The Dollhouse (19 page)

* * *

M
y footsteps were
soft as I walked down the hallway. Julian had once again been gone when I woke up for the day, but my nerves still jangled with anxiety.

The door at the end of the hallway beckoned me like a lighthouse beacon. I had no idea what I would find there, but knew that Naomi had given me the key for a reason.

I was almost certain that Julian was out of the house and he didn't usually return until the late afternoon or evening. But there was always a risk that he'd turn up without warning. It wasn't as if he made a point of sharing his schedule with me.

If Naomi knew what I was up to, she'd wisely chosen to maintain plausible deniability. I hadn't seen her all morning.

It was bright outside but this part of the hallway was dark. I looked up and noticed that the lightbulbs at this end had gone out and not been replaced, which was almost certainly intentional.

I felt like the tragic heroine in some Gothic romance about to discover the secrets hidden away by the Byronesque master of the house. Of course, I was choosing to ignore the fact that things almost never ended well for the female characters in those sorts of books.

When I reached the door, a thrill shook down my spine. I was really doing this, really about to uncover something that Julian clearly didn't want me to see.

He never said that you couldn't
,
a sly voice whispered in my mind.

I pushed the key into the lock and the knob turned easily underneath my hand. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.

The smell of must and stale air hit me first. I sneezed several times, stirring up a cloud of dust. Everything in the room was coated in a fine layer of the stuff, so clearly nothing in here had been disturbed for quite some time.

It felt like I was stepping inside of a museum exhibit as I walked into the room. A rocking chair sat in front of the window and next to it was an old-fashioned cradle, the kind with bows and bells carved into the wood at the ends and high-slatted sides.

A small dresser sat against one wall. I pulled a drawer open to find neatly folded onesies, jumpers and socks. My fingers left prints in the dust as I pushed the drawer closed.

This had obviously been a nursery. I didn't understand where the big secret was in that. Julian had said this had been his family's house for generations, maybe this nursery had been his.

Why would it need to be locked?

A photo album sat on a little table next to the rocking chair. I picked it up and it fell open to the middle as if the album had been opened to that place repeatedly.

A beautiful brunette woman smiled into the camera as she leaned against the railing of a balcony that overlooked some tropical beach. She was obviously pregnant and one hand cradled the large curve of her belly. There were several shots of her in different poses and different stages of pregnancy.

I smiled briefly, but the smile faded when I turned the next page. There was a huge 8x10 of the same woman, but this time she wasn't alone. Julian posed in the picture with her, his face smiling and more relaxed than I'd ever seen it before.

Is this her?

I flipped quickly through the pages. There were more pictures of the two of them together, happy and relaxed as if they didn't have a care in the world. I traced the curve of her belly in one picture, where they both stood in front of a farmhouse, her arms around him.

And there's a baby.

The thought of it made me feel ill. I had to turn away from the photo album for a minute to remain calm.

I'd never imagined Julian as a father. I couldn't picture him ferrying a kid back and forth to soccer practice or cheering from the stands at a swimming competition. Everything about him was the opposite of domestic.

And did that make me an even worse person than I imagined? Was I responsible for not only coming in-between a marriage but keeping a child from his father. The thought of it made me hate myself.

I knew logically that Julian was responsible for his own choices, but that didn't keep me from being culpable as well.

Towards the end the album, I expected to see pictures of the baby and at least a few photos of the three of them together. But the photos abruptly stopped and the last few pages were blank.

I set the album back down where I'd found it, feeling unhappy. More questions swirled in my mind than answers. What had Naomi hoped that I would find, besides more proof that I was a horrible person?

It was then that I noticed the slip of brown paper sticking out from the back of the album. I carefully pulled it free. It was newsprint, worn and thin under my fingers.

The paper was actually a folded news clipping and old enough that it threatened to rip at the neat creases if I didn't handle it gently.

I read the headline in dawning horror:

"Oh my God," I whispered involuntary, the shock of it literally pulling the words from me.

My gaze was hyper-focused as I read, as if each word would fly off of the page and disappear if I didn't give it my utmost attention.

I set down the news article with shaking hands. Thoughts rushed through my mind at a pace that made it impossible to focus on any single one. Emotions warred within me. I didn't know what to think and I didn't know how to feel.

