Possessed: The Dollhouse, Part One (5 page)

I
woke some time later
, cradled in his arms. He reclined on the bed, propped up against the headboard, and had taken the comforter from the bed and settled it around me. The top of my head was tucked underneath his chin as I rested against his chest.

He must have felt me stir because his chest rumbled against my cheek as he spoke.

“Welcome back.”

I was terrified to do or say something that would break the spell, so instead I burrowed deeper against him. My cheek rested against the small patch of bare skin where the top of his shirt was unbuttoned.

“It might be a little late for the vapors, pet.”

He gripped my chin and tilted my face up so I was forced to meet his eyes. His face was heartbreakingly beautiful in a way that was almost too much to bear. Forest green eyes, so deep that it felt like I would fall into them, stared back at me.

“Tell me about your dreams.”

A fiery blush crept up my cheeks and he chuckled darkly.

“Tell me, Dalea.”

“You had me b-bound at my arms and legs.” I swallowed hard. “Sir.”

He rolled me off his lap and moved over my unresisting body in a quick moment. Taking both my wrists in one large hand, he raised them over my head and pressed them against the headboard. One of his legs moved up to cover both of mine, immobilizing them. I was effectively trapped between the vice-like grip and the weight of his body.

“Like this?”

I took a stuttering breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Was that all?”

His face hovered over mine, our noses barely touching. The heaviness of his body crushed me down into the mattress and made it difficult to take more than the most shallow of gasps.

I felt his breath – hot and wet against my skin – as he turned to brush his lips against my cheek. The touch was so light that I hesitated to even call it a kiss.

I could feel the hard length of his erection pressed against my thigh. Shifting slightly, I rubbed against it in a lithe movement and heard his answering groan.

“Answer me, Dalea,”

It was a struggle to remember what question he had asked. The lines of our bodies molded together, each curve and valley perfectly matched as if we were made to fit together. The way it felt to have him pressed against me overwhelmed my senses and robbed me of coherent thought.

The confusion must have shown on my face. He laughed and the sound was rich and deep.

“Describe the rest of your dream.”

I didn’t want to say it, embarrassed by my own imagination. “You blindfolded me, sir.”

“Did I?” His hand – the one that did not have my wrists trapped against the headboard – skimmed down the side of my body. It caught in the fabric of my dress before skimming over my bare hip. “Did you like that?”

I gasped as his wandering fingers glided over the hot skin of my inner thigh. “Y-yes, sir.”

“And when you awoke from your dream – dripping wet and unsatisfied – did you touch yourself?”

“Y-yes.” My voice came on a choking sob. “Yes, sir.”

His hand moved to the thin triangles of fabric that barely covered my breasts. The searching fingers slipped easily inside and found the hardened peak of one nipple, stroking over it in a touch so gentle that I could have imagined it.

“Who else did you let touch you?”

Shocks of pleasure sparkled over my senses and coalesced into a ball of heat at the center of my thighs, as his hand moved from one tight peak to another.

“No one, sir.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, little slut that you are.”

Ruthless fingers pinched hard on my nipple, dragging an unwilling moan from my lips.

“No one else has had their hands on your body?” He mercilessly twisted the delicate peak of flesh and stars exploded in my vision. His hand moved down my body, fingers scratching at my skin, hard enough that I gasped at the pain of it. Questing fingers slipped easily between the slick folds at my center and teased at the entrance. “No one else has tasted this wet little cunt?”

“No one!” I was sobbing now, both from the pain and from what hearing the filthy words on his lips did to me. “No one else, sir.”

His hand moved back up to my breasts and I nearly cried at the loss of his touch on my most sensitive place.

“Arch your back,” he commanded.

My body bowed up as I complied without hesitation. His arm slipped under my back, raising me even higher until my breasts were presented to him like sort of pagan offering.

I stared down the line of my body into eyes that had turned dark as a jungle canopy. Our gazes met and held. I waited, not even daring to breathe. My wrists pressed hard against the wood of the headboard as I willed my arms to stop trembling. If he was pleased with my obedience there was nothing in the fathomless gaze to indicate it.

