The Dollhouse (14 page)

“Of course, sir,” Trina said, her voice barely a squeak.

Julian’s eyes scanned the room and I ducked my head further down.
Don’t see me. Don’t see me!
But his gaze moved over me with no outward sign of recognition.

“All overtime is authorized for the department until we have a new campaign,” Pettigrew said. “Everything else moves to the back burner until it’s complete.”

“I want a mockup on my desk by the time I arrive in the morning. It doesn’t matter how late you have to stay to make it happen,” Julian said, his voice clipped. I risked a glance and found that he was staring at me. “Have one of the interns bring it up.”

* * *

H
ours later
, Trina dropped a stack of papers on my desk with an apologetic smile. “Guess you’re on messenger duty.”

I picked up the stack, heart pounding. “You don’t think he’s still up there, do you?”

“Berkmore? No, I tried to call his secretary and she’s already gone for the night, which means he is too. Just leave this on his desk and go home. He’ll get it in the morning.”

I looked around the room at the sea of exhausted faces and knew that I couldn’t refuse. While I’d been fetching coffee and taking dictation, the rest of them had been working furiously to create the campaign mockup. The least I could do was this one last task so we could all go home for the night.

Angie winked at me. “Hell of a first day, right?”

Trina yawned. “I’m going to lock up the office and send everybody home. You leave too after you drop this off, okay.”

“No problem,” I said and hugged the papers to my chest.

I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder, still carrying the mockup. It only took a minute for the elevator to arrive after I called it. The doors slid smoothly and silently open.

The executive suites were on the penthouse floor. It took what felt like an eternity for the elevator to reach the top.

When I stepped off of the elevator it was into a darkened waiting area with an empty desk and leather armchairs lining the wall on two sides. The lamp on the desk was still lit but that only served to highlight the creepy quality of being alone up here.

So Julian’s secretary actually was gone for the night. That was a good sign. I walked softly across the executive lobby, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the quiet.

Just get it done
, I reminded myself. All I had to do was leave the mockup in Julian’s office and run for the hills.

I stopped at a set of frosted glass doors. They were nearly opaque but I couldn’t see any light or movement beyond. Word were etched in script on the glass:

Julian Berkmore-Hathaway, Chief Executive Officer

Shaking off the sudden feeling of unease, I pushed open the doors. They opened easily and soundlessly beneath my hands.

The office was dark on the inside, lit only by the moonlight that streamed in through the wall of windows on the far side of the room. City lights twinkled beyond and I wasn’t quite frightened enough to not notice the beauty of the view.

“Of course he would take the corner office,” I said out loud.

“Wouldn’t you?”

* * *

I
shrieked in surprise
. The papers fell from my hands and scattered across the floor. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite.” A light clicked on to illuminate Julian where he sat at the desk.

“You’re supposed to be gone for the night,” I said testily and kneeled to gather up the papers that I had dropped. “We called your secretary.”

“Sent her home early.” He spread his arms wide and his large hands rested on the surface of the desk. “Are you disappointed?”

“I’m not anything but an employee, Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway.”

“Julian,” he corrected me.

“Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway.” I quickly moved forward to lay the mockup on the far edge of the desk before dancing back and turning away. “Good night.”

“Wait.”

The command in his voice was impossible to ignore and I froze in place. I heard him rise from the desk, his footsteps nearly silent on the carpeted floor. My heart beat hard enough that it felt like it would burst out of my chest.

He came up behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, but not quite touching.

“Don’t do this,” I practically begged him.

“I’m not holding you,” he whispered against my ear. “I’m not even touching you. Leave if you want.”

“Why do you do this?” I said on a sobbing breath. “Why do you make me choose?”

“Your choice is the most important part.” His fingers were in my hair, gently twirling through the strands. “I’ve never forced you and I won’t. You’re here because you want to be.”

“You’re wrong!”

His hands fell away, leaving me cold. “Then go — if you think that you can.”