There was nothing else in the photo album, no other news reports or mementos. I had obviously found the only thing that Julian had chosen to keep to remember his dead wife.

His wife is dead.

This must have been what Naomi wanted me to find. But it didn't make sense, why wouldn't she just tell me the truth instead of letting me make a fool of myself obsessing over a person who no longer existed.

Because he wouldn't let her,
a tiny voice inside of me whispered.

Which made perfect sense. Julian was the type of person to want to control every aspect of his life, and the lives of those around him. He had kept this information from me on purpose. That much was obvious, even if I didn't understand the reason why.

I had spent so much time agonizing over the fact that Julian had a family at home waiting for him, and now I discovered that he's a widower. He let me suffer over the idea of contributing to the betrayal of a person that no longer existed. The deception didn't make sense. What could he possibly have had to gain?

Except, there was no future in a relationship with a married man. While I agonized over thoughts of his poor wife, I paid no attention to what our relationship could mean or where it could go. What a tidy little system that he'd set up. I couldn't ask for what was already committed elsewhere.

You can't wear a ring that's already on someone else's finger.

The thought of it made me so angry that it was nearly impossible to think straight. He had manipulated me so easily, allowing me to obsess with my internal struggle, while he took from me exactly what he wanted.

Cynthia.
I finally had a name and face to the specter that had haunted me. And not only had she killed herself, but she took her baby along with her.

What could possibly have made her to do that? They looked so happy in the pictures and she had a fairy-tale life spread out in front of her.

Had he driven her to it? Julian was clearly manipulative and prized his own desires over everyone else's. The article said that the housekeeper, Naomi most likely, had found her body. That meant that Julian had been out of the house when it happened.

The woman in that picture had loved him. I could see it in her eyes. Whatever else she had felt, love had almost certainly a part of it.

Had he kept her sequestered, forced to live alone while he was off doing whatever it was he wanted? Was his relationship with me an all-too familiar pattern — control instead of companionship and possession instead of passion.

He doesn't know how to love.

Somehow he must have been responsible, at least for leaving her alone with her sadness until it was too overwhelming to ignore. Because wasn't that exactly what he was doing to me?

I refused to make the same mistake that she did.

J
ulian didn't return
home until almost midnight. I had some warning when I came down for dinner and Naomi was reading a magazine in the kitchen.

"It's gonna be awhile," she had said with a quirked eyebrow.

Because Julian had no qualms sharing his plans with his housekeeper, but I didn't merit so much as phone call. He clearly expected me to spend the majority of my time waiting for him, like a dog stationed eagerly at the door until its master returned.

When he finally entered the dining room, where I waited at a fully set table with now lukewarm food and candles burned down to their tapers, he barely spared me a glance.

I didn't speak while he loosened his tie and slung his suit jacket over the back of a chair. I bit my tongue on the rush of words that desperately wanted to spill from my lips.

But when his gaze finally met mine, I couldn't hold my voice back anymore.

"I want to talk about your wife."

His eyebrows disappeared into the fringe of dark hair that swept across his forehead. "Excuse me?"

"I want to k-know—“ I started, the words quavering on my tongue. Under the intensity of his undivided attention, I had to force myself to continue. "I have to know about your wife."

"I thought I made it clear how I feel about this line of questioning."

"You did," I responded, fighting to keep my voice steady. "But I can't let it go."

He tapped his fingers against the table, but his gaze never broke from mine. I could see the calculation in his eyes. "My wife is none of your concern."

"I know she died."

If the words had any impact on him I couldn't tell beyond a slight quirk of his lips. "And how would you know that?"

"I...I looked it up on the internet." Belatedly, I realized it was likely a good idea to keep Naomi and the key she had given me a secret. "There are no secrets with Google."

Julian rested his steepled fingers on his chin. "Then it seems like you know everything that you need to know."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Lying to you and allowing you to believe a narrative that you came up with completely on your own are not the same thing."

"But you let me believe that I was helping you cheat on your wife, that she was at home waiting for you while you were here with me." I couldn't quite believe his cavalier attitude. "That's an awful thing to do."

"I'm not sure what it is that you're expecting from me, Dalea."

My hands clenched hard in my lap. "I guess I was expecting honesty."

"I've never lied to you."