“There is nothing more erotic than when a woman offers her breasts to me, Dalea.” He blew gently over the sensitive skin. My nipples puckered and hardened in reaction. “Beg me to do what I want with them.”

My voice came in a breathy sigh. “Please do what you want with my breasts, sir.”

He clearly needed no further inducement. I saw his mouth descend before I felt the broad, raspy surface of his tongue flatten against my flesh.

His head moved to the side, laving the other nipple in turn with wicked strokes of his tongue. The hand holding my wrists pressed down hard, grinding the delicate bones together until I made a small sound of pain. Instead of balking, the sound seemed to excite him more. His lips closed over one nipple, sucking it in earnest.

The sensation, sharp and unrelenting, was so close to pain that I instinctively bucked against the iron grip he had on me, even as I knew my struggles were to no avail. His hand tightened around my wrists, unmoved by my struggles I might as well have been the wind trying to move a mountain.

He watched me as his lips bared, still pressed against the skin of my areola.
He wouldn’t,
came the desperate thought. I felt a flash of fear as his mouth closed over the sensitive flesh of one nipple.

That was when he bit down, teeth digging sharply into my skin.

The jolt of pain ran like livewire from the aching flesh of my nipple and straight to my molten core. His head moved to the other side, repeating the harsh attention.

Both of his hands moved to my chest, squeezing my breasts and pressing them hard together.

Now released, my hands fell to his head of their own volition and my fingers coiled in his dark hair. It was thick and soft as silk. My hands moved frantically through the strands, pulling and clenching into fists. The frenetic movements were the only way I knew to ask for what I didn’t know how to put into words.

I bucked against him, his erection hard against my thigh. The squirming contact wasn’t enough and I desperately wished there weren’t so much clothing between us, that I could feel his bare skin on mine.

He matched the movement, hips moving against me in a rhythm as old as time itself, even as he never ceased the unforgiving attention to my breasts.

We ground against each other. I didn’t care that the wool of his slacks was rough and scratchy against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, it only added to the overwhelming sensation. The friction against the aching bead of my clitoris was nearly more than I could bear. My hips rose and fell against him in a frantic tempo.

His hands stayed in place, kneading at my breasts, but his mouth moved up my chest to my neck and nibbled a tantalizing trail to my ear. “Come for me, Dalea. Come now.”

He thrust his hips hard into me. The feel of him rubbing against me there –the abrasive fabric sliding harshly across my overly sensitized nerves – was more than I could bear.

I came with a screaming cry that pierced the air. The sound echoed in the room, still audible as I collapsed back against the bed.

But it wasn’t enough. The earthy-shattering orgasm wasn’t a release but only served to whet my appetite. I wanted more. I wanted more of him. I wanted
all
of him.

My arms came up of their own volition to wrap around his neck, catching him off guard and pulling him down with me. Words spilled from my lips before I could stop them. “Please fuck me, sir.”

“Desperate little darling.” I felt his smile against the skin of my neck before I heard a dark chuckle. “I’m afraid you’ve had all that you’re going to get.”

I moved wantonly against him, the evidence of his unfulfilled desire more than apparent when it pressed against my leg. “But what about you, sir?”

“
I
am not your concern.”

I felt a keen sense of loss as he pulled away, rolling off of me to stand at the foot of the bed. Fearful that I had upset him, I scrambled quickly to my knees. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He regarded me steadily for a long moment, eyes traveling down my naked form and making me shiver. “I’m quite pleased with you, Dalea. You’ve exceeded my every expectation.”

A happy grin spread across my cheeks. The thought that I had made him happy meant more than anything else in that moment. “Thank you, sir.”

“Your breasts will be sore for a few days. You won’t be able to touch them without thinking of me.”

My hand brushed against the faint indent of his teeth in my left breast. A shock of pain shot through me with an answering throb of desire. “Oh.”

The smug smile that crossed his lips was like a ray of sunlight after a lifetime of darkness. “Think of me.”

His obvious pleasure made me bold. I asked the question – the one whose answer had plagued my restless nights. “Will you tell me your name, sir.”

His gaze sharpened as he regarded me. An emotion that I couldn’t identify crossed his face before it went blank and carefully neutral.

“Why?”

