Possessed: The Dollhouse, Part One (8 page)

I
came
to myself wrapped in a blanket and curled up in Julian’s lap as he lounged on a small sofa. The side of my face pressed against his chest, rising and falling with each breath that he took. The room had cleared and we were alone. I had no conception of how much time had passed.

His hands smoothed over me, rubbing in circles that were both soothing and stimulating. When he spoke, his voice rumbled against my cheek.

“Welcome back.”

I hesitated to speak, unwilling to break the spell of our time together, but Icouldn’t stop myself. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“Did you feel sort of disconnected from your body, almost like a high?” I nodded and his dark chuckle reverberated through me, making me shiver. “It’s called subspace, when a submissive gets so much adrenaline pumped in their brain its like being high. It can happen when feelings of pain or pleasure become particularly overwhelming.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.
Overwhelmed
didn’t even begin to cover the depth of what I had experienced. I had felt completely out of my body and mind. He could have done anything to me and I would have let him.

“I understand, I think.”

“You’ve taken to this better than I ever could have imagined.” His voice was grave and I got the immediate impression that he was not prone to handing out compliments. “I’m very pleased with you.”

I basked in the warmth of his regard, like a lizard stretched out and sunning itself on rock. A languid stillness settled over me as I relaxed against him. It felt as if, for the first time, I had found a place that I actually belonged.

All of my problems – Julio’s legal trouble, Momma’s cancer and all of the various slights that life had thrown my way no longer existed when I was in his arms.

I distantly realize that I hadn’t called him
sir
since he took me down from the dais. He hadn’t yet chastised or corrected me and I relished the informal familiarity, speaking to him as if we were friends – or lovers. I wondered if he also hesitated to break the spell that we were under.

The hand that wasn’t holding me against him moved to the front of my unresisting body to stroke down my thigh. Separated as we were by the thick blanket, the gesture was more comforting than it was seductive.

Long-tapered fingers rested against me and I inspected them curiously. A glint that reflected against the dark fabric of the blanket caught my eye. Had I noticed it before and chosen to ignore it? Or had he, in his haste to drag me out and tie me to the cross, forgotten to remove it like he normally would?

Regardless, the silver band that wrapped around his left ring finger was impossible to miss now, where it pressed against my belly.

He wore a wedding ring.

T
he Procurer regarded
me steadily across the shiny expanse of his desk, in a position the exact replica of the one that had started this all.

“You understand that a decision like this, once done, cannot be undone?”

“He’s married.” My voice was steady.

The Procurer’s brow knit in confusion as if the words that I was using didn’t make sense when put together. “And what does that have to do with you?”

Everything!
“Nothing, but I can’t do this anymore.”

I couldn’t quite put into words the way that I felt, but my emotions were in turmoil. Did he tell his wife about us? While he was whipping me until I nearly passed out and then fingering me into oblivion, was she waiting at home for him none the wiser? Was she meek and unchallenging, a housewife waiting docilely at home? Or was she a dominant career woman that had put her own needs first and pushed him into the Dollhouse?

There were too many questions without answers, but I couldn’t fight the feeling that I was culpable in some sort of deceit. I wasn’t a cheater and I had never been the other woman. The thought of it made me feel dirty and used.

And there was some foolish part of me that had hoped for more – that perhaps he would eventually give me something of himself. Those hopes had been shattered like glass, and I refused to wallow in the broken pieces.

I wished that I could be cold about it and think only about the money that I desperately needed. But I wasn’t built to be a mercenary and my heart refused to stay behind the wall I had tried to build around it.

“If you’re sure.” The Procurer looked at me oddly, like he was seeing something he never had before. I couldn’t be the first Doll to have had enough.

“I am.”

“This is your contract.” He placed a stack of papers on the desk.

“Thank you.” It was bigger than I remembered. I wondered what I must have been thinking in the beginning, to sign myself away so easily and without even taking the time to read the fine print. Not that any of that mattered now.

The Procurer indicated a shredder in the corner of the room. “Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

Without a word, I picked up the stack and carried it across the room. I flicked the on switch and fed the papers into the rapidly-spinning metal teeth, watching in satisfaction as my Dollhouse contract turned to confetti.

I ignored the pang of regret that ran through me when the machine stopped. I was really done – no more black sedans pulling up to my house in the middle of the night and no more Procurer turning up at the most inopportune moments.

No more Julian, whose hands were capable of bringing the most intense pain

and amazing pleasure.

I turned back to face the Procurer, who watched me closely. “Is that all?”

He steepled his hands underneath his chin. “From this point forward, your association with the Dollhouse is officially terminated. You are forbidden from seeking any contact with any of our members and they are as well. You will not transmit information related to the Dollhouse or its membership in any form, written or verbal. Any attempt to violate these terms will result in immediate legal action. Do you understand and agree to comply with this agreement?”

I wondered what he would do if I refused, lock me up and throw away the key. “Fine.”

“I wish you well, Dalea,” he said, voice neutral. “We won’t meet again.”

I walked out of his office, relief and despair warring for dominance inside of me. I was proud of being strong enough to walk away from something that would only destroy me in the end.

But walking away meant never seeing
him
again. I had burned the field of our passion to the ground and salted the earth when I was done for good measure. There was no way to take this decision back –
what is done cannot be undone.

My back still burned from the force of the whip and I knew I would carry the bruises for weeks as a reminder of his hands on my skin. But I was stronger than my regret.

Julian was out of my life forever.

F
rom the Author

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading The Dollhouse: Part One

Part Two will be available soon.

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