"You have—“

"Be quiet," he commanded and I obeyed like it was second nature, which in a way it was. "Let me test my understanding: the idea of being with me while you thought I cheated on my wife was bearable, but now that you know no infidelity has taken place, you're upset?"

When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous, which was probably very much his intention. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"There isn't anything to tell."

I opened my mouth to retort, but Naomi chose that moment to enter the dining room with a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables in each of her hands. I cast my gaze toward the table as she slid a plate in front of me.

When I glanced up, Naomi was watching me. I barely caught her slight wink before she turned to place a plate in front of Julian. I felt emboldened by her support.

Both of us were quiet until Naomi left the room. Julian picked up his fork and knife to began cutting into his chicken but my hands remained at my side. I had no appetite.

"Did she really kill herself?" I asked, knowing that I was baiting him.

Julian wiped his mouth with a napkin before laying it gently back in his lap. "You are walking a very thin line."

"I just wonder if there's some reason that you didn't tell me — some reason that you didn't want me to know."

"And what might that be?"

He raised a sardonic eyebrow at me and I had to force myself to ignore the surge of want that coursed through my body. Even my anger wasn't enough to overcome my desire for him and somehow I bet he knew it.

I swallowed hard. "You tell me."

"Perhaps because you fancy yourself in love with me."

I froze and my mouth went dry. "I never said that I love you."

"You didn't have to." He picked up the glass of red wine beside him and took a small sip. "Love is what inexperienced young girls call it when they confuse their body's response for something greater."

"That's a very cold way of looking at things."

"It's a realistic way of looking at things."

"And what about you," I asked, determined to keep my voice steady. "You fought pretty hard to get me here. You could have had a hundred other girls without a problem, why me?"

The look he cast me practically smoldered. "Because I wanted to fuck you in as many ways as I could think of without being interrupted."

I ignored the hard shiver that coursed down my spine at his words. "So once you've had your fill of
fucking
me, you'll walk away and never think of me again, is that it?"

"You seem quite intent on upsetting yourself."

I picked up my fork and knife to occupy my hands because I needed to focus on something besides his face. "Is that also the way you felt about your wife? Did she confuse love and sex too, or did you?"

"That's enough, Dalea."

"The article that I read said that she was pregnant."

The tension between us swelled and burst into frantic motion. Julian's fork and knife clattered onto the table and he was up and out of the chair in a hasty movement.

He grabbed my arms and pulled me bodily out of the chair and then spun me around until I fell hard against the table.

"Since you seem so intent on getting my undivided attention," he murmured against my cheek as he pressed his body hard against mine. "Tell me when you've had enough."

His mouth descended on mine, powerful and possessive. There was nothing gentle or controlled about his kiss and I could heel his frustration. For better or worse, I knew I'd struck a nerve.

He broke the kiss and pressed his lips against my ear. "Shall I show you what love is?"

With rough hands, he shoved aside the fabric of my skirt. Nothing stood between him and my exposed skin, just like he wanted. I braced my hands on the table as he went to his knees and buried his face between my thighs.

His nose pushed through the damp curls and his tongue found my most sensitive spot. I couldn't stop the groan that escaped from my lips. I was hyper-aware of my body, of the cold, hard wood pressing into my bottom and the sharp end of the table pinching against my thighs.

The heat of his mouth against my skin felt like a lightning strike. As his tongue lathed my clitoris, he pushed two fingers inside of me, playing my body like a musical instrument.

The orgasm burst over me suddenly, so strong that I swayed forward and would have fallen if he hadn't reached up to steady me.

"This is love," he said harshly. He drove his hips against mine, so his still-clothed erection dragged against my bare skin. "Love is neurotransmitters firing and hormones soaking the emotion centers of your brain. It's a trick that your body plays on your mind. It isn't real."

"You're wrong," I gasped into his chest, my eyes practically rolling into my head at the friction of him pushing against me.

"If I couldn't do this to your body — if it didn't respond to me like a moth to a flame — you wouldn't think you loved me."

I looked up to see an unrecognizable emotion cross his face, one that seemed almost stricken, before an all-too familiar mask descended over his features.

My hand rose unbidden to touch his face, fingertips catching in the stiff stubble on his cheek. "Why are you so afraid?"

Julian ripped himself away from me in a violent movement, leaving me cold. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked around the table and heading toward the door of the dining room.