But I didn’t move, just like we both knew that I wouldn’t. Because I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything before, even though I knew that it would destroy me.

“I hate you,” I said, as a hot tear slid down my cheek.

“But you don’t hate this, do you?”

His hands gripped my waist and he spun me around until I came up hard against the desk. Searching fingers moved under my skirt, sliding past my knees and up my thighs in a pace that was achingly slow.

“Please—“ I started to say, just as those fingers plunged inside of me. I screamed instead, my brain no longer capable of forming words.

“So wet,” he murmured against the skin of my neck. “It’s amazing, really. I’ve never met a woman who responds like you do.”

I couldn’t speak — couldn’t think — not with his wicked fingers pumping in and out of me. One thumb moved to my clit and made tiny circles on the tender bud. My hips rocked against him of their own accord as I desperately tried to increase the light pressure.

“You make me want to do things I’ve never done before,” he said mildly. Only the slight rasp to his voice betrayed the depth of the effort he was expending to control himself. “You make me feel things that I’ve never felt before.”

Is that a declaration of love
, I wanted to ask but couldn’t — for fear of the answer. “Not even for your wife?”

He bit me softly on the cheek, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. “Mention her again and I will gag you.”

I gripped the edge of the desk hard enough that my knuckles turned white. The feel of his hands on me was pleasure and agony rolled into one.

“So you’ve never fucked a girl on the desk in your office?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.

“I’m not already fucking you?” He turned and lifted my body until I sat on the edge of the desk facing him. With one hand, he yanked down my panties and tossed them aside before pushing himself against me. His still-clothed erection was pressed against my bare skin. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Asshole,” I bit out.

“Maybe next time.” Two of his fingers slid inside of my slick channel and I saw stars. “I prefer your pussy, for now.”

I groaned and swayed backwards, only the hand he had at my back keeping me upright.

His forehead pressed against mine and I could feel the force of his breath against my lips as he spoke. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

No!
“Yes.”

“Then beg.”

My arms lifted to wrap around his neck as words spilled from my lips. “Please kiss me. Please. Please.”

“So sweet,” he whispered and then his lips crashed into mine.

All of the feelings that I’d kept hidden from even myself — the wanting and the fear — swept over me in a tidal wave. The kiss was hard and consuming, like he wanted to crawl inside of me or claim me for his own.

His fingers worked at my shirt, quickly undoing the buttons until the garment opened and fell down my shoulders, leaving me in only a bra.

I moaned into his mouth when his fingers scratched down my skin, pulling down the cups of my bra until my chest was exposed.

“I love your breasts,” he said huskily, breaking the kiss. His mouth moved down and his lips closed on one of my nipples before he sucked hard on it.

Shivers of sensation rolled through me. My hips rocked against him and I heard a high-pitched keening sound. It took a moment for me to realize that it was coming from me.

“Lift your hips.”

When I did, he pulled the skirt down and out from under me, leaving me completely bare. I looked down at the hands resting on my belly. The starched white sleeves of his dress shirt and the glittering silver of his cufflinks juxtaposed sharply against my bare skin made me shiver.

“You are mine.” He bit at the skin of my neck and then my shoulder, nipping hard enough to hurt. His hands moved to my thighs, spreading them further apart. “And you can’t run from me.”

“I don’t want to run,” I said and meant it. The moment I was faced with him, all of my resolve dissolved.

My hips fell open as his hands worked at the fly of his pants. His erection sprung free, stiff and ready. He moved towards me and his hands gripped my thighs, pushing them further apart until my muscles screamed with the effort.

Julian paused at my entrance. I clutched at his shoulders, pulling at them in desperation, but he remained immobile.

“You are mine.” His lips caught at mine in a kiss that was more teeth and biting than loving and gentle. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you.” I gasped the words.

“You need me where?” One of his fingers slid between the folds of my labia before stroking deeper. “Here?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please—“

“Please what?” His voice was conversational as if he had no particular interest in my response. “Be specific.”