I hesitated, no ready explanation on the tip of my tongue. Unfathomable eyes watched me closely, nearly overwhelming in the intensity of their attention. Unable to lie to him, I finally just admitted to the truth.

“For my dreams.”

He was silent for long enough that my heart began to beat uncomfortably hard. His impenetrable gaze moved over me and I could feel it like the weight of his hand on my skin. His eyes lingered on my exposed breasts, skin reddened and sore from his attentions.

“Julian. You may call me Julian.”

“
J
ulian
.”

I tasted the name on my lips for the thousandth time as a silent Dollhouse bouncer drove me home. I hadn’t really expected him to give me a name, whether it was real or not. But I had felt something shift when he had.

My patron was no longer anonymous. Our interactions were no longer strictly within the realm of fantasy. He had a name and that made him so much more real.

The windows of our apartment were dark when the car pulled up to the curb. I was already pushing the door open when it rolled to a stop. I’d quickly figured out that waiting for it to be opened for me would just make me feel bad about myself.

It seemed strange to admit that being spanked and forced to call the man who did it
sir
made me feel like less of a whore than the fact that the Dollhouse driver couldn’t be bothered to open the door for me. But it was true just the same.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said sarcastically before slamming the door shut behind me.

It was still dark outside but wouldn’t be for long. I hurried up the creaking stairs of the old apartment building, wanting to be safely in bed before any of my family awoke for the day.

I turned the key slowly in the lock, trying to be as quiet as possible. Momma was snoring softly on the couch when I came in the door. I tiptoed softly past her, thankful that the breathing machine was actually doing her some good.

Her respirations remained steady and even. I breathed a sigh of relief.

A breath which I promptly exhaled sharply when I entered the kitchen and found my brother waiting for me.

“Jesus,” I said, gasping. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Julio stood, his skinny arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Where have you been?”

“Out.” I tried to sweep past him but he blocked my path.

“With who?”

“None of your business. Get out of the way, Julio.”

“My boy Niko saw you get in the back of some car with blacked up windows and drive away. That was like four hours ago.”

Heat suffused my cheeks as I stared into his belligerent face. Of all the people to see me get into that black sedan, why did it have to be someone who knew my brother.

“So what?”

“So what have you been doing?” He glared at me. “Where did the money for Mom’s meds and her new breathing machine come from? What have you been doing?”

I didn’t know what to tell him, there was no excuse I could give that would make any sense. I thought that I had been so careful, but it just seemed stupid in hindsight. Of course he would have questions when money just appeared out of nowhere.

“I told you the insurance money came in. That’s it.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

He grabbed for the small purse that was slung over my shoulder, too quick for me to stop him. I tried to grab the strap before it slipped off but he was too fast.

“Stop it!”

Julio was already rifling through the bag, spilling its contents onto the floor. He immediately found the wad of cash at the bottom and held it up accusingly.

“What the fuck, Dalea?”

“Leave me alone.” I snatched the money back from him, balling it in my fist. “We needed money and I got it. How I did it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” He watched me drop to the floor so I could pick up the spilled contents of my purse. “You don’t need to get it from strange men.”

A strange man,
I almost corrected him. “We need it.”

“Not like this.” Julio’s face was more earnest than I’d ever seen it and I felt a stab of emotion. It had been so rare lately to get any sign that he cared about anyone but himself. “I’ll start washing dishes at the diner, if I have to. You can’t do this anymore.

“Julio…”

“Promise.” He stared down at me, eyes round and sincere. “Promise me that you won’t do this anymore.”

I could suddenly see him as a baby, when Momma made me promise that I would always take care of him. My family had been all I had for as long as I could remember. They had always been the most important thing in my life.

But then I thought of my patron –
Julian –
the outlet for the dark desires that I never knew that I had.

“I promise.” My heart wrenched painfully in my chest. “No more.”

Julio’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Okay. We’ll find money some other way.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the money that a waitress and a dishwasher could make wasn’t going to stretch very far. Or that there might not be a way to make it work.

Perhaps it was better this way. Julian was like a fire in my blood and it threatened to consume me. The Dollhouse asked too much of me – my time, my pride and, perhaps, my soul. A clean break might be just the thing that I needed.

But if it was, why did the thought fill me with me so much regret?