"I seem to have lost my appetite," he said tightly, not looking at me. "Enjoy your dinner."

He left the room before I could muster a response.

What the hell just happened?

Clearly I had gotten to him, even if I didn't know exactly what that meant. I wasn't naive enough to believe that Julian could fall in love with me, but I knew he felt something — more than he wanted to feel.

But was that enough?

* * *

I
woke in the dark
, unsure of what had startled me so suddenly out of sleep. Pale moonlight shone through the open window where the curtains had been drawn.

The house was eerily quiet except for the soft creak of it settling into the foundation. I lay there for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dark. Nothing stirred around me but I felt a near-certainty that I wasn't alone.

I moved to sit up in the bed when a heavy weight forced me back against the bed. My hands were gripped in an iron-grasp and forced above my head. I tried to fight but my movements were like an ant pushing against a mountain.

The weight lifted off of my chest but when I tried to pull my hands away, they barely budged. I quickly realized that they'd been secured to the head of the bed above me.

"What—“ I gasped.

Julian cut me off. "Shut up or I will gag you."

He moved to my legs and I didn't fight him as he tied them down. When I experimentally shifted my feet, there was more movement allowed but not enough for me to do more than bend my legs slightly. I was effectively trapped.

He moved back over me, his body a nearly crushing weight over me. It became only more so as he leaned forward to speak softly into my ear. "I want you to restrict any sounds you make to those of pleasure — or pain. Do you understand?"

My nod was barely a movement against his cheek.

His hands moved down to my breasts, cupping the rounded masses before moving to pinch my nipples. I moaned and arched my back up against him. When his mouth moved to replace his hand, I couldn't stop the desperate exclamation that slipped from between my lips.

"Please—“

I felt his smile against my skin. "It's very difficult to remain silent, isn't it. Here, let me help you."

He pulled away and I made a desperate sound, thinking that he would punish me with his absence. But his hands quickly returned and pressed something smooth and round against my lips, forcing my mouth open so it rested against my tongue.

"Don't fret. This is a ball gag," he said as he fastened the strap around the back of my head. "Now you may make any sound you wish without fear of being disobedient. Even better, if my attentions become very painful, you can bite into the rubber without causing yourself damage."

The gag was uncomfortable in my mouth but not desperately so. I tried tentatively to maneuver it with my tongue but it remained solidly in place.

His hands slid down my body, coasting over my chest and belly then moving smoothly over my thighs. The pressure of it was so light as to be almost comforting, if I weren't gagged and tied to the bed.

"You have the smoothest skin," he murmured appreciatively. His fingers pressed into my thighs, hard enough that I knew the skin would be reddened with the beginnings of a bruise. "And so easily marked."

I turned my head and pressed my cheek into the sheet in a desperate effort to cool my overheated skin. The ache at the core of me was building into a crescendo but I could do nothing to soothe it — not even beg for release.

"But I think your breasts might be my favorite part of your body," he said casually, as if the conversation wasn't completely one-sided. "There perfectly-sized, kitten. Not too large and certainly not too small. See how they fit perfectly in my hands.”

His hands moved to demonstrate his appreciation, cupping and kneading the sensitive tissue until my breathing came in harsh gasps around the gag.

"And such pretty pert little nipples." His mouth closed over one and then another, pulling my flesh harshly into his mouth and sucking hard. "Would you like me to tell you what I'm going to do to them?"

He didn't wait for whatever response I might be able to muster and leaned away from me to search in the bedside table. The bed dipped under his weight and my body rolled towards him because I had so little control over my movements.

Julian leaned back with a long chain in his hands. He held it up where I could see and showed me the twin metal circles on each end. A pin stuck out of one side and metal teeth met in the middle.

He must have caught my wide-eyed gaze because he chuckled softly before moving over me.

"These are nipple clamps. I've heard them described as
tormenting
, but they won't do you any actual damage if applied properly."

I quailed against the restraints.
Clamps?
He wanted to place my nipples in a literal vice. There was no way that I would be able to handle that — the pain would have to be overwhelming.

Julian watched me carefully, his expression somber. "Do you trust me not to hurt you, Dalea?"

My hands clenched in fists against the headboard. Did I trust him? The better question was: what would I do to keep him with me? Because the answer to that was apparently
anything.