I looked down between us, where he held himself by the base, still teasing at my slick folds. “I need you inside of me.”

He pushed inside of me by the barest inch, but halted again. I scratched at his shoulders, desperately trying to get him to move closer but he didn’t budge.

“Be more specific.”

“I need you to fuck me.” I gasped the words as my skin heated from embarrassment.

He pushed deeper, but not all of the way — not as deep as I needed him. “You’re a filthy girl, you know that. You’ve got your legs spread for your boss’s boss’s boss — like the nasty whore you are. Say what you want. Let me hear it.”

I knew what he wanted even as my cheeks burned. “I want your cock in my pussy. Now, please!”

Julian pushed inside of me, his penis thick and hard as it moved within my swollen flesh. My body squeezed tight around him and my legs rose to wrap around his back.

He groaned in response, his hips moving faster. Each thrust sent stars shooting across my vision. His hands were at my waist, pulling me forward with each stroke so we crashed into each other.

Sensation built inside of me until it felt like I couldn’t take anymore. His hands roved over my body, moving up my back and then down to where my hips pressed into the unrelenting surface of the desk.

My fingers caught in his hair as he drilled into me. I knew I pulled too hard, desperate in my need, but he didn’t protest. I was a creature made only of raw feeling, needy and keening, as I waited to fall over the precipice and into oblivion.

The orgasm overtook me suddenly. Shockwaves shuddered through me, starting at my center where we were joined and shooting out through every nerve of my body.

He groaned and his head fell to my shoulder, signaling his own undoing. The thrusts of his hips became jagged and uneven. I felt the pulsing wet and heat of his release inside of me.

I collapsed back against the table and he followed me, his heavy head resting against my stomach. My fingers twined in his hair, stroking through the thick strands as he lay prostrate and unresisting.

“That was amazing,” I murmured, unable to resist breaking the silence.

His smile moved against my skin and he kissed the dip of my navel. “You are amazing.”

I
turned
my head against the desk and stared out the gigantic wall of windows. There were other buildings on the same level as this one, other offices with people engaged in God knew what. The light from the lamp was slight, but it was enough.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” I asked. I couldn’t decide if the thought terrified or thrilled me.

Julian raised his head and flashed me an evil grin, but whatever he would have said was cut off by the shrill ring of the phone on his desk. He rolled off of me with a muffled curse and picked up the receiver.

“What?” he bit out.

I heard a voice on the other end but couldn’t make out exactly what was being said.

Julian’s face suddenly blanked as a neutral mask settled over his features. “I understand.”

I watched him hang up the phone, confused at the abrupt change in his demeanor. “What’s going on?”

He turned away without answering and picked my skirt and blouse up from the floor. “Get dressed. We have to go.”

“What? Why—?”

“Now, Dalea.” The sternness in his voice brooked no argument.

I quickly pulled my clothes on, a little unnerved. When I was completely dressed, I turned to face him. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

He turned to me, expression unreadable. “We’re going to the Dollhouse.”

* * *

T
he Procurer’s
office was much as I’d remembered it. But by the time I stood in front of his desk my nerves had been flayed raw.

Julian had refused to talk to me for the entirety of the ride. He had sat next to me in the town car as a silent driver navigated us through the nonexistent traffic, But he might as well not have been there at all. He hadn’t been much more than a brooding presence as he stared out the window and into the black night.

The Procurer remained seated at his desk as we stood before him, like recalcitrant children facing the school principal as he threatened to call our parents. I knew I was too tired to think straight but the thought of what my mother would say after getting a call from the Procurer made me giggle.

“Is something amusing, Ms. Moreno?” the Procurer snapped, turning his iron gaze on me.

“N-no,” I said, immediately chastened. “Sorry.”

The Procured glared at both of us. “Do you have any idea how big of a mess that the two of you have made?”

“I don’t think—“ Julian started.

