strand of dark hair that flopped messily over his forehead, he could have come straight from the ballroom. It was as if the last few minutes had never happened.

Anger swelled in me — irrational, but too powerful to subdue. I knew what would happen next, he would go back as if nothing had happened and leave me here — desperately wanting more — just like he always had before.

Only instead of the bruises on my body, he had left me with a wet ache to remember him by.

Because I had finally figured it out. I knew exactly what kind of a doll I was — a marionette. A doll on strings to be posed and danced to the whims of its puppeteer, then cast away in a collapsed pile of limbs until it was needed again.

Julian must have noticed the change in me because he watched me closely, green eyes bright even in the darkness. “Are you alright.”

“Of course.” I reached down and pulled up my pants, feeling suddenly dirty.

“I want to see you again.”

I gave him a humorless smile as I did up the few buttons that still remained on my shirt. “I’m sure that you do.”

He adjusted the fold of one of his sleeves, but didn’t take his eyes from me. His calculating gaze reminded me of a predator searching for weakness. “Will I?”

“I don’t know.” It felt like I was hurtling through space, too fast into a vast unknown. “I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re willing to tell me about your wife.”

* * *

“
O
n whether or
not you’re willing to tell me about your wife.”

I watched his face shut down, a cold mask descending over his features, obscuring any emotion that may have lain underneath.

For a moment, I wondered if he would answer me at all. His eyes revealed nothing, but I refused to be the one to break the silence.

“And what do you think there is to tell?”

“You are married.” It wasn’t a question. Even in the dim light I could see the glint of the wedding ring on his left hand.

“Yes.”

It shouldn’t have rocked me — the simple declaration that I already knew to be true — but I felt a cold settle over me. It was as if my heart was gripped by icy fingers, hard enough that I could barely breathe.

“Is she here tonight?” I asked, proud of my voice for not cracking.

He hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”

I could just imagine it: some gorgeous and cultured woman, dressed in a fancy dress to go to a party with all of her friends to honor her husband. I wondered if she sat at one of those front tables and proudly watched him take the stage.

Did he even finish his speech before running after me?

A small, dark voice whispered inside of me, flattered at the thought.
You see,
it said,
how much he wants you.

“And this isn’t the first time, is it?” I wasn’t just asking about this, but about everything — the Dollhouse, all of it. I knew what I was, but I wanted to hear him say it. I was one of probably dozens of girls. Not nameless, but so close as to be nearly interchangeable.

“No, it’s not.”

I laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Of course not.”

He looked at me oddly, like I’d said something that didn’t quite make sense to him. “What do you want from me, Dalea?”

“Nothing.”
At least, nothing that you’re willing to give.
The pain of it made me bold. “What does your wife think of you fucking random girls in the stairwell?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’re cheating piece of shit.”

“Watch your mouth.”

He advanced on me so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to react. His hand was on my chest, mere inches from my throat, and shoving me hard against the wall.

I pushed at his hand with both of my mine but it was like trying to move a boulder. My heart beat too fast, not from excitement and desire this time, but from real fear.

We stared at each other, his angry face only inches from mine. His nostrils flared with each harsh breath that he took.

Whatever he was planning to say or do, I would never know. Just as his lips parted, the stairwell door was thrown open. A group of loud people in fancy clothes crashed past us, their voices echoing off of the walls.

Julian’s attention moved away from me and his grip on me loosened. I used his distraction to slip from between him and the wall.