“You don’t think at all,” the Procurer retorted. “That is the problem. Your contract with the Dollhouse stipulated
no
intercourse.”

How could he possibly know?
I must have made a surprised sound because the Procurer turned to glare at me.

“And you tore up your contract completely, yes?”

I gulped. “Yes.”

“Then explain to me why I have been informed that not only are the two of you engaged in a sexual relationship, but that it is completely outside of the confines of the Dollhouse. Even worse than that, you are now working together at the same company.”

“How did you know?” I blurted without thinking, and Julian groaned in frustration beside me.

“Never doubt my ability to gather information,” the Procurer said with a tight smile. “Now, the question remains what to do about this.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, looking from one of them to other. “What’s the big deal?”

“The
big deal
,” the Procurer said sarcastically. “Is that the Dollhouse has been built on keeping our client’s secrets. We deal in fantasy and the two of you gallivanting around — very much in
reality —
endangers us all. What if someone were to wonder at the start of your relationship, would you have an answer that would not lead right back here?”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I asked.

The Procurer slammed his hand down on the desk, wrenching a surprised gasp from me. “The non-disclosure clause of the exit contract you signed, specifically prohibiting outside contact with anyone from the Dollhouse, has been violated. There are legal ramifications.”

My voice was whisper-soft. “Legal ramifications?”

“All of the money that has been paid to you through the Dollhouse will be forfeit, for one. And of course there will be civil damages, who knows the number that will be attached to that. I’ll leave that to the lawyers.”

I looked at him in horror. “All of that money has been spent. I don’t have any of it left.”

“The exact nature of recompense will have to be settled in court.”

“Court!?” I choked on the word.

“The non-disclosure clause was clear and it has been violated.”

“What about him?” I cried, pointing to Julian. “This is as much his fault as mine, if not even more so.”

“Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway will face his own consequences.”

“You can’t take me to court. Won’t the exposure from that do more damage to the Dollhouse than I ever could?”

The Procurer steepled his fingers underneath his chin and regarded me with a grave expression. “Non-jury trial that is privately adjudicated with the records sealed after the fact, so no.”

I backed away from him, my heart squeezing in fear and dread. “You can’t do this.”

“I have no choice. Unless you have some other solution.”

“I do.” Julian spoke for the first time. I turned to him in a relief that turned out to be short-lived. “What about a new contract?”

“Exactly,” I said, until his words sunk in. “Wait — what?”

“We sign a new contract,” Julian continued as if he hadn’t heard me or was simply ignoring me, which was more likely. “And I take full responsibility for any…violations.”

“New contract.” The Procurer raised an eyebrow. “An exclusive one?”

“Obviously.”

“What would be the terms?”

“Complete ownership, of course.”

I looked between them, my confusion slowly turning to horror. “What are you talking about?”

The Procurer turned to me with a gentle smile, one that I would have called fatherly under literally any other circumstances. “In exchange for accepting any future financial responsibility, Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway is offering you an exclusive contract.”

My voice was small. “What does that mean?”

Julian turned to me for the first time, his eyes dark and swirling with emotions that I didn’t understand. “It means you would be mine.”

I tried to ignore the quiver of awareness that shot through me at his words. “Last I heard, slavery is illegal.”

“You’d be free to go at anytime,” the Procurer said, in a voice that he obviously thought was reassuring. “If you’re willing to accept the consequences. Your consent is, of course, still required.”

I glared at them both. “There’s a pretty thin line between consent and coercion.”

“Indeed.”

“And if I say yes?” I balled my fists to keep my voice from quavering. “What about my family? What would I tell them?”

“You’ve been awarded a fantastic opportunity abroad with Berkmore and are unable to return for some time — but it’s the job of your dreams.” Julian’s voice was mild. I couldn’t fight the feeling that he should be more upset by all of this. “They will want for nothing, of course.”

“If we cannot come to terms,” the Procurer said, his voice careful. “The two of you will never see each other again.”

Julian turned to me, moving closer but carefully not touching. “The choice is yours.”

“It’s not really much of a choice, is it?”

“There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere.” His fingers grazed my cheek. I wanted to pull away but couldn’t. “Tell me you want to be mine, Dalea. Say yes.”

Everything inside of me resisted the idea of being owned — of being property. But the dark voice in my head, the one that whispered Julian’s name on an endless loop, was desperate to be his.

The money didn’t really matter. There was nothing the Dollhouse could do to me that life hadn’t already done. If it wasn’t the Dollhouse, it would be my mother’s medical bills or my brother’s legal fees or whatever new pile of shit that the universe decided to dump onto my life.

But there was only one Julian.

I wanted to scream, or run. I wanted to go back to being the girl who didn’t have to make these kinds of decisions — the girl who’d never stepped foot inside of the Dollhouse.

“Say yes,” Julian whispered. It wasn’t an order, but more of a plea.

No!
I screamed inside of my own head, bucking at the loss of freedom
.
I was a person, not a possession. My lips formed the negative, tongue moving to tell them both exactly where their offer could go. Instead, I found myself saying the words that would seal my fate.

“Yes.”

* * *

T
he Procurer slid
our new contract across the desk. The stack of paper was as thick as my wrist. I was sure that trying to actually read it would send my head spinning off into outer space.

"This contract is significantly more...restrictive, than our normal boilerplate." The Procurer produced a pen from the pocket of his coat and laid it gently on the table next to the contract. "Would you like to review the terms before you sign?"

"Yes, please," I said, even though we had already gone over each clause — in exhausting detail — at least a dozen times.

I was stalling and we all knew it.

"The non-disclosure agreement remains in force, much as it always has. The majority of the additional clauses are in regards to the nature of your sexual relationship — and the restrictions on your freedom."

I sucked in a harsh breath. "That's a fancy way of putting it."

"We've taken into account your sexual boundaries — hard limits, as they're termed here — the acts in which you are unwilling to engage. Would you like me to list those for you?"

"No," I said, still embarrassed that I was going to be putting my name on a contract with the word
scat
in it. "That's okay."

"We have also stipulated that no permanent damage may be done to you. Play is limited to injuries that will heal."

I shivered at his words, fighting the curl of desire that settled in my belly. "How very kind of you."

The Procurer ignored my sarcastic tone. "The initial contract length has been designated at sixty days, at which time contract terms may be renegotiated."

"And what about my family?"

"Financial arrangements are outlined here in sub-clause five, paragraph two." The Procurer flipped to the appropriate page and indicated the place with a sweep of his hand. "Your family is to be awarded bimonthly payments through wire transfer equivalent to the current salary that you receive at Berkmore Global.”

"Payments will continue for the duration of contract length on the condition that you abide by the clause dictating limited contact. No more than one phone call per week, to be supervised by Mr. Berkmore-Hathaway, and absolutely no in-person interactions."

I turned to Julian, who had not spoken since the Procurer had presented the final version of the contract. He sat in the corner with a glass of wine hanging loosely from his hand, sunk into the shadows.

"Why does it matter to you if I see my family?"

Julian didn't answer. I couldn't make out his face in the darkness, but I felt his gaze on me.

"The time for negotiation has passed," the Procurer said, breaking the silence. "Now is the time to sign."

Julian rose from the chair and moved up beside me, still silent. He bent over my shoulder where I sat at the desk. The feel of him so close to me caused my heart to speed up with stuttering beats.

He didn't touch me, merely picked up the pen and signed his name with looping strokes at the bottom of the contract.

The Procurer slid the contract over to me. "Ms. Moreno."

I waited for the crash of lightning and thunder — something to indicate the importance of what I was about to do. But the only sound in the room was the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner and my harsh breathing.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the pen.

I had a sudden flashback to the first time that I sat at this desk, pen poised to sign a contract that I didn't really understand. That impulsive decision had brought me to this place, where I was once again trapped by forces I couldn’t control.